Of course - October 8th - World Octopus Day!

Tell me, O Octopus, I begs
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
​I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I'd call me Us.
​by Ogden Nash

and as little Daisy rightly remembered he also wrote 'The Duck'

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
​A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
​Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
​It bottom ups.

Wattlebury School had invited local astronomer Stella Stargazer in to talk to the youngsters about the forthcoming Meteor Shower. To say they were inspired would be an understatement. 
"It will come from the direction of the constellation of Draco the dragon and the Draconids are caused by Earth's atmosphere coming into contact with debris rock and dust from a passing comet. The peak time to see the shooting stars is tomorrow around 9 p.m. Can we stay up late and watch? Please Great Uncle Gordon!" pleaded Digby.
​"I was named after a comet," said Dandy as he hurried towards Pauly's Library.
​I explained that he was named after a Comic. 
"I'll come with you Dandy," said Dick, the young Peacock. "Pauly can be a bit fierce at times."
​The boys asked Pauly if they could look in her Reference books for ideas as they had been told to bring something into school on Monday relating to Astrology.​

But Pauly had definitely got out of the nest the wrong side and was having none of it. She sent them packing with a flea in their ear.
​Drongo was watching proceedings from a safe distance and felt a little sorry for the keen young lads. He had an idea! 
​Tom, Dick, Digby and Dandy were seen running along the path to the Wattlebury stores a short time afterwards and are sure their Teacher will be thrilled when she sees what they have brought in on Monday.
​A Milky Way, a Galaxy, a Mars bar and a packet of Starburst!

"Good morning Gordon. What sort of a night did you have?" Mum was leaning at a strange angle. 
​I replied that it had been an uneventful one, the sort of which I am always grateful for.
​"I didn't sleep at all well. That is why I am walking skew-whiff. I'm sure there was something hard in the bed." And with that Mum zigzagged off with a buckled gait.
​It reminded me of The Princess and The Pea story. But of course Mum was no Princess and whether or not there was a pea under the mattress remains unknown. Although Mum does make a fuss about a single grain of corn if it drops into her Welly Boot. Perhaps she does have royal connections after all?
​"Do tell us about The Princess and The Pea please, Great Uncle Gordon!" ​

​So I climbed onto the upturned bucket and tried to remember the tale.
​"The story tells of a handsome Prince who wants to marry a Princess, but is having difficulty finding a suitable wife. Some are too fat, some are too thin, some are ugly, some are greedy and he just can't be sure they are real princesses. One stormy night a young woman soaked by the rain seeks shelter in the Castle. She claims to be a Princess, so the Queen  decides to test their unexpected guest by putting a pea in the bed she is offered for the night. Then she covered it with 20 mattresses and 20 feather-beds. In the morning, the young woman tells the Prince and his family that she had endured a sleepless night, kept awake by something hard in the bed that she is certain has bruised her. The Prince is jubilant! Only a real Princess would have the sensitivity to feel a pea through such a quantity of bedding, so the two are married."
​Seemingly satisfied with that version of the tale, the youngsters got on with their grub-controlling duties. 

​"When I get back to Wattlebury Cottage I will definitely have a look to see if there is a pea under the mattress Gordon! I will let you know."
And off lopsided Mum.

Later:
​"Nanny! You have uncovered my most treasured piece of Pig's Ear that I had hidden from Harvey!" Honey was inconsolable. 
​Certainly no Princess then!

It was a fine morning at Wattlebury. The sun was out, the wind was lively and Mum's washing was bouncing gaily on the line at Wattlebury Cottage. 
​"What's that noise Gordon?" Mum bustled to our gate and peered over, craning her neck in a Pauly sort of way. Three large Openreach lorries had completely blocked our farm lane.
​"Aaah - they must have come to replace that broken pole Gordon!"
​A car - a red one from the evidence left on the stump that was once a pole - had taken the corner a tad too fast about six months ago and BT promised to replace the telegraph pole when they had got permission from the Highways people to close Wattlebury Lane off. The wire had been 'temporarily' tied with a piece of string to a nearby tree! So today was the day!
​"I won't actually be able to get my car out Gordon - but I expect they will have done the job before it's time to go and get the washing in." Mum assured me.
​We expected wrong. Two and a half hours later and the three vehicle crew were still drinking out of their flasks (which must have nearly run dry) waiting for the Highways people.
​"I shall have to leave the car here and walk back, Gordon. It is a lovely morning. I will take some pictures for you on my way."
​And with that we bade Mum farewell as she meandered and weaved her way into the distance with her trusty camera held aloft. Gordon xxx

It is with a heavy heart that I have to tell you about our dear Mickey. He recently passed away very peacefully curled up in his favourite place in the haybarn. Not something any of us were expecting. Mickey arrived with us seven years ago when his owner could no longer look after him and was destined for The Fate that none of us talk about. 
​We were slightly in awe of him, but he never harmed any of us in any way and he could tell the most fantastic Tales. We loved hearing his growly voice recounting fantastic sagas and Sylvia was especially pleased when the little ones were captivated by his sometimes slightly bizarre stories -  as it kept them out of mischief for a while.   

