I want one for my tea

We’re having problems with our emails. Last night MSN started telling us that we need to enable cookies, but the settings of the computer haven’t changed. Briefly, first thing this morning, I was allowed access, then it changed its mind again. So if I don’t reply to anyone’s emails it’s not because I’ve gone off in a huff, but because I haven’t been able to get to them.

Hooray! We have our car back home again and road-legal for another year, which eases the pressure on us to find a replacement. It’s reached the ‘radio’ stage – you know, the time in a car’s life when, if you hear a new noise you turn the radio up a bit more.

Other stuff: some years ago we used to keep a few chickens, and they were great fun to have (one day I’ll tell you about Percy) and gave us lots (well, Lucy didn’t give us lots, but she was a law unto herself) of lovely eggs. But they started to destroy too much of the garden, and they gradually died off or were rehomed to friends. Eventually we gave our coop to other people, and we were a bird-free zone. Then we got a couple of guinea-pigs, but last year they all departed this earthly life, so to remove all temptation to replace these animals we gave away the hutches and most of the runs, only keeping the one that was too big to go in the car, with plans to break it up. But as the fence started falling apart the run proved very useful at propping it up, and it’s only now the run’s back on the patio getting in the way. But we'd definitely decided to stop the extraneous pet/livestock keeping till we had more land, and in the meantime stick with just the dogs.

Which makes me wonder why Ned came home with some green (rare breed) free-range eggs, and has set up the incubator in the garage ...

It don't look much but I've been far

When the phone rang just before lunchtime I knew it wasn’t going to be good news. The garage chappy said the car needed two things fixed to pass the MOT; a new bolt-on thing (easy-peasy, costs £11 and will take half an hour to do) but also the headlight reflectors seem to be mongoosed and aren’t throwing the beam properly, which they now have to do. He’d phoned around a few places and they didn’t seem to be available – should he call the main dealer and get sepcial brand-new headlight units which would cost more than the car’s worth? After my panic had subsided I told him to hang fire and I’d get back to him. I need plenty of warning if I’m to make a snap decision, you understand. I mean, I don’t want to throw money away, but I don’t want to be forced to scrap a go-able car merely because of manky reflectors.

So I started phoning breakers’ yards, and hurrah! The first one I called had indeed got a pair – right model, right year! So I leaped into the little car and off I sped, only to be told when I arrived at the yard that someone had taken the entire car yesterday. Thanks pal. So home I went to get back on the phone. The next nearest didn’t have any, so then I started going alphabetically. A spares shop in Alcester (about 20 miles away) had some in stock but they were £63 + VAT each. Worth bearing in mind though.

Next alphabetically was a place in Banbury. And yes, not only did they have two headlight units, they were a pair, and both MOT-passable. I got directions of where to find them and buzzed off again; and toured the industrial estate they were on for about 15 minutes looking for their unit before I cornered someone and asked for help*. It turns out that ‘last place on the left’ translates as ‘second turning on the right down an alleyway between two warehouses’ but as they hadn’t been lying to me, and I came away with both lights for a total of £35 I let it pass.

The car will be ready tomorrow. Yay!

*Males reading this may have a problem with that concept.

If they were me and I was you

Ned seemed very pleased with the presents I gave him, which is always a relief. I tend to be pants at present-buying, especially for chaps. The two pairs of shorts (which he initially thought was a jumper) are a tad tight, but he admits going up a size is admitting defeat. His plan is to make sure he always stands up straight and keeps his tummy sucked in so that he looks lean and lovely. However so far his time limit on remembering to do this has reached a massive three seconds, and my suggestion of eating and drinking less was met by not a little whimpering.

His other main present was much bigger, and he viewed the package with trepidation. “It’s an implement, isn’t it?” It’s something he’s been wanting for years and years and years, and they had some cheap in Aldi a few weeks ago, and he sent me to have a look at them before they sold out. When I arrived there was only one left so I grabbed it. Once I was holding it I could look at the pallet they’d been on and see that there were none on it, so I could tell Ned, in all truthfulness, that they’d all gone. Then it was merely a question of hiding it in the wardrobe till the big day. He was very surprised, and unnervingly excited, to unwrap a chainsaw. I fear my apple trees may be doomed.

Pottering around the garden today (lovely weather, got two loads of washing dried) I noticed that dear Mr O’Reilly had got the fence panels nice and level by cleverly digging a shallow trench along the boundary to avoid the slight slope. Which is all very well but it means that when the flowerbeds are levelled off again the bottom couple of inches of the panels are going to be buried and will almost instantly rot. Oh joy.

