A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood.

Spring is early and I'm excited! Is it the hormones playing up? Have I finally lost it? 

Some of you may not understand how a garden can be exciting. It should be a place of tranquility and contemplation. Well, sometimes it is, but whilst the weeds are growing all around you, rest is but a fickle companion.

However, along with the weeds, the thousands of plants carefully put to bed last year are awakening and bursting forth.

Everything is growing, from roses to bananas, from willows to weeds. Even the lotus is stirring from its murky depths, the palms are reaching upwards, the fish are yawning and the birds are bonking.

This year the changes should be stunning. Starting here. Starting now.

Meanwhile, the forest is developing, evolving, growing. The ruined gates at its entry are becoming more ruined.

Inside is a new veg patch with tractor tyres for tomatoes and strawberries, plus table and bench for sitting and watching me dig it...

and on the bench...

A mouse took a stroll 

through the deep dark wood.

 A fox saw the mouse 

and the mouse looked good.

 On went the mouse through the deep dark wood.

An owl saw the mouse and the mouse looked good.

 On went the mouse through the deep dark wood.

A snake saw the mouse and the mouse looked good.

Erm. The snake's in the post. And it's a worm. The snakes were too scary..

"My Favourite Food!" the Gruffalo said.

"You'll look nice on a slice of bread!"

OK - So the gruffalo needs a bit of work...

Silly old Phil. Doesn't he know? 

There's no such thing as a Gruffalo?

Further into the Deep Dark Wood the Gruffalo tree house has gained a penthouse.

All was quiet in the deep dark wood.

The mouse found a nut, and the nut was good.

The Saga Ends

It seems that, as we plunge towards an uncertain future, we may have been wrong about the root cause of the terminal need of our Great British Empire to leave Europe.

It seems that Dark Powers may not have been behind this chaos. It now appears to be caused simply by normal people.

Normal people voted for leaving Europe and normal people voted to stay. Normal people are confused about what is or isn't going on, and normal people are right pissed off with it.

And so begs the question. What is a normal person? Who is a normal person?

Humanity finds itself spread over a wide bell-curve, from those at one extreme end whom love cats, to the other end that love dogs. One end that love life, beauty and sex, and the other end such as, erm, catholics. From terrorists at one end, to tree huggers at the other.

Right smack in the middle is the normal person. Dead centre is Mr Normal and Mrs Normal. Other options are available.

It was my job to find Mr & Mrs Normal and destroy them by public humiliation.

And so to our last chance to divert the Totally Bloody Dis-United Kingdom from its suicidal path. After much research, study and hanging around in Toulouse Airport, we picked the worlds two most likely candidates and took them deep into the pyrenees for further study.

Once more under the guise of a skiing trip. 

Only this time with added snow!

 Although not a lot.

Here are our likely suspects. Next to Soggy-bottom sits Mrs Cecelia Normal. They are both supping at perfectly normal mulled wine.

 And then the apparently perfectly normal Mr Roger Normal...

 This was clearly going to be a difficult and exhausting task. The usual refreshments were required.

The four of us set off for a mornings skiing.

I carefully watched Mr & Mrs Normal for any sign of abnormal behaviour.

In places the snow was rather thin.

These were, perhaps, not ideal conditions for skiing, although it appeared that Mr normal skied as well as any normal man, earning him the nickname 'Reckless' Roger. Here he is steaming down a black run. Or maybe a green one...

 So far, so normal.

Psychological study was the first task. It is well known that inside the normal male head are lots of boxes. One for the car. One for the wife. One for disrupting the British Empire.
This is me explaining the theory to a recalcitrant audience...

Here's a box shaped thing as found in mens' brains.

(I sometimes have to go to extreme lengths trying to fit my photos into a some kind of a cogent storyline.)
The normal woman's brain, on the other hand, is more like this.

 And a dogs'...

So much for a cogent storyline.

By the afternoon the snow was classified as 'claggy' and skis were discarded. Instead we walked on a newly discovered route circling around our favourite bar. Always a safe choice.

Having studied Mr & Mrs Normal's psychological profile for a while, I began to have the slightest of doubts about my quarry, but I continued with my studies.

The next day, three of us spent the morning skiing, 'Reckless' having given up. This, I was told, was perfectly normal behaviour.
That afternoon we set out from our abode by foot, heading into the mountainous forest.

We made it as far a viewpoint over our valley. This was as far as we could get, as the sun was getting low. This was thought to coincide with oncoming nighttime.

 The last rays of the sun lit the distant monastery, the same one encountered in the previous blog,

thus showing what a bloody good camera I have.

As we turned back, I mentioned that, further into the mountains, lived a hermit couple, Mr & Mrs Hermit. This interested Mr & Mrs Normal who wished to visit them. We thus decided to set off early the next day, on foot, forgoing claggy skiing, and attempt the impossible. A complete circuit of the local mountain.
This is the sort of thing normal people do. Or so I was told.

