Good day, Bad day...

Yesterday was a Good Day. The sky was blue, the sun was actually warm for the first time this year, spring was really getting on with it. Down at Latchbrook the rookery is being loudly refurbished, smaller birds are racing round madly chasing each other in and out of the bushes - and there was so much frogspawn in the little marsh that I didn't feel at all guilty about taking some home to populate my little pond. A Good Day.
Today started well, too. The weather was wet and miserable, but we had an excellent meeting at Rilla Mill this morning and I was still quite cheerful when I left there to come home at 12.30. I got as far as Callington before the day turned Bad. I got a puncture. Right in the middle of the town where the main A388 is constricted by all the old buildings and the articulated lorries, tractors, buses and other traffic are all struggling to negotiate their way through. I managed to get half off the road, but I could sense the lorry drivers thinking evil thoughts at me as they struggled past.
The RAC took an hour and a half to get to me. Then the spare tyre was soft, and when the RAC man tried to blow it up the valve exploded, which meant even more standing around in the cold and rain while he blew up the punctured tyre and put it back for (just) long enough for me to drive up the hill and round the corner to a tyre place. It wasn't repairable, naturally; there's a cut over an inch long right across the middle of the tread. Goodness knows what I ran over to cause that. So now I have two new tyres on the front, and the best three of what was left on the back wheels and as a spare. I am rather less solvent than I was this morning, and consider the day to have lost its bright promise. I haven't even been to check up on my frogspawn!

Wrens and Robins, Sparrows and Snow

So it's winter. A winter rather more severe than has been usual of late. It's been a bit late getting to us here in Saltash. There was dry snow on dry roads yesterday morning which didn't cause too much difficulty so I went into Liskeard to the resource centre as usual, but by 12 it was snowing again - big, wet, flakes - so I made an executive decision to close early and go home. By the time I got home the snow had turned to rain and disappeared altogether. Nice afternoon, just not quite nice enough to dry everything up before it all froze as soon as darkness fell. And then it snowed. The dog and I went out for a last midnight walk on a thin crunchy layer of 'proper' winteriness, owls hooting in the distance, crisply peaceful, pleasantly cold and still.

By morning there must have been almost an inch of snow. However, from shortly before dawn until slightly too late to go to work or school there were blizzard conditions and the world came to a halt. By the time I took the dog down to the creek (10ish) it was starting to melt and again was almost gone by the time everything froze at dusk. Apart from walking up and down the coombe twice I've not been out at all; I would have gone to aquacise tonight, but the leisure centre had also made an executive decision to cancel all classes, so I couldn't even do that.

One of the bright sides of this weather is that it's giving me more birds to watch. A robin has recently created a 'territory' which encompasses my garden, the birches on the grass by the car park, and (I believe) one garden on the other side. I've seen and heard him several times, singing that 'keep away all you inferior birds' song, and he was singing his heart out from a birch branch at 8 this morning when I looked out of the kitchen window. Then he came down to the feeders for the first time. There was a certain amount of exploration and hesitation before he settled on fat balls for breakfast. Ten minutes later the sparrows started wandering over from the escallonia over by the community room where they roost, and were quite viciously driven away from the 'robin' food. Or at least when they came one at a time. By lunchtime they were all sharing quite happily with only the usual sparrow squabbles.

I am now certain that at least one wren has taken up residence in the rare red jasmine, which is, let's face it, the only thing around with proper cover. It's an amazing bush, as high as the fence, and spreading out like a small tree. In milder winters it will flower all through, but even with this icy weather it's hardly lost a leaf. If anything startles the birds on the feeders, a couple of dozen of them can disappear instantly into its bulk. And every day now for more than a week I've seen a wren hopping out for a stroll along the fence rail and a dip down to the garden. Today I watched one come out, hop down behind the pond, then I saw it come out on to the fence from the top of the jasmine again! So maybe there's more than one. I do hope so... Normally I feed the sparrows and that's it, but today I have also seen bluetits, chaffinches, starlings, blackbirds, great tits and longtailed tits and a thrush all in my patch. There was at one time a line of 24 blackheaded gulls all facing into the wind and snow on the ridge of Hugo's roof opposite (two actually had black heads) with a lone herring gull behind them.

