Curlews in the Goyt

A Squirrel has a lucky Escape.

2012-01-07T13:52:00.000Z

Another windy and overcast day with a hint of rain in the air. Lilly the Collie looked at me and then padded over to where her lead hung amongst the coats and scarves. She sniffed it pointedly and then glanced round at me. Ten minutes later we were parking the car at Poole's Cavern. It was fairly quiet for a Saturday morning, just a few dog walkers and visitors braving the gloom. Once in the woods, Lilly set off in pursuit of the various scents. One in particular seemed to attract her attention and not even the squeaky ball could tempt her back as she snuffled amongst the rotting leaves and vegetation. And then the object of her interest broke cover. A squirrel had been minding its own business near the edge of the path. Lilly gave chase and gained on the small furry animal as it darted left and right. She closed in on its tail and was within a second of grabbing it when the squirrel changed tactics and forsook the leaf strewn floor of the wood and scrabbled desperately up the trunk of a nearby tree. Its panic diminished as it got higher and it realised that the dog, its equal on the ground could not climb trees. Lilly wandered around the base of the tree wondering where the squirrel had gone. She looked up at the tree and spotted the squirrel on a branch. She leaped up at the squirrel but soon realised that this was pointless, and came running back to be wagging her tail. I threw the ball for her and she set off after it. Much more fun. Balls can't climb trees.

Belated happy New Year

2012-01-05T14:36:00.000Z

The last few days have been a bit challenging weather wise to say the least. The background to this stormy spell has been the constant wind, which when its not trying to pry away our roof tiles, makes do with chucking the garden furniture about and rearranging the bird feeders. Even Lilly the Collie has been reluctant to step outside at times. Luckily we have not had any trees down and despite the best efforts of the wind,the roof is still attached to the house. During a brief lull, while the wind died down for a bit, I took the Christmas tree, stripped of its finery and looking a bit forlorn, out and put it in the back of the car. A trip to the tip later, once I have dropped the Weasel off at work. It seemed a bit sad taking it down. Another Christmas done, another year gone, and already a week into the new one. I'm not sure about 2012 to be honest. Its a bit scary. Everyone is growing up, leaving home, and moving on. A fresh start? Or the same old? Decided not to make any resolutions again. (Is that a resolution?) They don't work for me. Well its a bit late but happy new year, I hope 2012 brings you what you want.

Things I don't want to ever hear again

2011-12-23T00:19:00.001Z

"Dad, its the Munch. I've been shot in the leg."

I hold the phone to my ear. Already I am up from my seat and heading down stairs to find Mrs BW.

"You've been what?"

"Shot in the leg dad, I'm at the hospital in Buxton."

"Shot?" I repeat. Mrs BW looks up from her knitting. Concern etched across her face. "Alex says he's been shot" I tell her. Well there is no easy way. " He is at Buxton hospital." Jenson Button would have come second in the race to the door. She grabbed her car keys "I'll phone you when I get there" she says as she disappeared into the damp dark night.

The line is dead. I stand and stare helplessly at the phone. And wait. Twenty minutes, half an hour, a year later it seems, she phones. He's okay she says the police are here. He has been shot in the leg. They think its a high powered air rifle. He has a nasty wound in his thigh. The armed response unit are here.

None of this really sinks in, accept for the bit about him being safe. And I had been speaking to him. He must be okay. I phone the Weasel to give her the low down before the face book rumour mill starts cranking into action. She is understandably mad and upset by turn. She vows vengeance on the bastard who did it. "If I find him Dad I'll......"

24 hours later a friendly genial PC sits in the front room, sipping my Ethiopian Highland coffee. "Nice coffee, this, I'd like some for my flask. Anyway so where did you feel the pain in your leg exactly." This to the Munch. He sits at the table, a strained look on his face but half amused. This is not me, this is somebody else.

He still has the pellet in his leg. He has been shot, had a general anaesthetic, and woken up in a strange hospital bed all in the space of 24 hours. That's enough excitement for 24 hours thank you.

If only you had gone to Spec Savers Sir!

2011-11-22T16:34:00.000Z

I had the pleasure of referring Buxton Thirds against Ashbourne Fourths on Saturday. For the record Buxton won 19-14 and no one got yellow carded or red carded. Sir kept his hands firmly in his pockets. Well it was a Sunny fields and its blooming cold up there. The Ashbourne scrum half, obviously yearning to give up sniping and living off the crumbs of his forwards and take up the whistle was ever so supportive, telling me every time there was a Buxton error. I thanked him early on in the game and asked him nicely not to. Then not so nicely. Then I reversed a penalty to try and get the message across. It worked. However he then seemed bothered about my time keeping and sought to help me out by asking how much longer there was to go? Every two minutes or so it seemed. That is the rugby equivalent of the child on the back seat of a long car journey asking if we are nearly there yet. Irritating and not at all helpful. As we all trouped of headed bar wards some of the players thanked me. One of the grizzled, scared, seen it all front row; suggested that it was a pity I didn’t go to spec savers. I made a note to keep an eye out for him in future games. I drank my beer and headed homeward. I’m not sure about referring yet. The jury is still out. But it was nice to know that tomorrow morning I would wake up and be able to leap out of bed and not feel if I had spent the night beneath a heavy roller.

What a Good Dog!

2011-10-21T19:40:00.000Z

I don't take Lilly to Monks Dale very often. Not because its remote and difficult to get through. Its just around the corner so to speak, if you allow for a little bit of down the valley and over the hill. Rabbits are the problem. There are lots of rabbits in Monks Dale and Lilly, a normally sensible, well mannered, considerate Collie, just can't help herself. She goes mad dog and runs around here and there in a seemingly aimless fashion, deaf to my commands. It normally takes ten minutes to get it out of her system and then we have a proper walk, with lots of ball chasing and hide and seek and all the other things that people do with their dogs.

So this afternoon I braved Monks Dale again. I could sense the excitement as we left the car and headed for the stile. No sooner was she off the lead then she was off. We didn't see any rabbits, but their scent must have been all around. Several times she disappeared into the woods only to emerge, tongue lolling, ears pricked leaping and racing across the hillside, searching for the elusive rabbits. Of course she calmed down after a while and then it was back to the ball. An hour later a happy but knackered Collie trotted by my side as we walked back to the car. What a good dog.

What a tackle, What a decision!

2011-10-15T16:50:00.000Z

First let me make a confession. I am an Englishman who has never supported Wales before nor wanted them to win before. Well okay I did once support Cardiff when they were playing Leicester Tigers but I mean that was the Tigers! This morning I got up and wanted the Welsh to win. Its simple. They have been the best side in the tournament to date, entertaining, inventive, a credit to their nation and people. An All Black Wales final would be a mouth watering prospect.

And for the first seventeen minutes it looked as if the Welsh were going to win. They were starting to dominate the set piece and their runners looked dangerous and sharp. Until that tackle and that decision.

Warburton's tackle on Le Clerk which ever way you view it, was a spear tackle. Spear tackles are dangerous and the only sanction the referee has is to give is a red card to the tackler if he deems the tackle to be a spear tackle. It does not matter that it was a semi-final, it does not matter that it was in the eighteenth minute, it does not matter that there may have been no intent. It does not matter that other referees have given different decisions during the tournament. And for the record Alain Roland is an excellent referee. It was dangerous and it was a red card.

It was tough on Wales. They responded magnificently. They could have won, they should have won, perhaps if they had taken the drop goal option? Les Bleus looked ordinary, with little real idea how to beat 14 men. They scraped through. But they are in the final, and as we know in finals anything can happen. I am gutted for my Welsh friends and for the distant relatives we have in Monmouthshire. But be proud of the way you played and as importantly the way you accepted the referees decision. I can think of other sports that would have treated the official differently, but you showed true sportsmanship and got on with it.

And spare a thought for Les Bleu. They won the game, they probably didn't expect to, it was not their fault that Warburton got sent off. Lets hope that they find that special something next weekend and make the final a memorable one for the right reasons.

Merde! You fool.

2011-10-14T15:42:00.000Z

For several months since they moved in, I have greeted our new neighbours with a Bonjour here and an au revoir there. I think I even ventured to comment on the weather in my clumsy school boy french.I have always kept it light and happy, wanting them to feel welcome and part of the little community that we have here. You know the sort. We exchange Christmas cards, vow to see more of each other during the year and then don't. Anyway our neighbours have always smiled at me, and replied in English. They wave when ever they see us out and about, and were very understanding when Lilly the Collie decided to try out their front lawn as a toilet. Well they smiled and waved from their window as I went about the business of collecting Lilly's offering. So I was a bit disappointed as you can imagine when a few days ago during an increasingly rare conversation with Mrs BW, I explained to her how nice I thought our French neighbours were, only for Mrs BW to look at me with that quizzical, slightly patronising look that she has, and reply, "You mean the Polish ones?"

Comings and Goings

2011-10-12T15:30:00.000Z

All the comings and goings are unsettling Lilly the Collie. She cannot get used to the fact that several of her pack are absent at anyone time. She was beside herself with excitement last Friday when the Wiz came back briefly from Leeds Met, only to find the next day that the Wiz was off again. And then on Tuesday Mrs BW left for a trip down to Wales, leaving the house quiet and empty apart from the Munch and I. Several wet and muddy walks in the Goyt have not improved her mood. The pheasants don't want to play and the Grouse sulk in the long grass and taunt her with their grating call. There are other dogs of course but these are usually the small yapping kind, that bark and growl at her and refuse to be herded into any sort of order. All this is distressing for an intelligent collie. I feel guilty. She should be out on the hillside rounding up sheep. If I had the land and the money I would buy her a flock. And then there is the rain. Apart from the indignity of having to be towelled off after a walk, there is also the vexed issue of muddy feet on the stairs. After a marathon cleaning spree Mrs BW announced that from now on it was not necessary to wear shoes up stairs or indeed on the stairs. There was now no excuse for muddy footprints beyond the hall. Perhaps she should have included paw prints, as I can see us having to resort to a legal technicality on her return. Of course I could just clean the stairs. No I think the technicality is the better bet.

Congratulations Wiz

2011-08-18T15:21:00.000Z

So the next adventure starts. A place to read dance at Leeds Met. Fantastic. We are very very proud of what you have achieved. Its been quite a journey with one or two rocky bits on the way but your got there, as of course we always knew you would. Poor old Leeds, it won't know what's hit it. Buxton will be quiet though.

All our love

Mum and Dad xx

Not the Goyt

2011-08-17T17:05:00.000Z

A confession. I have not been to the Goyt for a while. The main reason is that Lilly, our excitable Border Collie has a habit of chasing birds and rather than take her there and keep her on the lead all the time I decided that while there were nesting birds around it was better to stay away. So we have been exploring the dales nearer to home. Cunningdale is the banker. Its only a short walk from the house. Its a bit litter prone and there is a dull and boring walk through an industrial estate to get to it, but Lilly likes it. Apart that is when it is full of cows. She is not fond of cows. They don't like to be herded and unlike sheep gang up on her, so if they are around she tends to hang around with me.

Woodale is another favourite. Depending on time we can either walk to it or take a short car journey. Usually its the latter because of work etc. Its bigger and deeper than Cunningdale and the wild flowers are better and more varied. The downside is the occasional mountain biker. I've nothing against Mountain Bikers, but Lilly does. She likes to round them up. This is not a good idea, so we have to keep an eye out for them and put her on the lead. Sadly it seems that Woodale has been selected for the route of the proposed cycle track to link to the Monsal trail. This will be a shame. It will mean that a tarmac path will be laid down the dale. It will get busier. There will be more litter. On Monday the Wiz and I took Lilly for a morning walk and watched a pair of Buzzards lazing around on the warm thermals. It was peaceful and quiet despite the A6 being half a mile away at the end of the dale. The cycle path will take this away. In fact it will ruin a lovely quiet place. Bloody planners!

I am a Prat. WARNING HARRY POTTER SPOLIER

2011-08-17T16:52:00.000Z

Well okay I guess for anyone that knows me well that's not exactly front page news. But I am. We went to see the last Harry Potter film last night at Didsbury. It was excellent and I shall write about it later. But when we got home I put a status on facebook about how sad I was about the death of a certain person. Someone commented that I had now ruined the film for them, there was no point in going to see it now and that I was a **** !!!. I felt awful. What an unthinking selfish pillock I was. So I deleted the post and after dwelling on my selfish behaviour on and off during the day decide to text an apology. The reply was "LOL don't be daft I've read the books". But that's what I am daft. And a pratt. I rest my case.

The Wanderer returns

2011-08-16T15:14:00.001Z

If you had been at Heathrows terminal one international arrivals, on Sunday, you may have observed a slightly scruffy, dishevelled, middle aged man waiting anxiously by the barrier. He had already had a difficult and scary Saturday letting his over active imagination fear the worse, and if he was honest with himself there was a little bit of him that was convinced that the Weasel, the Wiz, his brave and lovely daughter, would not be on that flight from Addis. If you had been there at 1.05pm you would have seen his face light up as he spotted her strolling through the barrier. If you had looked really closely you might have seen him wipe away a tear before he gave her a hug.

Rewind 28 hours. Early Saturday morning, Birdwatcher Towers. My mobile sings to me. I have a text. It is the Wiz. "Hi Dad, I am in Gonder airport, have checked in. Will try and text you from Addis. See you soon x"

That was good news. I got up and gave Lilly our Border Collie a run out. Mrs BW decided to go down into Buxton and get some bedding for the Wiz. We had changed her room about a bit, so that she now had a double bed, and it had been given a thorough clean. It looked lovely, and Mrs BW was rightly proud of all her efforts.

