pgkevet

..go for it:001_smile:

Exactly. Chatting in the Pub or on a work break and the odd old cute story pops into your head. Just pick the one's that have a cool ending, find a starting point and jot them down. A little creative embellishment is OK too but keep it simple and short and real. I'll jump in in-between the two-part with this short example~: Anything to declare? My wife hates flying. She hated it even more when I was the pilot. For the Denmark trip i hired out of Biggin and 'going foreign' had to Custom out at the terminal building. We taxied there from the flying club and while I was filing the flight plan and sorting the paperwork she was already popping the travel sick pills. Weather was quite nice and I thoroughly enjoyed the views over Kent and the Channel crossing but any attempt to engage Wifey with a 'look at that boat down there' was met with a miserable groan and another grab for a paper bag. Flying north along the Belgian Coast she'd started on the Valium and before we got as far as Rotterdam the only good thing to say about a semi conscious wife was the groans were quieter. It might be illegal but there were floating markers of our trip along the coastline out at sea. That was the trail of sick bags I'd dropped overboard to lose the smell. We bypassed Amsterdam and headed to our stop for the night at Groenigen in North Holland. It's a lovely little airfield with a triangle of runways and a friendly Customs man. I landed neatly, taxied to the parking area and Mr Customs met me with a cheery "Anything to declare?". I looked at my drug-loaded other half and answered "Only the wife".

No diary..just memorable events. And they are all true. And his name was Clarence:001_smile: We all have seen or do silly things that aren't that exciting but just make nice gentle tales. A bit like the guy at college who modified all the No Parking signs around the Veterinary College by changing the 'P' to 'B' - it wouldn't be funny anywhere else.. I'm just having fun here once a day writing about some of these things and hope to make you smile..

There's no need to be in chronological order. This one is from the around 1990. We'll call it 'Say nothing.' Part 1 I had a PPL back then. Now that doesn't stand for personal protection leathers or the popular palestinian liberation front. It was a Private Pilot's Licence. And I wanted to 'do a decent trip'. And that isn't a euphamism from the 60's - it was a wish to do more than fly to le Touquet for lunch now and again. A flying pal and I decided to fly to Norway. I took time off work and everything was planned and then he got called back to work. I was so disappointed that my wife offered to come along for company; much as she hated flying. This part of the trip we were in Denmark. We'd just flown to Anholt for the day. Anholt is a tiny island in the Kattegat that my pilot's guide told me the Dane's flew to for a days nudism on the beach. I figured that was something not to miss and, back then, the wife and I both had waistlines and decent chests. I must have picked the wrong day or perhaps it was just that the Dane's knew that despite sunshine and springtime it was still blessed cold in the Kattegat and while that enhanced the wife's features it wasn't doing much for mine! Some chilly sunbathing later and a long walk down the beach and time to go back. The small flying field had just a telephone and a number for Copenhagen Information but I figured it was just as easy to call from the air. We took off and I filed a verbal flight plan with Copenhagen since we were flying over water. Our destination was Bilund - not that I knew anything about Bilund - it was just somewhere to go. I signed off from Copenhagen as we reached land and called to a Military Zone for transit permission and when we cleared their airspace I signed off from them and called back to Copenhagen. No answer. I tried on the second radio. No answer. I called back to the military zone we'd just left. No answer. I called them both again on both radios with, again, no answer. There is a procedure for this and I had copious notes on my knee pad for eventualities. Next was a pan call. That's the emergency frequency but prefixed with a non emergency call. If you call 121.5 anywhere in the UK anytime you will get an instant answer and it's the same frequency internationally. I called 121.5 on both radios and both nav sets since their frequency range goes far enough. No answer. Now there's times when I'm not too quick witted but i figured I had a radio failure. So i squalked the radio failure digits on the radar ident and carried on to Bilund. I could see that was being picked up by assorted radars because it flashes as it's swept. So no problem. I'd expected they'll deal with it as I'd been told. Make my approach, get visual signals or lights for instructions and no problems.... We get to Bilund. I'm circling over the field nice and high trying to find the control tower. Nothing obvious. No lights or flags. I watch the traffic pattern and it's coming in down wind. But little planes like mine have to land into wind. I waited for a couple of jumbos to land and taxi clear. By now they've had plenty of time to know what I'm doing so I fly in into-wind for a landing approach. My wife screams. She also points at the oncoming jumbo and it looks like a good idea to nip back up while he's still a few miles away. I look again for a control tower or lights. I see something that might be a control tower but its way away from the airfield. It's a high tower with a big round observation deck. I fly over there and circle this round tower several times waggling my wings. No response. Actually I found out later there was a response. Several people on the Legoland tower fun ride wet themselves with fear at the lunatic flying a light airplane round and round it waggling his wings...

