A Peregrine in a Pear Tree

A couple of Saturdays ago Christmas preparations were boiling up to frantic. Every year I feel a strong pull to make my way into town and shoulder my way into the scrum. Like a salmon swimming upstream.

Could I resist?

Birdwatchers had been tweeting. A rare hen harrier had been sighted in a rushy river valley close to St Albans. 

So instead of going into town, we walked along the River Ver until we spotted a cluster of folk in bobble hats clutching binoculars and the odd outsize ‘scope.

The little flock of bird watchers was friendly and communicative.
The hen harrier had been through earlier but was nowhere to be seen now.

Nigel and I stood for a while and saw red kite, heron, egret and all manner of titmice.

And then, flying over, a large falcon. Everybody whooped. (Quietly - they are bird watchers after all.) They trained their scopes on the sky. It was a peregrine. Nowhere near as rare as a hen harrier but still worth a restrained cheer.

Even better, a hapless buzzard flew into view and the peregrine began to attack, stooping from a height, swooping like a bullet, until it drove the larger bird away.

We never did see the hen harrier but neither did we get caught up in the Christmas consumer madness. And I won’t ever forget that peregrine.

Birthday Surprise

Nigel’s birthday was coming up just at the very end of Lockdown.  There weren’t many options for celebrating.  As a family we are largely vegetarian, so scotch eggs were out.

I proposed to the children that we meet up with just a few old friends to have a surprise Zoom quiz for Nigel.  I arranged the call and the kids came up with rounds on topics which would interest Nigel – growing fruit and veg, lightbulbs, getting arrested while sitting in the road and ‘What was Nigel doing in that photograph?’

The day dawned and Nigel was none the wiser.  I personally defrosted a lovely birthday supper and unwrapped his birthday cake.  (I go to endless trouble on these occasions.)

Then we began what Nigel expected to be a call with the kids.  As his friends rang in, he said umpteen times ‘I wasn’t expecting this’.

And there was a surprise for me too.  Apparently I had forgotten to tell the kids that it was supposed to be a surprise, but somehow nobody had blown the secret.

Over the Zoom call with friends, I said to the children,

‘But didn’t you wonder why I’d set up a new WhatsApp group to make the arrangements?’

‘No Mum,’ said Carenza, ‘I just thought it was some sort of manipulative behaviour.’

Thanks, Girl.

Who Stole the Road?

 

On Monday afternoon, Nigel strode into my study.

‘Clare!  Look outside! Somebody has stolen the road.’

We live at the end of a very long cul-de-sac.  Both of us working at home.  For the last month, most of our interactions whether work or social have been via Zoom or the phone.

I didn’t think we could get much more isolated until the road resurfacing team came and took away our route to anywhere.  Where once there was asphalt now there is only a lumpy, uneven surface.

Perhaps tomorrow I will look out of my window and see only mist and clouds, indicating that finally we have been entirely cut off from all time and space.

Like the tardis. 

I shall remain stoical, as long as the wi-fi still works.

But the promise is that by the end of the week, we shall have back not only our road, but some of our freedoms.

For a while anyway.

The Egg Incident

 At the weekend, Nigel was cultivating our smallish garden and I was inside, writing.  Every so often he would stride purposefully past the window carrying a spade or fork.

After 8 months of gardening, particularly intensive due to this year’s special circumstances, I wondered what could be left to do out there.

Suddenly he rapped on the glass, making me jump.

‘You’ll never guess what I’ve found!’

‘Is it a frog?’ Tetchily.  It is usually a frog.

But no, just by an iris, a complete chicken egg, partially buried.

‘Could it have been kids egging the house on Halloween?’ 

No – it was several feet from the house and not even cracked.  As if it had been laid down carefully.

Laid.

The Vicar next door sometimes kept chickens.  Occasionally the chickens got out.  Once in a blue moon they appeared in our garden.

We could think of no other source for this egg, so we shared the story with him.

He said that they haven’t had chickens recently due to the depredations of particularly active urban foxes.  So that egg had to be more than a year old.