It's now (10.30pm) freezing hard again but the sky is clear. I shall shortly go out for a slide. Thank goodness for sensible hiking boots and spiky sticks!

Winter Weather Report

All over the country people are reporting wintry weather, snow, ice, disruption, disaster. Here in this little corner of Cornwall, close to the coast and only 100 metres above sea level we rarely get extremes of weather - frost free in winter, and merely warm in summer when others are baking in the sun. That's what I like about it, in fact.


This last few days, however, we have actually had a bit of winter. And of course it took us (well me, anyway) by surprise. Last Friday morning was when it began. It was chilly in the morning but bright sunshine - a lovely day dawning as I took Ty down the coombe. At 9.15 I picked up a neighbour to drive into Liskeard to a meeting. No ice on the car, started nicely, out of the car park and round the corner, sun shining on the windscreen, ooh it's dirty, use screen washers, windscreen covered with ice! Luckily I was still on a very quiet side road so I could stop and clean up.


Friday night was cold. As I was making the first coffee of Saturday morning I watched a blackbird and a sparrow hopping across the top of the pond - icy! By the time Ty and I got down to the creek it was snowing, but just a very light powdery proto-snow which could not be felt, although it didn't melt... When we got back I checked the garden - the pond was covered with ice, and a planter which was full of water had ice over an inch thick on it, which I removed. The birds' waterbowl was frozen solid so it had a wash and new fresh lukewarm water put in it. I also filled two seed feeders and put out more crumbs. Once I was back indoors I watched for a few minutes as the starlings lined up to drink from the nice fresh waterbowl. But not for long - the world disappeared in a sudden white out. Ron was down at the waterside at the time, helping someone take a boat engine out, and says they couldn't even see the tools they had out on the deck. They couldn't stop work, though, as the crane had been hired and had to be paid for.


The blizzard didn't last too long, but left a couple of inches of nice crisp snow everywhere. That didn't last too long either - it had pretty well disappeared again by the time it got dark and the freeze began again.

Sunday morning dawned clear, cold and bright. A lovely day for a walk, which was just what we'd got planned anyway. It was a bit slidey underfoot, but nothing that couldn't be coped with, and the nasty white stuff on my car windows slid off easily with a towel. The roads weren't as clear as they could have been but I got to Hessenford without incident, only one very gentle slide pulling in to the side of the lane going downhill to let a line of traffic up. The Copley car park, however, was pure skating rink. It was much, much colder than Saltash as well. I watched a man try to start his car which he'd left overnight - ten minutes to get in the doors, 20 to scrape the windows even with the engine running.

Once the company was assembled - six people and four dogs, including the new and adorable Harvey - we set out. Just crossing the road was quite frightening, but we thought once we got into the valley we'd be fine. Not quite; much of the valley trail has duck boards covered with chicken wire to give a grip, but when covered by sheet ice the wire doesn't work. So it took us about twice as long as usual to get to Seaton, where it was different again. We walked along the beach in brilliant sunshine under a sky as blue as I have ever seen anywhere in the world, the sea calm, the light amazing. As far as Coleadon and back for lunch at Seaton Beach Cafe before marching carefully back through the valley to Hessenford as the light began to fade.

Ty's Birthday - Swimming in Seaton

I have just realised, as we were taking our late night stroll along the top of the coombe, that yesterday, Sunday, was Ty's ninth birthday. He spent most of it bravely struggling upstream along storm swollen rivers and trying to clear Seaton Valley of fallen tree trunks, mostly by bringing them to me and asking me to throw them for him.