I've got loads of these silly stories but I don't want to waste anyone's time if they are inappropriate or you all find them tedious...let me know.

Clarence Clutterbuck I'd change his name for this story but no-one ever believes he was called Clarence so there's not a lot of point. Clarence and I shared a room in Bayswater around 1968. Clarence was a non-entity with big ambitions. He had started out in working life matching the left shoes from the left shoe factory with the right shoes from the right shoe factory. True. It was an anti-theft precaution and for Clarence that was a challenging occupation. It was also a lot safer than his short foray into welding which usually meant him coming home with another jumper turned to colander and assorted spark marks over most of his visible skin. But i digress. Clarence, as I have noted, had high ambitions. His hobbies included drawing with a 4-colour biro and making up tattoo designs; although the short welding course had lead to him being branded like a paper doily. His other ambition was to be a biker. In that regard he felt he was a bit held back 'cos the only bike he had was a BSA 125 and that didn't quite cut the street cred at the 69 club so he used to have to park several streets away and walk the rest claiming his Norton 650 was in pieces being souped up. He was also the only member of the 69 club without black leathers and biker boots and his plimsoles and second hand jeans jacket and slacks set him apart from the rest. But Clarence always had 'a plan' 'A Plan' In Clarence's mind was always a simple scheme to help him fit in. His last plan had been to make his Bantam look like a Norton and he'd just spent several days shredding newspaper and mixing buckets of 'Tapwata' to papier mache his bike into the shape of a Norton. Clarence, of course, was not put off by the practicalities of the exercise and one has to give him credit for determination. Even if the result looked like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold porridge at a Moped. Clarence voiced his conviction that a bit of paint and it'd look the business. Clarence really felt his only outstanding issue was the lack of leathers and came up with his latest 'Plan'. Simple really..dye the jacket and slacks and plimsoles black to look like leathers. He bought some dye. Now Clarence wasn't too good at instructions - he was having trouble at work with 2 left shoes as it was. So he asked me to explain the dye process. I had to point out to him that he'd bought hot water dye and living in one room with a gas ring this wasn't really going to work. He ought to swap it for some cold water dye. I was late home the next evening so I suppose it was all my fault. I came through the door getting on for midnight to find Clarence stirring his jeans and plimsoles in a bucket of dye on the gas ring. Now at first sight that doesn't sound quite so terrible but this was Clarence. Clarence was using a plastic bucket! As I came through the door the inevitable was just starting to happen..the bucket was turning Salvador Dali and starting to slump down around the rim. I was too late. The rim sagged and the dye poured forth..black, thick and never-ending. It left the bucket. It crossed the carpet. It seeped under the door and started it's way down the stairs.. 'Leg it' Shouts Clarence, packing his few possessions and precious tattoo book and off down in the wake of the black torrent. I packed my stuff as fast as possible and hurried down too. Outside it was a filthy night. Rain was lashing down, it was cold and dark and I was dragging my one trunk of stuff and wondering where to spend the night. Clarence was on his bike. It looked like he had finally had a go at painting it. Clarence must have used the paints he was used to at school. As the rain lashed down the paint was starting to run and rivers of Norton Colour scheme was puddling in the gutter. The last I saw of Clarence Clutterbuck he was astride a soggy collapsing mass of wet painted papier mache turning into Bayswater Road. I was alone.

How old is the fuel? If it's been there months while its sat idle it might be that simple..

