Wet and windy.

Each and every "bank holiday" weekend in England is typified by weather that generally makes it a hazard to tow a caravan into the Lake District. This, however, does not deter the great British campers and caravanners, and many thousands of people, in true "blitz" spirit, do exactly THAT.

A veritable oasis of summery weather has indeed been punctuated by a colder snap, with some pretty high winds. The flushing of spring has been brought crashing back down to earth in the shape of fresh green foliage, strewn around the highways and byways of our great nation.

And as far as the windy weather goes..... well.....

A couple of days attendance at the Barge and Barrel spring bank beer festival has also had rather windy consequences for a certain blog author too. Coupled with a couple of pints of the Riverhead's finest brews this weekend.... well, as you can imagine.... I've been declared a national emergency and am strictly a no-go zone!!

Baby birds. There's tons of them at the moment. Starlings that nested in my roof are driving myself and my neighbours a bit mad with their constant skriking for worms. Bluetits are buzzing around in the garden and giving my nuts a severe pecking. Dunnocks that seemed to have jumped the gun slightly, and indeed jumped out of the nest too early, are all thriving and starting to grow "real" feathers instead of those fluffy crap ones that don't fly too good. Today I saw the first baby robin in the tree too..... with its stubby little wings and fluffy feathers ruffled in the wind. If they can manage to stay still in this wind then it looks like a good year for the birds.

Slugs. They've started eating my red hot poker. I stuck some slug pellets down, but am praying that the birds (mentioned above) can recognise the difference between juicy worms, tasty table treats, and deadly poison!! Bloody slugs!! The birds should be eating them, but then (and I know we've had this discussion before about slug recipes) would you really want to?

Corgi horribilis.

Cast your minds back.... back.... back..... you are feeling sleepy.... wait, that's the wrong sketch.

Cast your minds back to January the 20th.

What were you doing? No, I don't know either.

What was Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh doing?

Well, if you are sitting comfortably, then I will begin......

He was shooting peasants at Sandringham... Oh, did I say peasants? I meant pheasants, but I am sure he wouldn't be bothered which of the two he fired at.

During this pleasant little country pursuit, the party of eight's enjoyment was positively ruined, when a fox ran out from beneath a minion's Doc Martened foot.

The shout went up "Fox, fox" and nobody could have argued with the astute level of animal recognition. Then, somebody's gun went off, and someone else's too.... a few shots were fired (presumably so you couldn't pin it on any one of them - like murder on the orient express) and the fox fell wounded.

Poor old uncle fox.... he lay there wounded for a while until one of the minions promptly stepped forward and coshed it with a flagpole.

Hoorah!!

The fun recommenced and those bloody peasants didn't know what was hitting them.

Five minutes later, it was all over and the minion returned to the fox, stamped on it, dragged it twenty yards, finally throwing it into a hedge.

They don't call them beaters for no good reason.

Well, as a kindred spirit, I am appalled at this sort of behaviour. I thank the woodwose that someone cares enough to stand up to it.

Enter Mark McGowan (performance artist, vegetarian, and animal rights activist).

Live on radio, he ate a corgi. The queen's favourite dog. He bloody well ate one.

If you were ever going to forsake your vegetarian principles, then this is the way to do it in style.

Mark was reported to say that it tasted "disgusting".

(for anyone interested - the corgi died at a breeding farm, and was minced with apples and onion)

I will stick with slugs.

Day three.

It's official. The monsoon season has claimed the market town of Barnsley. A crack team of police divers has been sent in, armed with free snorkels for everyone, and Barnsley has been widely acclaimed as being the Venice of the north.

All hail the new waterworld.

June, and it's been raining non-stop for three days now. I tried to fashion an ark, in order to escape the rising water, but armed with three empty plastic milk bottles and some duck tape.... well, let's just say I never watched Blue Peter, but I now have a milk bottle mobile hanging above my bed. It's pretty but I doubt it will save many lives.

I have turned the central heating on. Madness..... sheer and utter madness.

I can live with the cold.... I can live with the rain...... It's the bloody dankness that gets to me. There's no real daylight, it's grey and miserable, and very very dull. It is indeed grim up north.

Lately I have been made to imagine what life would be like without thumbs. I think I will elaborate on this tomorrow.

Slugs?? Eating them??? Preserved in salt????

So, I set about trying to find out if any of this were true. Do people eat slugs? What recipes are available? How do you cook them? What if they've been eating poisonous plants??

Anyroad, despite my pescetarian tendencies, and the fact that I will get called a bunny hugger, killing slugs does not cause me any emotional turmoil.

Cooking pot in hand, I venture out into the garden.

You know what? Slugs don't actually taste of much, and if you marinade them in vinegar (as opposed to salt - you silly Yorkshire Pudding) then the slime comes away quite easily.

So, armed with the concept that I can now eat anything that might trouble me...... I have feasted upon: Slug broth; Roland rat stew; Steven the squirrel enchiladas, and Gerry the gas meter reader fricassee.

Tune in tomorrow for an exciting thumb experiment.

One, two, three, four, I wish my thumb wasn't quite so sore.