Five o'clock in the morning. In winter there is nothing good that one can say about five o'clock in the morning. Its dark for a start. Usually damp and there is little incentive to leave the warmth of my bed and Mrs BW. But today I actually beat the alarm to it by a few seconds, and get out of bed straight away. No turning over for a few more minutes. I have a train to catch and some serious thinking to do. Its Monday morning and I am off to Fort William by train, to spend a few days on my own. the plan is to try and sort a few things out. I have some decisions to make about how to, or where to take my career. I am going with Mrs BW's blessing and encouragement. I shower and go downstairs to make some porridge. I always do this in the microwave now. Its easier, and creates less mess in the sink and consequently the drains. It takes two minutes thirty seconds to make. I use the same measurements as always. The Microwave pings. I open the door. there is molten porridge everywhere. Why? Why today? I clean it out and make some toast. My train or rather bus leaves at 6.19am from Buxton Station. Bus because this is the first day of major rail works between Buxton and New Mills, so its the bus. Mrs BW takes me down to the station. I check and recheck that I have everything. I feel nervous. I have not been away on my own, apart from trips on business for fifteen years. We arrive at the station. It is 6.12am. There is a bus there waiting. I relax and start to get my case and rucksack out. The bus sets off. I shout at it, wave my arms at it. The driver ignores me. I run across the station forecourt and manage to catch his attention. He stops. Winds down the window. He explains that this is not the bus I want. He goes on his way. I go back to the car and an amused Mrs BW. I feel an idiot. This is not an great start.
The train is lurching and rattling its way through Greater Manchester. A thin, pale, pasty light is trying to force its way through the thick cloud cover and the retreating night. I am struggling with the train timetables. When I planned this trip, well okay planned might be a little bit ambitious, drifted into it might be a better description, the idea was to catch the
9.19 Virgin train to Glasgow from Preston. That meant that if everything went according to plan I could pick up the 12.38 from Glasgow Queen Street to Fort William, a trip I was looking forward to. All that scenery from the comfort of a train, relaxing, stress free, a chance to chill out and to start thinking. I had checked the Internet just before I left this morning and it threw a spanner in the works. There was an 8.48 from Preston to Glasgow, and that was fine as we go into Preston at 8.28. The problem was I could not find it on the Virgin Timetable that Mrs BW had given me. I am not a seasoned traveller. I need things to worry about, so as we rushed through the outer suburbs of Manchester, I worried about connections to Glasgow from Preston. Mrs BW had told me not to worry. "Stick to your plan" she said. "You have booked your seat on the 9.18, you have plenty of time."
Its not a great view from the dust and rain streaked window. The derelict remnants of the industrial revolution and the great age of British manufacturing vie with waste ground and the visionary architecture of disillusioned sixties architects, convinced that they knew how people wanted to live best. The people getting on and off look tired, worn out, but I guess that would be true of anyone getting on or off a commuter train. Its not particularly busy. Before I know it we are pulling into Preston, and I have some decisions to make. In the end I decide to take the 9.18. It appears that there are at least eight different timetables for Virgin Trains Services. Mrs BW had given me the VT1 from the South West to Scotland. Very confusing! I need a coffee to recover.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
They couldn't get away with that today!
Picked this 1950 Penguin publication up from a second hand book shop in Fort William on tuesday. I had to get it for the comment on the back!Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Cashing in on the boon for reforming rock bands.
So the Police are reforming. I have to confess that I used to like them, and even saw them live at the Lyceum and at Reading Rock Festival in 1979. In their early days the fusion of new wave and reggae was a welcome change to the rich diet of punk that I had been absorbing since the mid seventies. But it seemed to all go to their heads, or at least Stings head. They became a global mega rock group, and as they spiralled into the stratosphere I lost interest. I don’t recall being particularly moved or concerned when they split.
And now they are going on tour again, and Sting will pick up a cool £70m if you believe the Guardian. I am sure that I am alone on this one but I wish they wouldn’t reform. The fledglings, a fairly reliable barometer, love the Beatles, enjoy the Clash, and much of the other stuff that has survived the various re locations and lean periods of mine and Mrs BW’s lives, but on the few occasions when I have put on The Police, they make a hasty exit from the room, going “oh no dad not your boring old music”.