Her flight was due to land in Addis at 9.50am UK time. She then had a long wait for her flight to London via Amman, but despite my offer to find a hotel,she said that she would prefer to remain in Bole airport. No text. Well I sort of guessed that there wouldn't be. The signal in Bole airport is apparently pretty bad. At 10.15am, I decided to just call her and see if there was a signal. If not I would conclude that she could not get a signal and get on with my day. I dialled the her number and waited, there was a hissing noise and then a dial tone. Great I had managed to get through. I waited to hear her voice. It was I confess a bit of a shock when an man with an African accent answered it. There was the sound of voices and shouting. I tried to talk to him, I even think I asked if the Wiz was there, but he rang off. I redialed and the phone rang briefly only to be cut off. I tried again and this time it went straight through to answer phone.

For a few moments I confess I did not know what to do. I checked the number that I had dialed and it was the right one. I double checked, no doubt about it. Clearly something was wrong. I felt sick. I was starting to panic. I needed to do something. I searched the web for numbers for Bole International airport. I was convinced that she had had her phone nicked , I just hoped that it was nothing worse. I tried the numbers but the lines to Ethiopia were either "busy" or no one was picking up. After half an hour I gave up. What now? Supposing she had been hurt? Supposing she had been abducted. A small piece of me tried to remain rational but it was swamped by the much bigger and better practised irrational bit.

Mrs BW came home. I told her what had happened. Now we were both worried.

I decided to phone the Embassy in Addis. They were closed but there was an emergency number. I didn't expect to get through and if I did I expected them to be dismissive. I got through first time and they were brilliant. First some reassurance. Its actually a safe place, some low level crime, pick pocketing etc, but rarely anything worse. They gave me some more numbers to try, and told me to ring back in an hour if I had no luck. I didn't and Phoebe the duty officer said that she would try and contact the airport. Half an hour later she phoned me back and said that she had asked the airport to put a call out asking the Wiz to contact the information desk. Hopefully she said they would let her call the Embassy from the airport. She suggested we gave it three hours. Three hours. Somehow I managed to get through them. Every time my phone hummed I grabbed it hoping that it was good news, only to feel the crushing disappointment when it was not the Wiz or the Embassy.

I will cut a long story short. At five we agreed that there was no point in trying to contact her. It was probable Phoebe said that she was sitting outside in the cafe between the Domestic and International terminals so would not hear any call. The best bet was to wait until check in at 10.30pm. Phoebe said she would arrange for BMI to contact the Embassy as soon as she checked in. As soon as she checked in, not if.

I tried to distract myself. I took Lilly for a walk, tried listening to the radio, tried reading, tried sleeping, but it was hopeless. At 10.00pm I got a text. Susi from the Embassy to say that BMI had all her details and would be on the case as soon as the check in opened at 10.30pm. 10.30pm came and went. At 10.40pm I had a text. I grabbed the phone. It was the Munch wanting to know if we had heard anything. I went upstairs and lay on the bed. I was fearing the worse. If she didn't check in what then? My phone rang. It was the Embassy. She was fine, first in the queue to check in. Slightly surprised to be talking to the British Embassy, and she had her phone with her all the time, she had tried to text but could not get a signal. So she had waited in the cafe, soaking up a little of the sun between rain showers and finishing off her book.

Sunday 12.50pm Heathrow. Her plan landed an hour ago, and no sign of her yet. But it takes a long time to clear the luggage from flights from Addis apparently. I get a text. Its from the Wiz. " Hi Dad landed at Addis, am just having a tea in the cafe and about to order some lunch.See you soon x" I felt a slight feeling of anxiety. I dialled her phone and it rang and the dial tone was the normal British one. So the text was the one she thought she might have sent yesterday. A minute later another text, "Waiting for my luggage x"

And then there she was. Smiling, looking lovely, with a stack of stories and tales to tell.

We sat in arrivals for a coffee and some cake before setting off. She was travel weary and a little tired.

"Oh yeah dad, I know what I want to ask you. When I got to check in at Addis, the British Embassy wanted to speak to me. What was that all about?"

Welcome home Wiz. XX

A bit of a catch up

2011-07-25T20:44:00.004Z

With the Wiz in Ethiopia, and the Munch working hard as an apprentice chef, I was home alone with Lilly the Collie for most of the weekend. Mrs BW made a brief appearance in between shifts at Hardwick Hall, and we shared a silent pint together at the Wye Bridge on Saturday evening. We took Lilly along who livened things up by barking at a group of lads at the next table. Luckily they thought it was funny or else I might have had to place Mrs BW in between them and me. For her own protection you understand.

I amused myself by wandering around town and taking in the sun and the festival crowds. It was certainly busy. And every available space seemed to be occupied by Morris Dancers. Of course Lilly barked at them and briefly thought about rounding them up, but they kept on waving their hankies in a mildly threatening way and she decided that they were not worth the bother.

On Friday evening I went to see Ed Reardon in a writers burden. Now I am a bit of an Ed Reardon fan. Its therapeutic to come across someone more miserable than ones self. But I was a bit sceptical about it transferring from the wireless to the stage. I need not have worried. It was excellent. And I laughed. Disappointing that the theatre was only half full, but I guess that Buxton just isn't ready for this kind of show, or that they have not managed to find radio 4, let alone radio 4 extra on their wireless dials. Which leads me onto another point. Which twelve year old decided to change the name of the best listening on radio from BBC Radio 7 to BBC radio 4 extra. Pointless. As pointless as the Post Office changing to Consignia or what ever it was several years ago. No doubt it cost a lot of money and involved many wine fuelled lunches with clever consultants. Will they be ditching BBC radio six music to BBC radio one and a bit?

Well that's it for now.

The Wiz is off on her travels.

2011-07-15T19:26:00.002Z

Sitting in what I grandly call the office, but which is in fact a spare room that we do not need. Well its a space with my stuff in it anyway. Looking out of the window, I can see that the rain has arrived. So it must be Buxton carnival tomorrow! Feel pretty sad at the moment. I took the Wiz to Heathrow yesterday. She has gone to Ethiopia with Link Ethiopia to do some work with them in Gonder in the North of the country. Not heard from her since but Link E, tell me she arrived safe and sound this morning. I guess she will be asleep. Feel excited and scared for her. It will be a wonderful experience, at least that's what you are supposed to say. Sitting drinking coffee before she boarded she said that she was glad she was going to Ethiopia and not Ibiza with the rest of her friends. Wow she has changed. She is a brave young woman and I am very proud of her. This time last week I was watching her play Alice in Billy Liar at the Buxton Fringe. She was so good, well they all were. They worked really hard on the performance and the efforts showed through. Soon she will be leaving home to go to Uni (fingers crossed). Where has the time gone? Anyway Wiz be safe and take care, have a wonderful time. Miss you, love Dad xxx

The final slice

2011-03-18T20:29:00.004Z

I'd been looking forward to it all evening, that last slice of apple pie, left over from Sunday lunch. And there was double cream in the fridge. It was a big fat slice with crumbly bits and apple oozing out. I would treat myself. That and a hot chocolate. We BW's now how to live. I heard the munch thunder downstairs. I had a nasty feeling, a sixth sense that there might be competition for that last slice. I waited and debated whether to check. I hesitated then strolled casually into the kitchen. The Munch wasn't there. I felt relieved. Then I heard the ping from the microwave. The utility door opened and there was the Munch with my slice of apple pie.

"What are you doing?" I asked as politely as I could.

"Having this apple pie, what does it look like?"

"I was going to have that actually" I said as reasonably as I could.

"Well I'm having it" He brushed past me and grabs a plate from the kitchen loaded with cookies.

I put the kettle on. At least I could have a hot chocolate.

"You can make me one as well" this shouted from the top of the stairs. The door to his room slams. I swear. Lilly who had been hanging around in the hope that a little something might fall on the floor slunk off and hid under the table. She has been around when I have sworn before.

I slam the mugs down on the work surface and spoon liberal amounts of hot chocolate into the mugs. To the munch's I add sugar. A lot of it. Its not much of a revenge but its a start. He doesn't like his chocolate to sweet. I take the thick sickly brown drink up to his room. "Thanks" he grunts and takes a sip. "Nice one, thanks dad, its really good."

There must be a cat to kick somewhere.

Bit of a winge

2011-03-17T21:34:00.003Z

Mrs BW is out on a course, the Munch bored in his room, Lilly asleep on the bed, and the Weasel has just popped out for a bit. I am sitting here resisting the strong desire to go down stairs and make a hot chocolate and then join Lilly. Its one of the many disadvantages of growing older. Weariness. Trouble is I feel it most of the day. Is it possible to go to bed, sleep and then wake up feeling more tired? I think it must be. It must be the stressful life we lead. Its been a fairly uneventful day though. I drove to Bakewell for a meeting where the sun was shining the birds singing, and it felt like spring. This cheered me up. Then I drove back to Buxton where the sun wasn't about, the birds were hunched in the trees trying to keep warm and winter was strutting about flexing her muscles and making it clear that she was hanging in there thank you. Winter does seem to hang about up here. Its not so much the cold. I can cope with that, it the grey foggy, damp days. Months of them. No wonder Buxton never really took off as a Spa town. Its fine having a warm healing spring but it helps if you have the climate to go with it. Still look on the bright side, the days are drawing out, its light enough in the mornings now for me to take Lilly for a decent walk. If only I could drag myself out of bed.

One slice of toast please.

2011-03-16T22:11:00.005Z

2.30am Sunday morning. I am awake but only just. The wireless is still on. Radio 7, I think its a play. Sounds like a Morse. I reach out and grab my phone and check it for texts. There are none. Lilly shifts irritably and sticks her paws in my face. The house is quiet, apart from my radio. The Munch has been in for ages and Mrs BW sleeps peacefully. The Weasel is still out, partying. She is almost 19, well 18 years 6 months. Still worry about her though. I check the phone even though I know it hasn't bleeped. So I settle down ,a little uneasy in my mind, to listen to the play.

2.45am Lilly raises her head and gets off the bed. There is the faintest sound of a key turning in the front door lock. Lilly dashes off downstairs and I hear the Weasel whisper "shush Lilly shush" and then "Oh Lilly!" She will have done a little pee of greeting like she always does. (Lilly not the Weasel) And I am happy. Everyone home safe and sound. I resist the urge to get out of bed and go downstairs. I can hear the Weasel unsteady in the kitchen, the sound of the toaster being popped, the kettle switched on.

3.05am. The Weasel comes upstairs swaying slightly on the top step before noisily closing her bedroom door. Lilly, mission accomplished leaps onto the bed and with a big noisy sigh, flops down and falls asleep.

3.15am. I sneak downstairs to make a drink. (And to check that the Weasel has locked the front door!) She has. I take my coffee back upstairs and settle down to listen to the rest of the play.

3.19am. My mobile hums. A text. From the Weasel. "Can you make me one slice of toast with marg please x."

Is this reasonable I think to myself as I shuffle downstairs? Well obviously else I would not be making it for her would I?

3.23am. One slice of toast delivered to the Weasel, who smiles her thanks and turns back to the repeat of what ever it is she is watching on the tele.

3.24am. I get back into bed. Lilly sighs her disapproval at me. I listen to what is left of the play. I can relax, for now.

Dog hair under the bed

2011-03-16T21:28:00.005Z

I think this blog has got tired like its author. Its a bit frayed around the edges, some of the bits don't work any more. A lot of the content doesn't make any sense and has a habit of repeating itself. Things have become neglected, scruffy. There is dust in the corners and little piles of dog hairs under the bed. So what to do? Emigrate somewhere else and start again? There is always word press, but that looks a little complicated to me to be honest. I guess I will just have to roll my sleeves up and tidy this place up. But not now, not tonight. Other things to do you see, like pick the Weasel up from the furthest reaches of Buxton. So maybe tomorrow. Or maybe not. There is always the weekend, that great repository for all the things that you have put off doing during the week. But England are playing Ireland and its for the Grand Slam, so beer maybe involved. I'll just leave it for now.

Muddy Dog

2011-03-15T19:55:00.004Z

The Dale is very wet and very muddy. Lilly the Collie has managed to get quite a lot of the Dale on her paws and tail and other furry bits. Its getting dark as we trudge through the puddles, sneaking past the cows that gang up against the gate and the way out and back to the car. Lilly keeps a low profile hugging close to my legs. She isn't that fond of cows. Back at the car I make a man sized attempt to clean her up. Most of the mud stays put. Still we have had a good walk, and Lilly has chased the ball up and down dale and sniffed out a few pheasants and generally had a good old time. I am looking forward to a cup of tea and an early night. A bath, a book and clean sheets beckon. When we get back to Birdwatcher Towers I make another cursory attempt at getting Lilly clean, but give up and trudge off upstairs for my bath. Nice and relaxing, and hot with plenty of bubbles. As I dry myself someone nudges open the bathroom door and Lilly pads across the floor. She seems pleased with herself. And she has clean paws. I give her a tickle and go to the bedroom. Now I see why she is clean. Most of the Dale is on my now not so fresh and clean bedding. There is a large dog shaped patch of mud and dirt in the middle of the bed. Of well, its only dirt.