And a second one I have handy. I'll call this one 'Oops' So it's 1970. The world rowing champs in St Catherine's Ontario. (Someone remind me to tell the stories before this one). Every team had been given an 'Uncle'. This was a local family who wanted to get involved and arrange entertainments and so forth. One day our 'Uncle' told us he'd arranged an evening at a local country club; BBQ, some drinks, that sort of thing. The coach to take us there didn't show so we ended up going in two cars and promising to send someone back to get the leftovers. 'Just down the road' in Canada isn't quite as local as in the UK and sixty miles later we got to the club. Uncle got out, tossed me the keys and asked me to get the next batch. So I'm driving across Canada in some huge chrome monster with a column change on the wrong side that i stir at now and again. It doesn't make a lot of difference; the 7 or 8 Litres under the hood keeps going whatever gear I find. I've taken a turning off the freeway where I think I should and for the next twenty minutes I'm between fields of maize, it's getting dark and I've just got headlights and the moon. I start to get edgy. Canada is quite big and I'm in it somewhere... and the road has gone... and it's just dust track that I no longer recognise. I drive on. I drive faster.. After some time I see a light ahead and a long time later the light gets bigger and it's obvious there's a Gas Station coming up. Time to ask for directions. I swing into the Gas station and hit the brakes... You've seen the movies? Wide American type cars drifting on a cross country chase? I went through the Gas station sideways..on the shop side of the pumps and out backwards - I swear 300 yds down the road! Collected the car and myself up, stirred the column change and shoved my foot down to go back.. Oh Yes! Those darned things have no traction on dirt. There was a cloud of dust behind from wheelspin as the behemoth shot forwards back to the Gas Station. I wrench the wheel to turn in and beggar me...it drifts again. This time i see an old guy sitting in a rocking chair by the shop bit as I sweep past pirouetting and go out backwards again. Heck, my face was going red.. I sorted myself out, find a different gear and trundled back and stopped by the shop. The old feller looks up, laconically "I was just wondering how many passes that was gonna take ya." He sorts me out. I pick up the rest of the crew and we get back to the country club. It's late and black dark. I have some food and a couple of beers and carry a bottle with me while I take a stroll to get away from my mate's ribbing me. A good walk later i find a bench under a tree and sit down and swig some beer. I'm watching the stars when i realise that there's a young woman sitting next to me. So I start getting a little friendly with a hand on her leg. I think it may be going OK so my hand starts to creep. "Would you please take your hand off my body?" She says in a long slow drawl Now we've all been shot down but that was first time it had been said quite like that. "I'm sorry. I thought you might have been enjoying that." I answer politely "I was but that's not really the point. I'm married." She answers. "Well we don't have to tell him, do we?" I counter Her answer was another very slow southern-type drawl "That could be difficult because he's sitting right next to me too...." Oops...

Since I'm not an arborist and I'm lurking picking up stuff form you guys I thought I might check a few stories your way. If you like them I'll keep them coming. If you think they bore then tell me to stop. Enjoy today's: A time and place for sarcasm Circa 1969. I'm training with the University rowing eight. The coach has decided that he'll split the crew into skulling boats and race us against each other. A nice bit of winter training.. OK I was an elite international oarsman but as a skuller a definate novice. Yeah, I had the power but skulling is all about technique too. We also didn't have enough good skulling boats for us all so raided the University boathouse for college skulls and I drew the short straw as a novice and was given an older style heavy boat whereas the best skuller in the crew got the ace racing shell. We started up at Richmond lock with handicaps. My handicap was my lack of skulling skill. Whenever i looked around to check course then I wobbled.. They started me off first and the best skuller obviously last. We plugged away down river and finally getting to kew road bridge I'm doing OK..holding the other guys back but lose ground as we come up to the bridge and I have to keep checking my course. I get through the arch and the coach is getting on my case. He's in the motorboat screaming through the megaphone at me to keep ahead, fight off the lightweight boats...all the rabbit. And it's getting on my bits. Next bridge is Kew railway. Wide spans and narrow pillars so I reckon I can negotiate by offsets from the shore and not bother looking around. I'm shoving the blades in and heaving and doing good..keeping the beggars in the racing shells behind and starting to feel good: Kruump! Straight into the main pillar, knocked forward out of my seat, sit across the canvas bow and snap it off! It doesn't float too well after that.. ..I'm swimming with a chunk of boat under one arm in pretty cold water, coach has gone on to nag someone else and I'm kicking for the shore when some guy in a rubber dinghy powers up and asks if i need a hand. "Nah, mate, I enjoy swimming in ice water for a laugh." I reply sarcastically. "OK, then" He says and chugs away... There's a wrong time for sarcasm.....

I think it depends what you're making. Edge jointing of two planks is probably easiest with a router. Routers and straight edges are great and routing bits with guide wheels make life easy. I have built a few sets of built-in cupboard units in the past and for those the dowels worked a treat. As already said, drilling a hole and then dropping in a pointed stud to mark the opposing drill hole works simply and effectively. Again if you want an accurate perpendicular hole and have the access room then using a plunge router does the job. For a hole in the end of a short plank then clamp it flush in a 'workmate' face and plunge rout..easy.

I struggled with that difficult balance of practicality and attachment too. Finally it came down to 'What the heck? I've been ultra cautious all my life..enjoy what's left!" Nevertheless I did the sums for how much might I lose if it all became too much and had to be sold...legal costs, need to sell quickly at less than I paid, economic outlook etc.

