12 Jul 2009 3:21 AM

On Monday, I was winging my way to a caravan site where my family and I were going to stay for a few days.  The site, a small one, surrounded by trees and shrubs, looked to be a perfect site.  There were only two or three rented holiday homes on the site and the rest of the static caravans were all privately owned.  Parked in fields, on their own, were lots of touring caravans, with their huge awnings permanently erected and, due to being able to see a good length of grass growing around the bottom the awnings, my guess is that these vans were permanently parked on site all summer. 

The down side to the site was that there were strict rules in place for no ball games were allowed under any circumstances.  What the children were supposed to do, in the summer holidays, was a mystery to me.

Usually, when we hire a luxury caravan, for we feel we need for all the comfort we can get, everything meets our criteria but, in this case, the central heating was not switched on even though we had paid extra for it to be on.  After the first night on site, we asked the site warden to turn the heating on and he did so under duress.  I should say, at this point, that the caravan was not owned by the site manager, the van was owned by a national company-with a very good reputation-but the site manager, and his team, cleaned and maintained the rented caravans.

'To add injury to insult,' as they say, the site manager, the following day, sent out a representative to ask us for a further daily £5.00 supplement for the heating.  After we had showed the staff our itemised bill, with a weekly and paid supplement for the heating on for all to see, there were red faces all round and the site staff kept out of our way for the rest of the week. 

Other than being able to sit in the van, in absolute privacy, it has to be said that there was nothing to do in the evening other than watch a TV that gave a very poor quality picture due to it having an internal aerial rather than an external aerial.  Minor details, I know, but we have become used to having everything 'top notch' hence the reason for using the holiday company.  No matter, we were determined that we were not going to let these difficulties mar our time out from home.

In the first instance, we had chosen the location because it was close to many things that we wanted to visit and here we were not disappointed.

On our first full day, on holiday, we drove into Harrogate (Not sure of the spelling here.)  Our first port of call was at the Mercer Art Gallery where we hade purposely gone to see work by Marianne an Adrian Stokes.  Adrian concentrated on landscapes and Marianne was the portrait painter but they did not always stick to their own brand of painting styles.  One of their paintings, of a little boy sitting in the dark with the reflection of a lantern on his face, was a particular favourite of mine.  In the picture, there were several pieced of glass where and the artist had managed to capture the light, shining on the glass, so perfectly, that I could not draw myself away from the picture until I was happier in understanding how the reflective light was working.

There was a strict rule, about not taking photos, it was forbidden at all costs, but I was allowed to take notes.  The staff were very helpful, which is always a plus sign, and my family and I had a wonderful time in the gallery.

From the gallery, we went on to the 'Pump Room.'Where Spa water was once a very popular drink for it was thought the water had medicinal qualities.  Along with the water, people could have several different bathing procedures but the Pump Room is no longer in use.  Some of the bathing facilities, where water was sprayed, at great pressure, were not what I would have liked.  I believe Royalty went to the 'Pump Room' and the waters helped bring prosperity to the place.  The 'Pump Room' when we visited, doubled as a museum.

I was not allowed to take photos and I have to say that I thought the information, about the spa waters, was overshadowed by the 'Penny Farthing'  type cycles and all the other, none related, exhibition materials.  My son, who I had to wait for, said he found the place to be very interesting so you might say that it is me that takes a lot of pleasing. 

What really pleased me about Harrogate, was the ornate architecture and the wonderful shops.  If I was a wealthy person, I would have fitted in very well in this town.

Later, in the afternoon and now with the blue sunny skies turning to grey and gloomy skies, we drove to a beautiful looking reservoir.  Here, after eating sandwiches prepared by my wife, we decided it would be a good idea to take our waterproof top coats with us. 

My son, who was wearing a waterproof coat,  said he was going to take an umbrella and when he asked us if we were going to take a rain shield, (umbrella) we 'poo pooed' the idea. 

Yes, you have guessed it, the heavens opened, my wife and I were soaking wet from the waste down, and my son said, as he slid into the car as dry as a bone 'Told you it was going to rain!' It was his attempt at joviality.  Having said that, the cold air soon turned into hot air and our clothes were dry in no time at all. 

The following day, my wife wanted to go to Bolton Abbey, a place we love to go to 'charge up our batteries.' Before going to the abbey, we called in at a place called Ilkley.  There is a famous song about this place.  'On Ilkley moor bart at.'  The translation is commonly accepted as 'On Ilkley moor with out a hat.' The moor is an exposed place and can get a lot of wind hence the reason to wear a hat.