Most of the British Isles has been suffering from what I have heard described as 'the worst storm of the year' but what should better be thought of as the first good storm of this winter season. Extremely strong gales and heavy rain started in our little south west corner, as usual. It was bad enough on Friday night for the Tamar bridge to be closed to most traffic, causing all kinds of chaos on the roads and me to miss what had promised to be a good night out in Tavistock. Saturday was still wild and passed with an absolutely minimum of outdoor activity, but by Sunday morning it was calm and dry - even sunny at times, and Seaton Valley beckoned.

Very pleasant it was too. Soggy underfoot; the river had obviously been over the path in several places, although it was back within its banks (just) by the time we got there. When the Council created the Otter Trail through the valley as an extension of the country park they put in sections of duckboards here and there, but as it was a new path it was mostly guesswork, and there are some places which need then and don't have them, as well as places where by common usage the duckboards are bypassed as unnecessary. There are a couple of places this week where they are also quite broken by fallen trees.
I had a new phone a month or so ago, and it has a nice simple camera. As a result, I have taken more unplanned snapshots in the past few weeks than in the previous twenty years or so. It doesn't take pictures very quickly, though. I have one picture of a lovely empty bit of riverbank which had a dog right in the middle of the frame when I pressed the button. I also have a couple of blurs which should have been dog shaking tree trunk. Ah, well, I am sure my technique will improve...
We finished our walk in proper style with a Rattler at the Copley, which has a bit of new roof where a very large old willow lost its grip on Friday night. As twilight fell the wind rose again, but the worst of the storm seems to be over for a few days now.

Drenched on Dartmoor

The new boots and waterproof jacket finally got properly roadtested today - and passed with flying colours. Lovely warm, dry feet I had, and I was warm and dry under my jacket too; the only slight problem being that I had once more underestimated the force of the Dartmoor microclimate and forgotten the waterproof trousers and rainhat. Very damp indeed about the legs and the ears, I was. I can't wear a hood without a hat underneath because I become blind and deaf, which isn't a good way to be walking on the moors.

The forecast was for a gentle drizzle and it was quite dry at home, but the weather closed in more and more as I was driving up to Postbridge. Visibility on the moor road before Princetown was only a few feet, and most of the sheep and cattle had chosen to follow the road. Past Princetown it cleared a little. Postbridge itself was another first for me - a nice big car park, information centre, loos, little shop without rain hats, coach loads of German tourists, lots of driving rain. Still, booted, jacketed and wrong trousered I followed the gang up from there to Bellever Tor and back down round again. About a five mile walk which was actually mostly very enjoyable, if a trifle bracing. Once or twice it almost stopped raining and we could see a little way, just occasionally it blew up a proper hooley and we couldn't. After having had to negotiate through herds and flocks of loose livestock on the road, we didn't see any at all through the walk apart from a small group of alpaca in a field. Oh, and a shrew which ran across the track about six inches in front of my boots.

Back at Postbridge I changed into dry trousers and sandals before driving up to Warren House for lunch, which was very good when it finally arrived. We'd booked a table but had to wait a while for earlier eaters to finish their meals before we could start. A very popular watering hole, Warren House, allegedly the highest inn on the moor, and full today of extremely wet walkers. I was feeling quite smug about my comparative dryness by the time we left until I discovered that an injudicious choice of windows left open for the dog in the car meant that I had to sit in a puddle all the way home. How can so much water get through such a small space? One of the insoluble mysteries of Dartmoor.

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...

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!

Sunny Sunday

I put shorts on (well I unzipped and discarded the lower legs of my trekking trousers) for the first time yesterday. Even at 8.30, when I experimentally tested the bare legs down the Coombe, it only felt strange for a minute or so, then perfectly natural. Good, I thought, summer is here...

It was a beautiful day, sunny and bright with just about enough of a breeze to make it comfortable. We had a nice, gentle six mile walk around Wadebridge, starting in the Jubilee park, ascending gently up through footpaths and shady (even sometimes muddy) green lanes to Burlawn, down through the village then along the Forestry Commission track through Bishopswood to join the Camel Trail and thence back to Wadebridge. It was what summer walkies should be - no unusual sights but a general feeling of warm green brightness sparked through with bright flowers and birdsong. Lots of water for the dogs to play in, as well.