Back to the Goyt

2011-03-07T20:08:00.003Z

I switched off the engine and sat in the car for a few moments taking in the familiar but recently much neglected view. I opened the window and listened to the silence. Lilly was getting restless in the back and the Munch who had agreed to come for a walk with me wondered aloud why we weren't getting out. I thought about explaining about the silence but as he had his ipod earphones in decided not to bother.

It was good to be back. Don't know why I stayed away. Inertia? Idleness?

Lilly raced off and then back, worrying us to throw the ball for her while she waited for some Grouse to fly off for her to chase. So intent on the ball was she that she ignored some hapless chap in jogging bottoms and a well worn tee shirt. Normally she would have given chase, deaf to my pleas and commands.

No curlews though. Only a few grouse well out of Lilly's range. So we walked along, father and son, and happy excitable collie, all lost in our various worlds and thoughts.

As we got back to the car, as the light was fading, I heard that familiar cry. Far off across the valley beyond the Wildmoorstone brook, faint, but a curlew nonetheless. "Did you hear that?" I said excitedly to the Munch.

"Yer wat?" he said. He had his headphones on drowning out the silence, so I just smiled and said "Nothing don't worry about it." Then added "me old", just to wind him up.

Blimey I have been away along time

2010-12-24T22:06:00.001Z

Anyway have a wonderful midwinter Christmas. Take care and be safe.

A Proud Dad

2010-10-22T20:14:00.004Z

Just got back from the Studio theatre in Buxton where the Weasel was performing a play that she and her drama group had written as part of their A'level work. Now okay I am biased. But they were brilliant. The Wiz, acting a part out of character captured her part perfectly. I know she has worked hard at it (they all have) but what they produced and wrote was a good as anything I have seen for a while. The play revolved around the death of a guy called Luke. It opened with his funeral. He was narrating, part biography part home spun philosophy, as well as slipping into the action as it shifted from the present into the past.. He had been two timing his wife (played by the Wiz) and as the tensions surfaced so each of the characters came to life. The narration was well done and slotted seamlessly into the action. They also handled the shifts between past and present brilliantly. Luke began quite upbeat but the end which was powerful and moving saw everyone move on, leaving Luke, well dead I guess. I forgot that I was watching my brilliant talented daughter, and was absorbed in the story and at the end had to wipe a tear from my eye.

Wiz I know you don't read my blog, but you are a star. You really deserve top marks for the performance and all the work that you put into it. Can't wait for your next performance at the fringe in the summer. Dad x

Virgin Trains Don't you just love em.

2010-10-20T19:08:00.004Z

Just got back from 24 hours in London. I was surprised at how quiet and civilised our great Capital City was and clean! And people were even chatting on the tube. What is going on? Even more confusing to a hardened old cynic, the train was bang on time on the way down and on the way back, though Virgin Trains toilets leave quite a lot to be desired. Even the SAS on one of their little training jolly's in the Brecon Beacons would have baulked at using them. While I'm about it I really hate the announcements that they make over the PA system. Not satisfied with listing out all the ways of failing to meet the high and exacting ticketing standards that Virgin require from their customers and the various penalties that you will incur for failing to hold your ticket in the right way when requested to do so by the ticket collector (they have a fancy name but I can't remember it) the announcer then proceeded to tell everyone what the complimentary food was in first class. This was fine for those who were travelling in first class but for the rest of us it was really rather rubbing it in. Especially as all we had to look forward to was a trip to the "shop" where if we were desperate we could purchase one of their sandwiches, which looked like they had been made by a bunch of ham fisted half wits on work experience. I made the mistake of opting for the cheese burger. I eventually found the cheese clinging soggily to the underneath of the plastic carton that the meal came in. It looked like someone had chewed it and spat it out and then tried to hide it. ( Yes I did eat it and no I didn't complain, I'm bloody English for god's sake) Nor do I want my listening to the Fry Chronicles interrupted by the pillock with the PA telling us that there had been a serious accident in the toilet located in coach A. I mean we didn't need telling, anyone with a sense of smell could work it out for themselves. Apparently someone had kicked the door in and the patronising little jobs worth on the PA wanted anyone with information to come along to his office, situated next to the "shop" and spill the beans. I thought he was going to add "and no one is to go to the toilet until the perpetrator has owned up." Apparently they had it covered with CCTV. Shame they couldn't have an on board plumber, then maybe no one would want to kick the door down.

Anyway I am now in recovery mode. It may take some time.

Friday Night Blues

2010-10-15T18:25:00.002Z

The smoke from my cigarette curls up through the rain drops and I hunch deeper into my coat. Inside the music from the Weasels i pod thumps and thunders through the house. Lilly the Collie barks as someone turns into the Close. Mrs BW is catching up on the XYZ Factor, or what ever its called. Its Friday night and I am waiting to give the Weasel and her various friends a lift up to the Rugby Club for their sixth form prom raising event. The Munch who is 16 on Sunday is out, having sneaked a bottle of cider past the checkpoint. Its Friday night. I should be out. I must be getting old.

Have a good weekend.

Mrs BW gets a surprise

2010-10-08T19:25:00.004Z

No not what you think at all. This is a family blog. Sort of.

She took Lilly our border collie out on the moors on Thursday. No surprise there. The sun was shining, the leaves drifting off the trees, a slight chill in the air, in short the perfect autumnal day. Apparently Lilly was racing about chasing leaves, the ball, and anything else that caught her fancy. A happy contented dog and her owner out for a walk. Then Lilly disappears over the crest of the next rise. Mrs BW remained untroubled and carried on plodding up the slope.

She heard bleating first. Then saw a line of sheep coming down the hill towards her. She claims that there were many sheep but on closer cross examination the number appeared to be around ten. Well ten could be many I suppose Behind the sheep trotted Lilly. Very proud of herself with a "hey look what I found scattered about the moor" look on her face. Then she split the flock in two, herding one up to a wall and then returning to the other half flock. Still not satisfied she split a sheep from the pack, herded it round a bit before bringing it back to its half flock. Then as by way of an encore she joined the two half flocks into one and moved them to a different part of the wall, before sitting down and staring at them.

Mrs BW called her and after one more longing look at the sheep raced back to get the plaudits and praise that of course she deserved.

Wished I'd been there. I guess its instinct , though I have been taking her to sheep dog trials, but only as a spectator. I fancy myself in a smock with a shepherds crook. But as I said this is a family blog. Have a good weekend.

Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness

2010-09-28T19:34:00.004Z

A thick damp dewy mist settled over Buxton during the night. Autumn is well and truly here. The nights draw in, there is a chill in the air, the leaves on the trees are either falling off or turning various shades of brown and soon our thoughts will turn to winter. But first there is the small matter of the Weasels eighteenth birthday party. She has looked forward to being eighteen for several years. "I can't wait dad, I'm so excited, I'll be able to do what I want and go where I want." As I point out to her, in reality all this means is that she will be able to do legally what she has been doing for the past six months or so illegally. Still she is excited and so are we for her. It is a turning point, another milestone on the way.

Despite the mist and thick fog this morning, I spent a couple of minutes watching a Coal Tit feeding on the various seeds and bits of fruit that Mrs BW had put out in the back garden. It was a handsome little bird. Beautifully marked. Along with the sparrows it seemed particularly taken with the rotting apples and plums. I guess some sort of fermentation had probably started. If so we will end up with a garden full of legless (not literally, the cats are too old) birds. Should make for some amusing photographs.

Mornings at Birdwatcher Towers

2010-09-17T19:57:00.003Z

Six o'clock in the morning. I don't feel fine at all but with the threat of Little Toe looming on the wireless (Radio 7 in case you're interested) its time to get up. Lilly, our very lazy Border Collie has usually crept into our bed, so I have to carefully climb over her. She looks up at me with her soft brown eyes and yawns. She gets up as well. Not to pester me for a walk. No she pads off to the Munch or the Weasels room to snuggle in with them for another hour. Down stairs I switch on the Wireless in the Kitchen. The today programme, indecently cheerful at this hour, breaks the silence and switching on the kettle, I ignore the hungry pleas from the cats and go outside for the first fag of the day. Usually because we live in Buxton its raining. This morning its a beautiful crisp sunny start. Its good to be out and I sit on the bench watching the smoke drift lazily into the air, glancing slightly guiltily at the washing that Mrs BW has carelessly left out overnight.

Back in the kitchen John Hunmphries is trying to wind up some young wet behind the ears boy who has delusions of standing for leader of the Labour party. Meddlesome and Blair get mentioned in the same sentence and I decide to have two sugars in my coffee instead of none. The cats are now claiming that they have never been fed so, while the tea is doing what ever it does for four minutes before you can pour it, I feed them.

Three cups of tea, and a cup of coffee. The coffee stays downstairs. I take the three cups of tea upstairs. First I put one on the table next to Mrs BW's side of the bed. She grunts and snuffles a sort of whatthefucktimedoyoucallthisohitsteathanks" and then falls back into a gentle sleep. The tea will go cold and I will make her another one in thirty minutes. Its a sort of tradition, a ritual almost. Well its better than having an old man in a frock coming to visit and costing £12m. Waste of tea though!

Next stop the Munch. Usually Lilly has sneaked in and deciding that he is cold is lying on top of him. I turn on the light and in a voice slightly louder than needed greet him with "Good morning Munchie cup of tea for you time to think about getting up."

Okay now the tricky one. The Weasel. I nudge open the door and flick the light. Carefully negotiating the discarded clothes (very few of them hers but that's another story), hair straighteners, odd bits of jewellery, discarded cigarette packets, I make it to her bedside table and manage to find a mug sized space for her tea.

"Wake up Wiz, time to get up"

She stirs and looks at me. She does not do mornings. Slightly fearful I beat a hasty retreat. Something crunches under foot.

Back in the kitchen I sip my coffee and listen to Humphries prattling on. There is toast to make and another cigarette to be smoked and a whole day to get through. But at least we've started.

I've Surprised Myself

2010-09-02T21:52:00.004Z

Got back from Pembrokeshire at the end of last week, just in time to collect the Weasel from Manchester Airport. She had a fantastic time and talked non stop for hours about Oz. I fancy she will be going back there! So for me it was back to work and of course the English summer decides to make an appearance, bless her. Lovely. Sat in front of a computer or sitting in sweaty meeting rooms whilst the sun shines outside.

By way of relaxation I decided to buy the audio version of the Blair memoirs. I have never been a Blair fan but wanted to read what Teflon Tony had to say about himself and I figured it couldn't be worse than the odious little tome that Meddlesome brought out recently. I must be ill or getting old, because I am rather enjoying it. The guy has a sense of humour an a nice self deprecating touch. I'm only half way through but I can't wait for the mug of hot chocolate (Morrisons cheapest) and to get in to bed and plug the earphones in and listen to the next chapter. Mrs BW is away in Wales so its just Lilly (the border collie and me in the bed.) She doesn't like Tony. Anyway just getting to the bit about Iraq so must dash.

Weasel Down Under

2010-08-10T10:02:00.004Z

I watched her disappear into Passport control. There was a lump in my throat, but at the same time I was so happy for her. The Weasel, our seventeen year old daughter (almost but not quite eighteen) was off to Brisbane to stay with my sister for three weeks. Well it has to be better than hanging around Buxton and spending two weeks in Wales. She was excited and a little bit anxious. Not about the flying, she had overcome that fear when we went to Amsterdam earlier in the year, but I guess transferring at Dubai and then Singapore was a bit daunting. It would be for me. I walked back to the car and left Terminal One. I admit there were a few little tears that crept down my cheek but I was so happy and excited for her, that I soon cheered up. Bless her she soon brought me back to earth. I had only gone 300m when she phoned to say that she needed a £1 coin for the plastic bags for her cosmetics. "But I have left the airport, I'm sorry." "Don't matter dad I will leave it behind its not important."

A few minutes later she texted me to say that they had let her off. I bet they did, its her winning smile. So I set off again back to Buxton. Not concentrating I soon found myself back outside Terminal One. Damned Sat Nav!

So now she is over in Oz and about to set off to South Stradbroke Island. We are off to Pembrokeshire at the weekend, and lovely though it is, its doesn't have the same ring to it somehow.

More later.

Claim to Fame?

2010-07-27T19:22:00.002Z

It was cold despite being midsummer. It was also light despite being late at night. The grey Icelandic sky yielded a faint and irritating drizzle. I was cold, damp and hungry and of course in Iceland. I should have been in Turkey, but instead there I was, creeping carefully forward flat on my belly, through scrubby vegetation towards a small glacial lake. The object of my attention was a diver. Not the scuba diving type but the feathered variety. I stopped and slowly brought the ancient pair of binoculars to my eyes. It was hard to make out all the details in the dull light but I was certain that what I was looking at was not a Great Northern Diver (Gavia Immer) a common sight in Iceland but The Black throated Diver (Gavia Artica). I was excited because as far as I could be certain, one had not been spotted in Iceland before. I crept forward a little further preparing to get that oh so vital photograph.

I should have been in Turkey, enjoying the warmth and exotic culture and smells with my old school friend Colin Evans. I should have been, but for some reason, Colin’s parents felt that I was an unsuitable travelling companion for their son, and no doubt influenced by Midnight Express and fears of drugs and squalid Turkish prisons, they banned him. That and an unfortunate incident back in February. I had driven over to Colin’s parent’s house near Bath for a few beers and arriving late and slightly irritated by the snow and narrow lanes greeted him in their kitchen with the words;

“Fucking hell Colin the lanes are fucking awful around here. I almost crashed three times. Why the fuck do your parents have live in this out of the way dump.”