The last time we were on the Moor, I found a collar that had belonged to an old dog.  There was an address on the collar and I sent the collar back to the dog's owner.  Some time later, along with the price of postage, I received a wonderful letter from the recipient of my letter.  She said, if we were ever in the area again, that we should go to visit her, in her thatched cottage, and have tea on the lawn.  Doesn't it sound like and idyllic thing to be doing?  The truth is, I could not pluck up courage to go and see the old lady. 

I have to say, probably spoilt from the beauty of Harrogate's wonderful and well kept flower displays, that I was not over impressed by our short visit in Ilkley although we were able to visit another museum and an art gallery but we did not linger for long.  In the market area of the town, where we tightly parked our car, we noted that the parking fee was one of the cheapest we had, so far, encountered. 

From Ilkley, we went to Bolton Abbey and down to the Strid.  The Strid, originally, and over a period of many years, was systematically tree planted, with hundreds if not thousands of tree saplings, by one man who happened to be a monk that had vision.  Now, many years on, the Strid, that lies at the bottom of a small but steep valley, is a beautiful place to visit.

A note of caution must be added here for the Strid, a narrow stream like water area, has hidden dangers and it is not a place- although many have done it- to jump over the narrow stream.

I would say, in places, that the Strid is only about a meter in width and looks as though it is an easy place to jump from one side to the other.  There are other places, where the Peat coloured water area is at its widest, about three or four meters, and not accessible.  So what is the problem you might say!

The problem is, as a huge  volume of water tries to get through the narrow Strid, it has pushed its way through the water and because the top stones are hard rocks, the water has forced its way under the stones and created, with barrel like walls, a huge underwater cave.  Once in the water, many jumpers have been sucked under water and drowned.  The beauty of any area must be understood before venturing forth.

We had a wonderful day but, on our way back to the caravan site, we drove into the eye of a cloudburst of rain.  The rain, for about 20 minutes, came down so hard that the car's windscreen wipers were none effective against the torrents of water that they were trying to cope with.  We turned off the main road and into a side street where we waited it out until the downpour was down to a normal rainstorm.  Once again though, when the rain stopped, the hot weather dried everything up very quickly. 

I have managed to get my days out of sink but it does not matter for, on one of our outings, we went to a place called Knaresborough where we visited the very famous Mother Shipton's well.  Water, from one mile down, lifted by a natural process I do not know about, pourrs over a cave like entrance and anything that is hung in the path of the water soon turns into a stone structure.  For anything to turn to stone, it only takes about 3 months. 

Before reaching the famous well, you have a good walk to undertake, about 10 to 15 minutes, and as you walk along, on your left, there is a wonderful shallow river where boats can be hired.  It is a very scenic place to be.

From the Well, we drove on to Ripley Castle.  The castle, a small one, is still occupied and you can pay to go inside or pay to go round the gardens.  We chose to go round the gardens and while we were walking round the spectacular place, we were able to ask one of the gardeners a question or two. 

Deer were running around in the so-called deer park and although we did not go into the deer park area, for the weather did not look very good, we did see one deer in an area where it should not have been.

Once out of the castle grounds, we were able to have a walk round the village and I was very surprised to find out that, it seemed to me, the village was a closely guarded secret for it was like an old world hamlet. 

There were old-fashioned styled shops, some with things in the windows we might call antiquities, and the usual everyday things we need to survive.  In one corner of the village, in a field, there were Shire Horses-horses that are massive to look at-and there were stone carvings of Wild Boar dotted around in various places.  The village reminded me of an old English village that could have been ruled by a Lord.

On our last morning on the caravan site, for we had to vacate by 10a.m., it was a beautiful morning.  We are very organised and it did not take us long to have everything back in the car to make our journey home. 

Has it happened, for we did not go home on the motorway, we had a good drive home but, just as we were about five minutes into our homeward bound drive, my wife said she thought she had seen a Red Kite.  Until recently, sightings of the Kite were very rare indeed.

At the first opportune moment, I stopped the car and saw my first ever sighting of the Kite.  The bird was sitting in a large, old, mature tree and I frantic scuffle ensued while I tried to find my camera.  The camera had been safely packed away in one of our several bags.

My wife wanted me to forget about the bird, fearing that it would have flown away before I could get the camera-this is usually the case-but I was determined, if you will forgive the pun, to give it my best shot and try to get the picture I thought I would never get.  To my surprise, the bird, until I had taken several photos, did not move.  Later, for I was on the very limit of my focus, I was surprised to see how good the photos were.

