Golf balls keep falling on my head.

About a week ago or so, myself and a few intrepid volunteers marched into the not so hostile territory that is otherwise known as the golf course. As some as you may know, this particular golf course is Ouseburn Otter territory. And what the otter wants, the otter gets. Mr O has made my life an utter misery yet there I was building him a palace on a prime bit of real estate. Sounds like Stockholm syndrome to me. So yep, amidst flying golf balls and horror stories of irreparable golf ball skull damage, myself and the vols soldiered on. Luckily we remained unharmed and upbeat. This picture tells it all. Just look at those happy faces.


They say that forewarned is forearmed so on one of my more obscure google searches I came across this "On a more practical note, if you hear the distant call of "fore" and you find yourself the only one not ducking for cover, then perhaps it's time to start taking notes." Okay, fair enough. If you hear FORE! then expect there to be a pretty good chance of being smacked by a golf ball. Except I never heard the call of 'fore', distant or not, and let me tell you, some of these golf balls came pretty darn close. However, it was ladies day so perhaps this was understandable. Horror of all horrors, could I possibly be suggesting that ladies aren't much good with a ball and a stick? I wouldn't know, seeing that golf has completely passed me by thus far. BUT I am a lady (no comments from the peanut gallery please) so I can say such things.

Now, I'm pretty sure I regaled you all with tales of more otter holt building along the Ouseburn not so long ago? We have had a visitor there. Its not Mr O as one might expect but still, a visitor is a visitor.

What a lovely chappy. Luckily, he couldn't actually fit inside the holt itself, so it lives another day to welcome the webbed feet and slick coat of an otter. Hooray. And now you see why it is imperative to have not one but two tunnels - an escape route is never a bad thing.