Monday, 9 April 2018

Bourke's parrots and chestnuts

It's been unseasonably hot and dry.

We normally get a dry autumn, and it's not been that bad - 60 or so millimetres of rain since January, but on the other hand it's 9 days into April and it's still thirty degrees outside this afternoon.

Despite the hot weather, I've started remodelling the front garden area after the mess the builders left, not to mention the chaos caused by the guys who laid the new driveway, and I've even found and planted some Siberian dogwood (Westonbirt dogwood) tube stock.

When they grow, we should get nice red canes in winter once the leaves are off them. which should make a pretty show. We last had some of these in England, and I've been looking for some ever since we moved to Fadden. They should hopefully do well.

I've planted them in the shade of a chestnut tree growing next to J's studio, which means that they'll get sun in the morning but a bit of shade in the afternoon when things are at their hottest, and in fact when I was preparing the bed for them I worked in the afternoon, in the shade of the tree, rather than out in the sun in the morning.

And because it's chestnut time I've had a constant accompaniment of white cockatoos and king parrots feasting on the nuts (and squabbling as to who was there first).

This afternoon, however, the tree was occupied by a pair of parrots I didn't recognise

it turned out to be a pair of Bourke's parrots, a common enough arid zone parrot, but one that only moves south and east when things are hard out west on the edge of the desert, which I guess they must be just now.

Glad that the chestnut tree is providing a bit of relief for them ....

Friday, 8 December 2017

We have a node

Well, we still don't have the NBN, but we've had guys replacing cable ducts and a new node has sprouted a hundred metres or so down the street ...

so, no date yet, but soon ...

Wednesday, 26 July 2017

Ah the junk in the yard ...

I've been working in the garden recently digging out a new garden bed where the old washing line was.

And it's quite interesting - there's a layer of thick claggy brown clayey soil about 30cm thick overlaying the original orange clay and sandstone that you get around here. Soil takes sometime to build up and having 30cm suggests that it had some help along the way - either some active composting to build up the soil, or else at sometime someone brought in a load of soil from somewhere.

Our house is supposed to be around a 120 years old, and before then the land was reputed to be an orchard, and that does seem to fit - when we were building our extension we found an old cast iron federation sewer pipe, and I've found a horseshoe and some old rusty bits of agricultural tools.

The interesting thing is that there's a lot of glass in the fill including an old (broken) medicine bottle
which from my work for the National trust I would guess to be late nineteenth/early twentieth century.

However I havn't found anything datable as yet. I had a moment of excitement when I turned up a coin yesterday, but cleaning it off it turned out to be a 1984 dollar rather than anything predecimal or even earlier.

I guess basically I need to keep looking in case I turn up anything datable, plus perhaps a land registry search to find out when there was first a house on our block ....

Monday, 29 May 2017

My UK election postal vote arrived today ...

... so I ripped it up and put it in the recycling.

I did read it first and it struck me as completely irrelevant. I no longer live there or feel any connection other than a vague nostalgia and a love of BBC crime dramas, not to mention that the lack of a proportional representation system makes it highly likely that any vote I might have cast would have been the equivalent of farting during a hurricane - satisfying but totally futile.

Currently, if you're a UK citizen and no longer a resident you can vote for 15 years after you leave the UK. You're supposed to register, but they don't enforce it, and it used to be the case that the overseas elector registration process was so byzantine as to discourage registration.

More recently they've got a snappier and easier registration system - last UK address and passport number and date you left the UK and if you were on the electoral roll when you left you're back - which in my case means an electorate where if the Tories put up a chimpanzee in chintz underpants for election it would probably get in.

Now as I don't live there anymore and almost certainly will never do so again it's not my job to tell the UK election people how to run their elections, but there's recently been talk of extending the overseas elector cut off from 15 years to life.

Lifetime registration doesn't seem appropriate - once you've been away for fifteen years it is extremely unlikely that you have any direct connection or involvement, and if you come back you can always reregister ...

Thursday, 25 May 2017

The NBN is (almost) here ...

Today was a grey cold drizzly day reminiscent of York in late November.

Definitely a day to stay in and bugger about on the internet, but I decided to walk up to the post offices to collect a couple of packages that were waiting for me.

Outside there were a couple of guys fiddling about with the Telstra duct that runs down the street and a GMR truck, and I made the obvious assumption that they were doing some subcontracted work for Telstra.

But then I noticed that they had NBN logo's on their protective little temporary fences they put round the open access pits, so on the way back I asked one of the guys, who had a good Dublin accent, what was happening.

And what was happening is that they were checking the ducts and putting in draw wires for the fibre optic installation crew to come on behind them and install the cables.

It may only the beginning, but it does mean that it's finally happening ...

Wednesday, 24 May 2017


Well, we are back to being a cat keeping household. Minty, our rescue cat arrived yesterday, and as you can see he's already settling in ...

Friday, 12 May 2017

The death of cats ...

Our cat died earlier this week.

He had been very sick for a few months, growing progressively weaker and weaker, and losing strength in his back legs so that he could not run or jump, and when he did, he would pause and rest, as if movement pained him.

