J. Karst Recycling Journey in West Berkshire
‘Welcome to the new edition of this Guest Blog. 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 weekend was mad but very productive indeed. We are nearing one-thousand-pound target we can transfer to the charities – Hedgehog bottom and Canine Partners. Its always a pleasure to do the funds transfer as it makes the whole recycling venture rewarding.
However, I have had some bad drop offs recently so I do need to reiterate that I cannot recycle used COVID tests or rotting food. These problems are pushing my patience to the limit and if anything is going to make me stop it would be this. That would be sad to stop so please take a note and spread the word.
On the other note, the grey squirrel claimed permanent residency in our back garden and brought in some mates. The back garden turned into pearl harbour battle scene where birds dive down onto the ginger enemies, pecking them continuously. The grey enemy isn’t taking much of a notice, like a chilled teenager they hung upside down, head stuck in the birdfeeder filling their cheeks with bird food.
This whole situation isn’t helped by another new regular, a hungry hawk, who uses my garden to do his grocery shopping. He sits like a statue and checks out the chubby pigeons. One he made his choice he waits for the birds to create a formation for an attack and then dives in for his dinner.
I then rush in to pick up the victim’s feathers, so my husband doesn’t get sad at losing another feathery friend. Its near impossible to hide the disappointment this week for as soon as my husband walked into the garden to see what the noise was about, the mid-flight hawk lost a grip and dropped his cargo in front of him.
That’s why our household is on a squirrel warpath. let’s be honest, my husband is on a squirrel warpath because the squirrels aren’t. Totally oblivious they nosh on the expensive bird seed and see the random interaction with hand gesturing human as a comic intervention to their normal day. They enjoy the human interaction as they don’t bother to run away to hide. Nicely perched on higher branches they watch the human short comic number whilst munching on whatever is in their stuffed cheeks. Occasionally they twitch their tails as if they had just marked his performance.
I am fully aware that once I see my husband training the next-door cat on ‘super combat’ by forcing it to watch Arnold Schwarzenegger movies, I might need to seek a professional help…
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