No doubt there a sufficient numbers of forty and fifty something’s, cash rich and yearning to recapture something from the golden years of their youth, who will pay the exorbitant prices to see the band play again and so for a few brief moments recapture a glimpse of those far off long gone days. For me, I think that you are better with your memories, because it is never as good the second time round.
And now they are going on tour again, and Sting will pick up a cool £70m if you believe the Guardian. I am sure that I am alone on this one but I wish they wouldn’t reform. The fledglings, a fairly reliable barometer, love the Beatles, enjoy the Clash, and much of the other stuff that has survived the various re locations and lean periods of mine and Mrs BW’s lives, but on the few occasions when I have put on The Police, they make a hasty exit from the room, going “oh no dad not your boring old music”.
No doubt there a sufficient numbers of forty and fifty something’s, cash rich and yearning to recapture something from the golden years of their youth, who will pay the exorbitant prices to see the band play again and so for a few brief moments recapture a glimpse of those far off long gone days. For me, I think that you are better with your memories, because it is never as good the second time round.
Friday, February 09, 2007
I am going (not so) quietly insane
As I write our house vibrates to a cacophony of sound. I of course have radio 4 on. A perfectly acceptable background noise, an intelligent sort of sound that sooths and cools the furrowed brow. (Or is it troubled?) From the bathroom there comes the idiot ramblings of some youthful, intellectually challenged and no doubt spotty DJ, playing rubbish music, which is being nicely distorted on the fledglings small and very portable radio. The one that if it is not irritating me from the bathroom, has been left strategically placed beneath a pile of dirty clothing in the middle of his bedroom, so that I can step on it when I go in to say good night to him. From the spare room, that now does duty as the TV room our daughter is watching and listening to something on the tele. She is obviously going deaf. It is very loud. I can barely hear the Archers. From downstairs I can hear the low rumblings of the washing machine. Mrs BW has left the utility room door open again!
I turn for comfort to my e-mails. Amazon has sent me one. It tells me that I can pre-order the next and (thank f**k for it) the last Harry Potter book. I decide to go and have a quiet lie down. I go into the bedroom, shut the door, turn off the light and lie on the bed. The room is bathed in the unsubtle glow from our next-door neighbours security light. Somewhere in the distance I hear the sound of hooves racing across the grassy steppes. Help me. Please…………………………….
I turn for comfort to my e-mails. Amazon has sent me one. It tells me that I can pre-order the next and (thank f**k for it) the last Harry Potter book. I decide to go and have a quiet lie down. I go into the bedroom, shut the door, turn off the light and lie on the bed. The room is bathed in the unsubtle glow from our next-door neighbours security light. Somewhere in the distance I hear the sound of hooves racing across the grassy steppes. Help me. Please…………………………….
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Working From Home!
So the Snow arrived! Well done the weather forecasters. Both little BW’s had to stay home because their schools were closed. Much joy and celebration! I decided to work at home! During my lunch break (which I took early at ten o’clock) I took the youngest BW sledging. There was a little bit of protest when I indicated that we were going to walk.
“But its miles dad.” (About a mile actually!) “Why can’t we drive?” I pointed out that is was snowing. Reluctantly he agreed.
The sledging was great fun. The slopes below Solomon’s Temple were steep and slippery, if a little bit bumpy. I lost control a few times and ended up on my back or head first in a drift.
The Woods (Grin low woods) always look better during snow. I was thinking about my favourite poem, Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening and trying to remember it. I got most of it! But the youngest BW had a point. I did not need to recite it out loud over and over again as I tried to see if I could jog my failing memory. Apparently I drew attention to myself. This caused him to put some distance between himself and me for a while.
As we were walking back down, (I walking, young BW sledging perilously close to innocent walkers) I noticed that there was a young woman up ahead with a rather smart video camera taking pictures of the group in front. I hung back. Not so young BW, he sledged straight past them and into camera shot. I noticed that the young woman rather than stop filming, followed him with her video camera. He came to a halt at her feet and she began to chat to him, still pointing the camera at him. I was about to say something to her, along the lines of “what do you think you are doing, you a perfect stranger taking video pictures of my son” when I saw the words ITV Central News on her jacket. She was telling him that “it” was going out at six o’clock on Central. I didn’t like the sound of this. "It" being pictures of people out and about in the snow, enjoying themselves. Supposing she had managed to sneak me into the frame? Supposing my boss, after a hard day struggling through blizzards to and from work, slumped into his armchair on his return home, to relax and turning on the tele to watch the news, sees Mr BW lurking in the background as young people sledge and enjoy themselves, with not a laptop or file in sight? It would not look good on my personal file. We made a hasty exit.