Nigel shook it.  Something inside rattled.  Yep. This was an old egg.

So it makes you think, doesn’t it – if something as large and obvious as a chicken egg could remain unnoticed in our well-tended small garden, what other amazing creatures are there for us to discover on this great planet of ours?  And can we find them before they become extinct?

 

The Gin Incident

 When the R number soared at the end of October, I booked in a series of online shops. 

For each one I put in a placeholder order of a high-value item which takes me over the £40 limit needed to get a delivery.

A couple of days before the delivery I go in and remove the high-value item and put in the list of what we really need.

What could possibly go wrong?

Now my high-value item of choice just happens to be three bottles of gin.  Doesn’t really matter which gin as I’m going to take it off the order. 

I had idly thought that the profile derived from my shopping habits would portray me as an acute alcoholic, purchasing three large bottles of spirits each week.

This Monday, when the doorbell rang, I went to receive my supermarket order from the young delivery man.

“Good morning.  Would you mind taking it through to the….”

The words died on my lips. 

At my feet was only one crate.

In the crate were three large bottles of gin.

“This isn’t my order!”

The young man smirked.  He had heard it all before. 

In retrospect, I gave in too quickly.  I should have insisted on seeing the paperwork or asked that he take it back.  But I knew deep down that it was my mistake – I had amended the wrong order.

Looking around nervously in case any of the neighbours was about, I grabbed my haul of gin and retreated indoors, clanking.

My shopping will come next week.  At least the gin will make the wait pleasant. 

The Goldfinger Incident

I’m a bit of a fidget.  If I’m talking on the phone I like to use a headset and find a task to keep my hands busy.

It was time to ring John, an elderly friend from church.  So I decided to make some Christmas decorations out of materials I already had, the remnants of previous projects.

“Hello, John.  How has your week been?”

Since John is confined to his house and my adventures have been curtailed by Lockdown, it is hard to make the conversation sparkle.

“It’s been mild for the time of year, hasn’t it?”

I laid out some cones gathered from a giant redwood and drilled holes in them.

“The Autumn colours have been lovely, but the leaves are falling now.”

So far, so good.  I was having a nice catch-up with John and being creative at the same time.  I felt positively smug.

Looking at the decorations however, they seemed very…brown.

A little gold paint would make it SO much better.

I found a half-used spray can. Unfortunately the gold paint had formed a crust which meant I couldn’t depress the nozzle. 

I pressed down harder.

Suddenly, there was a crunch and the nozzle was now stuck down, in spray mode.  Gold paint was bubbling everywhere and pooling on the worktop. 

I gave up trying to have a civilised conversation.

“Oh no.  This is the only gold paint I’ve got!  I have to use it.  So I’m putting my hands in it and rubbing it over the pine cones…It’s going everywhere.  I look as if I’ve been in a punch-up with Tinkerbell – and lost!”

Judging by the chuckles from the other end of the phone, I think John enjoyed my combination of craftwork and phone call rather more than our usual sedate chat.

And the paint did stop coming out eventually.

 

Unsung Heroes of Lockdown

The new Lockdown stole up on me unexpectedly.  I hadn’t been watching the ‘r’ number, and it did all seem to happen swiftly.  But I guess that’s all part of the exponential curve with which we’ve grown so familiar.

However, sometimes it is good things which arrive unheralded. 

This Autumn I’ve enjoyed seeing the bright fly agaric toadstools near our home which live most of the year invisible beneath the soil as hyphae.

Field maples are scrubby hedgerow trees, but around now their foliage is pure gold.

Spindle trees are insignificant bushes most of the year, but in Autumn their leaves turn fiery shades, and they yield fabulous pink berries which split to reveal orange seeds.

The wild stinking iris has a drab brown-purple flower, but right now its seed pods are splitting open and showing off their magnificent scarlet seeds.

So I guess there are wonderful things out there - we just have to wait for the time to be right and to keep looking out for them.

 

 

Lend your support to the campaign to save Symondshyde Woods

http://www.save-symondshyde.co.uk/

Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill – please help your planet

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

Find everything you need to take part here: https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

The Toilet Slime Incident

 

At the moment, when we think about our personal safety, we think of hand gel & face masks.

