Paranoia

Mrs BW has been away with the fledglings for a few days so I have been left to fend for myself. All alone apart from the cats and Moonshine the hamster with the enormous testicles. The house is quiet much too quiet. In fact the only sounds are the occasional thwack of the cat flap as one or other of them goes out or comes in, and Moonshine on his wheel, which I can hear from several rooms away.

One of the problems with being on my own is leaving the house. Or rather trying to leave the house. When Mrs BW is here I breeze out of a morning without a care in the world. I am not responsible for checking the doors are locked, the cooker or anything else electrical turned off. Someone else will do that.

Yesterday I had to go to work. So that meant that I had to leave the house. First I checked that I had turned everything off. Cooker, TV, computer, daughters hair straighteners. The latter is ridiculous because I know that she has not turned them on, as she has been away for two days. But I have to check. Just in case.

Then I checked the back door, and the French windows. I had checked them the previous night, and I had not been out of either, but I had to check them again. Just in case.

I collected my briefcase, picked the front door keys, up opened the front door and just as I was about to step outside, could not remember if I had turned my radio off upstairs. So I went back up and checked it. While I was up there I thought that I better check the computer again. Just in case.

Down stairs again I got to the front door and remembered the cooker, or rather I could not remember turning it off, so I went back in and checked it. While I was checking it, I remembered the immersion heater, which I knew I had not turned on, but thought I better check it just in case. While I was upstairs I checked that the TV was not on standby. and that I had not left Moonshines cage open, even though I knew I had not opened it. I opened it just so I could close it again and then worried that I might not have closed it properly. I opened it and closed it a few times. It did not make any sort of clicking noise. I tried it a few times, disturbing Moonshine and waking him up in the process.

I staggered down stairs, my brain reeling, my morning collapsing. The front door was ajar. Had the cats sneaked in? I would have to check. So I searched the downstairs rooms. They were cat less, apart from the utility room which was full of cats, but that was okay because they were allowed in there.

I was going to have to go to work. I took a deep breath and stepped outside. Had I turned the washing machine off? I carried on walking. Out onto the street, I worried that I had left the tap in the kitchen sink running. I carried on walking. As I got into town a fire engine roared past up the hill. I carried on walking. It would be too late anyway.

Things a Dad should know - no 102

I was sitting quietly upstairs reading. The door burst open and the smallest birdwatcher came towards me clutching his hamster with a worried look on his face.

"Dad there is something wrong with Moonshine." (Moonshine is the Hamster.)

I put the book down. "What's the matter with him?"

"He has lumps underneath his bottom, they are huge and swollen." He turns Moonshine over and shows me. Sure enough there are two red lumps. Moonshine struggles to right himself. He seems alert and has a sleek shiny coat. He seems fine.

"He does not look ill." I say. "Is he eating okay?"

"Fine, and he is keeping me awake at night as he goes round on his wheel."

"Well keep an eye on him and see how they are tomorrow."

Unconvinced he leaves.

The next day he comes running into the room. "Dad Moonshine seems to have got better, the lumps have gone down." And sure enough they have. They are still there but not so swollen. In fact they look like testicles. Of course they are testicles, as I find out later when I look it up on the Internet. Apparently Hamsters have very prominent testicles, which to the uninitiated can on first viewing look worrying like a growth of some sort.

So now I know!

And then there were seven

After being confined indoors most of the weekend because of the weather, and the enormous amount of alcohol I drank on Saturday night, it was a joy to get out into the Goyt this evening. The sun was shinning and even the fledglings tore themselves away from what ever drama they were watching on the tele and came with me.

We arrived at the car park and noticed a big white and grey bird skulking by the water's edge. It was the Heron. The pond seemed full of activity. There were quite a few ducklings swimming around being scolded by their mother. A couple of male mallards lazed by the waters edge close to the Heron and there was a tufted duck minding its own business in the middle of the pond. We got out of the car as quietly as possible. The Heron was still but it had a tension about it, and moments later it struck at something in the water and took off with that lazy languid flight that Herons have. A few flaps of its great wings and it settled down on the hillside to eat what ever it was that it had found in the pond. I rather think it was one of the ducklings! While the Heron was leaving ,the pond rippled with activity, and squawking and quacking and the ducks and ducklings headed for the comparative safety of the middle. We counted six ducklings. A seventh broke cover from the reeds at the edge of the pond and headed out in a whirlwind of activity to its siblings and its mum.

Up on the hillside the Heron ate its catch.

We walked on. A curlews cry carried across the valley on the breeze. There seem to be much fewer of them this year and though we heard several more we did not see any. After all the rain that we had had over the past few days it was good to see the puddles of water and to hear the streams. Its amazing how quickly everything greens up again. The "Moors are closed" signs had been taken down and the ground was even soft under foot in places.

Back at the pond the children sat down by the waters edge. They stayed quiet and the ducklings headed towards them. Gradually they became bolder and soon they were tugging at bits of fleece and waddling over to nip outstretched hands.

On the hillside above the Heron was hunched down. It appeared to have finished feeding. For today at any rate.

Bank Holiday Monday Part 2

Holmfirth is famous, if that is the right word, for featuring in the BBC sitcom "Last of the Summer Wine". It is a small Yorkshire town that has been settled in a steep sided valley on the edge of the Peak District. I had expected it to busy, crowded even and had said as much to Mrs BW on the way. "We'll never be able to park for a start" and "We should have left hours ago". This all fell on stony ground, and anyway with Stephen Fry on the cassette player I had no chance of a look in in the conversation stakes.

