Backyard holocaust

I was going to proudly tell you about the impending arrival of Mrs Golden Orb’s babies. She went to the maternity ward last Saturday (the other end of the verandah) and laid an enormous egg sac. Once it was safely anchored with some golden thread, she retreated to her web to recover. Mr Golden Orb has kept a tiny, proud eye on her. (When I say ‘tiny’ I actually mean ‘minuscule’.) Anyway, this morning, while I was still non compos mentis, the Old Boy killed the babies. That’s right; I’m going to call it as it is. I’m not prettying it up. He killed them because he didn’t want them taking up residence around our home. He’s a terrorist of the arachnid world. I was quite happy to wait and watch. I wanted to...

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A lot of “not much”.

I’m baaa-aaack! Anyone notice I went missing last week? Anyone? Last Saturday the Old Boy and I were invited to a friend’s place for “brunch”. It started at 9am. For my friends, who are very early risers, this was the middle of the morning. For me, a night owl, it was barely breakfast time. The shock to my system lasted most of the day and, somehow, the blog was overlooked. I just hope you all managed to get through the day without me. I’ve been pondering what to write about this morning. At first, as always, my mind goes to the many injustices and cruelties in the world, which we need to take a stand against and to which we need to say, “Not in my name.” However, today I’m a bit overwhelmed by it all and I just...

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