So it took me by surprise to find myself lying flat on my back at the bottom of some steps.  Nigel and I were having a half term break, walking near Falmouth.  My boots were very muddy and when I spotted the steps, I thought I’d go down to the river to get the worst off.  I noted with interest the strongly built home-made handrail.  However, I did not hold onto it.  I realised only as I described an arc through the air that this rail had been a sign that the steps were extremely slippery.

It had all happened so quickly that Nigel thought I had disappeared into thin air. 

‘I’m down here’ I called, hollowly.

Bruise on bottom and on elbow.

Two days later, we walked from Malpas along the Tresillian River.  I was now much more alert and successfully negotiated at speed a narrow path slick with puddles, lumpy with tree roots and blocked by fallen pines. 

On the way back, I decided to use the public loo at St Clements.  Set on a level concrete platform, it should have presented no hazard.  However as I turned sharply to enter, I felt the now familiar sensation of flying through the air. 

On close inspection (eye level, in fact) I could see the area was covered in green algae and was beyond slippery.

Bruise on knee and same elbow.

This time Nigel was at hand to haul me to my feet.

‘At least the last fall was sort-of wholesome and open-air,’ he opined, ‘Not like this time - slipping in toilet slime.’

Which I believe is known as ‘adding insult to injury.’

 

Lend your support to the campaign to save Symondshyde Woods

http://www.save-symondshyde.co.uk/

Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill – please help your planet

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

Find everything you need to take part here: https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

She Stoops to Conquer

 

Every year, we go to glean chestnuts in the local woods.  I use them in all sorts of vegetarian and vegan dishes over the winter.  We realised they were ripe now and if we didn’t go soon, we would miss out.

I’d committed to a teaching conference at the weekend (on Zoom), so we couldn’t get away to the woods until almost dusk on Saturday.  We would have to be quick or the car park would shut with our car inside. 

We headed for the best spot and began combing the ground for the green spiny cases.  They always remind me of the land-bound version of sea-urchins.  But the only land-urchins we found had already been split open.

Many people and even more deer had been there before us.  The deer always leave the case spread out with the silky lining showing, like a pale star, completely cleaned of chestnuts. People do a less thorough job and leave small nuts behind.

Empty-handed, we rushed back to the car before we got locked in.

The following day, the conference again stretched into the afternoon, but when I got out, I remembered a new spot.  I’d discovered it a couple of weeks earlier, by the usual expedient of spotting other foragers and asking them what they were collecting. 

However, it was a long walk to get there and would there still be chestnuts?

In the green gloom of the woods, it turned out that there were.  Plenty of them.

And it allowed Nigel to make the annual repetition of one of his favourite puns.  As I bent to pick up a chestnut, ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘She stoops to conker.’

NB Despite Nigel's terrible pun, conkers ( AKA) Horse chestnuts are not edible. It was the delicious sweet chestnuts that I was collecting. 

 

Lend your support to the campaign to save Symondshyde Woods

http://www.save-symondshyde.co.uk/

Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill – please help your planet

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

Find everything you need to take part here: https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

Birthday with Trees

 There have a lot of trees in my life this year. 

Just before Lockdown, Perran and I visited ‘Among the Trees’, an exhibition at the Hayward Gallery.

Twice this year, we’ve done the tree trail in our local park, and my tree identification has got much sharper.

I’ve read:

Ghost Trees by Bob Gilbert

The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Woehlleben

Wildwood by Richard Deakin

The Overstory by Richard Powers

I’ve produced reviews on books about trees both for Radio Verulam and for the St Albans Podcast.

And I’ve written a short story for WRITERSREBEL – Tree Girl.

So I didn’t mind at all when we decided to keep my birthday celebrations outdoors and visited the brightly coloured Autumn trees of Kew Gardens.  What could be nicer!

And as the evenings draw in, I am looking forward to the October finale as the trees around me turn to gold and bronze and I think I shall read ‘The sixteen trees of the Somme’ by Lars Mytting (passed on to me recently by my neighbour Alex).