A bit lengthy this blog but, if you can wade through it, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed the holiday.

By for now,

John.           

                 

         

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5 Jul 2009 9:49 PM

Sometimes, when we look at things that are happening all around us with nature, we try to make an analogy in the way humans would behave.  Children's books and our own interpretations come to mind.

In the past, when people have been awoken from their slumbers in the 'dead of night' due to the bedroom windows being open because of the heat, I have know people come to work tired and blame me for being so sleepy.
"Your birds have kept me awake all night!" Well, stronger phrases were the norm and heated exchanges often took place when I tried to defend myself from their venom. 

These people usually lived miles away from me and although their inner self told them that they cannot blame me; they felt the need to blame someone or something for their inability to function properly until they are fully awake.

Another example, when a neighbour saw a Sparrow hawk go into her garden and catch a Sparrow.  It was my fault that the hawk caught the sparrow.  Of course, the reasoning behind what was going on is that our neighbour, now that she has time to do it, was feeding the birds on a regular basis and the hawk flew into the flock of sparrows knowing that it was easier to do that rather than try to pick one bird off at random.

In the case of the Sparrow Hawk, a feeding station, for birds, is best situated close to trees.  When the silent hawk comes, the sparrows have a fighting chance and can often escape into the trees.  Leaving a clothes line out, all the time, is also a deterrent for birds that have large wings.

Nature, in the eyes of humans, is often cruel for something is always feeding off some other creature right down the food chain.  It is usual, as we go through our everyday life, that we just do not see what is going on out there.

This year, Swifts, nested under the eves of our neighbour's house and because my neighbour has accepted one of his children back into the household, after she has lived away for a long time, the young lady has taken up a bedroom that has not been used for several years.  The Swifts have taken the quiet spot and built their nest straight above the open window.  The mess, from the bird droppings and the noise, as our neighbour's girl was awoken at dawn, have proven to be too much to bear and, after the breeding season is over; our neighbour has decided to have the undersides of the eves covered.  It is all down to trying to live in harmony with nature.

Swifts fly from Africa, each breeding season, fill up on aphids, build their nests and lay their eggs in a fairly short season before the aphid population begins to thin out again.

This year, and it is the first time that I have seen it happen, is that the parent Swifts have abandoned one of its young.  One young, fully feathered bird fell out of it's nest and our neighbour, after looking at the bird all day, became concerned for the Swift and asked me to step in.

The usual breadcrumbs had been put close to the bird and the young lady, who had found the bird, was distressed that the chick was not eating the bread.  She was even more upset, this time with me, when I tactfully mentioned that the bird could not eat bread.

The only advice I could give, in this case, for once a Swift is on the ground it finds it very difficult to get air born due to it having long wings and very short legs, was to put the bird somewhere where there was a little bit of height.  If the bird was old enough, for it was fully feathered, it might just fly away.  A high percentage of birds, that are left to fend for themselves, often die; although very sad, I am afraid there is very little that can be done to help specialised feeding birds.

Every so often, I had a look to see if the bird was all right and, as time went on, it was heart breaking to be unable to be of help.  I could not put the poor bird's plight out of my mind and had a difficult time wrestling with my conscience.

It was not until I came to terms with what may have really gone on that I could manage to put the poor bird out of my mind.

Earlier in the breeding season, we were blessed with the sightings of a Great Spotted Woodpecker feeding young in the garden and once our neighbour saw it, she decided to try and film the woodpeckers.  Forty years of experience, in these matters, was to get me exceptional photos.

Our neighbour's girl tried to photo the bird and in doing so, for she did not have the right camera for the job, she ended up getting a spot on the photo instead of a good sized bird.  She was determined to get the picture she wanted and tried to get closer and closer until she frightened the birds off.

So what has this to do with the Swift, you may be asking.  I believe the young lady, who was being disturbed by the Swift's nest, had become agitated by all the noise, the bird droppings, and had gone out of her way to disturb the nesting Swifts.  Who can, under the circumstances, say who would be right and who would be wrong here.

Having said that, thinking through what probably went on with my neighbour's girl, gave my mind rest and allowed me to sleep last night but what of the poor bird for it was no longer visible when I awoke this morning?

By for now,

John.   

   

         


 

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4 Jul 2009 2:20 AM

Us Brits. always seem to be talking about the weather, well it is true for the changes seem to happen by the hour-sometimes-and the last three days have proven to be no different.