 The initial climb was off piste, steep and covered by the wrong kind of leaves. Lots of them.

 'Soggy Bottom' was lagging behind, as soggy bottoms do.

After much walking, slipping and climbing, we arrived at the hermits watermill. Mrs Normal stopped for a rest, not realising the danger she was in. She was sat on a bridge known locally to be a troll dwelling.

 And Lo! The troll appeared! Horror!!!

It was a while before we realised that it was indeed (as the more perceptive among you may have realised) 'Reckless' Roger. My suspicions that, just possibly, 'Reckless' may not be perfectly normal, were beginning to be realised.

After further climbing, we arrived breathlessly at the hermit abode.

We stopped to pass the time of day. Mr & Mrs Hermit have lived in this god-forsaken place for many many years, and have already been the subject of a blog here.
It is fair to say that these people are not normal. I'm quite sure that they, themselves, would agree. To be even more fair, they would probably be found as far away from the centre of the bell-curve as is possible. Compared to these fine people, Mr & Mrs normal could be seen as extremists.

 We left this fine abode and headed for a nearby forest track to continue our walk.
The snow got thicker, our legs got more tired. How long can normal people go on in these conditions? We had, of course, been here before, when we had attempted this route in our car. Idiots. Blog here: Certain doom.

It was a total of twelve kilometres walking and climbing higher and higher, to reach the ski station (over four hours) where our beers were awaiting us. We stopped there for a while to watch Wales finish their superb six-nations rugby match.

Both Mr & Mrs Normal behaved absolutely normally by ignoring the match and playing with their phones.
Once refreshed we started our decent by road, a further nine kilometres of winding torture. We arrived home as darkness descended, coinciding nicely with the sun doing a similar thing.

And so, finally, thankfully, our saga comes to an end. Were these two fine specimens actually normal? Did they require humiliating? Was this the chance to save the empire?

 You can make your own mind up....

It was time to leave these fine mountains, knowing that they remain there for us, a permanent retreat in times of chaos. Somehow the hermits' life seems more and more attractive.

Thanks for reading guys. It's time I had a lie down...

The Saga Continues - The Fellowship of the Snook

"Give us back our sovereignty!" They chanted in their millions. "We want our own government to make our own rules!" They cried.

That would be the same government that couldn't organise a pissing competition in a toilet? Clearly there is something wrong, something amiss. 

Has someone been meddling? Has someone been interfering with our benighted country?

Of course.

It can only be the Dark Lord...

To find and defeat the Dark Lord, we six adventurers set off into the depths of Mordor. Six adventurers under the guise of the Snooker Club off for a skiing weekend.

On the left we have 'Two Drinks' Mifa, one of the little people, so named because, well it's obvious really. Next to her is the Elven Corine, then Lady "Chatterly" Natalie, so named because of the number of donkeys with missing legs, and the frequent ripping off of clothing. Then the infamous 'Elf 'Azard. Next; 'Soggy Bottom' and finally the second of the little people, '50mm' Ian.

Six adventurers making up the Fellowship of the Snook.

Our cunning plan immediately fell into problems. First was the Snooker Club cover, as only two of us played snooker. And even that was debatable.

Then the skiing bit. For skiing you generally need snow...

Ah. There's a bit.

After much discussion, involving copious amounts of food and drink, we set off into the forest.

 The Deep Dark Forest.

 At the end of the first day, we achieved dizzying heights, but spotted no evil ones.

although here are two suspicious looking characters. (Thanks to '50mm' Ian for this photo. Good luck with your f-stops Ian)

The next day found us deeper in the Deep Dark Woods.

 The skies started to darken. The form of a giant ring could be seen. Surely a sign?

 We even spotted some more snow...

Soggy Bottom found some too...

We were getting close.
Close to giving up.

On our final morning, we tried a different tactic. We headed off in the open, camouflaged as simple peasants.

Suddenly we saw something shocking! (A dead badger)

 We climbed Mount Doom to find an ominous building surrounded by the dead.

Finally we had found what we came for. Two formidable creatures in white dresses. What wizardry was this? Surely these were two of the White Walkers? Sarumen? Sauron?
Nope. Worse.
They were the dreaded Catholics. It appears that not all of them are in prison!

We had to escape quickly, as the bar was closing soon.

Darkness descended upon our quest. The fellowship was broken. Britain was doomed to continue its disorganised pissing competition...

However.

Unknown to the broken fellowship, their search had alerted the Dark Side. They were now known to the darker powers.

He that shall not be named had already infiltrated their little band.

One of them had been turned to the Dark Side.

His words may give him away...

“The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner."

Now I am the master.”

"No, Luke, I am your father"