I'm not an arborist either but some similarities with your situation..I'm 61 and in the process of buying a small farm in Wales with a couple of chunks of woodland.. the main part running along one edge of my property and on a steepish slope..ya gets a good pant going going up there.. although it levels along the road. It has a value. Let's face it it's on the market:001_smile: Folk buy such things for different reasons..either simply to say they own a wood, to make something of it as an amenity and hire out it's use, the timber and so on. Your ten acres or my eight odd acres is unlikely to be commercial unless you had valuable timber types there. I'm buying mine partly because it's part of the larger and very beautiful land and farm buildings and partly for the simple reason that my wife wants to own a wood. Any timber I take out will be for the woodburners and likely it's going to cost as much or more to manage it than I get out of it as a piece of woodland. The point already made is that land is finite. Keep it long enough and it will increase in value unless someone builds a nuclear power plant next door but don't buy it as a short term investment..buy it because you like it! If I have the energy then one day I'm going to make simple stepped paths through it..a couple of pegs to hold a timber and fill the void with soil..just to make it easier to walk through. If it was a commercial exercise then walks like that with a midway pitstop can be popular..but the last thing I want is to start running a new business:001_smile: Or you shed your clothes, dress in goat skins, build a hidden cabin into the hillside, live off the land and don't tell the government where you are...

thanks

I'm still not clear as to whether you finish them green, oil them and allow that to slow the seasoning or whether there's steps in between..bagging between sessions, part carve and leave etc..?

This is a true story from this evening's consultations: One of those times I just cracked up... Lady client brought her greyhound in with a small cut to the thigh and thought it needed stitching. So I pointed out that I was happy to suture it but dog was nervy/shaking so might need a touch of sedation with some local and the wound would need a bit of edge trimming or I could just clean it up and leave it open to heal with some antiseptic flushes. We all know how bad greyhound skin is at tearing sutures through but if she didn't like to see it open then I'd suture it for her. Her answer? "Whatever you recommend Mr Knapp. I'm a midwife and I'm used to leaving things open." I just fell over laughing...

Just the 14 planks.. I've had the same problem whittling :-)

A Texan on holiday in Ireland to discover his roots goes into a country pub. He buys a pit and starts chatting to Paddy at the bar: "So what do you do for a living?" Asks the Texan "For sure, I've got a couple of acres that I farm." Paddy replies. The Texan proudly answers. "I have a place too. I can get on my horse before breakfast and ride all day without even stopping for lunch and by nightfall I'm only halfway across my land." "Ah Begorrah, if I didn't have a horse like that too, once."

I'm posting here 'cos they may not be relevant..as you know I'm no arborist but we have a few useful knots. The hunter knot..about the simplest there is.. is used for joining suture lengths in multi-use reels. Checking on wikepedia it looks like you guys might use it too.. Hunter's bend - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia The 'surgeon's knot'.is a simple quick reef knot. We knot with instruments and it's a single throw followed by a single throw..throwing into the direction of the free end each time gives a flat reef. For a higher tension area we might use a double throw followed by two singles. Occasionally a triple throw first. For material with poorer friction (some of the newer synthetics) we swap it around and us two singles and finish with a double.. Clever beggars can do them one handed inside cavities: [ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHBlx1UdNYw&feature=related]YouTube - ‪Surgical Knot Tying - One Hand‬‏[/ame] We also use a constrictor to keep tubes in.. chinese finger trap.. one better than a series of simple half hitches to pull a log? [ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZycvOdMfeE]YouTube - ‪Chinese Finger Trap‬‏[/ame]

...reminds me of the story of the masochist who liked to have a cold shower every morning.... ..so he had a hot one!

...surrounded by wood, own a chainsaw and can't make a temporary toilet seat? :-)

I'm not sure I understand the question? A cubic metre is a cubic metre..whether it;s 1mx1mx1m or 0.5mx2mx1m or any other combination of numbers that gives that volume. It'll hold 1000 litres or approx 200 gallons if that helps

..but can they match sainsbury's 568ml for 13p :-)

..It started just after the mildew on the gooseberries (sign of recent rain)...south here that was after the dry spell broke with a week of rain...

If it's a wisteria shouldn't it be showing more signs of twisting and climbing that time of year?

I'm not an arborist but that's in agreement with my reading on the subject over the last few years. Personal experience though is that my neighbour never got on top of the problem with his even following that