 

Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill – please help your planet

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

Lofty Thoughts

Everybody has one job they really hate.  Maybe defrosting the freezer or cleaning out the recycling bins.  (Although that last one now makes me smile since  I heard somebody suggest that the disgusting liquid left at the bottom of a bin should henceforce be know as ‘Farage’.)

For me, it’s turning out the loft.

I worry I may have hoarder tendencies.  And disturbing the layered strata of stored possessions in the loft brings me face to face with this dark side of myself. 

Best left alone.

So I tell Nigel it is a task which could, indeed MUST, be postponed – the longer we leave it, the easier it will be to see what we don’t need any more.

But faced with a rainy Saturday in the Covid season, Nigel would no longer accept my excuses.

He unhooked the hatch and lowered the Ladder of Doom.

However, to my own surprise, I discovered I had been right. 

While the loft hatch remained unopened, we had quietly passed a life stage. 

Up there was a stack of boxes containing modest household items such as mirrors, lampshades and small shelves.  All things we had no place for after downsizing.  But we had held onto them in case the offspring wanted them. 

However, it’s clear to us that they have now passed that needy phase of being students and new graduates and have accumulated a basic kit of belongings.  Meaning that a whole bunch of stuff can be put on Free-cycle and go off to a new home, thus freeing up the loft.

And we have, at last, found the mattress-topper which we stored up there in 2016 and have been trying to find again since 2018.

 

 

Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill – please help your planet

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

Find everything you need to take part here: https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

A Mast Year

For months the oak trees have been growing heavy with a mass of acorns. Now those are becoming ripe and falling to the ground.  Jays and squirrels are ecstatic at the bounty. 

Sweet chestnuts are also well-laden this year.  The hazels are bearing plenty of nuts too although the squirrels always pillage them before I get there.  Dog roses and hawthorns are embellishing the hedgerows with hips and haws like blood-red beads.

A year when woodland nuts and fruits are especially plentiful is called a mast year.  It is the trees’ opportunity to reproduce – there are so many seeds that the animals and birds cannot possibly eat them all.

Folklore says that if seeds and berries are abundant in Autumn, it will be a harsh winter ahead -  God’s way of providing for the birds and animals.  However, weather patterns show little correlation between abundant Autumns and cold winters.  It’s more likely that the favourable conditions of the preceding summer are the cause.

But what always grips me is the exquisite details of these Autumn seeds – the burnished acorn fitting exactly into its cup. The beech pods like tiny jewel boxes lined with gold velvet to hold the precious, three-sided seeds. And the horse chestnut pod, armoured with spikes like a Mediaeval weapon – all to keep the polished mahogany conker safe inside.

Whether the folklore is right or not, Autumn certainly looks like the work of a Master Craftsman.

Last Hurrah

 

Recently we had a holiday with our children.

It had been postponed from Easter lockdown and rescheduled to September.

A whole week in a lovely old house on the edge of Cardinham Woods in Cornwall.

Mainly, we went walking.  In the evening we cooked for one another and played games.

Over the front garden flew ravens, buzzards, nuthatches and siskins. 

On Bodmin Moor we climbed Rough Tor and Brown Willy, the tallest hills in Cornwall, scrambled up the granite tors which looked like craggy stacks of cheeses and explored the nearby prehistoric settlements and stone circles through an atmospheric mist.

At Fowey, we clambered round St Catherine’s Castle and Nigel, Carenza and Pascoe went for a swim at Readymoney Cove while I painted a watercolour.

It wasn’t a perfect week as Perran had been relying on being able to work from home. But the wi-fi simply wasn’t up to it, so he had to leave early.

Yet all through those days of late summer sun and early Autumn mist, we knew this was a week that had been snatched from the fire.  That once we returned home, the COVID levels would likely be rising and precautions enforced once more.

What we had not realised was just how quickly the axe would fall.

Thank heavens for golden memories and our photos which preserve those days in amber.