It was Ty's first proper walk since he hurt his paw, and he was fine. A slight limp when he got tired, but apart from that he seemed to enjoy himself. So much so that he slept most of the afternoon!

I went home and collected Ron at three so that we could spend a typical Sunday afternoon at the Copley - sipping cider by a trout stream in good company. The sunshine was a bonus - and in fact at one stage we gave some consideration to moving over the bridge to the shady side of the stream, but decided this was still a little previous.

Today, though, Bank Holiday Monday, all has changed. It's cool and dull and slightly spitting with rain. I was pleased to observe that for the first time this year it was drier under the trees in the Coombe than out in the open.

What a beautiful day for a walk! We started from Polkerris today and did a round trip, following a bit of The Saints Way to Ready Money Cove, where we had a picnic on the beach, then back along the coast path by way of St Catherine's Castle and the DayMark at Gribbin Head to where we started from. A long walk - we took about five hours to do the 7 or 8 miles, but it was far too nice to hurry.

The first (and shorter/easier) half of the walk is mostly through farmland along the Saints Way. After a steep climb to begin with it was fairly easy walking, well trodden and well signposted. On the way we passed a small herd of Large Black pigs, as black as their name with muddy highlights and long floppy ears. One or two of the younger ones were curious and came over to touch noses with the equally curious dogs. By the time we got down to the delightful Ready Money Cove with its turreted shelter we were ready for lunch, parked on the rocks in the sun. The dogs went straight to the water and did their various usual things. Ty swam loudly round in circles, Jake stood in the water with his head on one side, patiently waiting for someone to throw something, Meg raced madly up and down the surf line. As usual, they attracted playmates. We watched Ty patiently lure one woman from the top of the beach to the waterline with a heavy piece of driftwood which was quite unsuitable for throwing. Still, he persuaded her to throw it and patiently corrected her every time she threw it away from the water until finally he had her with her boots off paddling and correctly throwing the log into the water for him.

Back on the trail there's a steep climb (naturally) up from the cove to St Catherine's Castle, part of the Henry VIII's coastal fortifications against the French, now ruined but with lovely views. Past there it got very breezy with the wind in our faces along the cliffs. We heard our first skylark of the year. Five minutes later we could hear half a dozen all round us. Another steep down, this time to Polridmouth, where there is a rather odd obviously man made lake (three mallard and a swan) and a bit of concrete wall passing it with stepping stones. Odd enough for me to have googled it. It appears that the lake was built as a decoy for Fowey during WWII!

Up again, down again, up again, up a bit more on to Gribbin Head, where the DayMark tower was locked so Bob couldn't climb to the top. Shame. I had no intention of trying, me. I was quite high enough up already, thank you. From there it's cliff top all the way, very narrow and very close to the edge in places, but fairly flattish until you get back to the steep bit through the woods back down to Polkerris. And now that I'm home I see (and feel) that my face has gone a delightful shade of salmon pink.

Dartmoor in the 'Spring'

The weather has been quite mild for the past two or three days and this morning dawned bright and blue, in spite of the forecast for heavy showers, so an executive decision was made to go a little lighter on the heavy weather gear for the scheduled walk. This decision was wrong, very wrong. I went to Dartmoor wearing only jeans, a T-shirt, a wind/waterproof fleece lined jacket, sensible boots and a last minute woolly hat I only grabbed on the way out because it was a bit breezy down in the woods. No gloves, no vest, no inner fleece, no fleecelined waterproof trousers...

I picked up Micheal and Roz, similarly lightly clad, and the dogs and we made our way to the meeting point in Peter Tavy, right on the edge of the moor. As we arrived it suddenly clouded over and the brisk breeze turned into a howling gale while we were milling round the car park gathering the group together. Not too bad, though, and seven of us set off uphill, making for Stephen's Grave and White Tor with the wind behind us. The wind got very wet very quickly, a combination of hail and sleet hitting us more or less horizontally, but still from behind, so not unbearable. Or at least not until it had soaked through the jeans. It was only a short(ish) shower and we carried on climbing. The higher we got the stronger the wind and the sleet returned in earnest near to the top of White Tor. On the lower slopes we passed several small flocks of sheep sheltering behind rocks or walls; higher up the ponies were doing the same. Nothing was actually moving across the open ground except ourselves and the weather!

