Wheildon

my very good friends john and eileen lived in a lovely old house on the main road opposite my office.  they owned an african grey parrot called clouseau.  this parrot had a sense of humour second to none.  he was (and still is) a bird of many skills.  i discovered, at great cost and embarrassment, that clouseau could operate like a surgeon without using anesthetic.  one day i tried to scratch his head, which he was supposed to enjoy.  with all the native cunning of an african grey, he lowered his head and reversed along his perch, encouraging me to stretch my finger a little further into his cage.  then, in a flash, he removed a chunk of meat from my index finger.  john then mentioned that i should be careful not to get bitten.

thanks, john.

the greatest love in the parrot’s life was to throw the village into confusion.  saturday mornings were his favourite.  he could imitate any sound and usually began his performance with telephone rings, some choice swearing and eileen’s lovely irish giggle.

i could watch all this, having been caught by the parrot many times.  clouseau's best was the sound of a beer can being opened.  john gave his parrot ample opportunity to imitate that sound to perfection.  fridays always saw the local lads wandering past their house after a visit to the bottle store.  clouseau never missed the chance to pop several cans, to cause a little confusion.

Rules

during a brief period of brilliance, the village fathers, in their attempt to woo weekenders, decided to ban horses from the streets of greyton.  at a ratepayers’ meeting it was pointed out that the city of london, with its countless millions, recognized horses as a means of transport.  councillors were asked to explain what greyton had discovered that london had not which should lead to the banning of horses from a country village.  they couldn’t, so the horses came back.

The swimming pool

the unexpected happened from time to time.  i remember a weekender who had to move as a result of financial difficulties.  she was so angry and aggrieved that she decided to take her large fibreglass swimming pool with her.

one sunday afternoon i was reading a book in my office when i heard the sound of many feet coming in my direction.  there was some swearing and shouting, giggling and laughter.  from where i was sitting i could see nothing.

then into view came a curious sight never before seen in greyton.  an eight-metre fibreglass swimming pool jogged by on many legs and disappeared from view.

they might get her house, but they won’t get her pool.

Leiwater

the bitterest fights in the village were over stolen leiwater.  the system was simple.  every year names were submitted for usage, and times allocated accordingly.  weekenders were notorious for thieving leiwater and helped themselves if they saw a full furrow passing swiftly by.  it meant that someone further down the line was not going to get water at their appointed time — for which they had paid.

it was amusing to watch the quietest old toppies in the village splashing up the furrows, breathing fire and brimstone, seeking the water thieves who, when confronted, could never understand how the water had arrived in their dams.

it was justice one day when a councillor was caught with a fair-sized stone wedged under his wooden sluice gate.  this allowed water to fill his dam without completely stopping the flow down to the lower village.  he was charged with theft and suffered the embarrassment of the whole village finding out.