Its 17.45pm. Dare I watch the ITV Central news? Come to think of it, I don’t think we can get it! So hopefully my boss can’t.
“But its miles dad.” (About a mile actually!) “Why can’t we drive?” I pointed out that is was snowing. Reluctantly he agreed.
The sledging was great fun. The slopes below Solomon’s Temple were steep and slippery, if a little bit bumpy. I lost control a few times and ended up on my back or head first in a drift.
The Woods (Grin low woods) always look better during snow. I was thinking about my favourite poem, Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening and trying to remember it. I got most of it! But the youngest BW had a point. I did not need to recite it out loud over and over again as I tried to see if I could jog my failing memory. Apparently I drew attention to myself. This caused him to put some distance between himself and me for a while.
As we were walking back down, (I walking, young BW sledging perilously close to innocent walkers) I noticed that there was a young woman up ahead with a rather smart video camera taking pictures of the group in front. I hung back. Not so young BW, he sledged straight past them and into camera shot. I noticed that the young woman rather than stop filming, followed him with her video camera. He came to a halt at her feet and she began to chat to him, still pointing the camera at him. I was about to say something to her, along the lines of “what do you think you are doing, you a perfect stranger taking video pictures of my son” when I saw the words ITV Central News on her jacket. She was telling him that “it” was going out at six o’clock on Central. I didn’t like the sound of this. "It" being pictures of people out and about in the snow, enjoying themselves. Supposing she had managed to sneak me into the frame? Supposing my boss, after a hard day struggling through blizzards to and from work, slumped into his armchair on his return home, to relax and turning on the tele to watch the news, sees Mr BW lurking in the background as young people sledge and enjoy themselves, with not a laptop or file in sight? It would not look good on my personal file. We made a hasty exit.
Its 17.45pm. Dare I watch the ITV Central news? Come to think of it, I don’t think we can get it! So hopefully my boss can’t.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Breaking some habits
I have kept a handwritten diary for seven years now. I have written in it everyday. Everyday no matter how mundane or pointless the things that I have to write about have been, I have forced myself to scribble some sort of entry. Enoch Powell said that keeping a diary is like a dog returning to its vomit. I agree with him, (there is always a first time) but I have been driven by a fear that if I stopped writing it, then my world would come tumbling down. I felt that somehow by keeping this journal every day, by forcing myself to write something, I was exercising some sort of control over my life. I suppose it is the adult equivalent of not walking on the cracks in the pavement to stop the bad things happening.
Well I’ve stopped writing it everyday. It’s been a week. We shall see.
Well I’ve stopped writing it everyday. It’s been a week. We shall see.
An Afternoon Walk
How could I resist it? Two of my appointments for the afternoon cancelled, a cloudless, wonderful, cold winters day, I could hear the Goyt calling to me. I phoned Mrs BW and arranged to meet her for lunch at the Dome. It was busy but the lunch was good. We popped home and grabbed walking boots and ten minutes later we were in the Goyt car park by the pond. The pond was frozen.
Not great for the ducks unless they had skates. (The pond in Buxton is frozen as well, apart from an ice-free bit in the middle. All the ducks sit around the edge, quivering in anticipation like a theatre audience on opening night as if waiting for something to pop out of the water and entertain them.) The ducks in this part of the Goyt valley have most likely pushed off down to the reservoir, which is larger and therefore ice free. We set off past the pond and headed for the railway track. The sky was a deep blue, and there was no wind. We stopped for a while and sat on the wooden seat that overlooks the valley. We agreed that it would be a good place to sit and read or to write, but you would need a flask of tea. Mrs BW is seldom far from a cup of tea or the makings of one. It was quiet apart from the occasional aircraft coming to or going from Manchester airport. Across the valley a kestrel quartered the hillside but was soon lost amongst the tangle of different coloured grasses. We continued along the track, passing a few dog walkers, sparse and brief greetings exchanges. We stopped for a while to look at the wizened tree that always makes me think of something sinister and that line of Shakespeare about the “blasted heath”.