We made it all the way up to White Tor, where Roz, Vanessa and I promptly squeezed ourselves into a very small cave to shelter, leaving the men and the dogs to play. Ian found enough snow to make a very small snow figure (more duck than man, we decided) which was duly photographed by those whose fingers were not too cold to take pictures, the precipitation ceased (though not the wind, alas) and we made our way back down from the moor by a slightly different route which took us through farmyards and along a pretty stream back to the pub car park. I'm not sure how far we went, but we were out two and a half hours which was quite enough.

I had at least been sensible enough to take trackies and trainers to change into after the walk. When I took my jeans off in the ladies I found that my legs were absolutely bright red as if sunburnt, and as they thawed out they were quite sore. Lunch was good, though, and well deserved. As always, the conversation more than made up for any discomfort suffered.

This time I have learnt my lesson. I should have known better, I've been caught out before. On Dartmoor, ALWAYS dress for mid winter; that's what it's like up there. Invigorating.

February Frogspawn

We had an extremely chilly walk through Seaton valley yesterday. In the valley itself it was fine, but along the shore from Seaton to Downderry there was a strong Siberian wind blowing straight in my face, which would have been quite unpleasant if I had not been wearing the fleece lined water-and-windproof trousers, Swedish loggers' ditto jacket, red felt hat and black felt gloves, thermal socks, big boots, woolly scarf round face... I was ready for the Arctic and enjoyed the walk. Ty didn't swim, for once. He dipped the toes in and decided against it. The river was quite high and running pretty fast, so it's just as well.



There were lots of snowdrops in flower through the woods, and lots of frogspawn in the ditch beside the path at the country park end. No ice on the water yet, but that may change over the next few days, as the forecast is for even colder weather.

I saw an egret investigating the rock pools at Seaton, the first time I've seen one there, although Jenny tells me that she sees it often, and that it patrols all the way from Seaton to Bass Rock.

This morning it was quite a lot colder than yesterday, although the wind has dropped. Walking down through the coombe I was crunching ice instead of slipping on mud. We have no snow - possibly the only corner of England without any, according to news reports - and it's been a beautiful sunny day. Churchtown was particularly lovely this afternoon, full of strange birds. At least I thought some of them were strange until I realised that they were goldfinches that were robin shaped because of the cold. And the robins were as round as tennis balls.

It is absolutely dry underfoot, not snowing, not icy at all, and yet for the first time ever a council workman has been round spreading grit on the path outside our front door, and on the car parks at the back. Not on the steps, though, that would be too sensible. And not on the roads, either. The only other place I saw that had been gritted was the Co-op car park.



I saw an egret investigating the rock pools at Seaton, the first time I've seen one down there, but Jenny tells me that she sees it often, and it patrols all the way from Seaton to Bass Rock.



This morning it was quite a lot colder, although the wind had dropped. The mud in the Coombe had frozen solid, as had all the puddles, but there was no ice

Interesting Times...

The last couple of days have been rather more full of incident than is usual for my quiet life.

On Thursday Ron, who has got into the habit of slobbing about in trackie bottoms, tried on every pair of trousers he possesses, even his suit, to find something to wear for his sister's 60th birthday dinner, and couldn't get in to any of them. So we decided that a trip into the Bill Tall shop in Plymouth was in order, and it was booked in for after yoga on Friday morning.

Before yoga on Friday morning I met the downstairs neighbours on the doorstep and was told about a problem with their gas fire. An engineer had been called for. Ty and I slithered our way through the woods for half an hour, then I went off to my class.