Colin always quick to get embarrassed reddened and said in as matter of fact way he could;

“Simon meet my Mum and Dad.”]

Dr Evans and his wife peered sneakily round from out of my sight line and smiled painfully and introduced themselves to the foul mouthed youth that had so uncouthly invaded their kitchen and genteel privacy. So that I guess was the end of the Turkish trip and the hitching across Europe with all the opportunities for drinking and wild carefree behaviour that the trip offered. Colin the good dutiful son that he was, obeyed them, and instead went with a more suitable companion cycling around Denmark and Holland. I hope he got stoned!

So here I was. Not far from the Porisjokull Glacier, stalking a bird on a pond. A movement on the opposite shore caught my attention. Someone else was interested in our feathered friend, and he had one of those cameras that even in the late 1970’s looked sophisticated, space age and state of the art.

An hour later back at the team Land Rover and ignoring the scornful looks of the other team members, I and my fellow stalker sought each other out. He was quicker of the mark and launched into conversation about, I presumed, what he and I had been looking at. He was clearly excited. And I have no doubt articulate. The only problem was, that as far as I could tell he was speaking in German. I knew no German. I gesticulated and got him to stop.

“Do you speak English?” I said

“No” he lied and gesticulated in the way that foreigners do.

I pointed at the lake and said in that shouty condensing way that we English reserve for those unfortunate enough not to speak English;

“BLACK THROATED DIVER I THINK”

“Nein” came the reply. “Gavia Articia, Gavia Articia.”

This stumped me a bit. I had never had much time for the Latin scientific names. So I pulled out my field guide and realised that Gavia Articia was the scientific name for Black Throated Diver. We had seen the same thing, and it was a first for Iceland. I smiled showed him the book and he nodded and agreed.

Back at the Land Rover I listened to the sarcastic comments about the “Fucking duck” that I had wasted everyone’s time over. My explanation that it was a first for Iceland fell on deaf ears and the drive back to camp began in an awkward silence. Until we found a petrol station that also served beer, and tried to chat up the couple of young Nordic looking Icelandic girls that lived in the isolated little hamlet. This attracted the unwanted attention of the couple of Icelandic farm hands that lived and worked in the Hamlet so we retreated to the camp with a few beers and fitfully tried to sleep in the half light that passes for a summer’s night in Iceland.

Back in the UK I wrote to the Museum of Natural History in Reykjavik, enclosing my notes and sketches. I still have the letter somewhere. They could not recognise it unless I had some photographic evidence or it was collaborated by another. Obviously my German friend whose name and details I had omitted to obtain had moved on to different things and Gavia Articia still is not recognised as having been seen in Iceland.

Bugger there went my only claim to fame. So far.

The Long Road Back

2010-07-25T17:01:00.000Z

It seems as if I have been away for a long time. The road back to normality has been long and hard and there is still some way to go. Not there yet but I feel I have started and as the Chinese proverb says the longest journey starts with a single step. Things at Birdwatcher towers are still tense. The things that were important to me lie neglected and ignored though I have picked a few of them up recently and this has helped.
Where have I been? To be honest I don’t know. I have suffered a massive loss of perspective and have behaved at times stupidly, ignoring those around me that care, acting in a well meaning way but ultimately flawed.
So the road back starts with a single step and I have at least taken that. We shall see how long it takes to get back to where I was or if I find another road on the way. Whatever I feel I have started.
The curlews have been successful in the Goyt and the short eared owls are breeding and hunting. We have a buzzard that flies over the house almost every day and Peregrines are breeding in one of the local quarries. Some things are normal at least.

Just another satuday in the goyt

2010-05-22T17:07:00.002Z

After another sleepless night there was only one thing to do. I called lilly and put her in the car. She was a bit sluggish and reluctant to get in. I could not blame her to be honest. It was hot and airless even with the windows open. Once we were moving however and she found the cooling breeze and turned her face to it she seemed happier. A couple of fire engines were practisinh water rescue techniques by the pond. We set off across the moors, already dry from the few days sun. Dedicated frogs littered the ground. This happens every year. Not sure why as there is plenty of standing water for them. A couple of curlews flew down to their feeding grounds but apart from them there was little activity. Just too hot I guess. We sat on a bench and looked at the view. A couple
strolled past and I asked them what they had seen. Nothing as it turned out so I told them what was usually around and we chatted about this and that. Back at the car I gave lilly some water and headed for home and all the uncertainty that I know I will find there.

Lilly comes on leaps and bounds

2010-05-17T20:21:00.001Z

Our border collie has a whale of a time leaping about with the munch.

Update

2010-05-17T10:24:00.001Z

Trying to make sense of another lost weekend. Managed to get to the Goyt and sat and watched the curlews. Overwhelmed by a sense if sadness. Things will get better, I guess. More later.

Inertia

2010-04-02T07:09:00.002Z

I have not had the inclination to write anything on here for quite a while. As life tumbles down around me, I just seem to sit and stare at it, unable to react or even act to stop the descent into chaos. Writing my blog would be a major major effort that I just could not have faced. Pathetic? Probably but then that is how it sometimes takes me. Post lies unopened in drawers, e-mails go unanswered and telephone calls are not returned. I cut myself off from my friends and like a small communist state enter a period of isolation and solitude. I have really struggled to make it to the Goyt, even though the Curlews are now back and nesting. Poor Lilly has to make do with walks down our local dale, from me, though Mrs BW has taken her up Shining Tor on a fairly regular basis. Is the fog lifting, can I see the path ahead now after months of stumbling around blindly in the mist and dark? We shall see. Anyway hope you are all well, have a good Easter break and lets hope spring is soon on its way.

Welcome to Hotel Birdwatcher

2010-01-28T22:36:00.004Z

Mrs BW has taken flight back to her native Scotland for a few days so I am left home alone with the teenagers. We are half way through. The Weasel has cleaned her room, properly, done all her washing and we have had sensible conversations at the meal table about a healthy diet and homework and stuff like that. But I suspect the phoney war is coming to an end. The weekend is coming, and there are parties to go to, people to see, things to take etc. The Munch is having a sleep over on Friday with three of his mates. He has put his order in for a couple of six packs and plenty of crisps. But its okay they won't want any tea because they are going out. Then he is off to Manchester on Saturday (cancel the riding please dad), and staying over with his mates on Saturday night. " Oh yeah and Dad I'll want picking up from somewhere remote and obscure in the depths of the Hopeless Valley, don't know what time but I'll text you." So that's Sunday buggered.

The Weasel, older, cooler, wiser, (steady kid!) and with many more friends, not to be outdone has an equally extensive social programme lined up (no pun intended). She is off out somewhere on Friday and will sleep at her boyfriends ( and I'm next in line to become the next Pope). Then on Saturday she is off to a party but she and three friends will come back afterwards at stay at hers. The party ends at 1.00 am. " Oh yeah and Dad can they come round and get changed here before the party." I nod my assent. " So can you get us some wine or something just to set us up?" "Of course I can. Shall I contact your drug dealer as well for you and get you a couple of grams of Charlie. No honestly I was joking, no I could not get you 3 grams I don't know any drug dealers. "

So I am enjoying the calm before the storm. Have a good weekend and as the great late Dave Allen used to say "may your god go with you."

Back to the Goyt

2010-01-28T15:36:00.002Z

After all the snow that we have had it has been difficult to get to the Goyt, so Lilly and I have been confined to walking the local Dales and lanes. Nothing wrong with that at all. There are some wonderful little Limestone dales hidden away around here and the snow makes them even more interesting and at times challenging. But we both miss the open spaces, the wildness, the wind, the silence of the Goyt.

So this morning I promised myself a walk to Wildmoorstone. There are still large snow banks up there and Lilly was racing about flicking at the icy stuff and burying her face in the cold snowy holes having a wonderful time. It as good to breath in the cold air and to feel the chill wind brush against my face. We both stopped to watch a raven , slowly fly across the valley, calling occasionally to let us know it was boss. The pond by the car park still has ice on it, and I rather suspect that we may be in for another spell of cold weather in February.

It was good to be back.

Happy Midwinter Festival

2009-12-23T17:11:00.004Z

From a cold and Snowy Buxton The Birdwatchers wish you a very happy Winters break. Good luck in 2010.

Kitchens, Doors Windows and Flu

2009-12-18T16:06:00.002Z

I have been off with man flu all week. Its been odd. I keep on trying to do things and end up having to lie down again. Its been a difficult time to be off as Birdwatcher towers has been under going restoration and the upgrading of some of the basic facilities. So we now have a new kitchen, new doors and windows (at the back of the house anyway) and a very pissed off bank manager. Its all come together quite well. Of course Lilly our border collie has had a whale of a time barking at the procession of different people coming into the house to ply their trades. Makes a nice change from the postman, the milkman and the window cleaner.

Mrs BW has project managed it all of course. And a very good job she has done. I have kept a low profile coughing and sneezing with the flu and the extra dust. Still, it will all be ready for Christmas, and judging by by the weather at the moment it may even be a white one. Hey Ho, jolly times and no rugger for me tomorrow!

Paranoid or what?

2009-12-07T18:16:00.003Z

We have an little devise from Scottish power that shows you how much electricity you are using. You're meant to be able to use it to save energy and money. Its getting on my nerves. If I am the last person to leave the house I check it make sure that I have turned everything off. I had to go back and check it fourteen times one day last week, just to make sure. Actually I was happy the thirteenth time but popped back once more because thirteen is unlucky for some.

Pointless things that I have said - No 275

2009-12-04T17:06:00.004Z

"Is it okay if I borrow the laptop Dad?"

"Yes, as long as you bring it back."

What a stupid thing to say. What sort of answer did I expect.

"Okay I won't bother then as I was going to sell it later on ebay"

Actually what she said was "Ok, yes I will."

We do say stupid things sometimes.

SAD

2009-12-02T22:45:00.002Z

Mrs BW thinks that the weather may be making me depressed. I don't want to disappoint her but I am a miserable old git all the year round.

Out in the wind and rain

2009-11-29T10:48:00.003Z

The rain trickles down the back of my neck. I should have had my hood up. But hoods irritate me and make me look even scarier. Quite why that worries me when I am walking the dog in the Goyt, I don’t know. Apart from the occasional runner and dog walker hunched and hunkered down against the rain, there will be very few people out and about today.

I have my new walking boots on and they make a big difference. Lilly strains at the long lead. The rain and the wind don’t seem to bother her. She sniffs and scampers around the undergrowth scaring the grouse and putting them to flight, and then trying to chase after them when they fly across the valley.

I lose myself to my thoughts. I have a lot to think about. Its hard being a dad and its hard being the Weasel and only 17 but wanting so much to have the freedom to go out at weekends, to stay up all night and then chill on someone’s floor or with a boyfriend or whatever. Harder still when your friends, some of them at least, seem to have the freedom to do what they want and go where they want. We had agreed that she could stay out last night, we agreed where she would be staying and we agreed that she would be back by mid day, though this last bit went down like a lead balloon. I tried to explain that as far as I was concerned it was about knowing that she was safe and wanting to see her, to have some family time together. (At least she wasn’t sick on the spot).

I feel sad. I don’t know why. I did not sleep well last night. I lay in bed and thought about her and hoped that she was okay. It’s hard to let go, hard to get the balance right. But it’s more important that we talk and that she comes home and knows that she will be safe and welcome there. I know she needs to discover who she is and to make mistakes and of course to quote “to have fun”.

The wind and the rain intensify and I slip and slide down the hill side. Lilly has found some interesting smell and is hell bend on pulling me with her or over in her effort to get to whatever it is she has scented.

Time to head for home.

Alls Well that Ends Well....I suppose

2009-11-14T10:59:00.002Z

4.00pm the Kitchen of Birdwatcher Towers on Sunday afternoon. The Weasel leans against the wall, twisting her hands and biting her lower lip. She is pale, and looks very tired. Mrs BW stands by the sink arms folded across her chest staring intently at the Weasel. I just stand there trying to look like the past eight hours have all been just part of a normal Sunday.

"You could have left a note" I say gently.

The Weasel looks at me and a slight smile crosses her face. She dares to believe that she might not be told off.

"I'm sorry " she says simply. I think she means it. She doesn't always. Sometimes she says sorry and injects a slight Amercian twang into the pronunciation. But not this time.

"Why the confusing texts? We thought you might be in trouble?"

She looks at me and then her mum and shrugs her shoulders. "No! Why would you think that?"

I start to explain, but feel to weary.

"Well you're home now and safe. You must be hungry?" The Weasel nods. "I'll make you some toast and then you can go and have a bath and a sleep before tea." Mrs BW pops a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and starts to make cups of tea. The inquest can wait.

The Weasel Disappears.

2009-11-12T22:38:00.005Z

Considering how late we got to bed and how much I had drunk the previous night, I felt remarkably well for a Sunday morning. It was a good job because though the sun was shining and it was just the sort of day for taking Lilly out into the Goyt and striding for miles across the heathery boggy hills and valleys, I had work to do. A lot of it and none of it very interesting. I had just put the kettle on and was thinking about whether to have toast with a lot of butter and honey or go for a health bowl of Muesli when Mrs BW came down stairs looking troubled.

"The Weasels not in her room!"

"Well she was home before we went up to bed. We told her off for coming in so late." I had that sinking feeling already.

"Her bed does not look slept in and her window is wide open. I think she is gone." Mrs BW looked concerned.