He was not quite ten, young for cosseted domestic cat to die, yet in the past six months he went from a strong fit mature cat to a scrawny tired sick cat.

We had noticed he seemed listless and out of sorts, but it was the lady at the cattery who first really picked up on it. When we picked him up after Christmas she said to get him checked by the vet as he looked to be developing diabetes.

He wasn't overweight, but while he'd got fat while we were both working we'd dieted him down - we'd made the bad choice of leaving food for him to graze on while we were out at work and he ballooned to nearly 10kg. He was a physically big cat, one that could easily put his paws on the kitchen bench and look at what you were doing, but 10kg was too much, and by dieting him we'd got him down to a much more reasonable 8kg, and we always fed him on good quality cat food, not the cheap stuff full of grains and fillers.

However, a trip to the vet confirmed the worst, it was diabetes.

We started him on insulin the same day, and at first it was like a wonder drug. Within a day or two he was out playing in the yard and chasing butterflies. We hoped he would stabilise, and perhaps might eventually not need insulin, and we would be able to control his diabetes by a strict diet.

His first set of blood tests were discouraging and he had his dose upped, but he did seem to brighter and recovering, and we still thought we had hope. His second set of bloods saw his dose being upped again and he went through a patch when he seemed very sick and then he started to brighten up and not spend almost all his time asleep.

We no longer hoped that he would not need insulin, but still hoped that he would come good. After all the internet is awash with stories about diabetic cats who have lived almost normal lives for years after diagnosis.

Well, he wasn't to be one of them. He was a Burmese cross, and we discovered that there's something wrong with the genetics of Burmese male cats in Australia with 12% of them developing diabetes between the ages of eight and ten.

We were resigned to him needing insulin for the rest of his life, and then we started to notice that despite getting a diet designed to maintain, and indeed increase his weight slightly, he was losing weight, he was becoming listless and tired again, and his back legs were becoming weaker.

He could no longer run, had difficulty getting onto his chair to sleep, and seem to be losing interest in life. He was a singularly incompetent hunter, but he would always try to stalk sparrows and blackbirds, most whom picked him as totally useless and thumbed their beaks at him, but he would always try to stalk them, but increasingly he would only manage a token slink.

And he would always defend his territory from other cats, but not any more, as long as another cat stayed a decent distance away he was tolerated.

We were worried. Very worried. So we took him back to the vet, who examined him a second time, palpated him, and said that he might be developing pancreatic cancer and that the damage to the pancreas had produced the initial symptoms of diabetes.

Clearly he was sick, and clearly if it was cancer there was not going to be a good outcome, so we took the decision that as he seemed to be in pain, and have difficulty walking and jumping, to have him put down.

He was no longer enjoying life, and while we could have kept him alive a little longer, he would have had more pain and become weaker.

It was one of the saddest, hardest, most difficult decisions to make. He was our friend, and a much loved member of the family.

He was first sedated and then put to sleep, and was treated very gently. We stayed with him to stroke him and reassure him, but to be honest, he was so heavily sedated he probably barely knew we were there, but we felt we owed him our love one last time.

When he was young and scared I had held his paw to reassure and soothe him and I was damned if I was not going to soothe him on his journey to the eternal dark.

When it was done we took his collar and they took his body to be cremated. We could have taken him home to bury ourselves, or have his ashes back, but we went for a simple pet cremation where his ashes, and those of any other animals that are cremated at the same time are scattered on a wildlife reserve.

It's what we would want for ourselves, so it seemed fitting for him.

And then it was back to the mundane. We took his unused insulin and syringes back to the vet to be used  for stray, homeless, or shelter cats, washed his bedding and bowls, packed everything away in boxes for the next cat, and firmly told ourselves that that would be at least eighteen months.

We posted an update about his death on facebook, and we were quite overwhelmed by the kindness and sympathy shown.

And that we thought was that. All that was left to do was mourn, and adapt to not having a cat.

There was one thing else to do - we had made a tentative booking at the cattery for Timkat for September for an overseas trip we had booked before he became seriously ill, so we needed to cancel the booking.

The cattery also takes shelter cats and cats who need to be rehomed, and when we called to cancel our booking and explain why, they asked if we wanted to take an eight year old cat who needed a new home.

Initially we thought no, but then we thought, we have cat equipment, cat food that we havn't yet taken to the cat shelter, and there is a cat who needs a home, and at eight years old may be difficult to place.

So we called back, and said yes, we'll take him and see if he fits in.

And we went to see him this morning, and he seems a nice cat.

We have to be away next week, and there's a bit of paperwork to sort out, but we'll have a new cat the week after next.

Strangely, it seems the right thing to do, despite things still feeling a bit raw.

Timkat was a shelter cat that no one much seemed to want but us, (when we adopted him he was not on show but in a back cage at the shelter, but we'd seen him on the website and asked specially to meet him as he was a good looking Burmese cross) but we took him on and both he and we got a lot out of the relationship.

So we will see how Minty goes. He'll be a different cat, but we already know he appreciates a good facerub ...