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

Enjoy your stay.

Ian

My Favourite Ferret

My friend Henrietta held a very enjoyable picnic the other day in a field at her stables. And we were joined for a post-prandial promenade by Bandit the ferret who was visiting the yard on his lead. I took him for a walk and introduced him to several horses including Rico. Bandit wasn’t at all shy and drank from the horses’ water buckets. He’s half-ferret, half-polecat and normally lives in his owner’s flat. Thanks to Frank for the ferret photo www.frankweb.co.uk

The Long-Nosed Potoroo

I recently came face-to-face with a Long-Nosed Potoroo in London Zoo and rather took to it. The Long-Nosed Potoroo lives in Tasmania and it’s nocturnal. It was the first Australian animal to be officially described (in 1789). And it’s sometimes known as a “Rat Kangaroo”, which is rather insulting in my view.

Cat Sends Email

Bollinger regularly sends emails by sitting on my laptop keyboard or prodding “enter” with her paw. She frequently sends my emails before I’ve finished writing them. Boll has a thing about office equipment and used to sit on my fax machine (before faxes became quaint things for elderly people and I gave it away).

Noise Pollution

A company director from Derbyshire England was recently convicted after threatening a bell-ringer. He lived near a church and claimed the bell-ringing was driving him mad and preventing his children from revising. As I write, a ghastly little man is drilling at the bottom of my garden and has been for several hours. I now have a hellish headache and my rabbits have run for cover. If he fell off his nasty aluminium ladder and became impaled on his Black-and-Decker, I, for one, would not rush to his assistance. Church bells are slightly less irritating than drills, but it’s odd that we’re so tolerant of bell-ringing practice sessions. Imagine the uproar in Middle England if our twee-and-tweedy campanologists were replaced by muezzins. I was once listening to Radio 3 in my house in Cambridge when the Salvation Army turned up outside and started blasting hymns at the front door. It reminded me of US troops using rock music to drive Norriega out of his palace. So…I ran out and told them to stop abusing me with their tubas and to inflict their hymns on someone else. They looked rather crestfallen, but I feel God was on my side. I’m sure He prefers John Tavener to Onward Christian Soldiers. Drillman has now stopped. He doesn’t appear to have actually drilled a hole at all. Perhaps he’s sponsored by Neurofen.

Death Clock

I recall Hardy’s Tess of the Durbervilles commenting that, every year, we live through the date on which we’ll die, but we never know or notice it. An odd thought. If you do want to know the date, try the Death Clock. It’s only a bit of fun and not at all scientific, as far as I can see. So don’t be spooked by it. To discover how much longer you’ve got, click on The Death Clock