On Wednesday morning, I started to cut the lawns and, by the time I had finished, about one hour is my guess, it was so hot I was soaked through with sweat and only a cold shower cooled me.  The afternoon became too hot to be outdoors, the humidity was very high, and the evening was cold.

Thursday morning started with thick fog and soon became the hottest day for three years.  My wife and I shopped, to avoid the heat, at 8.10 .a.m., and by the time we were leaving the supermarket, the heat was already getting too hot for comfort.

In fact, for the rest of the day, we stayed indoors but, as the sun began to sink in the sky, I went out to sample the cool air and sat outside until well after dark.  To my surprise, for I have never done it before-except when camping-, I fell asleep in the recliner and when I awoke, with the smell of Honeysuckle scents and Lavenders too, there was calmness about me as though I had been in a long and deep sleep.  It was wonderful.

Today, Friday, I awoke to another foggy start but the difference today there was no blue sky; the sky was grey. 

While I worked on a few internal domestic chores, my wife walked to the local shops before it became hot. She felt she needed the exercise and she had not been home for long when it began to 'teem it down' with rain and continued to do so all day. 

Although no two days seem to be alike, I was pleased it was no longer 80+. 

Today, I have not been able to go out for different reasons but I still prefer, for a short time, warm rain instead of a 'heat wave.'

While indoors, looking out over the garden, I have seen young Starlings and House Sparrows feeding from their parents but there have been no more sightings of the Great Spotted Woodpecker, of which I have several photos but, once again, do not seem to be able to send the pictures to my blog.

For readers that do not know what it is like where I live; I live in South Yorkshire and the village, I live in, once had a main industry for mining deep coal.  Since the closure of the pits, the village, like many more that depended on coal, has gone into decline but many volunteers, like myself, have sat round committee tables to try and bring businesses back into the area. 

The village still has its 'run down' areas but it now boasts housing complexes that could not have been dreamed of  20 years ago. 

One of the things, that always seems to surprise visitors, is how friendly older people are here.  I can go to a bus stop, waiting for the next bus to come, and begin talking to someone I have never met before, and before the bus has had time to arrive, the person next to me may well have told me their life story.

The village boasts a church build in twelve thirty four (Easily remembered as 1.2.3.4.) and has a good bell ring with a sound that seems to carry on the wind. Campanologists, that ring the bells, never seem to drop in numbers.  Our vicar, who retires this year, may not be replaced, for we do not know if we will be getting another vicar for they are, probably for the first time in our area, now in short supply. 

If you see an old church, close by, there will also be a public house (Inn.)  The reason for this is that the church used to make ale and sold it to the people who went to church.  Unfortunately, instead of listening to the sermon, people were dropping to sleep in the pews.  It was decided to sell the ale; it may have been Mead, in 'alehouses' we now know as pubs or Inns.

Inns used to, until resent times, be the place to go if you wanted to know anything that was going on in the village, sadly, with the sale of pub ale dropping, many of the pubs have now closed. 

When Inns first opened, there were not many people who could read so signs were erected, outside of the Inns, for travellers to see.  Signs like 'The Black Horse or the Three Crows.'

In those days, horses, which transported everything by pulling carts, were very important to anybody's livelihood and they had to be looked after properly. When the traveller came to a steep incline, for the horse may be pulling a large load, instead of trying to go straight up the incline, they zigzagged from side to side to make the climb less of an effort.  On the bends, sometimes a 'hairpin bend,' the horse would be stopped for a rest.  Men with foresight, built Inns on the bends where a drover could wet his thirst, on a pint of the best brew, and the horse could feed and be watered. 

In areas where the soil was spongy, the cart's axel was narrow so that there was less chance of a wheel  sticking in the mud.  Where the ground was more firm, carts were much wider and could carry more goods. 

Of course, the roads are now all covered with 'tar macadam' but there are still old cart tracks to be seen.

One of the things that is different, in the village I live, is the dialect.  Only a mile away from where I live, the dialect is slightly different but that is because men, that walked from Staffordshire to sink the mineshaft, settled in our village and there is still a little bit of Staffordshire dialect spoken.

Men who worked in the pit, and I was one of them if only for a short time, used to call one another Love.  I have never heard of this in any other industry.

The same miner, when not at work, would call his wife love and, no matter whether or not they were strangers, call a woman, in the street,  love if he did not know her.

The conversation, as the miner walked passed a women, would go something like this.

'Mornin Love, how are ya av not seen thee befoor?' There was no sexual connotation here, it was simply a polite form of speech. 

