Feathered Felons, or "B****y Birds!"

I am a friend to birds. My little back yard has two bird seed feeders, fat balls, peanuts, home made wholemeal breadcrumbs, and a separate covered bird table for the shy little ones. I keep them all topped up at all times, and make sure they have a bowl of clean water. I am even cultivating (or deliberately chose not to weed out) a teasel which is now over seven feet tall and bears 19 flower heads, just so the goldfinches will have somewhere nice to come this winter. Mostly I am visited by sparrows, but there are many others as well. Lots of juvenile blackbirds at the moment, for example.

What with the gravel patch where the rotary clothes line goes and the vertical scree around the edges there's not much room in my garden for 'real' plants, especially edible ones, but I do have two blueberries, two strawberries and a tomato in pots. I've been eagerly watching my small crop of blueberries swell and ripen since early March. Two days ago they were almost ripe, bluish but not quite the colour they are in the supermarket. Yesterday it rained all day and the garden was full of birds. Today the sun is shining, there isn't a bird in sight and my blueberries are gone! And the first and biggest tomato, which was just beginning to change colour, is on the gravel, neatly hollowed out. I must confess to a certain disappointment. In hindsight, however, I suppose it was inevitable - they are encouraged to eat everything else, why would the blueberries be any different? Is it worth trying to save the four on one plant and two on the other, yet unripe, they left me? No, not now. Next year, netting. Maybe.

Not Rough Tor (again)

Over on the north edge of Bodmin Moor there are two high bits, Rough Tor and Brown Willy, that I have never been to the top of, although they are fairly accessible on foot without requiring any serious climbing. Over the past few years, several expeditions to walk them have been planned, but each time something has gone wrong - one time there were severe gales, another there was very heavy rain, once I think I wasn't well but something else went wrong anyway.

So the 2009 Rough Tor/Brown Willy Expedition (bring a picnic) was scheduled for yesterday, Sunday. Saturday had been hot and sunny, and Sunday morning was overcast but dry so it seemed as though it was possible, this time. I duly packed the dog, a picnic, grandad's spiky walking stick and some walking clothes, and set off quite optimistically. Bearing in mind that although it is mid Summer it is also always colder on the moors, in addition to my usual summer walking outfit of trekking trousers, t-shirt, sunhat and sandals I took a light fleece, a fleece lined waterproof jacket and trousers, a rainhat, a warm lined hi-vis jacket with hood, heavy duty waterproof boots and socks, not to mention the emergency poncho which lives in the rucksack. Prepared for the very very worst, I was - or so I thought.

By the time I met the gang in the car park at the foot of Rough Tor it was already raining. I duly changed into the waterproof trousers, jacket and hat, and put on my heavy duty boots before we started up the hill. The higher we got the harder it rained and the more the wind blew, so that I very shortly found my right ear was full of icy rainwater, although my left side was comparatively dry. The weather closed in even more so that we couldn't even see the top of the hill, and then I realised that when we got up to the ridge we would have to turn and face directly into the wind to start the steep climb. At this point all enthusiasm for conquering Rough Tor left me. I was only slightly surprised at the alacrity with which my announcement that I was going to turn back was welcomed, by the human members of the party at least, the dogs weren't too pleased!

As we'd only been out an hour or so we decided to go for a flatter, hopefully more sheltered walk at Colliford Lake, which is also, coincidentally, on the way home. By the time we got there the rain was even heavier, so I swapped the original waterproof jacket (which had leaked down the front zip, so my t-shirt was quite soggy) for the hi-vis yellow number with hood. The dogs had a five minute swim and we went a quick walk across the dam and back, getting thoroughly soaked again. The waterproof boots were full of water by now, too, as it was more than a little marshy underfoot.

By this time we should by rights have been having the picnic lunch - soggy sandwiches, anyone? An indoor picnic sounded like a much better idea, especially with a new kitchen extension to show off. It's much, much nicer eating sitting at a table wearing dry clothes and drinking tea. And the new kitchen is even better than it looked in the photographs. It's comfortable, warm, light and spacious - all the things that a room at the heart of a house should be.

Ty rather disgraced himself; he's not used to cats at close quarters, and spent most of the time just standing and staring at them, quivering with tension, while they ignored him. Just before we left, however, he just had to have a lunge at Greebo, and came home with a bloody nose. I'm not sure whether he has learned anything by it, though.

By the time I got home all the clothes I had taken with me were wet. Even the poncho which I had to put on to come home, as it had started raining again while we were lunching. How can it be possible to get through three complete sets of waterproofs in one day, and not even get to the top of the hill? In July? In Cornwall? Easily, that's how...