We arrived and amazingly for a Bank Holiday found a parking place straight away and met up with our friends. The sky was a dull leaden grey colour. It promised rain. Never mind we were here to enjoy ourselves and enjoy ourselves we would. The young ones gathered conspiratorially in a corner of the car park. While Mrs BW and Co went off to find toilets I waited by the car. The YO's realising that I was isolated and alone seized their chance. "Give us some money for sweets.....please dad" This last bit a definite after thought. So I did! They went off and left me in charge of both cars and both of our friends dogs.

We had planned to do a couple of short walks, the first leaving the town and exploring the immediate countryside and the second a more leisurely stroll around the town. In the end we did the first and sat outside in the gardens of a cafe drinking tea while the young people explored Holmfirth and declared it boring after fifteen minutes, and had to be bribed to stay away for a bit longer with more spending money.

We were lucky with the weather. The sun even came out, so that we were able to have a picnic. It was a good picnic. We shared out the food and as it had not been coordinated it was interesting and different. Mrs BW's quinoa and beetroot salad went down a storm, and the chocolate cake that J brought hit all the spots. We found a picnic spot next to a disused quarry with views over looking Holmfirth and sat in the warm(ish) spring sunshine and talked and laughed. It was quiet and peaceful. I glanced behind me and noticed that the quarry was intersected with various tracks. They looked as if they were made by something mechanical.

We had been sitting down for about ten minutes when a man leading two cart horses strolled past. They were wonderful animals, calm and strong. He chatted briefly before carrying on. Soon after a woman came by with two large greyhounds. The greyhounds were attracted by our picnic and by our friends smaller but very friendly cocker spaniels, in that order. Then a man on a tractor towing a trailer came past. He did not stop but he waved enthusiastically as he drove past. Next a four by four slowly negotiated the pitted and pot holed track. We all smiled and nodded at each other. I began to get suspicious. We had seen hardly anyone up until now! Perhaps word had gone around that there were incomers up in the hills and the locals had decided to come and have a look. When a young couple roared past on a quad bike, stopping and then considering riding on the tracks in the quarry before roaring off back the way they had come we decided that it was time to go. I guess that that solved the mystery if ever it was one of the mechanical tracks.

We strolled back rather more slowly after lunch than before. Through a gap in a wall we saw a copse filled with bluebells. By now the sun was out and it was warm and even the wind seemed benign and welcome.

Back in Holmfirth we drank tea and wiled away the rest of the afternoon. Just as we decided it was time to go it started to rain.

I was allowed to drive back, a rare honour. Mrs BW does not enjoy my driving. She says that I leave things until the last minute, like braking for the corners, and have an annoying habit of only having one hand on the wheel. But today she was suffering from a heavy cold so she relented. As we set off she pressed the play button on the cassette recorder. Stephen Fry picked up from where he had left off. I gripped the wheel tightly and listened to the rain. "Harry Potter......".

Bank Holiday Monday Part 1

Ten thirty am. We were due to have set off half an hour ago to meet up with some friends in Homfirth, to go for a gentle relaxing bank holiday stroll. But we are running late. The kitchen looks like a feeding station in a war zone. Mrs BW wrestles with a beetroot salad. She is coming down with the virulent strain of man flu that laid me low last week. The fledglings are protesting. They have discovered that meeting up with our friends involves going for a walk. They don't like walking. Its boring and pointless they say. "Whats the point of having a car if we are going to walk" etc etc. Well rehearsed arguments that fall on the deaf ears of their cruel and unreasonable parents.

We check the day sacks that they have packed. For once the youngest has put in his hat, gloves and waterproofs. Amazing! Our daughter has not however. Mrs BW reasons with her.

"But its not raining" she protests.

"Look at the sky and tell me what you see" Mrs BW is adopting the "I am going to allow you to arrive at the right decision all by yourself with a little bit of prompting approach." I prefer the more direct approach.

"Its grey and cloudy" she concedes. Large drops of rain start to fall. The water proofs are stuffed with a certain vehemence into the day sack. Mrs BW seems satisfied. One small victory
but we brace ourselves for the counterattack.

We are ready! As we set off Stephen Fry booms out from the cassette player "Harry Potter...." I suspect it will be a long day.

As I feared

The recent warm and dry weather has forced the Peak National Park to restrict access to the Moors. Better safe than sorry. It is tinder dry up there at the moment. The forecast is for rain this weekend so hopefully any restrictions should not last long.

1st May 2007 The Goyt - Early evening

Despite the sunshine and the cloudless blue sky, a sharp wind whips off the hillside behind me and makes me glad that I wore a fleece. It is quite chilly sitting on the bench overlooking the valley. A young couple stroll past arm in arm. They are in shorts and tee shirts. Maybe its my age and not the wind that makes it seem chilly. They seem to hesitate as they pass by the bench. Maybe they hoped to sit there themselves.

Below in the valley the curlews liquid cry is cut through by the raucous rasp of a grouse. But the curlews persist and the grouse give up. Somewhere behind me on the hillside I hear a lapwings distinctive call while a skylark sings above me. From far away I hear the throaty growl of a super bike on Long hill. It provides an ever louder background sound as it fights the dips and curves of the road, getting closer and closer before the noise recedes as the bike hurries down the hill into Buxton.

Peace descends on the hillside and in the valley. The sun sinks lower and the shadows chase the fading light away across the slopes. I retreat reluctantly back to the car. But before I leave I watch the wind ripple across the surface of the pond, fracturing the water into a thousand pieces.

Tonight would be a good night to bring the children to see the night sky unpolluted by lights. Not only is it a cloudless sky but the air is so clear. But they have school and I have to go to work early tomorrow, so I doubt that I will bring them. But there will be another time, there will always be another time.