It translates as, Good morning my dear, how are you?  I have not seen you before.


As for the dialect, it varies from place to place and there is the polite form and the crude form, the two interlink and some people, depending on how the words were said, did not know one from the other.

Here is a short conversation of the dialect in its strongest spoken form.

'Mornin Luve, at a all reight?'

The man would not have said this to the mine owner's wife!   

It means, 'Good morning my dear are you all right.'In the true sense, the word Love is just a reference to the gender of a person but there are exceptions.

Mining, as you will know, was full of hazards, in fact, when my wife was only a small girl, her father was killed in the pit from a rock fall.  At that time, there was not the welfare state we have today and when my wife's mum died, from T.B., my wife, her sister and two brothers were taken into foster care.  In my wife's case, going from one extreme to the other, from a stable family upbringing, to an upbringing where her aunt put her own family first, it was a hard life to live. 

One of the things that miners were keen on, is that so called pit language (Swearing) stayed at the pit.  There was a code of conduct that prevented, in most cases, swearing to take place in front of women and children.

Sadly, this norm no longer seems to apply.     

If you want it, I will give you more examples of a South Yorkshire dialect at a later time.

P.S.

Do you know what this means?

"Gizitere!"

By for now,

John.         
 

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28 Jun 2009 12:33 AM

Today, I set out to meet a friend on a site I had not visited for some time but, as I drove though very heavy traffic, I soon realised that I was going to be late.  In fact, although I set out with plenty of spare time, before meeting my friend at a designated time, I was almost half an hour late.  As you might expect, my friend was nowhere to be seen.  No matter, for the weather was glorious, I could easily find my own way round the site. 

Due to it being hot and humid, my first thought, as I stepped out of the car, was to walk round the lake for I thought it would be cooler there.  This particular lake was built for the sole purpose of driving a water wheel.  The wheel powered two huge round stones which ground grain into flower.  At bank holidays, the flower mill is open to the public but, today, this was not to be. 

At the side of the area I had parked in, there was a training college where students learned all aspects of farming.  Walking away from the farm, I moved on to an old railway embankment that had not seen a train in many a year.

The area, now covered in wild flowers and other vegetation, had been made into a public footpath where cyclists are frequent users.  Some of the plants, on the embankments,  were carried, originally, by train carriages, moving coal to several parts of the country, and others were brought on the wing as undigested food that was stratified before growing in the soil. 

At a later stage, by judging the girth of the trees and shrubs, I would probably be able to tell how old the railway embankment was but, for the time being, I did not concern myself with its age. 

Moving off the embankment, towards the lake and down a tree lined narrow cart track, I noted that there was an untouched meadow where Long Horn cattle sometimes graze.

At that moment, everything was growing quickly, almost before my eyes, and some of the trees and shrubs, overhanging the cart track, were in need of a trim but cannot be touched until the bird-nesting season is over. 

At the edge of the lake, on a well-used footpath and track, fishermen keenly eyed their floats hoping to see it submerge as a fish takes the bait they were using and joggers pushed their aching muscles in the humid air. 

Greedy Canada Geese and Mallard ducks massed round the water areas where the anglers had baited the water they were trying to fish.  While writing, the weather was ever changing and dark clouds soon loomed. 

The mood of the water, in stiff breezes, was choppy and dark looking but it still looked picturesque. 

This site, like the last one I wrote about, did not have any breeding Terns but, in this case, it was probably due to the area having a history of escaped Mink, the Mink were adept at finding and eating birds' eggs.  Out in the middle of the lake, there were a few wooden floating rafts but there were no nesting birds on the rafts and I wondered if this was because the Mink were swimming out to the rafts in the shallow water. 

On this site, an open backed mettle framed hide had been erected but no one was using it and when I went into the hide, I soon realized that the hide had been erected, in such a way, that it was not easy to see out of. 

For some reason, the lake's water remained high and covered an area that usually provided a landing area for wading birds.  Today, due to their feeding areas not being there, none of the usual birds were on site.  At least one bird, the Great Crested Grebe, had found the shallow water good to build a nest.  A lone Heron, stood, like a 'centenal,' waiting to prod its bill at the first passing fish and, in its stalking mode, stood, motionless longer than I cared to keep looking. 

All around the lake, moving upwards the further back it went, the ground was covered in trees and shrubs which consisted of parkland and mixed farmland. 

Scents and smells, from different areas, wafted towards me on the breeze.  Cut grass, hay, drying vegetation, and flowers were but a few of the wonderful nostril perking essences that came my way. 