Tomorrow the car has to go and be MOTed. Bother. We were hoping to have replaced it a few weeks ago so we could have avoided this, but time has caught up both with us and the rubbish car dealer who doesn’t appear to want to sell any cars. If it’s going to cost more than a couple of hundred squids to get it through the test it’s hardly going to be worth it (it turned over the 199,000 mile mark on Monday), unless we decide to keep it for at least another six months. Which if the dealer doesn’t extract his digit PDQ is looking very likely.

Other than that I finally got The Boy’s student loan application posted, so that’s one more thing crossed off the worry list.

It's only words

Forgive me if I ramble in this. I apologise in advance if I offend anyone with this, but the fact that I feel the need to say that only proves the veracity of what I say. It’s some of my thoughts on one of the greatest evils of the late 20th century, Political Correctness.

Political Correctness, that’s supposed to bring about unity and harmony amongst all the citizens of this once great and wonderful country, does nothing of the kind. It doesn’t encourage acceptance and integration. On the contrary, people who’ve been brought up to be polite have become so fearful of potentially causing offence that they avoid different groups entirely. People who haven’t been raised correctly don’t change, and everyone becomes tarred with the same brush (all football supporters are hooligans, all teenage boys are muggers, etc). Integration and tolerance goes out of the window and segregation, isolation and mistrust are nurtured. It has replaced basic good manners, where people aren’t deliberately rude to anyone, with a climate of fear. The ethos is one where people actively seek out possible causes of offence, rather than accept that difference is not only acceptable, it's positively desirable. To ignore differences is to deny tolerance. But of course tolerance is something that only ‘they’ - the PC Thought Police - are qualified to decide upon. The worst is when people search for what might possibly, in their opinion, offend others. The arrogance in assuming people are too stupid to know what offends them and need a keeper-of-morals to tell them how they should be feeling is utterly breathtaking!

It was that petty mindset that lead to letters of complaint being written to the BBC because Lenny Henry was telling jokes about black people! He was telling jokes about his own family!!! Unbelievable but true. Personally I feel that only a blind person (and the one such person I know finds being called ‘visually impaired’ insulting) has the right to say what offends someone in that situation. The PC nursemaiding well-intentioned do-gooders scurry about organising denies her her adulthood. In fact she, and people in her condition, are the only true egalitarians. Because they physically can’t see differences between races they meet everyone with the same open mind.

The way I see it, PC has replaced good manners and tolerance with a doctrine of fear. Pre-PC differences between races, religions, genders etc were accepted (by polite people) as just that – merely differences, neither better nor worse than one another. There were rude names for ‘different’ people by all groups – no one section of society is any worse than the others, after all! You should hear what a Sikh friend of mine calls Chinese people – and again, polite people didn’t use them in public, just as polite people didn’t blaspheme or swear in public. But – and it’s a big but – these same names are used within a group to refer to themselves. I’m particularly thinking of the recent scandal when Ron Atkinson used the word ‘nigger’. He was thoughtless, but remember, when he was a boy that’s how POACE (I’m informed by those ‘in the know’ that that’s the correct PC terminology) referred to themselves – in fact there was recently a rap band called Niggas With Attitude (my spelling might be dodgy there). Why is a particular word acceptable when one person uses it but a heinous crime when said by another? There’s no logic. Either a word is offensive or it isn’t. Full stop.

The double standards get right up my nose as well. For instance, if it's offensive to call a black person (and there's a potential minefield! In this area POACE prefer to be called black and consider 'coloured' to be an offensive term, but it's a reverse situation where my brother lives) by the n-word, then fair enough, nobody should use it. But how come it's perfectly legal to call a white person 'honky', even though that's just as offensive? Because, in law, racism only works one way.

The evils of Political Correctness lead, a couple of years ago in America, to a man famously losing his job because he used the word ‘niggardly’ and his ignorant co-worker (white, by the way) took offence. Even after the meaning of the word had been explained at the tribunal, the dismissal was upheld. Outrageous. To top it all, we’re officially informed that it’s not possible for a white person (even though I’m actually pink, and only white when I’m unwell) to be racially insulted. I find that insulting. And if anyone calls me racist for writing this, I’ll refer them to my Chinese relations, who know me well and know I’m not. So ner.

PC is also responsible for the fear many men have of showing gallantry and manners towards women. When I lived in London and ravelled a lot on public transport I used to see men being rounded upon for being polite enough to offer their seat to a woman. And heaven forbid they should actually hold open a door for someone! Shocked gasps all round, yes? Or have you all got the courage to stand up and say how rude it is not to accept the gesture in the spirit in which it’s offered? Whether or not a woman needs or wants that seat she doesn’t have the right to throw the poor man’s manners back in his face. But that’s more Feminism, another branch of PC, and a whole other topic. Let’s save that for another day.

