Welcome to Peacockshock - my house on the internet. I'm Ian Peacock.
I’m based in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, but I’ve lived everywhere from London to Cambridge to Austria.
I’m mad about animals and have an adorable Jackapoo, Eddie, named after the dog in Frasier.
So don't dither on the doorstep. Have a wander round. You can either just scroll down this page, or you can mouse around the house and click on the rooms. Do keep coming back for new stuff. I update my witterings regularly
I like gardeners; I like non-gardeners. But there’s one thing I can’t stand: the half gardener. Half gardeners deserve to be sprayed to death with cheap weed killer.
‘What are they?’ I hear you ask.
Half gardeners are people who garden furiously either (1) once a year or (2) on bank holidays.
They garden like maniacs for a day. Then they ignore their garden for months on end or even a whole year.
They have a penchant for weed-resistant membrane, as they believe it will cover a multitude of sins. But it doesn’t. And your typical half gardener fits it but then fails to cover it properly. They have a thing about bark chip. But, before you know it, it gets dry and bleached and full of weeds. Bark chip is the very devil. And, as they only garden once a year, they prefer ready-made turf to grass seed, but they leave enormous gaps and only water it once. So it dies They then add pot plants. They water them once. Then leave them to it. Like the bits of turf, they die. As do the hanging baskets. I detest hanging baskets. But I loathe dead ones even more. Half gardeners beware. I’m watching you and your hideous dead twigs.
Loving this viral video of a duck whisperer (well, duck shouter) herding a bunch of ducks into a barn in Russia. I keep thinking it was faked using CGI and made to look like a wobbly YouTube clip. But I want to believe it’s real.
I watched Bargain Hunt the other day, presented by the flamboyant Tim Wonnacott. Much as I like his colourful, well-scripted voiceovers, I do find myself fretting about his dipthongs. He occasionally sounds almost normal. But when it comes to the word ‘off’, he suffers from a weird sort of Poshness Tourettes. More orften than not, his offs turn into aawffs.
No one says ‘aawff’ nowadays. Not even the Queen. Deborah Dowager Duchess of Devonshire does, but she is a real Mitford and she’s 150 so she’s allowed to. Brian Sewell says it too. And Jacob Rees Mogg. But they’re both fictitious.
Tim Wonnacott’s aawffs do match his pink bow ties and camp specs on chains. But they do sound aawff-ully forced to my ears. I’m hoping his producers will eventually wean him aawff the habit, exclaiming, ‘Going, going gaawnn. I say, he’s lawwst his aawffs.’