Soon we left the track and dropped down into the valley. The ground was frozen, and slippery. We needed to tread carefully. It got noticeably colder and the ground harder, though where the sun had caught it there was a treacherous slippery layer on top that kept catching me out, causing me to stumble. Soon, to soon we were climbing up the hillside. The silence broken by the gurgle of the little streams that cut into the hill. A cold wind blew down at us. It kept us moving. Back by the pond we looked over its frozen surface, beyond the sun was slipping below the hillside. It was time to head home. The thought of a hot cup of tea and maybe some cake enticed and lured us homeward. As we drove out of the car park I realised how lucky I was to live so close to this place.
Not great for the ducks unless they had skates. (The pond in Buxton is frozen as well, apart from an ice-free bit in the middle. All the ducks sit around the edge, quivering in anticipation like a theatre audience on opening night as if waiting for something to pop out of the water and entertain them.) The ducks in this part of the Goyt valley have most likely pushed off down to the reservoir, which is larger and therefore ice free. We set off past the pond and headed for the railway track. The sky was a deep blue, and there was no wind. We stopped for a while and sat on the wooden seat that overlooks the valley. We agreed that it would be a good place to sit and read or to write, but you would need a flask of tea. Mrs BW is seldom far from a cup of tea or the makings of one. It was quiet apart from the occasional aircraft coming to or going from Manchester airport. Across the valley a kestrel quartered the hillside but was soon lost amongst the tangle of different coloured grasses. We continued along the track, passing a few dog walkers, sparse and brief greetings exchanges. We stopped for a while to look at the wizened tree that always makes me think of something sinister and that line of Shakespeare about the “blasted heath”.
Soon we left the track and dropped down into the valley. The ground was frozen, and slippery. We needed to tread carefully. It got noticeably colder and the ground harder, though where the sun had caught it there was a treacherous slippery layer on top that kept catching me out, causing me to stumble. Soon, to soon we were climbing up the hillside. The silence broken by the gurgle of the little streams that cut into the hill. A cold wind blew down at us. It kept us moving. Back by the pond we looked over its frozen surface, beyond the sun was slipping below the hillside. It was time to head home. The thought of a hot cup of tea and maybe some cake enticed and lured us homeward. As we drove out of the car park I realised how lucky I was to live so close to this place.
Snow Chaos Forecast.......
I am sitting writing this looking out of the window at the hills about a mile away. The sun has set behind them. They have a dark cold look about them. Much of our garden has been frozen all day so I would expect it to have been pretty cold on “the hills”. It has been a glorious winters day, sunshine, the sky a deep blue. The weather forecasters are predicting snow. Whether it will reach the Peak District is not certain. The youngest B/W has just assured me that it will, but whether that is based upon wishful thinking or scientific analysis is unclear. The forecasters are predicting a “good dumping” for much of England and Wales. I actually heard that phrase used on the BBC, albeit on Radio 5 (Radio bloke as Mrs BW calls it.) Whether they will get it right remains to be seen.
So there is an air of anticipation. A frisson in the atmosphere. It may be me but it seems as if people feel lifted by the expectation of snow. At last something to talk about that is not Global Terrorism, wrongful arrests, the cash for honours scandal or the impending extinction of the human species due to Global Warming. We have the good old British weather to distract us.
I suspect that for anyone on the European continent, or living in the US of A, or Canada, the prospect of 5cms of snow (even 10-15cms in the hills) would cause hardly a ripple of interest. However to us Brits it’s Armageddon time!
Our transport system will shortly be overwhelmed by the impending blizzard. Motorways will grind to a halt. Already the Railway companies are cancelling trains in anticipation. At the University students were being advised about the forecast and there was a number they could ring. (For counselling?) At work people were debating whether or not to come in.
If it does snow, then the papers will go overboard, especially if any of it falls on the precious South East and London. “Britain shivers in winters icy grip.” “Snow Chaos – England Grinds to a halt” (Meaning snow fell inside the M25 corridor). The TV news will send its intrepid reporters to far away parts of the home counties to stand in a couple of inches of snow and talk about isolated communities being cut off. And by Friday it will all be gone. Another unaccountable over reaction to our weather forgotten about until the next time.
So will the hills be glistening white this time tomorrow? I hope so! So does the youngest B/W. A day off school, and sledging with his dad. Bring it on!
So there is an air of anticipation. A frisson in the atmosphere. It may be me but it seems as if people feel lifted by the expectation of snow. At last something to talk about that is not Global Terrorism, wrongful arrests, the cash for honours scandal or the impending extinction of the human species due to Global Warming. We have the good old British weather to distract us.