There was no sign of the Weasel. A brief check to see what was missing, not an easy thing in a room that would present a stiff challenge to Time Team was inconclusive. I tried her phone. It rang but she did not answer. I texted her. She did not reply. Mrs BW phoned around and spoke to a few people. She managed to establish that the Weasel was not with any of her usual friends.

"There is not a lot we can do. " I said. " She is 17 after all."

Mrs BW was not convinced. But we had to try and get on with our day. I took the Munch up to Howards. Howard had arranged for him to spend some time with the local farrier, as the Munch has expressed an interest in following this as a career. I chatted normally trying not to betray the feeling of panic that was trying to push its way out of my stomach. It seemed as if the world was retreating, drifting away so that there was only us and the lack of a Weasel.

I got back at Midday. Still no sign. No texts. I tried again. Just a text, a neutral sort of text. A minute passed. My phone hummed. I grabbed it. It was a brief message from the Weasel. "On way home popped out this morning back in ten minutes Xx." An hour passed. Mrs BW's phone pinged. Another text. "I am with someone, stop bothering me." Mrs BW hadnt bothered her. We got worried. All the fears that had laid dormant, began to surface. Suppose she had met some one on Facebook, suppose she had gone to met this person. Suppose she was not in Buxton." We both felt helpless.

"Sorry" I said. " I have got to go out to think. I am going up to the rugby club to watch the Under 17's"

"Okay." Mrs BW seemed to understand. "I'll let you know if I hear anything."

To be continued.

A Little Misunderstanding

2009-11-03T15:32:00.002Z

It was the first time in a while that we had all sat down together for a meal, and things were not good. The Weasel, now recovered from her weekend exploits, was exploring her humorous side and cracking jokes, usually at other people’s expense. Mrs BW was being stoical and trying not to mention the weekend to the Weasel. Though this kept the fragile peace it did nothing to improve her humour. The Munch had slouched in his seat, elbows hovering annoying close, but not on the table, for most of the meal. Grunting occasionally about the “inernet” and scowling at the Weasels wise cracks, he added little to the fleeting snatches of conversation and with a final slurp, he stood up and made a move to leave the table.

“What do you think you are doing?” I said.

“What does it look like?” This last bit with added emphasis. “I’m leaving the table!”

“Well we have not finished yet, so will you please sit down and wait.” He crashed his plate back on the table. “Boring. Very boring” he said and began fiddling with his cutlery.

“Leave the cutlery alone” I snapped. “Tell us what you did at school?” Okay I admit, not particularly inspiring or original but it was a start I felt.

“CBA Dad. CBA!”
“And CBA means what exactly?” as if I didn’t know.

“Can’t be arsed” he grunted.

“Do you mind not using that sort of language at the table please” I could feel myself getting pompous.

“What’s wrong with arse” the Munch was getting indignant now. “It’s only a bloody donkey for god’s sake.

Mrs BW and the Weasel sniggered.

“No” I said calmly. I was going to enjoy this. “It’s not. You’re thinking of ass. I would dearly like to see you trying to go for a ride on an arse, and I don’t think you’ll find that the King of the Jews entered Jerusalem on an arse.”

The Munch shrugged. “Well I still can’t be assed anyway.” With that he got up and gathered the plates up. At least he was going to do the washing up.

A spot of injustice

2009-10-30T20:23:00.003Z

Some years ago the enlightened councillors of High Peak Borough Council introduced free parking for residents of the area for certain periods of the day. So up until 10.00am and after 4.00pm Monday to Saturday you can park, subject to certain restricted areas, free of charge and free of the fear of the dreaded Parking Enforcement Officers (bloody traffic wardens), in their nasty green uniforms. Or so I thought. However yesterday having left the car in the Crescent at 9.30am I took advantage of the free half hour left to me to go and have a chat with my bank about my careless and at times reckless attitude to their money. Chastened and a little bit poorer I emerged 25 minutes later just in time to get back to the car before the clock struck ten and all the PEO’s could star persecuting me. So imagine my surprise to find sitting perched just above my residents parking permit, a nasty hazardous yellow plastic bag containing a parking ticket and fine for £50. The fine was timed at 9.56am. My first was to chuck the wretched thing away. But sense prevailed and I sat down to read the wretched thing properly. The alleged offence had taken place between 9.51 and 9.56am. Now unless I am suffering from a nasty blow to the head, these times are before 10.00am and therefore as a resident, displaying a valid residents parking permit, I was entitled to be there without displaying a valid parking ticket. How the wretched little man (or woman) missed it is beyond me as it sits just above the tax disc, and this had been checked and the number noted on the form. Eventually after a lot of searching I found out how to appeal and an hour later sent via the website of the company responsible for enforcing the High Peaks parking fines, a very reasonable worded explanation as why I was not going to pay the fine. I await their response with interest.

Of course its the waiting that really "does my head in". Every time I turn on my e-mail now I half expect a reply from some bored youth on work experience explaining to me why even though I am the possessor of a residents parking permit, a valid residents parking permit, the half wit that issued the ticket was unable to read and therefore did not see it. Accordingly it will be deemed not to have been displayed properly. Of course it will be my word against theirs and as by that stage the only words I will be able to utter will be of an Anglo Saxon origin, I will lose and have to pay £10,000, have my house, children and wife confiscated and be sent to live in a high rise flat. And anyway I expect there is CCTV footage of me at the moment I discovered that I had a ticket. Not for the sensitive and those of a delicate disposition.

Well it Friday, the first bottle of wine is open, and in a minute Mrs BW will stop watching the X factor on TV and I can go down stairs. It must be grim though because the dog is barking.

Bloody Traffic Wardens!

Just a foggy day

2009-10-27T21:02:00.000Z

I work from home today. Making the most of the clocks going back and the fact that it is light earlier, I get up early and take Lilly to the Goyt. It’s very foggy but very restful and relaxing striding along in the grey mist not quite sure of where of exactly where I am. Lilly is oblivious to it all and pads along, first ahead and then behind as she explores the fresh early morning smells. A few minutes into the walk she disturbs a flock of pheasants that fly clumsily down the side of the hill, squawking, in a rush of beating wings. Back at the house I get stuck in to my list, interrupted occasionally by the Munch and the Weasel as they go about the slow and noisy process of getting up. Its half term so no school and with Mrs BW still in Wales, they push the boundaries. At midday I need to pop out to the library and I ask them to postpone going out for a half hour. This is met with a chorus of derision and as I close the front door I can hear that they are united by their mutual irritation with their unreasonable Dad. I grab a few books from the library and sneak into town for some dog food. As I get back they are both milling around by the front door and I am almost knocked flat in their rush to get out. I call out to remind them that we will have tea at 6.00pm but I would not swear to it that they heard me. It is still grey and foggy and there is a thin drizzle in the air. Neither has taken their coats. As I trudge upstairs, Lilly racing in front of me, I smile to myself. A nice wet and persistent drizzle. I go to my laptop and work, Lilly to the spare room to sleep.

Home alone..except for the dog!

2009-10-26T20:39:00.000Z

I am on my own. Well almost. Lilly is a sleep downstairs. But the rest of the family have deserted me. Mrs BW has gone to Wales to stay with her mum, and the teenagers are out. The Munch to hang out with his mates in the local park, the Weasel, who is now seventeen, to her friend Amy’s to watch a film. Yeah right and I’m from Mars. This is the same Weasel who does not buy cigarettes, but explained in that irritable way those teenagers have of explaining things to their parents, that the reason why her waste bin was full of empty packets of cigarettes was because obviously “I just offered to throw the packets away for my friends to save them having to do it”. When she offered this as an explanation, I just laughed. Which of course drew the anguished comment that, “you never believe anything I say?” Well no I don’t if that’s the best you can do! She is also possessed of magic clothes and shoes. She goes out wearing jeans and baggy sweater and returns in the dog watch hours wearing a dress and high heels. Rather clever. The Munch is at the grunting stage and spends an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. He cannot walk past a mirror or any vertical reflective surface without stopping to run his hands through his hair. I am sure that this is a reflex condition. He cannot help it. I guess he will grow out of it. I did.

Saturday Afternoon

2009-10-24T20:05:00.002Z

The dog launches itself down the steep slope and I have a job to keep up with her. The ground is wet from the recent rain. Below us in the valley bottom the stream cuts its erratic path down to the reservoir. The wind tugs at the long line that binds Lilly and I together and I have to shout wait to gain her attention. She looks back and stops for the clumsy slithering human to catch up. We plunge on further and as the ground levels out I feel less unstable and can relax. Lilly sniffs the ground and picks up some interesting smells. She sets off tail held high and ears pricked. The line brings her to a halt and she glances back reproachfully before racing to me, the scent forgotten. The ground is very wet and periodically the path, such that it is, is lost in a morass of mud and bog. Carelessly I place my foot on a soft bit of ground and the peaty water oozes over my shoes and seeps its way inside. Now I have soggy socks. We make slow progress up the valley, but eventually we cross the wooden bridge that spans the stream and start to make our way up hill. The sun has come out, and I, dressed for the wet and the wind find it uncomfortably warm. By the time we get up to the railway tracks however the wind is full in our face and I am glad of the protective clothes. With Lilly leading the way we pick up the pace and head back to the car park.

A slow gentle stroll in the Woods

2009-10-10T10:17:00.005Z

There was a crisp autumnal feel about the air as Lilly and I scuffed through the piles of fallen leaves in Grinlow Woods. For Lilly this was a doggie paradise as the leaves were full of smells and probably animal droppings so she snuffled along with only the occasional glance back to check that I was still there.

I really like this time of year. The hustle and bustle of summer has gone, and its a time for a deep breath, a time to recharge and enjoy the colours, smells and sounds of autumn before looking forward the winter.

There were a few people about, mainly other dog walkers and squirrels. The squirrels confuse Lilly as one minute they are scampering along the floor of the wood amongst the leaf litter and then they are gone. Lilly looks at me, slightly puzzled before she realises that it has disappeared up the tree. "Cheating" I could tell she is thinking.

We stroll out of the woods and onto the "tops". The sun is out and the cows that were there last night are still there this morning. They stop munching and stare at Lilly. She ignores them and dashes about excited by all the new scents. I get her ball out and throw it for her to chase. Being a Collie retrieving is beneath her dignity so she will only bring it to about 20 feet of me. Then she gets down into the classic collie pose and waits oblivious to everything else for me to throw it for her again. And again!

Back at the car a family are setting off for the cavern. "Mummy look at the doggie isn't she sweet!" So Lilly allows herself to be stroked and bungs in a complimentary lick just for good measure. I hear myself explaining about Collies herding instincts to the parents. Time to go before their eyes glaze over.

More haste less speed

2009-09-26T10:15:00.005Z

As my Grandfather used to say. Life has certainly got very busy since we came back from Scotland. I have only managed to go to the Goyt a couple of times. Its still there, but looking a little scruffy. I think the valley where Lilly and I walk has become popular with "off roaders". There are tracks appearing on the hillside and evidence of tracked vehicles churning up the ground. Never mind it will survive!

We are going through another period of change at work, which means courses and new procedures and plenty of distractions from what I thought we were paid to do. It will pass, but it causes a lot of stress in the meantime. But as I remind myself at least ten times a day, "the grass is always greener...", "better the devil you know".

Off to take the Munch riding, make sure that Weasel gets up and tidies her room, and then off to play rugby. Who said life was dull!

Holiday Snaps

2009-09-20T18:21:00.004Z

Saw this on a walk on the Ardnamurchan Penisular. It was taken near Sanna.

I don't believe it!

2009-09-04T19:04:00.003Z

Its over two months since I posted anything. Has my life been that dull? To be honest (yes probably it has) I lost the will to blog. Its sort of come back a bit so hopefully I'll come back here again soon.

Out of season

2009-06-23T21:38:00.003Z

It was a bit warm today even in the Peak District. I had a meeting in Ripley first thing, so after an early morning walk around the fields with Lilly, I set off. It was hot in the car. No air conditioning in my elderly Toyota, and though the engine seems sound still, some of the frivolous things like the brakes, gearbox and what ever controls the flow of hot and cold air are showing signs of wear and tear. As I turned off the Ashbourne Road and headed for Cromford (via Gellia) I joined a queue of vehicles, moving fairly slowly (between 30 and 40mph). What was slowing us down I mused? A caravan, a tractor? An elderly person, a learner driver? No none of these. As I progressed slowly up the queue I was somewhat surprised to see a Derbyshire Dales gritter equipped with snow plough on the front and flashing lights, ambling along the highway. Why? Practise? Whimsy? Probably sheer bloody mindedness, unless of course it is the ghostly gritter that disappeared in the February snowstorms and is now doomed to wander the A and B roads of the Peak District, pointlessly holding up the traffic and irritating people.