 

Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill – please help our planet

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

Find everything you need to take part here: https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

An Arresting Experience 2

I already blogged last week that Nigel was arrested as part of the Extinction Rebellion protests.

A few days later, in complete contrast, we were driving down to Cornwall with Pascoe in the back, aiming to meet Perran and Carenza for a family holiday.

It would be a time of regeneration after the stress of protest.

So what we weren’t expecting was a flashing blue light in the rear-view and police asking us to pull over. We pulled over.

Nigel hadn’t been speeding - he stays below sixty to conserve fuel and limit pollution. 

So what was this about?

To show that we were upstanding citizens with a clear conscience, we sprung out of our car and walked round to greet the police.

But as I looked across at Nigel, I saw that he was still wearing his Extinction Rebellion badge.  Not something which puts the police in a good mood. 

However, they were polite and pleasant.

It turned out that our number plate, caught by police surveillance camera, was showing up as uninsured. 

Very luckily, Nigel had proof on his phone that we ARE insured. 

It turned out that when we removed the twins from our insurance earlier in the summer, the company had inadvertently flicked a switch on the database which made it look as if nobody was insured.

It was weird to feel for a moment as if we might really be on the wrong side of the law.  It contrasted with Nigel’s arrests for Extinction Rebellion where he is doing something very RIGHT.

Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask your MP to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill which will be debated during this session of Parliament.

Find everything you need to take part here: https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

An Arresting Experience

 

Nigel got arrested as Part of the Extinction Rebellion protests last week.  He was said to be sitting in the road in Parliament Square.

 He never normally finds himself on the wrong side of the police.  However, on Tuesday he took a day’s holiday, travelled into London, was arrested and carried bodily into a police van and detained for a number of hours in a distant police station on the opposite side of London from where we live, finally getting the train home at 11pm.

For him, the sacrifice was intensely necessary.  His aim, and that of the 700 other Extinction Rebellion arrestees, is to highlight the ongoing Climate Crisis and to try to get the government to act.

Getting arrested is Nigel’s answer to the question, ‘What on earth can I do to try to keep this planet habitable for my children and grandchildren?’

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The aim is to get the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill passed during this parliament. Please follow the links below (which will take you swiftly and easily through to your MP’s email) and ask them to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill.

Find everything you need to take part here: https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

 

 

 

An Imperfect Activist

Over the last few days I've been taking part in the wonderful, brave, creative actions by Extinction Rebellion.

However, people sometimes accuse me,
'But you use a car and plastic!'

True, I do. 

To avoid them completely I'd have to become Amish. 

More to the point, I'd have to devote all my energy to changing my own lifestyle - energy which I'd rather spend in changing the system so that there is better public transport and so that companies have to arrange for the recycling of their packaging.

Then we can all have lower carbon footprints and help to curb devastating climate crisis.

And that's why Extinction Rebellion is putting an emphasis on changing the system, particularly by supporting the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill, tabled last Wednesday.  

Email your MP and tell them how much it means to you.

 https://digitalrebellion.uk/cee-bill

Blocking Fossil fuels with Extinction Rebellion

What better way to spend the Friday before bank holiday than outside the gates of a massive oil depot?

 Buncefield can hold up to 65 million litres of fuel, each litre of which produces 2.5 kg of carbon when used. It has pipelines to Gatwick and Heathrow, supplying aviation fuel. 

Nigel and five other members of Extinction rebellion locked on to cars blocking the entrance to prevent tankers entering for 6 hours. 

It is a demonstration designed to draw attention to the climate emergency which is already causing floods and wildfires in many parts of the planet.

'The burning of fossil fuels more than anything else, is driving the climate emergency. Buncefield is the epicentre of fossil fuel distribution in the UK.'

You may not fancy lying in the road like Nigel, but please help by emailing your MP and asking them to support the Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill. 

For all our sakes.

Never nudge a pony

 

Annabel and I grabbed a change of scene and a couple of nights camping in the New Forest.

