Excitement !

No pictures, unfortunately, but Moonface found a slow-worm in the garden today, while clearing and moving the compost bin. She said that it was a large one.

That's really cheering: it must have been around for years, unknown , unseen, to have reached the size which she reported. There may be more beasts around of which we are unaware, deep in this city.


:o)

Coast to Coast, the Finish.

We finished in a haze of driving rain and mizzle which headed from Germany across the North Sea into our faces, forcing us to keep our heads covered just when we wanted to raise them and grin with a sense of achievement. This was almost the only rain that Moonface & I had experienced during the whole of the fifteen days walk across England, 192 miles / 300 km of solid trudging over many types of terrain and landscapes, from Irish Sea to North Sea.

We did it!
The last five days were remarkably easy. I don't know whether it was the sensible distances which we covered or the type of walking; all I know is that it just seemed to be almost a stroll over the last eighty or so miles from Catterick to Robin Hood's Bay. Perhaps we are just fitter.

And on to the next walk. But what could be more satisfying than to walk across the width of an island country?


;o)

Interpret this, sucker !

I leaned out over the balcony of our room in Danby Wiske, overlooking a courtyard on a bright, sunny morning. The road behind the pub was quiet, but this was compensated by the number of birds which variously cheeped, chirped, sang and called all around us.

Then I saw the following:

First, a pair of doves in the courtyard.
Next, a pair of goldfinches on the red-tiled roof to my left.
Then, a pair of robins upon the wall opposite.
And finally, a single jackdaw swooped into the courtyard and preened and pranced about.

So, Oracle, tell me what it means.

**************************************************

And, if you're being predictive, that evening as we were being driven back to our farmhouse B+B high in the moor-surrounded dale, a chocolate-brown hind dashed across the road immediately in front of us, pursued by a flash of owl.

*******************************************

It's all nonsense, of course.



:Oo

Brunel's Buttery

Brunel's Buttery sits beside the docks on Spike Island, opposite the brash new offices on Canon's Marsh, looking like a small brick shed with seating outside. It's been there since the docks were a proper functioning part of the city, back in 1980 at least, serving basic food to workers and tourists. Now it's practically all tourists who go there, but it's busy.

Even on mediocre days it's busy, serving its trademark bacon sandwiches to the world. They are some of the best that can be bought so the queues on sunny days can last half an hour. Fast food, it's not. But it's the consistency which has kept the Buttery going for so long. The bacon is always freshly cooked, without too much rind, between two thick slabs of white bread. The coffee is just how cafe instant coffee should be served, and the tea is always strong. Sauce is served from massive containers via a pump, rather than by poncy little bottles.

These days, it's almost more than an outdoor cafe, it's changed into a local institution which has exiles from Bristol returning to refresh their memories of how a simple bacon sandwich should taste.

:0)

Falling Dan

Falling Dan,


Sometimes, I think I'd like to be taller, or slimmer, or more handsome or more intelligent or richer. On the whole, though, I'm content with the way that things are. But the one gift in a friend that I envy, is Dan Monks' voice. He sings beautifully, wonderfully; and writes songs that touch the heart. For a couple of years he has headed a small band called Falling Dan, with a harmonising alto, Sara, and John Slattery, the bassist. Their songs are simple, almost folky, but full of emotion. I went to a gig at the Thekla yesterday evening, and although both he and Sara were not at their best, it was terrific. "Sunday" is one of the most affecting songs I know.

With any luck, I'll see them in even better voice next weekend in the Tao Bar.


:0)

Ou se trouvent.....

After decrying the lack of visible animals in the french countryside, it was a relief to spend time in the Forest of Dean and the Brecons, this weekend.

Yes, we were able to tell that there were plenty of deer, badgers and foxes around by their tracks, scrapings and smells; but more importantly we saw a couple of squirrels darting around the trees, and as I went out to dig my pit on Monday morning at Noxon, a large grey-brown hare lolloped away from me through the plantation.

This morning, while I hung out the washing, another squirrel bounced along the garden fence to take a position above me in the neighbours' birch tree. It chuntered to the cats and myself as we watched it watching us.


:0)

Nîmes

After a week in the rural hills of the Cevennes, returning to Nîmes was a shock. Apart from the bright whiteness of the city squares and the size of the place, what struck Moonface and me was the variety of skin colours of the inhabitants. In the villages which we had walked through, we hardly saw a black or brown face. In Nîmes, not only were there lots of noirs and beurs, but the skin tone of the indigenous people seemed to be darker than in the hills.

Strangely, this didn't seem to be so in Avignon, only half-an-hour's ride away; there, the standard skin-tone had reverted to a paler colour again. I wonder why?

I've a very soft spot for Nîmes, having spend several weeks there at conferences. I love the consistent use of their crocodile-and-palm-tree symbol throughout the town, on bollards and plaques and signs. It was something of a victory to take Moonface there after all these years of talking about the place. I wonder if I'll ever return?


:0)