I Choose Not Fear - Saturday 07/05/11

Emma's mother Dianne arrived last night to visit for the weekend. We ate dinner, went for a walk around at dusk and stayed up until 23:00 chatting.
Today we utilised her insured car and showed her our haunts. Namely Cardigan town and Poppit Sands.
Whilst mooching with Fran (I made the excellent suggestion of splitting up, pre-empting the possibility of shoe shopping) she revealed that she had been given ten pounds by Em's mum to reimburse her for the money stolen from her by the foster boy living with Dianne. She had left her purse at my parents after our last visit. My parents had then posted it to Dianne knowing she would be coming here to visit. This foster boy found it, and relieved it of its contents. The second occurrence. Him and a 'girl friend' stole mothers day gifts made by Frances and intended for my mother.
My feelings towards this delinquent disturb me. In less than a month, circumstance will force us to share a roof. My inclination is currently to smack the bastard and issue some of the discipline he obviously yearns for.
But it's not my place.
Plus, it would be in contravention of my personal moral code to cause no harm, injury or loss to any other being. Some would say it better to direct ones efforts to ensuring he never is presented with the opportunity to steal from us. Lock doors. Surveillance. Ultimately, live in fear. Distrust. What modern society is founded upon, and the weapon with which our government chooses to govern.
My approach will be to confront the issue, state my grievance to the little bugger and hopefully stamp it out. A "you know, I know, you know I'm watching you".

The fact is, physical assault is tiring and if you use your hands, it can cause aches. I'm a lover not a fighter.

My Webley, loaded with SMK Spitfires took another victim this evening. A young Magpie. He flew across my path and momentarily settled in a tree on my left. He then flitted off and alighted at the top of another as I dropped to my knee. Range approximately 30-40 yards. Aimed half a mil-dot above his head. Breathed. Fired. He jumped at the crack right into the path of the pellet. Head shot. When I got to him, the final twitches of nerves animated his legs and beak. Another close range mercy shot ensured his spirits exit.
I might not be a fighter, but I am a hunter. This quarry is in fact edible. Research recommends soaking the breast meat of older birds in milk overnight. This bird, like the pigeon, will be a decoy, then i'll sample his breast.
My expectations are not high. without soaking, magpies are said to taste like "fishy, chewy chicken".

M Jones