The Political Correctness Thought Police are the enemies of freedom, fairness, tolerance and good manners.

I bet I cop some flak for this one. :(

It's only me pursuing something I'm not sure of

I’ve got a zillion and one things to witter on about bubbling and seething away in my brain, but they’re all very elusive. I’m doing my best, gambolling through the echoey corridors with a large butterfly net, but just when I get close to one, off it flutters again. Ooh look! There’s Political Correctness! And over there, there’s Animal Welfare being abused by Animal Rights. And right up there, look, by the skylight is a little flock of general Worries. They certainly should be caught. Where’s my stepladder?

Always look on the bright side of life

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG'S DIARY

Day 180
7.00 am - OH BOY! MUM’S AWAKE! MY FAVOURITE!
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVOURITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVOURITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVOURITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!
Noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVOURITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVOURITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVOURITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! DAD’S HOME! MY FAVOURITE!
6:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!

Day 181
7.00 am - OH BOY! MUM’S AWAKE! MY FAVOURITE!
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVOURITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVOURITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVOURITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!
Noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVOURITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVOURITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVOURITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! DAD’S HOME! MY FAVOURITE!
6:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!

Day 182
7.00 am - OH BOY! MUM’S AWAKE! MY FAVOURITE!
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVOURITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVOURITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVOURITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!
Noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVOURITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVOURITE!
1:30 pm - ooooooo. bath. bummer.
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVOURITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! DAD’S HOME! MY FAVOURITE!
6:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVOURITE!
__________________________

EXCERPTS FROM A CAT'S DIARY

DAY 752
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal.
The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild
satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture.
Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.

DAY 761
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while
they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the
stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I
once again induced myself to vomit on their favourite chair... must try
this on their bed.

DAY 765
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in attempt to
make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into
their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little
cat I was. Hmmm..... Not working according to plan.

DAY 768
I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was
chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning
foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a
liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my
teeth.

DAY 771
There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in
solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell
the foul odour of the glass tubes they call "beer". More importantly I
overheard that my confinement was due to my power of "allergies." Must
learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

DAY 774
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The
dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is
obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an
informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my
every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is
assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...
_____________________

That's why I like dogs. They're so full of joy. :)

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

I’ve been terribly strong today, seeing as how I’ve been barred from the computer all day. You see, our bedroom’s at the front of the house, and the council are busy resurfacing the road. They actually started last week when we were off work, but for some reason they decided to save the noisy stuff for when we’re back to the old routine and Ned (who works nights) becomes a Creature Of The Night. So he’s sleeping on the futon in the back room with the computer – which means I can’t be tapping and typing away and disturbing him. It meant I got to do some gardening in the front (hammer and bolster chisel to remove some of the drive) but I did get a little fractious.

Our local MP came canvassing this evening – I ended up giving him advice on how to handle his 16-year old son, and to reassure him that, although his boy will soon be able to drive himself everywhere and not rely on parents as a taxi service, his wallet will never be safe. Shame the conversation didn’t get around to politics at all. I could have told him how angry I get at the poxy tax laws making booze-cruising economically viable, not only to fill the car up with drink but also petrol as well, when I’d far rather pop out to Tesco or somewhere and buy English beer at the price I can get it in France.

Before I forget to mention it (as Simon’s site seems to have vanished into the ether, and for some reason I seem to be surprised) the weather forecast for this weekend is complete pants, so fence-painting would be a waste of everyone’s time. We’ll see what bodes for next weekend, if anyone’s up for it.

For the benefit of Mr Kite

Mr O'Reilly has finished the fence - hurrah! And I must admit he's done a pretty good job. It certainly looks better than when it was propped up by redundant bits of chicken-run and guinea-pig hutch. Now all we have to do is buy a few brushes and the green stuff to put on it and Bob will be your relation. I'm glad it's been completed before the sheep start lambing in the field behind us, because I'm sure Harry would think of them as being his little num-nums - tasty little snacks. Not good.

Oh, and the latest of the Blog Standard cache series, Blog Standard: Panorama, has gone live. It was absolutely beautiful when we set it, and we were astonished, standing at the top of the hill, to see that the bird of prey which swooped past us wasn't the expected buzzard (common as muck around here) but was in fact a Red Kite, the first we've ever seen in the area. We watched it cruising on the hunt for quite some time ... not often you get to watch birds from above them!

Whose is next?

A whiter shade of pale

It does exactly what it says on the tin 

Guaranteed to cover in one coat. Or should it be 'guaranteed to cover one coat'?

What's another day?