Squabbling Canada Geese, being harangued by an unleashed dog, and the constant drone of distant traffic, for a time, were the only sounds I could here. 

Now sitting and looking down at the steep banking in front of me, I could see the tightly packed yellow petals of Tansy.  Several years ago, this wild plant seemed to be everywhere but now appears to be on the decline and I thought this may be because of the many 'tab end' flicking smokers for cigarette ends were everywherer. 

I looked up from my plant identification to see an angler, who though he had caught a fish, pull hard on his line.  The proud and patient man, while pulling in the line, looked left and right to see if there was anybody looking to see what he had caught.  There was a short interlude, while the angler pitted his whits with the fish, as he pulled the line this way and that to try and make sure he could 'land' the fish but, in this case, the fish was too clever for the angler and managed to get away. 

I went back to looking at the plants and noted that there were lots of bees but no flowers where the bees were.  I investigated and found out that I was sitting close to an internal embankment beehive.  I moved on, and slowly paced the embankment until I found the hive; more difficult than it sounds for the embankment was peppered with small holes.  Ant nest were much easier to find. 

Around the edge of the lake, Numbers had been drilled in the stone lake liner to let anglers know where to sit when they were taking part in a fishing match.  Behind one of the angling spots, know as 'peg holes,' was an old and established gnarled Oak tree, which I thought would make it very difficult to be able to get any kind of 'upliftâ' line casting to get the line out into the middle of the lake. 

Apart from the line casting difficulties, this particular 'peg hole' was a very tranquil place to be and it also had the advantages of being sheltered from the sun and the wind. 

Walking on to the next 'peg hole,' only a few meters away, it had a completely different environmental arrangement for the trees, some of which had thick and old branches ripped off by the wind, were tucked to one side and there was lots of room for uplift line casting.  Here, Chiffchaffs and an inquisitive Coot came to have a look at me. 

Elderberry flowers, once a favourite of 'country dwelling folk,' for making sparkling whine, were still cauliflower crisp white but would soon be on the turn and of no use to anybody.  I could here Long Tailed Tits calling but the thick foliage prevented me from seeing them. 

Looking out over the water, with a sudden break in the clouds, the surface of the water changed and, for a short time, glistened with sparkling light.  I looked away, then looked back again and the mood of the water had changed again as more thick cloud came. 

Some of my friends, members of the U3A (University of the Third Age,) love to go to different nature reserves every time we go out on a 'field trip,' but any site I go to seems to have something different to see no matter how many times I make a visit; I suppose it all comes down to knowing what you are looking at. 

Out, in the middle of the lake, much to the disapproval of the anglers, a Great Crested Grebe and with a chick trying to get onto the parent's back, had caught a very large fish and was trying to gulp the fish down its gullet.  The bird struggled to get the fish to go down and, by my reckoning, the Grebe took a good five minutes before the fish had gone all the way down into the bird's stomach. 

After a couple of hours, in changeable weather, hot and humid one minute and storm like the next, I made my way back up the lane, I came in on, and, while making a few notes, a Red Admiral butterfly became attracted to my fleece jacket and my facial sun block.  On this footpath, a Wren, with its high definition call notes, called out and Sparrows were dry dust bathing. 

Moving on again and with a slight improvement in the weather, I walked onto a footpath that I could not see the end of.  Today, for many people were at work and children were still at school, I had the path to myself but was soon joined by a curious Stoat.  Realising, before I could see or here them, that someone was approaching on bicycles, the playful Stoat ran off into the undergrowth and I did not see it again.  By the time the mature cyclists reached me, a friendly couple, the Stoat was long gone and they had no idea that it had been there. 

The footpath, that was long, straight and narrow, seemed to go on forever and, with the aid of my binoculars, I could see there were no more birds or animals in the areas the cyclists had just come from so I turned to go back to the car to go home.

By for now,

John.                             

                       

 

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25 Jun 2009 10:22 PM

Usually, I do not bother about Father's Day cards and presents but, on this occasson, when my son thrust a card in my hand and said.

"Just a little something for you before I go out for the weekend.' 

I felt duty bound to accept gracefully. 

The day in question was not until the day after I received my card but, when my son was out of the house and on his way, I had a sneak peek at the offering.

At the front of the card it said

"It's father's day do something you really enjoy."

I turned, from the front page, and read on. 

"like waiting until my favourite TV programme starts then flicking through the cannels to see what else was on."

I got the message!

By for now,

John.

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