I suspect that for anyone on the European continent, or living in the US of A, or Canada, the prospect of 5cms of snow (even 10-15cms in the hills) would cause hardly a ripple of interest. However to us Brits it’s Armageddon time!
Our transport system will shortly be overwhelmed by the impending blizzard. Motorways will grind to a halt. Already the Railway companies are cancelling trains in anticipation. At the University students were being advised about the forecast and there was a number they could ring. (For counselling?) At work people were debating whether or not to come in.
If it does snow, then the papers will go overboard, especially if any of it falls on the precious South East and London. “Britain shivers in winters icy grip.” “Snow Chaos – England Grinds to a halt” (Meaning snow fell inside the M25 corridor). The TV news will send its intrepid reporters to far away parts of the home counties to stand in a couple of inches of snow and talk about isolated communities being cut off. And by Friday it will all be gone. Another unaccountable over reaction to our weather forgotten about until the next time.
So will the hills be glistening white this time tomorrow? I hope so! So does the youngest B/W. A day off school, and sledging with his dad. Bring it on!
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Irritating Habits
We all have little habits that others find irritating. Mine is to have the radio on in as many rooms as I can get away with so that I can listen to radio 4 as I move from room to room. Mrs BW likes to leave the Utility room door open so that we can all listen to the Washing Machine. The fledglings leave the lights on in their rooms. Our “foreen” year old daughter has the light on even on the sunniest of days and looks askance at you when you suggest gently that it is not necessary.
So I was somewhat shocked when, minding my own business in the kitchen, making a cup of tea, she began to lecture me about the environmental consequences of me overfilling the kettle. By the time she reached her peroration I was going to be responsible for the extinction of most of the species of land mammals and the imminent melting of the Greenland ice cap unless I mended my ways. I was given no time to respond, no chance to defend myself, for as soon as she had finished she was off, out to hang about with her mates.
I was chastened, I admit somewhat humbled. A part of me was a little disappointed at the severity of the attack. After all during their formative years I had unselfishly forsaken Radio 4 on long car journeys so that they could listen to their “Harry Potter” tapes. Not an insignificant sacrifice. I am convinced that on one long journey to the West Country, I was driven temporarily insane after listening to HP and the “Prisoners of Somewhere or other” for the third or fourth time. Much as I admire Stephen Fry I still shudder when I hear him utter the words “Harry Potter…..”
So chastened, humbled I slunk upstairs. I noticed that she had left her bedroom light on. So I went in to turn it off. While I was there I switched off her computer that had been left on standby, and noticing that her waste paper basket was full of cardboard emptied it and took it downstairs to put with all the other cardboard that we collect and at some appropriate point either I or Mrs BW will take to the local recycling centre along with all the plastic bottles and plastic cartons.
That done I cautiously and guiltily filled the kettle to have another cup of tea, the first one having gone cold and to finish reading the paper before I put that into the recycling bin. I am glad that they teach environmental issues at school. I bet that they don’t teach humility though.
So I was somewhat shocked when, minding my own business in the kitchen, making a cup of tea, she began to lecture me about the environmental consequences of me overfilling the kettle. By the time she reached her peroration I was going to be responsible for the extinction of most of the species of land mammals and the imminent melting of the Greenland ice cap unless I mended my ways. I was given no time to respond, no chance to defend myself, for as soon as she had finished she was off, out to hang about with her mates.
I was chastened, I admit somewhat humbled. A part of me was a little disappointed at the severity of the attack. After all during their formative years I had unselfishly forsaken Radio 4 on long car journeys so that they could listen to their “Harry Potter” tapes. Not an insignificant sacrifice. I am convinced that on one long journey to the West Country, I was driven temporarily insane after listening to HP and the “Prisoners of Somewhere or other” for the third or fourth time. Much as I admire Stephen Fry I still shudder when I hear him utter the words “Harry Potter…..”
So chastened, humbled I slunk upstairs. I noticed that she had left her bedroom light on. So I went in to turn it off. While I was there I switched off her computer that had been left on standby, and noticing that her waste paper basket was full of cardboard emptied it and took it downstairs to put with all the other cardboard that we collect and at some appropriate point either I or Mrs BW will take to the local recycling centre along with all the plastic bottles and plastic cartons.
That done I cautiously and guiltily filled the kettle to have another cup of tea, the first one having gone cold and to finish reading the paper before I put that into the recycling bin. I am glad that they teach environmental issues at school. I bet that they don’t teach humility though.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
I must be dreaming.............