Well, instead of starting work on the fence yesterday, Mr O’Reilly (name changed because I can’t remember his real one, but that’s more accurate than the genuine article) had telephoned (at 7.20am – eek!) to let us know his slabbing job had overrun and it would be today instead that he’d be round. Last night he duly turned up to unload fence posts and panels so he could make an early start. And he and his sidekick arrived at 8 this morning.

Now, you must understand that when MO’R came to estimate for the job we made several things very clear: one, that on no account did we want posts simply concreted into the ground because they always rot at ground level, the dogs put their paws against the fence to talk to the neighbours, the posts snap and the fence falls over. So he promised to concrete in ‘godfathers’ and bolt the posts to them. We also said that we wanted the posts all shifted along about 18 inches to have the awkward quarter-panel at the far end of the garden behind the compost heap rather than halfway along, and to make it easier I’d chopped back the hedge that was stopping the dogs getting over that low place. So when I looked out of the window after an hour or so I was surprised to see that the gap was still there and the new posts in the same place as the old posts – hmmm. On enquiry it seems that there’s too much concrete there to dig out (or something) so the panels can’t be shifted. So the hedge is now 18" too short and looks completely arse for no reason, and the dogs will be able to get over the top of the new quarter-panel that I hope he's going to refit. Drat.

My major Sybil Fawlty moment arrived when Ned, having gone out to ask them if they wanted a cup of coffee, returned to tell me that the new posts, 7 of them so far, were simply concreted in … I took a deep breath and went to discover why. “Oh dear, I forgot about the godfathers!” “As we explained to you, we think wood set in concrete is rubbish and it’s not suitable for this situation. So you’d better take out what you’ve done before they set, and go and get them and do it properly then, hadn’t you?”

He went.

They’ve managed to get about a third of the job done so far, and will return on Monday.

Apart from that, here are some things we’ve seen today when we’ve been out.


Toadstools 


Looking towards Brailes 


I love you, mum 


All roads lead to ... nowhere 

Because we want to

Last night, when it was getting close to bedtime, a noisy car drove slowly up our road. It’s unusual to get traffic past the house at night anyway because it’s not a busy area, but as the road’s officially closed for resurfacing (Access to frontages only) it’s even more unusual. Anyway, the car, which sounded as though it was being limped home with a nigh-terminal condition, went slowly along the road and round the corner. About five minutes later it came slowly back and stopped outside our house, so I went out to see what was happening (the first person to say ‘Nosy bint’ gets a thump – this is a ‘Neighbourhood Watch’ area, and I was watching the neighbourhood), to see the young male driver leap from his seat and head towards the contractors’ portaloo on the opposite verge. “Bless, him, he’s been caught short” I thought, until the tinker reached out and pushed the portaloo onto its side, leaped back into his car and roared off over the bridge. In daylight it became clear that the reason he’d been going so slowly up the road was that he’d been stopping at every coned-off raised manhole cover to knock over the cones.

If anyone can explain the logic and purpose behind this I’d be very grateful. I bet the little oik won’t be coming back to clean up the mess in the loo ...

Those were the days, my friend

Once we’d successfully located the small series of three caches we were after today, which had involved standing very close to the cache site and having to take a long time to remove a very stubborn stone from my shoe whilst a dog-walker slowly ambled by, we adjourned to a local (to the cache) pub for lunch. It was getting close to 2pm when most pubs stop serving food, so we dashed into the nearest one. It was an unusual building for a pub – it was whitewashed stone and looked like a cross between a village house and a small workshop, but when Ned was last in there they brewed their own beer, which he said was certainly drinkable. Inside it was rather shabby and there was only one other customer, and they’ve stopped making their own beer for the moment, but we ordered a couple of pints and a sandwich each anyway. The landlord chatted as he pulled two pints, then realised he hadn’t pulled the one we asked for, but it didn’t really matter. The sandwiches seemed to take ages to arrive, and a couple more customers came in while the landlord’s small daughter sat at the bar with a colouring book. It was at this point that the three local blokes (all over retirement age I’d guess) started chatting, like you do. But it was a very surreal conversation, and as we shamelessly eavesdropped it flowed seamlessly from the cheapest train fares from Banbury (buy a railcard and get 30% off all fares south of Banbury, and make sure you buy your Underground ticket before you set off), through discussing the speed of the current on the Rhine, via how “comp’nies” want goods yesterday, not tomorrow, or else they could use the canals which would be much less polluting, and that's where the saying 'leggin' it' comes from, which now means runnin' away when you've been caught scrumpin' and nothin' to do with getting yer boat through the tunnel, to the best way to clean leeks (cut them into four, lengthways). We didn’t dare join in because we’d have got very involved and had to have another drink and it was too far to walk home.