Early morning walk

2009-06-12T11:56:00.000Z

The last of the early morning clouds disappeared. It was getting warmer, and the insects hummed and buzzed lazily in the heather. Down in the valley I could hear the stream crashing against the rocks as it flowed to the reservoir. Lilly trotted ahead of me, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. She stopped to drink from a murky stagnant pool but I called her off and reached into my bag, found the water bottle and let her drink from that. Putting the bottle back I wiped my brow. I hadn't needed the fleece after all. We plodded on, the ground oozed water from the recent rains and it was hard to stay on the path. There was a squelching sound and Lilly sank up to her front shoulders in mud. She looked quizzically at me before pulling herself out, and trotting on, snapping at a passing butterfly. In the distance I could see another dog walker. He had his hands full though. Four old English sheepdogs, three on leads and one wandering off the track and disturbing the curlews. We stopped to chat but the dogs began to bark and growl and as he said, “their fine as long as I don't meet any other dogs!”, I decided that it was better to move off and so we did. As we approached the bridge that we BW's have renamed Picnic Bridge, for obvious reasons, Lilly suddenly tensed and began snuffling in the long grass of the bank. She emerged with something in her mouth. It was a pheasant chick. Sadly it was dead, and fearing that Lilly might have been responsible. I dragged her away. It was a beautifully marked little thing. I wondered what it was doing there on its own. I looked further down the bank and a slight movement revealed a female pheasant, so I guess there were more chicks about. Time to move on. By the bridge I let Lilly cool off and drink in the stream. I sat on the bank, feeling the sun on my face and listening to the bird song. It was good to be out.

Owls, Curlews and Things

2009-06-11T15:49:00.001Z

The fat drops of rain started to fall as we reached the midway point of the walk. So of course we were furthest from the car, and the dry. Lilly seemed unconcerned about the rain, I briefly regretted leaving my cagoule in the car, but it was not that bad really and looking up at the sky I could see the grey giving away to the white fluffy and blue, so the shower was not going to last long. The short eared owl that had appeared almost as soon as we set off, appeared again, silent, skimming the heather, hugging the contours of the hillside, seeking the slightest movement that would betray a meal for her young. Lilly barked at her and strained at the lead to give chase. I quietened her with a fishy treat, and losing interest in the owl she became absorbed in something rustling in the long grasses and snuffling and sniffing made little leaps and pounces into the vegetation. As the rain eased off, the curlews began to shadow us as we moved down into Wildmoorstone. They flew in wide circles, landing twenty metres away to call and cry, before taking off again and swooping down towards us landed on the other side. They kept this up for five minutes. They were protecting their young of course. Last summer I watched them escort a buzzard from the area, and they will mob a heron if it gets to close. Once they were sure that Lilly and I posed no threat, they left us, gliding further down the valley to feed in the marshy ground near the stream. As we headed up the steep path that leads back onto the disused railway track, the sun came out. I stopped briefly to stand and stare at the view, and felt happy and briefly at peace.

Life goes on

2009-06-10T21:53:00.002Z

Things have been a little bit hectic at Birdwatcher Towers this past few weeks. Work for me has been hectic and at times quite difficult. It has had me lying awake in the early hours of the morning, with feelings of helplessness that even Radio 7 cannot reach. But of course we have to go on. The mortgage must be paid, the fledglings fed, Mrs BW supplied with finest quality muesli and of course Lilly supplied with the best dog food that money can buy. The Weasel is coming to the end of her GCSE's. Whilst friends report that frantic revising late into the evening, and their young people white and pale from lack of sleep and worry, the Weasel seems to have taken the whole thing as a mere minor irritation, involving only very minor adjustments to her burgeoning social life. It seems as if more time and effort has gone into the planning of the end of school prom than into revising for the exams. She now has one final exam next week. Religious Education part 2 apparently. So effectively she has finished. We have the results to look forward to sometime in the middle of August, but with a bit of luck we shall be in Scotland, miles from any mobile phone signal and where if you mention broadband it is assumed that you are thinking of out sized pieces of jewellery. Luckily for my sanity I have managed to get to the Goyt most days with Lilly. The curlews are busy with their young and there are loads of lapwings this year. Yesterday we surprised a couple of hares on the old railway track and Lilly thought about giving chase but realised that the extending lead would rather cramp her style so she barked at them as they moved off into the long grasses. The weather has for once been kind, so everywhere is green and all the flowers seem to be thriving. Mrs BW is happy at any rate. And so life goes on and we are almost half way through yet another year.

Lilly in Full Flight

2009-06-10T20:56:00.001Z

Took this just over a week ago. She had been in the water and was racing around with a stick. The Munch was chasing her but of course he did not catch her, at least ways until she wanted to be caught. She likes the water and will spend as much time as possible paddling, but not swimming yet.

I like the way the water falling from her body and the grass seem to merge.

Lilly

2009-05-23T23:03:00.004Z

What can I say. She is a sweetheart but of course she is a little bit mischievous. (Mrs BW says that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth) Well today she sneaked past the ever vigilant Mrs BW and went for a stroll on her own and without a leader. We noticed she had gone but spent precious minutes searching the house and garden. Sam and his mate from next door found her and brought her back. Thank you Sam and your friend.

She is at that difficult age. She wants to explore and find out what is going on around her. We need to be vigilant. Its all very stressful. At least the Weasel comes home on time. For the moment.

Where have I been?

2009-05-23T23:00:00.002Z

Away.
Some say away with the faeries.
Some say searching for the lost curlews in the goyt.
I'm sort of back now.
For a bit anyway.

A Walk in the Woods

2009-04-10T09:45:00.003Z

Lilly snuffles around the leaf mulch, flicking the decaying vegetation into the air, and then scrabbling amongst the soil, digging a little hole. Distracted by a sound, maybe a bird flitting through the low branches of the trees, she turns away and sits on the path to wait patiently for the sluggardly people that make up her pack. As they get nearer she jumps up and bounds towards them, they shower her with praise and pat and stroke her, giving her little bits of biscuit. Then she is off, racing up the path only to stop suddenly as some new scent attracts her.

"Look at her racing about, she is a very happy puppy." I nod my agreement to Mrs BW, my thoughts temporarily distracted away from the turmoil of yesterday. "Yes she's very happy. It will be good when we can let her off the lead though."

As if on queue the lead tugs her to a halt and I am pulled forward slightly. Lilly sits down again on the path to wait. Mrs BW calls her and she comes, ears flapping, legs scrabbling to get a purchase on the soil. She arrives a bundle of tail wagging tongue lolling joy,to lick the hands that stroke her and to be smoothed and reassured as to what a good puppy she is.

I smile. Yesterday can wait.

Update

2009-04-08T20:38:00.002Z

After a few weeks struggling with bloggers block and having too much to do at work, I thought I better post a bit of an update.

All is well in the Goyt. The curlews have settled in and are nesting, though there appear to be less this year. The short eared owls have been displaying and hunting, and the ducks are back on the pond, so soon there should be duckings.

Lilly is growing. Having chewed and eaten the kitchen and half my wardrobe she is now casting longing and hungry eyes on our collection of books. She is teething at the moment and finds temporary relief sucking and biting on ice cubes. I felt a bit sorry for her this evening though. I gave a nice big chunk of ice which she carried out to the garden and carefully buried. Of course a few minutes later when she went to dig it up it was gone. This confused her for a bit, but undaunted she dug several test pits just top make sure that she had got the right place. I wonder if Mrs BW will notice?

We miss Moonshine. It seems strange not to hear him on his wheel. The Munch is thinking of getting another hamster but I am not sure its a good idea.

The Weasel is hard at work not revising for her GCSE's. "I'll start tomorrow" is her constant refrain. Best not to say anything and hope that she is secretly revising in between episodes of Holyoaks or whatever she watches.

I still have not been for my medical. I know it makes sense but.............

More later.

Farewell Little Friend

2009-03-14T11:43:00.003Z

Moonshine the hamster will very large testicles had to be put to sleep on Wednesday. He had been going down hill for a while and on Tuesday night was so swollen around his tummy that he could not get through the tubes that linked the various parts of his cage. He was distressed and so we agreed to take him to the vet to see if anything could be done. He was over two years old and it seems he had some tumours in his stomach. The vet told us the best thing for Moonshine was to put him to sleep and this she did. Mrs BW bought a rose called Moonlight and he is buried in the garden. The rose is white and very scented.

So farewell little friend. We will miss you as you kept both Mrs BW and I company during our occasional late night stints in front of the computer, entertaining us with your antics on your wheel and coming up to the bars of the cage to have a look at what we were up to, or running around the desk or trying to hide down the side of the sofa.

Now his cages sit on the side table clean, empty and silent.

Read the Instructions!

2009-03-06T21:56:00.003Z

By 5.10pm I had had enough of e-mails, text messages and people wanting funding. And anyway there was a little puppy dog that needed walking. Mrs BW had gone off to her course at the Uni, so the rest of us were left to our own devices. Thinking ahead earlier in the day, I had popped into Waitrose during my lunch break (well you never know who is reading this) and purchased a ready made Cumberland Pie. Life doesn't get much simpler. The Weasel decided that she did not want to come with the Munch, Lilly and I, preferring to watch some crap on the tele, so I said that was okay but that she would have to cook tea while we were out. I explained that this was not as complicated as it sounded and involved her basically putting the Pie on 190 for forty five minutes. Anyway I added, the instructions were on the box.

Lilly had a wonderful time in Grinlow Woods. There were a few other dogs to bark at, hide from and sniff and of course the attached (or in most cases unattached)owners. It was good to be out watching her explore and feel the stresses of the day peel away.

Back home the house was filled with the smell of hot Cumberland Pie, the table was laid and the Weasel, clearly pleased with her efforts was quick to chivy us into our places. She brought the pie out and grandly placed it on the table.

"Well I think I have done a really good job with this" she started. The Munch muttered something about only having to take it out of the box and put it in the oven, but the Weasel ignored him and went on " I have timed it all perfectly, its been in the oven for 25 minutes so it will be nice and hot and just right."

"Did you say 25 minutes" I snapped at her. In the background the Munch sniggered to himself.

"Yes. Like you said. Put it in for 25 minutes"

"Idiot. Its 45 minutes. 45 at 190. Not 25 minutes. Are you trying to poison us?"

"Where do you get 45 from anyway?" She had gone defensive and a little defiant.

"It says so on the box, like I told you."

"No it doesn't!" brave but even she was not convinced by her argument.

I fished the box out from the bin (It should have been in the recycling, but I let that one go) "There 45 minutes! It says so clearly"

The pie went back in the oven. Our tea and the Weasels cooking career on temporary hold.

Meet Lilly Rose

2009-03-06T07:32:00.004Z

Master of all she surveys? Hopefully not.

Out in Grinlow woods yesterday.

Not long after we got her.

The Curlews are back

2009-03-03T22:06:00.005Z

Well one at least. I heard, then saw one this morning at about 7.20am as I was returning to the car with Mrs BW, the Munch and Lilly our Border Collie pup (more later). I was excited and so was Lilly but maybe not at that moment for the same reason. Well of course I had been excited with Lilly as it was her first time out after the inoculations, but just at that moment when I heard the curlew, I sort of felt all tingly, as if the world was suddenly an okay sort of place again. The curlew looked as if it had been flying for a long time and it called mournfully as it flew overhead and then dropped into Wildsmoorstone. Its the first sign that Winter is moving away. I got home and bumped into the Weasel who had decided that staying in bed for that little bit longer was a better idea than traipsing round the Goyt. "Hey guess what I saw...A curlew, its the first one of the year, isn't that exciting!" Of course I knew as I said it that my enthusiasm was going to fall on stony ground. She looked at me. "There's something wrong with you dad, you're sad" and of course she is right,I probably am. Anyway Mrs BW and Lilly were interested.

Bleak Mid Winter or the Wrong sort of Shoes,

2009-02-03T18:24:00.003Z

The schools were closed of course, even the University had not bothered to open. Snow in winter? What is the world coming to? Anyway I was still at work and on the way back this afternoon I pulled over and had a look at the Goyt. It looked a bit bitter, under a slate grey sky, with a sharp cutting wind to test the thermal properties of my fleece.

Of course I would have liked to have stepped off into the distance. But I have responsibilities and things to do, people to see, and anyway I had the wrong sort of shoes, so that had I decided to stroll across the snow fields, very soon I would have had wet feet, and that is no good at all.

So I took a couple of pictures and got back into the car and set off for home. On the way I decided to pop into Buxton and get a few things. I parked the car in the crescent and strolling into the marvellous inspiring piece of architecure that serves as a shopping centre past the closed down shops, and abandoned retail dreams, I wished that I had got my feet wet instead. Walking back to the car my mind on higher things I heard a familiar voice calling out. "Dad, Dad over here." It was the Weasel, clutching a snow ball. She was laughing and muttering something about coming back to the car with me so she could help me shift the giant "snow ball" that her "friends" had put in front of it. I looked up at the Slopes and there above me lined up like an Anglo Saxon army, all clutching snow balls were the Weasel's friends.

"They're not going to throw those at us are they?" I said. "No Dad. No they're not going to throw them at us, only you." A volley of snow balls, chucked in my direction landed on and around me. I tried to smile. Like the Saxons at Hastings they had left the safety of their hill top and were triumphantly moving down the slope. I reached the car, clearing the 'Giant Snow ball' and sliding into the drivers seat. As I set off the Weasel waved goodbye and a volley of snow balls struck the car. Oh to have been a Norman!

Waiting for the Weasel

2009-01-30T22:42:00.004Z

How anyone can look forward to spending hours wandering around (hanging out I believe the young call it) down town Buxton on a cold January Friday evening beats me. Which is why Mrs BW and I suspect that the Weasel (16 and "OMG you're so lucky to have me I don't do nuffink wrong")probably doesn't. She has the remarkable knack of breezing in at 11.02 pm (always just a little late, "but I had to wait so that I could walk back with Kate and you wouldn't want me to walk back alone would you?") And even when the Atlantic has done its worst and it has been hosing it down all evening, in she will come, dry, but adamant that she has walked back in the rain. We don't know where she goes and of course its better not to know, so we don't ask. Anyway here I am on a Friday evening, with the Munch watching some violence on the tele, Mrs BW out and about in Glossop,enjoying herself, while I wait for the Weasel. Its just me and Moonshine (the hamster) and the wireless. Thank God for Radio 7, as I believe we must now call it. High Table Lower Orders since you asked.

