7000 rowan berries, & a well-hung mouse

I'm told it's the best way to be - easily excited by the smallest of things. Like the time I nearly wet myself when Mick (unbeknown to him) brought a packet of my favourite Bic biros into work. So I'm sure you can appreciate that my mind was literally blown when I tell you about something that happened earlier this month. A gentleman from The Wildlife Trust came to the hostel, not to stay, but to collect a large quantity of Rowan berries from trees in the grounds. The seeds from these berries are for the millennium seed bank - they will be frozen deep underground below Kew Gardens. The purpose of this, or so I believe, is to preserve a large variety of plants and trees in the event of extinction. I suppose that this extinction would most likely be caused by disease, global warming, environmental neglect, etc. But also, potentially, it could be caused by something much more instantaneous and terrifying (although I happen to think that the damage we are already doing to the environment is pretty darn scary). Anyway, these frozen seeds (an estimated 10,000 seeds from 7,000 Eskdale Rowan berries) could at some point in the future be critical to preserving life as we know it, perhaps even preserving life full stop. How bloody amazing is that?! Oooooofffffffff.  

Seamless change of subject.

From time to time Rachel and I will have a conversation that starts off utterly factual. Then, without any agreement (but with both parties being aware of it), it turns into something quite ludicrous. An example of such a dialogue is as follows:

"I need to wash my knickers."

"Where are they?" 

"I'm wearing them."

"What, all of them?" 

"Yes. I put a clean pair on top every day. It's all about containment." 

It took a while to offer a satisfactory explanation about all this to Johanne, and a little while longer still to convince her that we were not actually being serious. ("But why would you do that?") 

It might not be entirely normal I realise, but in our defence at least we are generally aware of what we are saying. Whereas Fiona - well sometimes she comes out with all sorts. Mick told her that Moss had been a little under the weather recently, a bit of an upset tummy, probably something he had eaten while out in the grounds. Fiona then chipped in, "Oh yes, it was probably a well-hung mouse." I should probably reiterate at this point that Moss is a dog, and that we do not serve rodents as part of the hostel menu (regardless of the size of their....). 

In a quiet moment I asked Mick if, in all seriousness, he ever (occasionally) worried about the sanity of his employees? 

"Yes."