"Right" said Fred

How many blogringers does it take to change a monitor? It depends how much time you have to spare, but to my certain knowledge it takes four people over an hour. After all, there’s eight shelves to be emptied of all their tat essential items, then the unit needs to be moved from the wall and the shelving raised. This is the point where it’s discovered that the wall socket is mongoosed and there’s electricity pouring out all over the floor. Lorry reassuringly pointed out that it would soak up into the carpet and I didn’t need to fetch a mop and bucket. But that meant the plug needed changing. After that it was a relatively simple job to untangle the spaghettiesque network of cabling and exchange leads. So woo and yay for Swedish regal kindnesses! We now have a dazzlingly bright monitor requiring the use of industrial strength Raybans. I’ve almost got the shelves restocked again, and once more it’s possible to cross the room. Hurrah! Celebration cake and cups of tea were called for before Mal and Lorry continued their way homewards.

Thanks for the book, Sarah! Very timely, as I'm on the last chapter of my current one.


King and Subject 


It all went on the shelves ... 


Fit for a king 

I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles

Although we weren’t able to join the BlogRingers' Outing the The Forbidden Corner, we still had a very satisfactory day, doing domestic sort of stuff around here. Ned cut the grass and took the old death-trap lawnmower to the tip while I weeded and mulched with some of the compost from the bin. We have a ‘little man’ coming to replace the fencing in the back garden on Thursday, so it’s quite important that the compost is out of the way. (I’m having to be very careful and not call this chap Mr O’Reilly – he reminds me so much of the builder in Fawlty Towers that Basil kept employing much to the fury of Sybil.) I also got around to planting the Oriental Poppy and Coreopsis I’ve had in the greenhouse all winter, so maybe they’ll get established now that at least some of the ground elder is out. If only ground elder was a fashionable plant to grow – I can guarantee all mine would instantly die and I wouldn’t be breaking my back every year trying to rid myself of the damned plant.

Then we went to a pub for lunch, but it was too busy and we only had a pint before we came home to get something here. On the way back we stopped off to see if there was a cache-spot near Spring Hill, by Sun Rising (great place names, eh?). As you walk across the field from the road the most fantastic view opens up in front of you, getting wider and wider. At the stile the view is absolutely breathtaking, and on a clear day (like today) you can see way past Coventry to the right, the Malverns on the left, and either the Long Mynd or The Wrekin ahead – and they’re about 60 miles away as the albatross flies. It’s just so amazing we’re dying to share it – but can we find a nice spot? But we’ll keep trying!

When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo ...

... I get really annoyed when you stick two fingers up and run off in the opposite direction, Harry. And Piglet, there's no need to go after him.

A few refresher lessons in recall are needed, methinks.

Now that the spring is in the air

As it was such a beautiful day I decided that, rather than listen to what my head and body were telling me (“sleeeeeeep, you neeeeed sleeeeeep”) following a really rotten night of wakefulness, and nobody in the chatroom at 3am when I was awake and bored and alone in the house, I’d go into Leamington and place the small series of caches we’ve had in the pipeline for some weeks, and which have been playing on my mind. It wasn’t easy finding suitable places because Leam’s kept pretty tidy, and the undergrowth is artistic rather than natural. And I really wanted some in the town because I’d thought of such a fab name for them – the Spa Trek series. Ned and the Boy think the name's awful, but what do they know? Tchoh! But eventually all was in place. I hope Ned isn’t too cross that I did it without him, but he did come recceing with me last weekend, so he’s seen all the sites.

Then it was time to walk the dogs, and they caught another rabbit (that’s two in two days) so that was their dinner sorted. Odd that they never catch them just before the dustmen come and take the binbag away, so the skin and innards sit and fester for a week. After dealing with that it seemed as good a time as any to go seeking another cache site for the Blogring Challenge caches, so I took a couple of the dogs with me for company – I feel a little vulnerable exploring strange places on my own, but walking dogs is less conspicuous somehow. They were terribly excited at this change in routine and were complete PITAs; there was no way I was going to let them off the lead, and there were lots of bunnies enjoying the sunshine, and it was nearly all too much. Unfortunately the wood I’d hoped to be able to get into was securely fenced off with ‘Private’ notices on all access points. Disappointing, but I guess that’s why it was so full of primroses and violets, with bluebells to come soon. Keep the people out and nature can thrive. So there was no suitable site on the route I took, but from it I could see more possible places, so I’ll go out again tomorrow – my leggies are far too tired tonight. 18,558 steps, and the day’s not yet over. Does anyone know what the Blogring series is going to be called?