Ermington to Yealmpton - 4 miles in 3 hours

Yesterday, on foot, by a very circuitous route. We started from the centre of Ermington village, having inspected the crooked spire of its Church, back down Town Hill and onto the main road before going over a stile to join the Erme-Plym trail, which could have taken us all the way to Laira Bridge in Plymouth, had we wished. The first part of the walk follows the river, which Ty found very exciting, and even Jake swam. Much of the rest of the part we followed goes through the Flete estate, through fields and woods. It's very well signposted but seems little used - we didn't meet any other walkers at all, and the path was overgrown in places. And in one place the signpost had been vandalised, so the finger pointing in the direction we wanted to go wasn't there! Luckily Ian had a map... When we reached the outskirts of Dunstone we decided we had lots of time to spare before lunch, so went off the trail and followed Ian's map along some very well marked public footpaths, reaching the Rose and Crown in Yealmpton just in time for our lunch booking at 1.30.

We were lucky with the weather - on the Cornish side of the Tamar they had some tremendous downpours, but we only had one short sharp shower. Fortuitously, it started just as we were passing an enormous storybook spreading chestnut tree in the middle of an open field, so we didn't even get wet! It was windy, it was cloudy, it was glorious sunshine; typical 'four seasons' summer weather. Quite warm though, and pleasant walking. This part of the South Hams is some of the best farming land around, and this was reflected in the fields we passed through. There were proper ginger Devon cattle, newly sheared sheep with fat lambs, fields of oats, barley, wheat, maize, all looking very healthy and almost ready to eat. The footpaths were well waymarked and modern stiles provided everywhere. Some of them were a little difficult to manage - one of the dogs had to be lifted over one of them - and some were a little OTT. As we walked down the side of one field of maize, for instance, we were directed through the hedge to walk down the side of another. There were three stiles - a modern wooden one, an old upright slab of stone and another modern wooden one - all to be negotiated with about a three foot clearance above them before the hedge closed in on all sides. Slowly and carefully all safely through - seven people and three dogs - we continued down the edge of field two, only to find within the space of ten yards a tractor width gap in the hedge!

The Rose and Crown at Yealmpton isn't really a hikers' pub - wildhaired and a bit muddy we contrasted with their other Sunday Best customers - but they put us in a private room to eat. The food was both pretty and tasty, with some unusual combinations.

Altogether a most enjoyable day out.

Minack in the Rain with Hungarian Cushion

The outing was planned months ago, the tickets bought, the travel and dining arrangements made - all that we couldn't control was the weather.

The Minack Theatre at Porthcurno www.minack.com bills itself as "Cornwall's Theatre Under the Stars", but it can also, of course, be Cornwall's Theatre Inside a Raincloud, as it was last night. Still, it had been raining most of the day so we were all prepared with waterproofs and warm things, just the thing for a midsummer evening. It was the actors I felt sorry for, but they put up a splendid show, making a bit of business out of tipping water off the chairs before they sat down, etc.

As well as waterproofs, of course, padding is required to sit on. The seating is basically tiers of stone steps, although they seem to have been turfed. I thought we had some vinyl cushions about the place, but they all seem to be on an Elsewhere, and I didn't really want to take a dinky velvet scatter cushion off the sofa. Emergency racking of brain during a grocery shopping expedition on Friday morning brought up a vague memory of cushion covers in my mother's old sewing box among some old silk scarves, crocheted doilies and other things I haven't looked at for years. When I finally got down through the piles of books, lamps, fuel pumps and other stuff on top of the sewing box I found not one but three large cushion covers, brand new and unused, made of a furnishing weight cotton cloth, two of them geometric red white and black, the third mustard yellow and black. "Ugly", I thought. But good enough for an outdoor theatre seat cushion.

On closer inspection I discovered that they still had their original labels - in Hungarian, and dated 4th September 1963. I can only guess that my father brought them back from one of his business trips, and my mother could not find a colour scheme in her tastefully decorated home they would go with. He always brought stuff back from trips - here a Daum vase, there an 'ethnic' cushion cover, often some exotic alcoholic beverage or confectionery, the very first pocket size transistor radios ever seen in England... Anyway, 46 years later, stuffed with an old pillow and wrapped in an official Council Recycling bag, one of his souvenirs made my evening at the Minack very comfortable indeed, and they'll make very good boat or camper cushions when I get round to doing the other two. Thanks, Dad!

It brought tears to my eyes...

... but I have no idea why.

This weekend is Saltash regatta, which includes a full programme of entertainment on the waterside, continental market, etc, etc, as well as the gig racing and other waterbased activities. There was a torrential downpour in the morning but it didn't last long enough to put a dampener on the festivities at all, so we went down for a look in the afternoon. It was very busy, with many people either watching the racing or enjoying the entertainment.