The English cricket team beat the Australians!
The English Rugby Team beat the Scots!
In the same week!
The English Rugby Team beat the Scots!
In the same week!
Friday, February 02, 2007
Bird Watch
We took part in this again this year. We went ahead with it even though it was titled "Big Garden Birdwatch" and we only have a small garden. We haven't got the final numbers yet, Mrs BW is still compiling, or collating or what ever you do with numbers. Nothing outrageous species wise. The usual suspects were about:
Blue Tits
Dunnock - very brave!!!
Starlings
House Sparrows
Crows and Jackdaws.
Living at 1000 ft on top of a hill ,we don't get a great variety. Occasionally you get a surprise. A couple of years ago during a particularly cold spell, a sparrow hawk tried to take one of the house sparrows from their bush. They weren't very happy about it but the sparrow hawk left empty "handed". During the summer a couple of buzzards drifted across on the thermals. It is interesting to watch the different species feeding on the nuts and balls of fat that we put out for them. The starlings are the bully boys. Nobody gets a look in when they are feeding. Sparrows have a hierarchy. Apart from the occasional squabble they appear to stick to the pecking order queuing in orderly fashion to await their turn. The blue tits are the most intelligent. They will trick the sparrows into fleeing by using false alarm calls. The cats observe all of this with a disdainful calm. They are both in their twilight years and prefer to sit beneath the bushes, watching, or better still to look at all the activity from behind the utility room windows in the warm. Even the Dunnock that feeds on the scraps that fall to the ground rarely gets bothered by them now.
The oddest thing I have seen in our garden, involving animals, concerned a couple of hedgehogs. Again it was during a cold spell. It was just getting light and we noticed two hedgehogs up and about on the lawn. (It was a late cold snap during March, so I guess they had been lulled out of hibernation early) One of them stopped and curled up in the snow. The other one moved off and then came back. It nudged the sleeping one but could not wake it. Rather than leave it however it started to run round it in very tight circles, banging into it and stopping every so often to nudge it. It did this for about five minutes. We assumed that the other one had either died or was in a deep sleep and were wondering what to do about it, when it stirred, got up and a little bit groggily, staggered off with its mate to the pile of wood and sticks where they were presumably hibernating. I don't like ascribing feeings to animals but it looked as if the hedgehog had a genuine concern for its mate and knew that it could not leave it where it was. A happy ending at least.
Blue Tits
Dunnock - very brave!!!
Starlings
House Sparrows
Crows and Jackdaws.
Living at 1000 ft on top of a hill ,we don't get a great variety. Occasionally you get a surprise. A couple of years ago during a particularly cold spell, a sparrow hawk tried to take one of the house sparrows from their bush. They weren't very happy about it but the sparrow hawk left empty "handed". During the summer a couple of buzzards drifted across on the thermals. It is interesting to watch the different species feeding on the nuts and balls of fat that we put out for them. The starlings are the bully boys. Nobody gets a look in when they are feeding. Sparrows have a hierarchy. Apart from the occasional squabble they appear to stick to the pecking order queuing in orderly fashion to await their turn. The blue tits are the most intelligent. They will trick the sparrows into fleeing by using false alarm calls. The cats observe all of this with a disdainful calm. They are both in their twilight years and prefer to sit beneath the bushes, watching, or better still to look at all the activity from behind the utility room windows in the warm. Even the Dunnock that feeds on the scraps that fall to the ground rarely gets bothered by them now.
The oddest thing I have seen in our garden, involving animals, concerned a couple of hedgehogs. Again it was during a cold spell. It was just getting light and we noticed two hedgehogs up and about on the lawn. (It was a late cold snap during March, so I guess they had been lulled out of hibernation early) One of them stopped and curled up in the snow. The other one moved off and then came back. It nudged the sleeping one but could not wake it. Rather than leave it however it started to run round it in very tight circles, banging into it and stopping every so often to nudge it. It did this for about five minutes. We assumed that the other one had either died or was in a deep sleep and were wondering what to do about it, when it stirred, got up and a little bit groggily, staggered off with its mate to the pile of wood and sticks where they were presumably hibernating. I don't like ascribing feeings to animals but it looked as if the hedgehog had a genuine concern for its mate and knew that it could not leave it where it was. A happy ending at least.
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