Time for an MOT?

2009-01-30T21:41:00.003Z

A couple of months ago I received an invitation from our Medical Centre to pop in with a sample of urine (mine I presume) and a couple of jars of blood, one to be taken after fastening for twelve hours! Apparently as I was about to turn 50 they wanted to check out a few things. Of course being a man I have not been yet. Mrs BW asks me every day when I will be making the appointment, and I reply unconvincingly that I'll probably do it soon. She gives me the look that says - no you won't. Stop telling me lies. I can see I am going to have to do this for you -

Of course I know I ought to go,and having to fast for twelve hours isn't such a hardship. But I suppose I can't face the facts. I am overweight, but quite fit, well not a total slob, I drink too much, eat the wrong things, can't sleep, worry, and suffer pains in most of the major limb joints. I know what they will say. Cut down the booze, cut out the dripping and salt, take proper exercise, like running on a treadmill rather than puffing round a muddy field after a bag of wind, occasionally getting flattened by some large lump when you accidentally come into contact with the ball. They will try and make me come back to be checked out and they will tut tut and suggest that I am not taking this seriously, when the scales stubbornly refuse to show progress.

Of course they are right. I ought to go, I am after all at "that age".

I'll do it next week.!

Right time for a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps. I wonder if there are still chocolate biscuits left in the tin.

Welcome to the World of Hypocrisy

2009-01-22T21:48:00.004Z

Spend the day at the races drinking champagne, or what ever it is that you drink when you go to watch the horses, get into your car and head up to town for a spot of commentating, get pulled over by the boys in blue and found to be over the drink drive limit and okay you get a ban and a slapped wrist but hey no worries you're still able to take your place in the England Rugby elite squad ahead of the six nations. And of course play for your club. After all you were probably a bit unlucky to get caught and although drink driving is not acceptable, alcohol still is, indeed its consumption in often industrial quantities is part of the social scene at clubs of all levels. After all the premier cup competition for European clubs is sponsored by Heineken.(I suppose the Medellin Cup or the Norte de Valle cup would not have quite the same ring about it.)

Test positive for a "recreational drug" not a performance enhancing drug and your world falls in about you. You become a pariah, you have "let your club down", you have to front up to the international media and lay bare your soul. And there is the small matter of a ban, likely to be a minimum of two years, not just from playing but from training, from coaching indeed having almost no contact with the sport that you love and excel in. So as well as having to deal with the "illness" of drug addiction, your career is torn away, removing the one thing that might help you to focus to over come the bloody thing.

Somehow it all seems a little bit hypocritical to me. No doubt there are clever arguments as to why one method of poisoning yourself is worse than the other, why one is social acceptable and the other not.

So for what its worth I wish Matt Stevens of Bath and England all the best. He has shown great courage so far and I guess he will need a lot more before he gets his life back on track and hopefully puts on the blue,black and white of Bath Rugby again. I know its a cliche but Rugby is a family so lets hope that Bath Rugby and the RFU don't cast aside one of their own for one stupid mistake.

A chilly and snowy trip down memory lane

2009-01-08T22:12:00.005Z

The cold weather we have been having recently started me thinking about previous cold spells. One memory that I am particularly fond of was from the cold snap of February 1991.

It was a Thursday and because it was a Thursday it was almost Friday and I had that demob happy feeling about me, the weekend was just around the corner,two days when I could breathe free from the shackles of work. Heading towards the car park one of the senior managers hailed me. “Well I hope you've stocked up well with tins and candles” My quizzical expression forced him to elaborate. “Don't you listen to the forecast. Its going to snow heavily tonight, I doubt you will make it into work tomorrow!” I hadn't listened to it and so heeding his advice stopped off at the supermarket and stocked up. A bottle of scotch a couple of bottles of wine, and some bread and cheese, I seem to recall.

It did snow. Very heavily and Buxton was duly cut off for a few hours, and I could not make it to work on the Friday,but the power remained on at all times and we even enjoyed a lovely walk in deep crisp snow on the Saturday morning. By Sunday afternoon it was thawing a little and a concerted effort from all the folks in the close cleared the drifts from the entrance so that we could all get to work on Monday.

So it was in a light hearted and happy mood that I set off for work, taking in the spectacular drifts on the A515 as I did so.

I had been at my desk for no more that fifteen minutes when the same senior manager who had kindly given me the weather warning on the Friday sought me out.

He looked tired and grey.

“Difficult weekend?” I said.

“Well what do you bloody think” he said “ No power for two days, nothing hot to eat and no tele. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that however bad it was down here then you up in Buxton would be suffering even more.”

“What do you mean suffer?” I said.

“The snow and the power cuts. You idiot”

“Oh. Well we had plenty of snow. In fact we had to dig the drive out, but we had power all the time.”

He went a greyer shade of grey. “You can't have done. We had no power in bloody Derby for Christ sake and we live in a civilized part of the country, up in the sticks you must have had cuts?”

“No. None, warm and snug all weekend”

He advanced towards me. “Its to do with the temperature you see," I explained "because it was slightly above freezing in Drby the snow would have stuck to the power lines and the weight brought them down, whereas up in the hills it was below freezing so it didn't stick....my voice trailed off.” He had gone trying to remove the door from its hinges as he swept out.

Happy memories.

Chilly New Years Day in the Goyt

2009-01-02T08:42:00.004Z

By way of shaking off the New Year hangover / blues Mrs BW and I left the teenagers sleeping and nipped into the Goyt for a bracing walk. It was chilly and the red grouse, normally further up the hillside were close to the road, even on the side of the road. We forget that what might look pretty to us makes the daily struggle to survive even harder for the birds and other animals that live here.

We were pleased to see the owls out hunting. We have not spotted them for a few weeks. They are such magnificent birds. So quiet and graceful, they use the minimum of effort to hunt following the contours of the hillside catching and working with every breath of wind.

Down in the valley the temperature was a fraction higher and the smaller birds were busy collecting what they could. On the upper reservoir the various ducks littered the surface and a shag dived for fish before noisily flying off in an confusion of water and noise. Far off we heard the harsh cry of a raven and as we crunched our way back up the hill he flew over the frozen pond.

We drove home for tea and toast and the warmth of our centrally heated house, glad that we could and did not have to live out in the wild.

New Years Eve at Arbor Low

2008-12-31T17:31:00.007Z

With the temperatures below -3 all day it was a well wrapped up family of BW's that set off for the tradition of watching the sun set on New Years Eve at Arbor Low. It was even colder up there. The mist had a habit of shifting about so that one minute the view was obscured and the next trees and stones emerged from it.

The teenagers disappeared into the mist almost as soon as we arrived. Of course they were trying to sneak up on us, a game they play when ever the opportunity arises and has evolved from a game called Monsters that I used to play with them when they were much younger. They once shouted out excitedly in a public place with a load of other families about that "Dad Dad this would be a great place for you to be a Monster and try and get us like you did last night." You could just feel the animosity build up around us, and people hurriedly gathered their children up, warning them of strangers. However on Arbor Low we were alone. Well apart from the spirits and ghosts of the people that had lived and died there over the past 6000 years.

The sun set and the cold got colder but the light lingered longer and for a few minutes a silence descended over the stones and the thoughts of the old year faded away gently. Both Mrs BW and I left a little something for the ancestors. The Weasel was beside herself with amusement at this. I did not bother to explain, partly because there isn't one really, but mainly I did not want to spoil the peaceful feeling.

So that's it for another year. What ever you are doing have a safe and happy evening, and good luck for 2009.

Happy Midwinter Festival 2008

2008-12-25T00:28:00.004Z

Was going to post a rather long winded thing about Christmas Eve and Time. Unfortunately I have been at the Vodka Martinis so it will have to wait. Instead I give some photographs of the Peak District yesterday (Christmas Eve).

Wishing you you all the best for the next few days and for 2009. To quote the great and much missed Dave Allen "May your god go with you".

The Elderly Toyota Feels the Heat

2008-12-13T11:47:00.005Z

Reprieved! It was only the water pump. Admittedly quite an expensive water pump but it meant a little longer on the road for the world's most embarrassing car. And I was pleased. So by way of celebration on the way back from Matlock I bought a large bacon and egg roll, a couple of bags of cheese and onion crisps (you've got to have vegetables after all) and a mars bar to eat as I drove back to cold and snowy Buxton. Gosh we BW's know how to celebrate! I was half way through the roll and balancing a packet of crisps on my lap and had finished chatting (hands free) to my boss when an official looking cove in a uniform, reflective yellow jacket and topped off with a helmet leaped from behind a bush and flagged me down. It was of course a member of our friendly lovable police force. I was asked to pull into a lay by where it transpired the entire Derbyshire police force was hiding. "We are conducting a spot check on elderly cars, Sir, so we would like to run through a few things with you." this from a spotty faced youth who by the look and sound of him had only just reached puberty. "Right, okay, unfortunately officer one of my headlights has just gone so I have had to purchase a replacement bulb today, and of course I am going to fix it as soon as I get home, and of course its daylight...." He noted it down on a form. He then proceeded to go through a number of checks all of which the ET passed with flying colours, apart from one of the tyres which was on the limit.

"Will you please step out of the car and follow me Sir" It was more of an order than a question so I obeyed. We sat in a cold and grim police van. Apparently I had committed a moving traffic offence. He was going to have to breathalyse me and then caution me. So I go the full works, including anything you say etc. Of course the breath test was negative a big fat Zero. He gave me a yellow slip and told me that I had 14 days to rectify the fault and if I failed to do I could be arrested and charged etc etc.

I stomped back to the car passed the mass ranks of constabulary and set off for Buxton. The egg and bacon roll did not taste quite as good now.

The elderly Toyota feels the cold

2008-12-02T21:03:00.001Z

I pull my coat tightly around me as the flakes of snow sting my face. I am hurrying to my next meeting, though hurrying is a little bit optimistic as I slither and slide at the slightest hint of an incline. Mrs BW had to drop me off this morning, as the elderly Toyota misbehaved over the weekend, choosing the onset of the cold snap to deny me any heating and to empty the contents of its radiator all over the drive. It may be something simple like the water pump, but the pessimist in me fears the worst. Its all my own fault of course. On Friday I bumped into Mark who works for the Princes Trust. We were discussing this and that, "Hows that heap of junk of yours?" he said. I assumed he was talking about the Toyota. Of course he was. "Oh its fine" I boasted. "Never fails to start". "Quite a remarkable car really its done 150,000 miles you know." The next day it lets me down. I slide past the garage on the way to see Sarah. The doors were almost closed, but through the gap, in the gloom I could just .see the mechanics peering intently into the interior of a car. I shuddered and trudged on. I await the phone call with a certain amount of dread.

Some Notes written while sitting in the Goyt Lane Car Park on a Windy Day

2008-11-19T20:08:00.002Z

The wind rocks the car and sends ripples racing across the surface of the pond. I think about slipping outside but decide to sit there for a while, just for a little bit longer. The grey clouds scud across the leaden sky, whilst thin drizzle pock marks the car windows. Another gust, and a crow hangs in the air teetering on the brink between flying and falling, twisting and turning slightly to make some slow progress. Eventually it gives up and letting go lets the wind blow it away. With the engine running and the heater on, it is warm and cosy in the car. I lift my notebook from my pocket and uncap my pen. The words though stay hidden, sheltering from the storm outside. I don't know how to start, what to put down first. Brown fragile leaves, dead and long since fallen cartwheel in little eddies of activity, blown across the car park. I stare out of the window but do not see anymore. I am thinking of the words that are so hard to write.

Its only a Vole

2008-11-17T08:27:00.003Z

I had escaped temporarily the mayhem that is a Saturday morning when you are acting as stand in captain of Buxton RUFC Third XV. My mobile had been red hot all morning with last minute cry offs and folks dropping out. As my list of available players dwindled to a bare fifteen and then like the Footsie plunged below it, I sought refuge in a little retail therapy. I was under further stress as Mrs BW was off on an all day jaunt (she calls it a course) which meant that as the Thirds were playing away, albeit close by in the Hope Valley, I would have to leave the Weasel in charge. Before you get on the phone to Social Services she is sixteen and of course highly responsible, but nevertheless I like to make sure that everything is organised before I leave so that there is little for her to actually do. So there I was chilling for a few minutes in Buxton, amongst its shops. It always gives me a lift especially at this time of year as the grey, drizzly, moist,overcast skies contrasts with the autumnal oranges and yellows of the leaves on the trees and the damp limestone buildings. As I illegally parked the car on double yellows to nip in and pick up the rutgby shirts my phone hummed at me from the depths of my trouser pocket. Another player crying off? I sighed deeply and looked at the screen. It was a text from the Weasel. "Dad phone home pleez"
I phoned home.
"Dad. Dad there's a Vole in the kitchen"
"Did you say vole?"
"Yes Dad, a vole! Its horrible."
"Weasel its only a vole for gods sake....."
"But Dad its dead"
"Well at least it can't go anywhere then, can't you pick it up and put it in the bin outside?"
"But dad its got no head, I can't bare to look at it."
I arrived back at BW mansions to find a pyjama clad Weasel hopping from foot to foot in the hall. She pointed to the kitchen, "Its in there"
I sighed again, I knew where the kitchen was and on closer inspection she was right there was a headless vole. I picked it up in newspaper and popped it outside in the recycling. The cats eyed me with a look of smug satisfaction. They had a whole afternoon of the Weasel being in charge to look forward to.