But it meant that we no longer had a Storyteller. Sylvia decided to advertise for a replacement. And no sooner than she had put the word out, than two likely lads who reside in our Paddock put their names forward. Curly and Sammy. Two of Farmer Richard's rams.
"Well, dear" she said to Sammy. "Why do you think you will be suitable for this role?"
​Sammy thought for a while and replied that he would be very patient with the young cockerels and pullets, but not ramble on too much.
​"And you Curly? Why do you think you might be suitable for the job?"
Curly replied almost at once "I can spin a yarn."
​And what Sylvia was looking for in the new recruit, was someone like Mickey who could tell a story that is an interesting and imaginative one, but not necessarily true....
​"Curly! You have the job! Well done - and I am sure that Sammy will be able to stand in at times when you are busy."
Gordon & Sylvia xxx

The very mature and flourishing ivy over one of our loose boxes was abuzz this morning. Scores of insects and bees darted in and out of the flowers stocking up on the valuable source of nectar to stand them in good stead for the impending winter months. And then we spotted them! A beautiful pair of Red Admiral butterflies. They alighted on the side of the barn soaking up the warm October sunshine and then fluttered back to the ivy.
​Vanessa atalanta - as they are also known (what a lovely name!) is one of the last butterflies to be seen before winter sets in. It may be that they will hibernate - or just rest up if the weather doesn't get too cold and go for a fly around on a sunny winter's day. And probably they will lay their eggs in the nettle beds. Which goes to show how important the plants that we often speak unkindly of are, in fact a lifeline to these beautiful creatures. We wish them well.

Tommy Peacock looked interested - I was unsure as to whether he was sizing it up for a snack.
"Is there not a Butterfly named after me?" He enquired.
​I told him that indeed there was and it's Latin name was Aglais io.
​Tommy was not impressed. Gordon xxx

The debate this morning was whether we were in the midst of Autumn or Fall. We felt that Autumn was an English word and Fall was American - but was this the case? With our learned friend, Harvest, having passed on to that great Duckpond in the sky and her dear little understudy, Josie, also having flown up to dibble in the Eternal Reedbeds, we turned to Pauly Turkey. Pauly had (reluctantly at first) become our Number One Librarian, and was now fiercely protective about her new role.

"The older of the two words is autumn, which first came into English in the 1300s from the Latin word autumnus. It comes from the 
 ancient Etruscan root autu- and has within it connotations of the passing of the year," she announced whilst peering closely at us to see if we were paying attention.

​"After the Roman era, the word continued to be used as the Old French word autompne (automne in modern French) or autumpne in Middle English. Both autumn and fall were born in Britain, and both emigrated to America. But autumn was, by far, the more popular term for quite a long time." Pauly stopped to adjust her pince-nez.
​"Fall derives from an Old English verb, but it wasn’t used as a noun to designate the season until the 16th century. This use most likely developed from the Middle English expression “fall of the leaf.” So what did Old English speakers call the season? --- Harvest."
​We like that a lot. 

Good morrow Everyone! After a head-scratching interlude, I am back on the blog! Even with my new techno-savvy nieces and nephews to advise me on the wonders of computing, I have been unable to update you on our goings on at Wattlebury. At last the team we rely on in America have deemed it possible for me to continue with my Diary. Thank you. But it certainly took a while - and all the time they made me think it was my incompetence. Well, really!
​Enough of this - we need to get back to the business of everyday importance - like the new Chicken Treats that Dad has sourced for us and the acorns that are ricocheting off the tin roof at an alarming rate.
​I will dig out a few summer photos that Mum has taken - a reminder that we are now heading well into autumn again as this morning is grey, drear, wet and windy. Good to talk to you again my friends.
​Love Gordon and Sylvia xxx

It's not every morning that you look out of your window and see about 200 Geese wandering past. But it was one such morning for Mum! After the maize was cut, the soil has been raked and agitated and is obviously a culinary delight for all passing souls (particularly geese and corvids).  Canada geese have a diet of  grass, roots, cereal leaves and spilled grain. The occasional small insect does not offend either. How we should have liked to have been there sorting through the bug-life at first light with them!

With much honking and grottling the Canada geese dibbled into the earth and walked systematically across the field. Some stood tall and proud, scanning the surroundings - on the look out for danger. Others argued amongst themselves and chivvied slow-coaches along. With their striking white cheeks and chin-strap on their jet black heads they made a stunning picture.

But as one party neared the garden gate it became apparent that a pair of geese were definitely in charge. A male and female Grey Lag! Although quite a big smaller than the Canadas (but very stout and chunky) they were most certainly the bosses and stood no truck at all. By comparison their yellow beaks shone brightly, although their coats were far less  striking than their bigger companions. Gordon xxx