Buxton on an Autumn Day

As a change from the Goyt I spent an hour or so wandering around the town with Mrs BW and my camera. It was a glorious autumnal day. Sunny but cold and for a change no wind.



Sadly the crescent is still empty, as it has been for the past sixteen years. It is on the verge of being refurbished, but as we have been there before, I guess we will believe it when we see it. At the moment it stands as a crumbling monument to short sightedness, ignorance and inertia.

Last Sunday Morning

I wake and gradually understand where I am. In bed at home. Beside my bed the bucket is testimony to my late night but I do not recall how I got home. Fragments of memory leak to the surface, a snatch of conversation, a face, a dimly lighted bar. I groan as I try to reconstruct the previous night, in part from pain and nausea, in part from what I may remember. I lie there in my misery and vow to never, never do it again. But I know that I will. The memory will fade and I am too old to learn from my mistakes.

Modern Inconvenience

The first flakes of snow and the first heavy frost of the winter have coincided with our radiator not working in our bedroom. This is a bit disappointing. Its hard enough to get up anyway especially as the mornings get darker, but at the moment there is little incentive to leave the warmth and comfort of the marital bed when one is faced with the freezing prospect outside. Mrs BW is rummaging for gloves and wholly hats and I am confident that bed socks will be worn to bed before too long.

Outlook

The seven o'clock news brings more tales of doom and gloom, the stock markets in the Far East have plunged again on rumours that Wall Street will open down in a few hours. When Wall Street opens it will fall in reaction to the falls in the Far East. We are moving towards a recession says an expert in economic forecasting, it will be deeper than we expect and longer. As he leaves the studio I am sure I can hear the plop of the entrails sliding off the desk. Unemployment, closures, the worst outlook since Harold took off his visor for a breather at the battle of Hastings. A man from one of the banks feels that the banks and other financial institutions are not yet confident to start lending to each other and like a gambler wanting one last bet or a heroin addict one last fix suggest that a few more billions of government money may be needed to restore their confidence. Our money. The taxpayers, the ones losing their jobs, the ones that get official sounding letters from banks for having the temerity to go £10 over their overdraft limit. Local Authorities are queuing up to be bailed out after investing the poor tax payers money in Icelandic banks that themselves were caught up in the dash for wealth and riches.And the Government lurches from announcement to announcement, drunk on the drama of it all, worn out by the late nights, bloated by the take away curries, eyes bleary and stinging from harsh lights and staring at plasma screens.

Outside the leaves, orangey and tinged and wrinkled yellowy at the edges, fall from the trees in our garden and pile up on the lawn. The birds, sensing the on set of winter, noticing the fading light, the cooler air, hurry to store berries against the cold. The Goyt is still there, wreathed in a morning mist, silent now and turning brown and golden as autumn drifts to winter. A season ends and so the cycle begins again.

Footnote to the misfortune of others.

I got home from work this evening to find Mrs BW a little bit frazzled and frayed around the gills so to speak. Well I thought I would cheer her up with a rather amusing story I had heard earlier in the day. " I heard an amusing story earlier today" I started. She looked at me quizzically, for she has heard my amusing stories before. " Yes" I went on, "Apparently this chap played football on Sunday and not only did his team lose 4-3 but he missed a penalty and you'll never guess...." I stopped. I got the distinct impression that Mrs BW was not following my flow with the sort of keen attention that my amusing stories deserve. She sighed.

"Yes I know. I told it to you at lunch time!"

"Ah, um, right. So you know the bit about the bonnet then". She didn't reply.

"Are you sure it was you? " She had been slicing bread, and I didn't like the way she handled the bread knife.

"It must have been a busy day, you know lots of things to remember." I said by way of an apology, and slunk out of the kitchen.

The Misfortune of Others

Amongst all the disappointing and depressing news today, Mrs BW cheered me up when I met up with her for a frugal sandwich and cup of tea at lunchtime. Her personal trainer, courtesy of the National Health Service exercise on prescription scheme, had had a difficult weekend. Apparently he played football for his club on Sunday and they had lost 4-3. One of the opposition goals had been an own goal courtesy of one of his players whilst he had missed a penalty. As he ran up to take it, as he was about to hit the football, his kicking foot caught the back of the ankle on his non kicking foot so that he stubbed the ball. It floated high, wide and harmlessly clear of the goal only to land less harmlessly in the car park. It hit a car with a mighty thump and left a large dent in the body work. It was of course his car. Well it made me laugh.