Its the little things

2008-11-07T20:51:00.004Z

Today was a special day. I reached the last page of my notebook, and oh the joy of a new Moleskin. I fumble as usual peeling off the cellopane wrapper. The stiff black cover firm and reassuring fits snuggly in the palm of my hand, and the pure, pristine, white of the pages aches to be written on. The breathless anticipation as I hover over the first page with my pen, one hand holding the book open, my brow furrowed,thinking what to write? And then taking the plunge, the pen darts down to soil the creamy space with dark dark ink.

Sartorial Inelegance

2008-11-04T21:13:00.003Z

I am not blessed with sartorial elegance as I think I may have commented before. Indeed I usually look as if I have been dragged through a hedge backwards and a rather prickly and rough sort of hedge at that. Occasionally I make an effort and last week as Mrs BW and I wandered, slightly ill at ease, around Manchester, she decided that it was time that I had a new suit. Having managed to get me into several trendy shops where the prices were inversely proportional to the sizes of the suits that they sold we eventually fell back on M and S. With the minimum of fuss and bother I managed to find one that fitted me and that I liked (actually Mrs BW liked. The first one I showed her she felt made me look too severe) Success. When we got home I decided it was time to clear out my wardrobe and discard the various ill fitting, sightly stained suits that I had. At the bottom of the wardrobe I found a pair of seemingly smart shoes. With a bit of a polish they came up a treat, so today as I had to go down to Derby to a meeting I wore my new suit and my almost new shoes. It had rained all the way down from Buxton and the car park was full of puddles. As I stepped from the car I realised fairly quickly why the shoes had been discarded in the bottom of the wardrobe. They leaked. Never mind, I still had my new suit. "You going to a wedding?" one of my colleagues greeted me. I smiled and tried to join in the amusement. "Must be an important interview" another one offered. Well at least they had noticed. I got home to find that Mrs BW had bought me a track suit to wear to rugby training. I had been complaining about the cold and bless her she had come up with a nice warm snug track suit to keep me warm. I tried it on and as it was close to what we in the North refer to as Tea, decided to keep it on. The Weasel breezed in, took one look at me, sniggered a bit and then said, "Dad you look like a common chav!" I was a bit crest fallen. The Munch launched a sort of defence by saying that it was the wrong sort of tracksuit and anyway I was too fat to be a chav. I suppose he meant well in that strange warped way that teenage boys have. I sneaked upstairs and put on my jeans with the comfortable expanding waist and consigned the tracksuit to my sports bag. Context is everything.

Buxton on an Autumn Day

2008-10-31T19:11:00.005Z

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

2008-10-31T10:55:00.003Z

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

2008-10-29T08:36:00.004Z

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

2008-10-22T19:22:00.002Z

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.

2008-10-20T21:08:00.004Z

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

2008-10-20T18:04:00.002Z

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

2008-10-18T09:57:00.000Z

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

2008-10-09T17:44:00.003Z

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

2008-10-06T07:32:00.002Z

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

2008-10-04T20:05:00.003Z

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

2008-10-01T19:28:00.003Z

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.

The Goyt on a Sunday Evening

2008-09-22T21:06:00.004Z

Late on Sunday afternoon, as the black dog settled on my shoulders and I realised that yet again I had not done all the things I had put off during the week to do on Sunday, I knew I had to escape for an hour or so to the Goyt. Mrs BW suggested that we went almost at the same time as I thought it. I guess that's married life for you. Neither of the teenagers wanted to come so we left them focused on some trivia on the tele and drove the couple of miles to Goyt Lane car park. It was empty, which surprised me but I was not going to complain. The pond was still. No movement not even a ripple.

We walked a little way along the railway track. Mrs BW had expressed a desire to sit on the bench that over looks Wildmoorstone. It is one of the best benches in the Peak District.

I have have posted the view many times before, but it never gets dull or fails to clear away all the accumulated rubbish that builds up in my head. Sadly the feeling of peace and calm that comes over me is lost as I drive away. It is a magic place but its magic does not travel.

So we just sat and listened to the Grouse grumbling in the long dying grass.

Walking back to the car we watched the light fade and felt a slight autumnal chill. I love the way that the seasons drift in. Already despite the "Indian Summer" the light has changed and some of the trees are begining to drop their leaves. I can smell the wood smoke from the first fires of autumn.

Still Here

2008-09-11T07:02:00.003Z

So the earth survived and life goes on as normal. I liked the scrolling comment on BBC news 24 yesterday morning. "Scientists are not expecting any adverse reaction when the LHC is switched on." Adverse reaction! What like a black hole opening up and swallowing the earth?

Anyway it seems to have been a outstanding success, even if it took the beam over an hour to make it all the way round the first time.

Perhaps they were using the wrong sort of Proton?

Anyway looks like there should be lots of exciting results over the next couple of years. If nothing else it's raised the profile of science and in particular physics. Even the Weasel and the Munch were interested in what was going on, and rapidly exhausted my very limited knowledge of particle physics during tea. I think I'll stick to birdwatching.

The end of the World as we know it?

2008-09-09T21:19:00.004Z

"The LHC will enable us to study in detail what nature is doing all around us,” said CERN Director General Robert Aymar. “The LHC is safe, and any suggestion that it might present a risk is pure fiction.”

So that's all right then. No chance of us disappearing into a black hole at around 8.30am tomorrow. Apparently the grand opening or turning on of the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is being broadcast live on the today programme. So if the world does come to a sudden end then John Humphries will get the last word. Should be fascinating.

Anyway just in case, so long and thanks for all the comments.

Cats and Lawns and Things

2008-09-02T06:50:00.004Z

Next doors cat creeps through the long grass of our back garden and makes its way to one of the large bushes. There it settles down to stare at me. I stare back it. Its a strange cat, a throw back to the days when wildcats roamed freely through the ancient woodland that used to cover the hillsides. It has the markings of a wildcat and the facial features to go with them. Not ugly, but not very cuddly either. So it sits beneath our foliage, a sleek muscular moggy, menacing the innocent. The innocent being of course our two cats. Since next doors sabre tooth tiger has taken to coming in to occupy part of our garden our two have taken to spending more time in doors. It doesn't attack them, it doesn't have to, its mere presence is enough.
It seems to like our garden. Now next doors garden is no good for cats. The grass is too short and the bushes are too neat and tidy and offer little in the way of foliage to lie up in and ambush unsuspecting pets. In fact their lawn resembles a bowling green. To keep it so it requires three cuts a week, regardless of the weather and whether it needs it or not.
So our garden is more attractive to cats. Both Mrs BW and I are firmly in the “Gardens should look natural” school, though I lean more to the wild and unkempt look than she does. Of course as she does most of the gardening she gets to make the structural decisions and I am left to agree with her. The neighbours may not be happy, but at least their cats are. Perhaps they won't shit on our lawn! I mean the cats of course.

Just another working day

2008-09-01T16:22:00.004Z

The bottom of the car scraps along the rough and uneven track, and I curse and then feel thankful that I did not take Mrs BW's car. The potholes on the farm track seem to get deeper and more difficult to negotiate every time I come here. But its worth the exhaust scraping if nothing else for the spectacular view as you round the bend and drop down behind the hill. The valley opens out, the farm sitting as it does perched on a little flat piece of ground, sheltered from the winds by trees and because it has been built into the hillside, belongs to the landscape. It has been there for centuries, sheltering generations of farmers as they eke out a meagre living from the barren land.

A couple of hours later my meeting concluded I set off back up the track. A kestrel hunts above the long grass, dodging sheep as she swoops on the small furry animal unlucky enough to be spotted. I stop the car before turning onto the road and take it all in. Not for the first time I feel lucky to live and work here.

Sunday

2008-08-31T18:11:00.006Z

I had a lot to do today. I sat down yesterday and made a list of all the things I needed to get through. And just to get me in the mood, I was going to get up and go for a bike ride.

When I eventually dragged myself out of bed it was 9.30am. As I splashed water over my face in the Bathroom, I vaguely remembered a dream about a jewelled spider chasing me through the house. I remember shouting out for help but no body came. The fragment of memory left me feeling a little disturbed. Back in the bedroom Mrs BW turned over and grunted an assent when I asked her if she wanted a cup of tea, she rarely refused tea, even when half asleep.

Down in the kitchen I watched the first drops of rain splash against the window pane. You could not see the hills in the distance. I tucked into toast made with the bread that I had made yesterday. Smothered in butter and honey it was delicious and perked me up. I got out my list and looked at it. The rain fell heavily now, and being a fair weather cyclist, it made up my mind as far as the bike ride was concerned. I put the list away. Not a day for tackling lists, more a day for sitting around watching the weather. Tomorrow its September. Soon the teenagers will be going back to school, the rugby season starts next week, the nights draw in, and Autumn is around the corner. Plenty of long dark evenings for tackling lists.

Journey To Rhum

2008-08-24T14:31:00.006Z

As the cruise boat pulled in to the inaptly named Ferry Terminal on Rhum, someone shouted excitedly "Dolphins!" A woman was pointing to a couple of fins not far from the shore and about 50m from the boat. "No they're sharks!" another passenger shouted and a little frisson of excitement travelled through the on lookers, and the fins which seemed to moving in concert began to thrash around.

It was a basking shark.

A gentle creature, that was feeding in the shallow coastal waters. We watched it for a while after the boat had landed and the other passengers had moved off into the Island. Apparently according to a fisherman it was rare to see them this close in to the harbour.

The journey from Arisaig to had been uneventful. Apart from the Shearwaters, Red Throated Divers, and Gannets that I had been watching, we had according to the Munch seen nothing of any interest until the Basking Sharks. Birds apparently do not count. "They are just birds dad, and they are boring!"

Rhum is a beautiful place.

It was warm and the sun shone from a clear blue sky. We set of briskly in the general direction of the village stores, in search of a cup of tea and maybe some cake.

With only three hours until the boat left, there was little time to get anymore than a brief feel for the Island. Mrs BW and I both agreed that we would like to return to spend longer. Maybe in a couple of years when the teenagers no longer want to come with us on holiday.

We arrived at the village hall having glanced briefly at the Victorian Castle which now doubles as a Museum and a Youth Hostel. The Hall was clearly the focal point of the small community.The walls were adorned with pictures done by children and of the latest weddings on the island.

We sat outside in a small courtyard and drank tea and eat bacon sandwiches. There was none of the hum of modern civilization. No traffic no background drone of cars. Just the twitter of birds and the occasional dog barking. The light was crystal clear. The white walls of the farmhouse and buildings shimmered in the heat, more Mediterranean than West Coast of Scotland.

Back at the boat we waited for a few stragglers and watched another Basking Shark feeding on the far side of the bay. We set off and spent half an hour following the shark, getting close to it.

It seemed relatively unconcerned by us and our presence. We had been travelling for about thirty minutes and I was watching gannets plummet in into the sea after fish, causing small explosions as they hit the water. when the engine note changed and the boat slowed.

Something had been spotted.

25 pairs of eyes scanned the sea and then thirty metres from the stern a Minke Whale broke the surface briefly before sliding back into the depths again. I knew it was a Minke because a few seconds later there was an unpleasant fishy smell.

"What was that?" Someone said. I explained my Minke theory, there was a titter and a young German lad of 16 or so explained to anyone who would listen, that it was "Obviously a porpoise, these are boring animals, we have seen many of them."

The Munch and the Weasel looked at me questioningly. They wanted to believe their dad but.... and then it surfaced again, I heard Mrs BW shout out that it was "Huge!"

Someone asked the Skipper what it was. He confirmed that it was a Minke.

"A Stinky Minke" offered the Weasel. The German youth suggested that we throw one of the dogs in to see if we could attract anything more interesting.

We tracked it for a while, almost ignoring the bottle nosed dolphins that were passing.

It was an awesome sight, a magnificent creature. Like all good things though it had to end and anxious to get back the skipper set off for Arisaig. A perfect day.

The Beach

2008-08-19T18:42:00.003Z

The Beach. Not usually my place of choice whether on holiday or having stumbled across a sandy strip on the way to somewhere else. Here ,however at Camasdarach it was impossible not to be taken in, to be smitten by the beauty of it and by the tranquillity and peacefulness of it.

Mrs BW and I had let the teenagers go down to the beach to check it out leaving us to finish off setting up the tent. Twenty minutes later, a dripping wet and excitable Munch came running back up the pathway into the field.

“Mum, Dad, come on its brilliant, you've got to come down. Now!”

We followed him down, he was almost dancing down, leaping and jumping about, excitedly talking about the wonderful beach and then turning round to check that we were still following.

And he was right.

The sun glittered on the calm sea and the sand was pure white and the sea was turquoise and tempting, and I was in shorts and a tee-shirt.

“Go back and get your swimming shorts Dad” both the Munch and the Weasel demanded.

“Can't be bothered” I said, and they looked a little crestfallen. “I'm going in as I am” and stripping off my tee shirt, I raced them into the freezing water. It was cold, very cold, but refreshing and all the stress of the journey and the stress of putting up the tent and sorting out the big pile of stuff that we had brought with us,into some sort of order, evaporated as I splashed about.