Richard Bell's nature sketchbook since 1998
With a few memorable exceptions, the chickens I have known have been remarkably relaxed, contentedly clucking to themselves, but supposing chickens had another secret life and had to use their superpowers to save the planet (yes, superpowers to save the planet, not superglue).
First out of their secret high tech hideout, MoreHen, a muscle-bound hunk of a hen.
Happy birthday to our seafaring niece Karen.
I went for a pen and fingerprint technique – using a rubber stamp. Perhaps that’s why Rob looks like a startled vicar.
As is often the case I think my rough of the Karen character looks more spontaneous than the final version.
I went for a spinach-coloured apron in the final version but I think that the wine red and smoked paprika ensemble would really suit Karen.
Just a shame that we haven’t been able to bake her a Torta di Spinaci to celebrate.
After the useful French phrases for walking the dog for Michelle’s birthday, we’re going for some Parisian sophistication for Isabel’s card (Bon anniversaire for yesterday).
Card for a sound recording expert who happens to live near The Deep. Happy birthday to Richard.
And happy birthday last Friday to Michelle who is a bit of an expert at taking a dog for a walk on the other side of the Channel. Me, I had to head for Google Translate to check out these useful phrases.
Happy Birthday to Lenny earlier this week. Hope he’s worked this one out by now.
Google Translate is so useful when you need to find the Polish for ‘birthday’.
Just after I’d put this card in the post to Thalia in Glasgow we heard that Liverpool had been chosen to host Eurovision.
We’ve all been there; searching for a birthday card for a body-building plumber.
Or for a cyclist who lives abroad. Actually Harry lives in the Isle of Man, not France, but I think that Google Translate would have struggled to come up with enough cycling expressions. Motorbikes, perhaps.
Guardian critic Victor Lewis-Smith once slated the “Yorkshire Fat Rascal” as ‘an obese scone’, ‘a Yorkshire indelicacy’ and characterised the “Yorkshire rarebit with chopped fresh chives in Yorkshire Cobble bread” as ‘a self-aggrandising toastie’.* Ouch.
It’ll be all right on the night.
My favourite ‘Yorkshire indelicacy’ at Bettys’ is the Yorkshire Curd Tart. No one does a Yorkshire Curd Tart like Bettys. And it’s not just me who thinks that. Last time we were at RHS Harlow Carr we took our Latino Lattes out to a bench in the gardens and a robin hopped about around my our feet and beneath the bench, hoping we’d drop the odd crumb. Some hope.
But I did select one small, soft raisin and held it out at ground level. After some hesitation the robin darted forward and took it from my hand. It then went and perched in a bush behind us and burst into song.
*Guardian, 29 January 2005.
Well it is just a number. Happy birthday to Alistair.
Great Philosophers. Happy birthday to Jo for yesterday.