I was having a quick cup of coffee before leaving (about 11.45) when we had a call from the Eye Infirmary to say that Ron's lens and glasses were ready. The dispenser would be there until 1pm, so we decided to do that before the shopping. We had our coats on when the doorbell rang: Fred and Josie had had their gas cut off because it was so dangerous, he had been sent to the Doctor's and had a note for them both to go to Derriford A&E asap to be checked for carbon monoxide poisoning. So we dropped them there, then dashed to the Eye Infirmary. The glasses are great but when he tried the new lens it made his eye sore, so we put the old one back in left it to try again later.

Shopping was interesting. In very rapid succession he picked out a pair of black trousers, an extra long black shirt, a pair of black slip on shoes and a cream silk extra long tie. I can't remember the last time I actually made him go shopping as opposed to me doing it for him or getting stuff from catalogues. It's a bit too expensive to let it happen too often!

We had lunch in town - OAPs special cod and chips etc - and came home. My intention was to take Ty for a very long tiring walk so that he would be happy to be left at home while we were out, but it got very bleak with a biting wind and hard, solid, horizontal rain, so we had as much as I could stand and came back. When I turned back half way round skylark field, which is very exposed, he came along with me quite happily till we got to the gate, but then tried to take me off down to the woods instead of up the lane towards home. He obviously knew I was trying to cheat him!

By the time John and Steph came to pick us up at six the rain was torrential, and it didn't stop all night. It was a long drive to the Fox and Hounds (just over an hour and a half) and very unpleasant, but we had a lovely evening with good food and good company. On the way back the roads were flooded in places but just about passable - I read on the news this morning that there had been some places where people had had to be rescued.

That was Friday. Saturday dawned dry but soggy underfoot, and even more 'interesting', if that's possible. I'd hoped for a bit of a lie in, but Fred was ringing the doorbell very early, fully recovered from his scare of yesterday, wanting to borrow the chariot, which Ron had offered to him while his own car is being re-engined. So I got up and showed him how it worked. While I was doing that John next door came over to say his battery was dead, and could be take up Ron's kind offer of the loan of a spare one until he could get a new one (last week it was only the battery charger he needed). That sorted, I had a coffee before taking Ty down to the creek.

When we got back a young man was trying to start a people carrier which had been parked in a rather interesting manner outside the garages. He had apparently dropped some stuff off in his garage on Friday night and the vehicle had died on him in the pouring rain. He had walked round with one of those emergency power pack thingies, which of course was having no effect whatsoever, so I brought the monster truck round and gave him a jump start. I'm having a sign for the front door - 'Hazel's Auto Solutions'!

The beginning of winter?

It's very autumnal now, indeed it's equinoctial, with gales and rain and general misery all round. It wasn't too bad in the morning; when I went down the coombe with the dog it was grey but still and dry. There were eight swans and George the Goose milling about in the creek, which was at about half tide, plus the usual egret and a lone Gadwall drake. It was so still for a moment there that I could see the swans' reflections, but as I was watching them there came a clanking of halyards from the boats on the Tamar, the wind starting swirling under the viaduct and the rain came down! And came down, and came down... And the wind has got stronger and stronger all day, as well.

I was trying to stave off the inevitable afternoon walkies when I had a phone call from Tom, who had a job for me, so I went to pick it up on my way to Churchtown with Ty. Churchtown was a mistake today, it is far too open and exposed to the weather. I wore the yellow waterproof but had made the mistake of going out in jeans because I was calling in to see Tom, so by the time I had been once round the top five fields my legs were completely soaked. And my car keys were not in my pocket. Definitelynot there. I spent a good few minutes fumbling with cold wet hands in pockets full of plastic bags, but nothing. Nothing for it but to go round again, hoping I could find them...

Off we set again, although I still couldn't believe I'd dropped the keys, and continuing patting myself down, sort of, while keeping my eyes on the ground. And eventually found a lumpy bit of coat lining, which proved to be my keys. The hole in the pocket they had slipped through was so small as to be almost invisible, and took me a long time to find before I was able to retrieve them. As I eventually got into the car the rain stopped, which was adding insult to injury. The small god of walkies is a mischievous god, sometimes...

