Stacking Bales the Lazy Way!

Posted on August 14, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I once worked for a boss who was fond of ‘his little sayings’. He’d say things like, “patience and perseverance will piddle a hole in a stone!” in a broad Ayreshire accent. Another of his sayings came to me when I was stacking bales with a machine: He hated laziness and what he termed ‘lazy ways!’ and so would have said this afternoon: “the longest way round is often the shortest way home!” We shall see if this saying has been correct this morning, it all depends on whether the stack is still standing…

I’ve been stacking bales of hay,
Kept me busy yesterday,
Back and forth with the Loadall truck,
To stop them collapsing took some luck!

Can’t believe the stack didn’t fall,
Held up I suppose by the old barn wall,
We shall see once the stack subsides,
Will it burst its bales from all sides?

If this morning when I walk to work,
If the stack has fallen I’ll look a berk!
But if the stack is still upright,
The stacking fairies have stacked overnight!

The Baldock Boot Sale is open every Saturday at 7am
Twenty-one years and still selling!
FREE parking and entry for all buyers, princesses, dogs and aliens!
www.u-boot.co.uk
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Watching Meteorites in a Dirty Sweatshirt!

Posted on August 13, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Last night Mrs Bard and I sat outside in the dark looking up at the sky. The news had said that from 10.30pm there would be a massive number of meteorites coming at us from the North East. The end result was rather disappointing as we only counted ten in an hour…

Sitting outside,
On two chairs facing North-East,
In the dark,
On a summer’s evening,
Looking up until your neck aches,
For a meteor shower.
Light pollution to the left of us,
Light pollution behind,
Lots of people don’t even know the sky exists,
Because of their precious street lights.
But where are the meteors,
Where is the shining tail as they,
Race across the nighttime sky,
Leaving just memories,
Of their death-throes
As they attempt fruitless entry.
My sweatshirt is painted like the night sky,
From a hundred swishes of the paintbrush,
On a ceiling some years ago.
But unlike the sky,
It can be seen by day
But not at night!

Harvest Worries!

Posted on August 12, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Farmers have a nasty habit of panicking if they happen to see their neighbours out on the field. This affliction is particularly common at this time of year. The ‘I’ve just seen a combine’ phone call can send farmers dashing to look at their own crops, just in case they have missed something on their last panic viewing! On Saturday I was running the boot sale when I spotted the tell-tale plume of dust followed by the appearance of Paul and John Cherry’s combine…

The dust announces the neighbours are harvesting,
And sends me quickly into a spin,
While I am busy at the boot sale,
They are getting their harvest in!

I must go and inspect my crops,
Even though I know the score!
I dash down to the furthest field,
The oats are just as they were before!

But what if by chance we could get the wheat?
Other fields have to be seen!
When I look closer at the crop,
The straw and ears are still quite green!

So I slunk off back down to the boot sale,
“Where did you dash to,” they all say?
“Did that green combine get you going?”
“Nah!” I replied, “I’m not bothered today!”

Surprise First Fruit!

Posted on August 10, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Some forty years ago my mother and father planted a mulberry tree in front of the farm. Three years ago my father, who is much more of an expert on these things than I’ll ever be, pronounced the tree dead. As we were busy we never got around to cutting it down and it grew leaves and survived. This year, for the first time ever, it is showing signs of preparing to shower us with fruit. We have been discussing what we may do with the fruit…

We were to cut down the Mulberry bush,
The Mulberry bush, the Mulberry bush,
We’d cut it up to make some logs,
But we haven’t had the time!

There is fruit on the Mulberry bush!
The Mulberry bus, the Mulberry bush!
We going to pick fruit from the Mulberry bush,
For the very first time!

We will be making Mulberry gin!
Mulberry gin, Mulberry gin,
We’re going to make cocktails from the Mulberry gin,
And it will taste better than wine!

… and you’re all welcome to come and taste!

First Flight!

Posted on August 9, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Yesterday I sat down on the grass in the sunshine with a cup of tea. Something stirred and I was shocked to see thousands of flying ants being cleared for take-off. It was the first time they’d used their new wings yet they didn’t crash or collide with one another. Despite their wingmen attacking my arms, I was filled with awe…

How do they do it,
Without air traffic control?
They take off altogether,
And perform a barrel roll!

No “Roger, Wilco!” radio calls,
No autopilot – right!
No safety checks to ground them,
Or passengers in fright!