Moonshine and too much Cucumber

I am sitting in what we bird watchers like to think of as the study, but is in fact a spare room that we don't need, with a desk, a PC, quite a lot of books and of course Moonshine the world's fattest hamster. Actually I am a bit concerned about him. The Munch in a effort to make up for a few days of neglect decided to give him some cucumber. Quite a lot of it in fact. Moonshine being a hamster and greedy decided that the best way to deal with a surplus of cucumber was to stuff in all into his pouches and take it up to his nest. His nest lies at the top if a tube, quite a narrow tube, and after several abortive attempts he realised that he was not going to make it. So what does he do? Empty his pouches of some of the cucumber? No. Firstly he tries to squash it a bit by going in and out of the tube that connects his living quarters to his exercise wheel. After a few goes and a couple of turns on the wheel for good measure he tries again. He still can't make it up the tube to his nest though. So he decides to widen the tube. This involves a lot of biting and scratching and after several goes he still can't make it up. I am just starting to think of how I can help him un-stuff his pouch when with a mighty effort and some considerable bulging in the eye department, he manages to get all of himself into the tube and starts the slow climb up. Well I think he has made it, and that's quite enough drama for a Saturday. Off to play rugby.

Spotted on the Way home

As I was leaving Derby this afternoon, actually I was sitting in traffic on the ring road, I spotted a Peregrine flying overhead. Well it cheered me up so I thought I would share it with you.

That's a Relief

After some close questioning the Munch revealed that what he had really meant to ask the Weasel was "had she got emphysema, that chesty thing that makes you wheeze and cough, and not Chlamydia." Apparently he did them both on the same day at school and got confused.
Of course she hasn't got emphysema either, its just the Munch's fertile imagination.

Snap Shot Saturday

Its one of those Saturday's. The Weasel was sixteen yesterday and she seems to have survived her late night out in Stockport. Outside there is the comforting sound of rain gently brushing the windows and the occasional sigh of wind.

8.45am Mrs BW leaves for the Uni for her all day course. I am now in charge. It starts to get complicated. The Munch has a riding lesson at 11.00am. Plenty of time, except that he needs to clean his hamster out. preferably before the riding lesson. He refuses, prefering instead to play on his PSP. I'm in charge so I say"okay but you'll have to do it when you get back" and go downstairs for a coffee. I have also checked on the Weasel who is in bed but fast asleep.

9.30am I go back upstairs and warn the Munch that we have to leave at 10.30 as I have to pick up the third team shirts. He grunts something back at me. I repeat it again. "OKAY I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME" You old idiot. The last three words he would have liked to have said but he doesn't because he knows, and more importantly he knows that I know, that at some point before 1.00pm, when I have to leave to go and play rugby, he will ask " Dad can I have a fiver to go swimming?" So he restrains himself.

10.30am We are getting into the car and I am aware that the Munch though smartly attired in Jodpurs, boots and a rather cool top is missing something. " Where's that chest thingy that your're mean't to take" I ask. "What are you on about DAD?" "You know the one Mum says you must take with you. To stop you being crushed if the horse falls on you?" "I'm not going to be jumping in this" he replies and looks at the steadily falling rain. " No? Well you ought to take it anyway, I say" "Okay" and off he stomps to get his chest thingy (Chest Protector) muttering dark and unpleasant things as he passes me.

11.30am And the Munch has had a really good lesson. He jumped really well, without the aid of his chest protector which apparently makes him look an idiot. He swigs from the can of Red Bull that I bought him. (Red Bull is on Mrs BW's proscribed list)

Back at BW Towers there is no sign of any movement from the Weasel. I shout up that I am making lunch. Meanwhile the Munch starts to clean out his Hampster cage. " Oh yeah Dad I'll need a fiver from you to go swimming".

12.30pm. "Whats this?" the Weasel sits on the edge of the sofa in her dressing gown clutching the plate of sausage and egg, lovingly squeezed into a bap, that I have just given her.
"Its lunch" I say.
"Its really greasy and I can't eat greasy things in the morning."
"Well what a good job its the afternoon then!" I snap back at her.

12.40pm I gather up the plates and head into the kitchen, the lecture about what not to do while I am up at the rugby club hangs in the air.

As I go into the kitchen I hear the Munch ask the Weasell, " So have you got Chlamydia then? "I feel faint. She was only sixteen yesterday!

"No you idiot, what are you talking about." I close the door and sigh.

Rain Glorious Rain

I do like the rain. Waking this morning, it was good to lie in bed listening to the rain lashing against the window pane as the wind rattled away trying to find a way in. I find it strangely reassuring, I don't know why. I feel safer listening to the rain. And its a good job really, because we have had 60mm so far today, and quite a few of the side roads are a little bit treacherous. I have had to go to quite a few events recently, and staring out of the window as someone drones on and on about some dull and boring topic, it has been comforting to watch the dark clouds scudding across the sky, spilling their rain in great sheets. I even saw some sleet this morning as I splashed my way to Bakewell. Autumn is here, the leaves are turning and falling and winter is nudging along behind. I can hear a song on the wind already.