Changes, changes

Every day things change out there in the woods. But most of the changes are so small that they go unreported. Perhaps that's a bad thing - I should make proper notes and compare seasons and write it all down in a diary, but I would rather wonder at it all than analyse it.

This morning the sun is shining and the sky is blue. If it weren't for the ash which has split about four feet off the ground, spreading its branches in all directions and creating a very big hole in the canopy, and the mud underfoot, it would be difficult to credit the contrast between today's weather and the day before yesterday. The bees are back buzzing round the ivy on the shore - I never realised there were that many different bee species - and the hazel at the top of the steps leading to the woods has tiny little unripe catkins all over its branches, mixed in with the unripe but rapidly colouring fruit.

Back to the Wet Stuff...

...in both senses. It's raining again - the TV experts tell me that this August has been the cloudiest, if not actually the wettest, since records began in 1929, and I could well believe it. And now September has started with rain and a gale of wind, just for good measure.

I decided a little while ago that I would make September 1st my target for getting back into the gym, or at least the swimming pool, and I duly turned up for an aquacise class at lunchtime. Unfortunately, the instructor didn't, but I had a swim anyway for half an hour or so. I didn't go round in circles, either; in fact the wrist seems to work better in the water than out. I'd have gone to Pilates tonight as well if it hadn't been raining so hard - the one thing I just don't feel ready for is driving, and I just wasn't quite motivated enough to walk there...

What a Lovely Day!

Unexpectedly, against the predictions of the meteorologists, yesterday was a beautiful summer's day. The sun shone, the sky was blue, there was no wind to speak of - the type of weather one expects in August, but which has sadly been elusive up till now.

Too late to plan a proper outing, but after I had dug a pair of shorts out from the 'to be ironed' heap where they had languished since before I broke my wrist Ty and I went to Churchtown for the afternoon. The tide was coming in fast and the current was very strong in the river. Ty had a very good swim, while I watched a couple of small inflatables making negative progress paddling down river towards Wearde. More by luck than judgment, I think, they got out of the main channel eventually, otherwise they'd have been in danger of spending the night in the Dandy Hole.

When we climbed back up from the shore Ty found a lovely toy; a rubber ring, but with a woolly coating like a tennis ball. We played with this all the way back to the road. I took it off him and carried it along the road and the bridle path, but as soon as we reached the playing field (last grass before home) he insisted on my throwing it again for him. Twice. The third time I threw it he just sat and looked at it. When he was sure I was going to pick it up, off he trotted homewards down the hill.

This was the third toy he had found in as many days. The first was a tennis ball up a tree at Latchbrook, but he lost that again by knocking it over a fence into some nettles. Despite his clear entreaties that I should rescue it for him it had to stay there, sadly. The next day, Friday, we were walking home from the library past the tennis courts when suddenly he had a brand new ball in his mouth! Nobody seemed to be looking for it, so it went in my shopping bag...

When we got home there was a note on top of my computer keyboard informing me that we were being taken out for a meal by Ron's brother and his wife. And a message on the phone saying the same thing, just in case I missed the note.

We went to a pub/restaurant which is only about five minutes' drive from home, but which I had never before set foot in. The food was good and the evening very pleasant. I took Claire's eating implement with me, but didn't have to use it; I was able to cut up my Cajun Chicken with a normal knife and fork, although I have to hold the knife a little awkwardly. In fact, I am finding that I am doing more and more each day and was feeling quite pleased with myself until Steph said how 'horrible' my poor arm looked! I suppose it does, but not to me. To me it looks almost normal again now.

As I type there is a young herring gull on the roof opposite, begging for food from a parent. What an odd season this has been - the nesting season should be well over by now. The sycamores have almost lost all their leaves now, and the silver birches are about half way there. Blackberries were early but not abundant, some of the rowans were really heavy with berries, others not, hips and haws are few and far between, as are hazelnuts, but the elderberries are doing very well, unlike the sloes.