So if you see flying ants,
Salute them as they pass,
It’s us who need assistance,
They just need some grass!

Up On The Roof!

Posted on August 8, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

We’ve had the roofers in and when I took them a cup of tea mid-morning I found myself singing an old Drifter’s hit – ‘Up on the roof!’ I think they’d heard it before as they raised their eyes to the sky although they may have been checking for rain. I was amazed that despite the rough-looking state of the cedar-wood shingles, there were a few more years life there, however ‘a stitch in time saves a Drifter-esque rhyme’…

When this old world starts getting you down,
And buckets are just too much for me to face,
I climb way up to the top of the stairs,
And all my cares drip right into place!
On the roof it’s slippery as can be,
And you can slide right off the edge you see!
Let me tell you now,
When I’m in plaster from my head to feet,
I know my life is now good and complete!
(Up on the roof)
I lie in the ward feeling bruised and proud,
I can’t feel my hands, nor my feet
On the roof,
There is only one place that I know,
Where you just have to slip to make it so!
Let’s go up on the roof
Up on the roof…

With massive apologies to Gerry Goffin and Carole King. My only defence being that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Full song available on u-tube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7F_opWg9_qI

Reflections!

Posted on August 7, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I needed to look in the mirror the other day and realized with surprise how few we have in our house! I use one to shave and one to sometimes brush my hair/straighten an occasional tie and that’s about it! However it’s hardly surprising when you consider what a shock my reflection can be…

I looked in the mirror,
What did I see?
A strange old man,
Starred back at me!

His teeth were all crooked,
His hair was askew,
I said to myself,
“This can’t be you!”

“That can’t be me,”
As I reached for a drink!
I gave up on the mirror,
Don’t care what folk think!

Went out to the farm,
Fed the ducks, hens and geese,
Not one of them noticed,
Forgot my false teeth!

Walked across,
To where the grass is,
Suddenly knew the answer,
Give up my glasses!

The Farmer’s Back-up Team!

Posted on August 6, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I have been caught out! For years I have attempted, through the use of long words and the phrase ‘it’s complicated’, to make it look as if my flirtation with the soil as a farmer involved a degree of skill. Recently a friend asked me to identify a weed in his garden in front of guests. He prefixed the request with the words: “You’re a farmer, you’ll know what this weed is!” I was flummoxed, not even Google or ‘phone a friend’ could get me out of this one. I had to admit that I employ a saviour called ‘David’, who walks the fields and advises me on all things agronomic! The truth was out. As the disappointed crowd dispersed and the tumbleweed blew past I could feel the word ‘pillock’ writ large upon my persona…

David walks the fields fortnightly,
Looking for pests and weeds,
Then comes with recommendations,
And supplies my chemical needs.

He writes out a recommendation,
(this stuff costs more than Scotch!)
And then a list of what to order,
I know well not to potch!

Then it’s on to James the contractor,
To tell him what, when and where,
He then comes and sprays the crops,
And alleviates the scare.

So next time you ask this farmer,
To identify a weed,
You’d do better to ring his advisor,
As this farmer’s gone to seed!

The Last Sunflower!

Posted on August 5, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Next to the car boot sale, in a field of beans, we have a single sunflower. It is the last remnants of a crop grown nine years ago. It stands alone like a colourful beacon in a sea of green. Perhaps it is a sign that I should grow the crop once more…

All alone
in a field of beans
the lonely sunflower
knows what solitude means!

Nobody to talk to
no-one will listen
no-one to see
her petals glisten!

Passing motorists
however look and say:
“That lonesome sunflower
has just made my day!”

If there’s a lesson
from this ground
it’s that unexpected gifts
in unusual places found!

A Cloudy Spillage!

Posted on August 3, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

This morning the clouds have a reddish hue overlaying dark! It seems strange to me that something so obviously physical is just a collection of water droplets that you can fall through (if unlucky) and fly through (if lucky!). It is little wonder that early man thought it was home to the Angry Gods that warned people with thunder and smote the wicked with lightening. However this morning’s colour looks remarkably like tractor diesel…

Looking up,
At the clouds,
This morning,
0530 hours,
(Army time).
It looked as if,
Someone up there,
Had spilt red diesel,
On the clouds,
When filling,
A heavenly tractor!
The Environment Agency,
Won’t like that,
At all.
God is in,
For a hefty fine!