We camped at a pop-up site – Harry’s Meadow and every excursion took us through the village of Woodgreen.  I would slow the car to a crawl and we would admire the many donkeys which, together with their foals were hanging about in the middle of the mainstreet, occasionally browsing from the grass verge with a studied insouciance as I slalomed round them.

But on the second evening, we went through Woodgreen and saw not one solitary donkey. 

‘That’s odd,’ said Annabel, ‘I wonder where they’ve all gone?’

As we approached the wooded road to the campsite our route was blocked by traffic cones.  Puzzled, I stopped.

A floppy-haired man stepped out of the shadows and explained in an upper-crust accent that the road was blocked by a fallen tree.  We told him we were headed for Harry’s Meadow and he gave us directions, with repeated injunctions not to follow the Satnav as it would take us into an un-surfaced wilderness. 

As we pulled away, Annabel and I both agreed that he had been the dead spit of Hugh Grant.

We followed his circuitous route – ‘Did he say left and then right or right and then left?’  And it was on this narrow road that we made a discovery. 

It was here that the donkeys of Woodgreen spent their evenings.

And the cows.

And the ponies.

And none of them at all was cowed by an approaching car. 

‘Just give that pony a nudge with your car,’ suggested Annabel.

‘No thanks, it’ll be my number plate it kicks.’

But when eventually we got safely back to the tent, we raised a glass to Hugh Grant and his excellent travel directions.

 

 

 

 

Shangri-La

 I used to love climbing mountains, mainly in the Lake District.  I loved the views, the pared back landscape of grass and scree with the occasional stunted thorn bush.  The blue distance and the feeling of open sky above.

However, over twenty years ago we moved to the south east, so the mountains got more distant.  Then our regular B&B shut down.  Then I got back and foot problems and gradually gave up hope I would ever again reach the summit. 

However, I’ve walked lots during Lockdown and was keen to try a mountain again. But, in Herts we are low on hills so I was far from confident about a steep climb.  I also had to buy new boots – not wise just before a tough walk.

Luckily, Nigel had climbed mountains more recently and was game for carrying our daysack (and possibly me, if the need arose).

So we booked a long weekend in a hotel in Borrowdale and agreed to tackle Great Gable (899m).  I stipulated that this time we would not be descending by Aaron’s Slack (a scree of constantly moving rocks). 

I was fine going up – my boots didn’t rub.  My feet and back held out well.  I wasn’t even out of breath.

Coming down, one of my knees really hurt, but even that was more because I’d injured it the day before.

In triumph, we sent the offspring our selfie from the summit.

“Great!” said Carenza, “And you both look so young!”

So maybe that’s where Shangri-La really is – at the top of Great Gable.

Our Phones are Listening to Us

This is going to sound like conspiracy theory, but it isn’t.  These are things which happened to us.

A few weeks ago, Perran and Carenza joined us for a staycation.

“It’s so lovely to have you here,” I gushed.  “I’m having a wonderful time.”

From my pocket, a female voice said, “I’m glad to hear that.”

Later, Nigel was saying, “I must change my ringtone – Perran hates this one.” (‘Popcorn’ – if you’re wondering.)  Next time his phone rang, he didn’t pick it up at once, because he didn’t recognise the ringtone – it had been changed.

Our suspicions first started after we spotted a red squirrel while on holiday and spent a while watching and discussing it.  Afterwards, Nigel’s phone began offering him news items relating to red squirrels.

Another watershed moment was when I was driving to Kew Gardens using Google Maps on my phone.  I was listening to a Radio 4 play the final words of which were ‘It is finished.  I have arrived.’

Google Maps immediately switched itself off.  Which was annoying as I was just approaching a complicated roundabout.

It makes you wonder how much information these talking-and-listening devices have picked up and transmitted and to whom.  Are we effectively bugging ourselves?

My only comfort is imagining somebody in China or Russia scratching their head as they try to understand Nigel’s pun-based jokes.  I’m not sure I understand them myself.

PPE

Earlier in the week, I did some errands.

It was a muggy day, so not ideal, but I was keen to shift the books and clothes I had turned out during Lockdown.  Before I started deciding I had been rash and took them back again.  So I piled them into the boot.

