J. Karst Journey in West Berkshire

J. Karst’s Journey in West Berkshire

 ‘Welcome to the new edition of this Parish Newsletter. I am a full-time working mum of 2 boys and a published novelist of ‘The Ninth Cross’ by my pen name J. Karst. I get involved in trying that little bit I can in saving the environment for the future generations.’

             The sun is here and the ‘English rose complexion’ natives turned into an NHS Burn skin chart. The individuals with 2nd degree burns will be dousing themselves in skin oil to look suntanned like their 4th degree burn counterparts. My own husband is one of those natives that is greeted by our kids ‘How, large red bull’ when he walks inside the house. Despite never going brown, he will spend hours sunbathing and I have seen him going through 50 shades of red in the last 20 years.

Thankfully my garage doesn’t retain heat, which is fabulous for now, but I promise to moan about it in the winter when my freezing numb fingertips try to squeeze the odd crisp packet into the relevant box.

I do need to report the success of our metal collection which so far reached the £1406.91. ‘Help for Heroes’ and ‘Penny Brohn UK, living with Cancer’ were handed £703.45 each. This is amazing but it wouldn’t be possible without the kind people who drop metal to me and my neighbours allowing me to raid their skip.

I also have a follow up on the ‘squirrel’ situation.  Being a strong, powerful English man, my husband decided to stop the squirrel stealing the bird seed. However, the furry ninja warrior managed to get to the birdseed despite of all restrictions my husband put in place. As if it wanted to mock his effort, it enjoyed the challenges and waited for my husband to finish building the restrictions only to ballet through the second he was gone.  

Blue line pumping on his forehead, I started to be worried for my husband’s health. It clearly wasn’t the squirrel who was going to snap first. Eventually, my husband announced that he fixed the squirrel. I was shocked. I didn’t even consider that my husband would be the ‘cull’ type, but I suppose everyone has their final straw. I gone to check the garden which was back to what it used to was but now sported a new squirrel feeding station. Two new occupants were munching on the nuts only glancing at my direction in case I was about to get a little closer.

We supply an expensive gold-plated RSPB bird seed for the feathery scroungers and kitten biscuits for the prickly-poop machines (aka. Hedgehogs). From now on we need to accommodate for the squirrel dietary requirements. I wonder what happens when a fox or a badger realise that we are complete suckers for wildlife and move in…

           

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