I was wandering around the stalls with Ty peacefully on his lead beside me when I became aware that he was quite insistently wanting to move in the opposite direction. Away from the percussion band which had just started up. I suppose it did sound a bit like gunfire, or fireworks, and he definitely didn't like it. I made him walk past it, being quietly encouraging, because it's good for his soul, but then took him down to the old quay and left him sitting with Ron in the comparative quiet by Solan Goose so that I could go back and look round at leisure.

Back past the folk duo, the shire horses, the music group on the green, Wreckers Morris under the bridges, a Frenchman from Plougastel (our twin town) giving away strawberries, stalls selling all kinds of food, drink, strange clothing and even stranger jewellery, herbal remedies and shiatsu massage...

Under the bridge I noticed, with quiet delight, that Crooked Tempo, Ty's nightmare drummers, were creating a substantial stone-and-metal echo. Their music was strong, rhythmic, complicated, joyous - and when I turned the corner and could actually see them, energetic, enthusiastic, smiling, dressed in turquoise, my eyes filled with tears and I had to look away. Why? No idea, but I will remember their performance.

Mint Resurrection

Much as it pains me to admit it, I am not the best gardener in the world. I try, but things die, usually because I treat them wrong, I suppose. Last year I did particularly badly, and almost everything new I planted disappeared. Betty down the road gave me a dozen anemone corms - I looked up the proper way to plant them, obeyed all the instructions to the letter, and not one of them ever came up. When I eventually emptied the planter I had put them in, there was no sign that anything had ever been there. The jasmine that Marjorie gave me started well, but didn't survive the winter. I bought a dozen alpines - half of them have done well, but the others have just disappeared. And I bought some herbs. There were half a dozen different ones - thyme, basil, chives, curry mint, rosemary - that I put in a planter together, and they are doing well. And a garden mint, mint sauce mint, which I put in a separate, large pot, where it grew well for a while and then died. It looked as if it had been got at and nibbled away.

Last weekend, almost a year later, I was gardening again. I've been given even more plants this year and some of them needed planting out in big pots. Being tidy minded and economical, I decided to finally give up on the mint and empty the pot to reuse the compost. In a horizontal line lining the pot about half way down, four or five inches from the surface, there was a strong white shoot circling round. Coming up vertically from this at regular intervals there were half a dozen white shoots, about an inch or so high, with what looked like miniature white leaves at the top. I didn't like to throw these in the compost bin, so I experimentally stuck them all in a small pot. Five days later they have gone green, the leaves have at least doubled in size and the shoots have grown taller! After I had tipped the old compost and buried mint plantlets out of the pot there were three slugs clinging to the inside about half way down, and I suspect that they were responsible for the original disappearance of the plant. They've been consigned to the compost heap, where a good slug belongs.

Now I'm not sure what to do - I bought another small mint plant from Lidl a couple of weeks ago which has survived so far. Should I risk putting all my new bits in one big pot, or should I stick bits here and there and hope? This is a very tentative mint resurrection, so far, but I feel more hopeful already. There will be mint sauce...

Boat Adventure

Quite suddenly, we have a new boat. For months and months Ron has spent night after night poring over eBay, and boats for sale websites, dithering over whether he likes this boat better than that boat, whether this one might be too small, that one might be too expensive, that one could go on the back of the mooring with Sarnia, this one could go in the dinghy park, that one is cheap but needs a lot of work, the other is expensive but he could sell lots of bits he doesn't want... it gets a bit repetitive and sometimes I just tune out altogether, not being able to tell a pilot from a pearn or an oyster from a pearl, indeed.

Until Monday. On Monday morning he saw the one he wanted, by Monday night it was his, cash on collection, and on Tuesday we embarked on an adventure to go and get it. Just to complicate matters, Tuesday is my morning in the Resource Centre and I had promised a master class on uploading photos to Facebook, no less, so I couldn't swap days. Anyway, he had enough to do in the morning running round trying to remember where the trailer board was (Downderry), getting the money out of the bank, trying to remember where we filed the TomTom (on top of the dresser), filling tanks with diesel and tyres with air, etc, so by the time we were ready to leave it was 3.30pm on the hottest day of the year so far, making Emsworth (Hampshire) and back rather more of an epic that we fancied for one day.

