The Twitcher

Not much happening, I’m afraid to report (or not, as the case may be), but I can say that our very own Kaalvoet has gone to ground and disappeared.   Seems s/he has gone walkabout and has not been seen for some days.   Pity, since we need all the waiters we can get for the Beer business and there is a spare waiter’s uniform, apparently, in size XXXXXXXXX. This may explain my absence from these hallowed pages this last week, as if you noticed!   Or cared.    Weighing my options, I finally borrowed an air rifle with telescopic sight and took up position overlooking my rooftops, now liberally spattered with the effusion of these pesky little intruders.    I waited until a line of the little birds (they do look bigger through the scope) was in place and took aim in the hope of the pellet passing through three or even four skulls.    I had the telescopic sight focused and prepared to squeeze the trigger in the approved manner.   What I did not consider, however, was that while the scope was lined up and clear, the barrel of the rifle was several centimetres lower and directed straight into a drain pipe.    I squeezed the trigger, per the instructions, and promptly had a bowel collapse.   The pellet, travelling at several thousand metres per second apparently, set off on a journey of many parts, not least a final ricochet straight back at my head.   So it was that I reported for attention at the local hospital with a pellet lodged in my forehead and the scope lodged in my mouth, as a result of the fall from the ladder and an ensuing tumble into some rose bushes.   You will be pleased (?) to know that I am quite recovered and should soon be able to take solid food again.    As for the Mynas, they continue to spatter my rooftops with what amounts to glee and I would swear that they are multiplying at a prodigious rate.    Just you wait, you little buggers, vengeance will be mine. Otherwise, at my humble abode on the Golf Estate, we have lost sight of the Guinea Fowls that sack our broken Mealie stock every evening.   Indeed, we have lost sight of the houses and trees, even the mountains, as the grass around us grows ever higher.    It would seem that there is an unspoken agreement amongst the staff to tempt fire into the valley by growing an inordinately tall crop of grass around the Estate, so shielding us from the nightly pounding of what passes as music, which rolls up the valley from ‘Lower Clarens’.    We know not and are currently seeking the whereabouts of the main gate, to fetch in supplies for the winter.   Should readers see a flock of confused Guinea Fowls, please feed them at once – or eat them, if they are a bit on the slow side.    I’m not a bit surprised that Kaalvoet has vanished and can only hope that s/he is suitably accommodated for the duration.