I toured several charity shops.  Some were still closed.  Others were already full to the gunnels with donations.

All the time it was getting hotter and stickier.

I gave up and went to a small supermarket to get a few necessaries.  I scrabbled in my handbag for a mask and put it on.  I even put the blue side on the outside (a bit of etiquette which had previously escaped me).

As I followed the one-way route around Budgens I noticed not only that I was the only customer in a mask, but that other people were looking at me strangely.  I felt indignant – from next Friday EVERYBODY would have to wear masks.  It was ridiculous of them to stare.

As I returned to the car with my shopping, I caught sight of myself in the window.  Bang in the middle of my forehead was a lemon sherbert sweet wrapper.  It must have come out of my bag along with the mask and I’d been ‘wearing’ it all the way round Budgens.

I drove home.  My boot was still full of clothes and books, but at least I was laughing.

Big Wedding Anniversary

This Summer we were going to have a party.  Monday was our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary and we thought we should celebrate with friends and family. 

In March, I was reproaching myself for being late in sending out our ‘save the date’s.

However, Covid quickly turned my tardiness into an advantage.  An anniversary party was one thing I did not have to rearrange.

It also changed my perspective.  What we had planned were large loud festivities.  What happened was very different.

Pascoe came to stay and the twins visited on Sunday (travelling by Zipp Car and socially-distanced from us).  The children gave us champagne & flowers.  I cooked a partially successful vegan quiche (‘Don’t worry – I’m sure it will taste delicious.’) which we ate in the garden.  Then we went for a long tramp around Heartwood and Nomansland where swathes of cornflowers glowed blue against the yellow lady’s bedstraw. We came back for summer pudding made from homegrown fruit (good except for the vintage saucer which had glued itself to the base of the pudding).

And after all the separation from one another, it was a hugely happy occasion to be together as a family once more.  And more than exciting enough.

Card by Carenza - Coral Anniversary

Sleeping Beauty

I have suffered during Lockdown from thinking I am ahead but discovering I am not.

Mostly it is a matter of time passing – Lockdown means the absence of the usual festivals and public holidays which punctuate the year.  Time slips through my fingers like water.  I always know which day of the week it is, owing to my work, but the months elude me.  How can it be that we are half way through the year?

When I interrogate my thinking, I can see that at some level I believe that time has stood still during Lockdown, as if in March I had pricked my finger on a spindle. 

It does not help that from the start of Lockdown and ever since, it has been Summer outside.

My plan in April was to complete my tax return at the soonest possible opportunity – it’s easier then to make sense of receipts and records and means it’s not hanging over me.

So I just did my tax return today.  Felt pleased with myself.  Then realised 3 months had somehow passed since I first resolved to complete it.  But on the upside, I’m still ahead of my usual performance.

Perhaps I should start thinking about Christmas now.  By the time I get round to doing something about it, the timing should be about right.

The pic above is a field of flax I walked through with Carol and Caroline - it should have made me realise it was high summer!

As Others See Us

Over the last three months, my phone has blossomed with photos of wildflowers, rippled with corn fields and been dappled with shady woods.

Now that Lockdown is easing, we have begun to meet friends for socially distanced walks.  Afterwards we have swapped photos and it has been very welcome to see people reappearing in my photo folder.  It is as if a very beautiful garden of Eden is gradually being populated.  

I have also found myself delighted to see Nigel and I popping up again.  As somebody else’s photo arrives via WhatsApp I have an urge to cry out ‘Look! It’s me!’

In the past, a photo of oneself could be a trophy – ‘Look – Here are Nigel and I visiting the Eiffel Tower’. 

But right at the moment, these pictures of us are proof of something more valuable – we have begun to see friends and family again.

The poet, Robert Burns said:

"O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us!"

(‘If only some Power would give us the gift to see ourselves as others see us!’)

I’m pretty sure he did not foresee the mobile phone camera, and he probably wasn’t talking about physical appearance either.  But even so, it’s the phrase that went through my head when Carenza sent us some pics at the weekend.

It is good to be back in my own photo folder again.