Oh deer
I saw a deer.
True.
A little one.
Wallabie size, if you will.
We were in Essex (i think) on the way to a cricket game, and this snack sized dear just trots across the road.
No where near any Deer Xing signs, which is risky.
I believe it is my first ever wild Deer sighting.
I think I held back the desire to say “shoot it”, although, maybe not.
Somehow I held all my enthusiasm in.
I didn’t want to sound like one of those wankers who sees a kangaroo jumping over the road and starts to squeal and excrete yelps of pure excitement.
But I don’t see many deers.
There were very few in Melbourne.
long grass
The other day I was walking around and I found myself in long grass. Not long long, but knee high.
Suddenly my childhood instinct kicked in and I moved back to where the low grass was.
Why?
Because I was worried there might be snakes in the grass.
In Australia, especially in the dry northern suburbs of Melbourne, long grass means “poisonous will-kill-you-for-accidentally-stepping-on-it snakes”.
Here I was in urban London, worried a Tiger snake was gonna latch on to me.
Where I grew up long grass was a no go area, especially if you saw the grass move oddly.
Golf balls were lost, pants were sullied, and more than a few lizards were mistaken for their killer cousins.
England does have one poisonous snake, The Adder (Vipera berus).
It has killed ten people in the last 49 years.
Not a great strike rate.
And they aren’t a London based snake either, they are based, I can’t be bothered looking it up, but not in London, so it clearly doesn’t matter to me.
There are very few things that kill you ever here, squirrels, buses to close to the curbs, fried chicken, and adders.
But I bet the next time I am walking somewhere with long grass I bet I’ll jump out of it.
One more killer squirrel
It has been a long time since I have written about the killer squirrels.
Ofcourse I have seen them around alot.
That’s right squirrels, I fucken see you, in the trees with your red ragey eyes looking at me, I just choose to ignore you.
A few days back I couldn’t help but notice the little violent fucker, as I walked too close to a tree, and one dropped out right in front of me.
We both froze.
We both knew the score, I am the natural enemy of the squirrel.
There i stood with a cricket ball in my hand, and there he stood with the look of a million serial killers in his eyes.
Violence was bound to ensue.
Out of nowhere a football hit the fence, in broke our stand off, and he did the bolt.
This was not a victory to me, it was more like how king kong “won” his fight against Godzilla.
One thing is for sure, the feud between me and the squirrels is far from over.
My new favourite chips
Cajun Squirrel
It’s about time those filthy little fuckers had some use.
Literally an aussie in Cornwall: dogs
Cornwall is an interesting place.
No big towns.
Windy roads with hedges giving a claustrophobic feel.
Friendly people who say juurnee.
And dogs.
So many dogs.
Almost all the “tourist attractions” had in their literature the phrase dog friendly.
Even the ones that clearly weren’t, like Bodmin Jail.
In one afternoon in Tintagel, a coastal town I will discuss later, I saw more dogs than I had ever seen before.
Don’t believe me.
Well….
these 3 i took from inside the bar
this one rode in a 4wd with me, it smelt nice,
this one is dressed, cruelty to animals
this one was in the pub, and came under our table, i gave it a little kick in the throat for fun
This is about 1/5th of the dogs i saw in 3 hours.
True story.
Literally an aussie in Cornwall: donkeys
I spent a week in Cornwall.
Lots of interesting times were had.
Unfortunately I didn’t go to their best tourist destination.
A theme park all about donkeys.
They are so excited about donkeys down there that they say it three times.
If you were to open a male strip club you could do worse than use that name though.
I can’t believe there is anywhere in the world where donkeys could be exciting enough that you would a) use the word 3 times, b) be exciting enough to draw a crowd, or c) make money off them.
Apparently back in the day young English people use to ride donkeys on the beach.
Although the guide who told me that is hardly trustworthy.
I had a picture of young public schoolboys resplendent in uniform and cap riding a donkey on pebbles as a naked asian woman held a carrot in front of the donkeys nose leading it towards a masquerade ball full of people smothering each other with clotted cream.
As seen on TV.
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