We got there quickly and uneventfully. The boat was exactly as described and pictured, just what he wanted, on a lovely new trailer, absolutely perfect, so that was OK. We asked the man who was selling it for a recommendation of a place to stay and he suggested the nearest B&B pub, about two minutes' walk away. The Railway Inn, Emsworth, can be thoroughly recommended as a place to stay. Comfortable, clean, friendly and easygoing, not too expensive, a perfect choice. We arrived there hot, tired and ready for refreshment at about 7pm. I left Ron sitting outside on the tiny terrace with the dog while I registered and took the bags to our room, and by the time I got back he was deep in conversation with a girl from over the road. We sat on the terrace until about 10pm, sending out for a Chinese which was both cheap and delicious (the barmaid brought us out plates and cutlery) while a succession of friendly customers, staff and locals came and talked to us. I learnt the best place to walk the dog, was advised on where to eat and when, was offered the use of a laptop to check emails etc (turned down, I was enjoying the day off!). At about ten I decided I should take the dog for a last walk before it got too dark, and that I'd better show Ron where the room was first. We had planned to go back down for a last drink afterwards, but by the time I got back from finding the Meadow Ron was well settled and we didn't bother.

It was still very hot - hotter than it ever gets in Cornwall at night - but we still slept pretty well. By 8 am Ty was getting a bit twitchy for a walk, so we went to explore Brook Meadow properly by daylight. Not the biggest bit of open space around - we went round two and a half times in a bit less than an hour - Brook Meadow is delightful, well cared for and obviously loved by the locals. It was a bit late in the season for the majority of wild flowers, but I sat happily on a bench breathing in the scents of mind and meadowsweet, listening to the birds... Until Ty asked me to throw a stick for him, and on running back with it skidded in a heap of dog mess. This in spite of the fact that not only are there plenty of dog bins, there is even a dog bag dispenser by the entrance to the meadow. Time for a paddle, I thought, well away from the water vole conservation area, of course. The brook comes into the meadow through a high brick tunnel under the railway line, and the arch frames a vista of parkland with impeccable lawns, sparkly weirs and rustic timber bridges, quite in contrast to the shoulder high vegetation on the meadow side. A dog walker I met told me that the other side of the tunnel was the garden of a private house, belonging to the widow of a former Admiral, he thought.

I'd have loved to have explored the village further - I also caught a glimpse of the river Ems with its swans and waterside, moored boats, small shops and a pretty square, but the boat awaited, so after a good substantial breakfast we walked down the road to get it.

When we got there the seller had already put the wheels on the trailer (it had been up on bricks the night before) and all we had to do was strap it down, hitch it up, plug in the trailer board and away! So far, the whole adventure had been utterly idyllic, free from problems of any kind, like a storybook in fact. One had wondered idly when it would start to go wrong, and when we took to the road home was when.

It was even hotter than the day before. The first part of the journey is A road then motorway, and after 25 miles or so we stopped at Rownhams Services, so that Ron could check that all was well with the boat and trailer. It wasn't. He touched the hub of a trailer wheel with the back of his hand to check the temperature, and it promptly blistered, burst and bled. White hot, they were, the trailer wheels, both of them. This was when we discovered that our RAC membership, paid for for ten years and only used twice, does not cover trailers. They could arrange recovery for us, but we'd have to pay. We were 25 miles in to a journey of 185, and we do not have money to spare for that kind of thing. That's what we thought we were paying the RAC for...

Ron had a few spanners and things but not his full collection. He came to the conclusion that the brakes were binding and had seized on. The trailer had not been used, we knew that, for a couple of years, but as the wheels had been put on by the time we got there in the morning he hadn't bothered to check to see if they were going round! Two hours or more we were there in the carpark, taking off wheels, trying to free up the brakes, trying to get oil (no grease available in the garage shop) on to the bearings with straws stolen from the Costa coffee machine. Ron's burnt hand was bleeding quite freely, my right shin lost some considerable amount of skin (and blood) while I was proving to myself that I can't jack wheels up, it was very, very hot, and 70 year old men should not be putting in that kind of physical effort. And another (minor) grouse - why do motorway services plant cherry trees as their only source of shade? Not that it would have mattered at any time but yesterday, really, but I tried to put myself and my dog in the shade, carefully removing all the old cherries from the ground before sitting, and was promptly rained upon by red squashiness. Luckily I was wearing a dress which doesn't show stains much - the cherries were only adding to the blood, oil, and whatever else that was already there!

Finally after a couple of hours Ron decided that it was safe to move on, very slowly and carefully. We stopped and checked the trailer wheels every few miles - one of them stayed cool and seemed OK, and although the other kept heating up (and had more oil poured in through a straw in a layby somewhere, plus cold water thrown over it when we found a garage with a tap) we did eventually make it to Downderry at 9.00pm, having left Emsworth at 11.15 in the morning. Drop boat, pick up fish and chips, eat, shower (second of the day) and bed. All sorting out and organising to be left for the morning. Adventure over, thank goodness!