Sitting on the fence

The garden is swimming with insects. In the evening a cloud of tiny midges shimmers in a cloud, back-lit by the late sun and then the Blanford Fly is out and about, nipping ankles at dusk. Once the lights have come on in the house the May bugs start battering the windows and moths seek warmth.

The local felines are edging around one another. Pippi was terribly offended when a rather high-maintenance fluff-ball entered our house without an invite earlier on today. Fluff ball was soon shooed away. The night before we had heard fighting, but Pippi came home injury free, so we assume she either stood up for herself or kept out of the action.

The rooks are raucous, shouting and demanding as they fly over head. Blackbirds are bold as they scuttle along the ground. There’s a tit’s nest in our porch, but not in the tit-box I carefully put up. And no occupants, to date in the house martins nest and the swift boxes either.

In the field behind us there’s a horse which whinnies enthusiastically much of the evening. But I don’t know enough ‘horse’ to know whether it’s joy, frustration or just high spirits. No-one seems to be concerned however, so I assume all is OK Continue reading “Sitting on the fence”

The minor league tennis champion

Summer-lovin’- self-pity- reluctant acceptance- minefield- Oh I say!- there’s always one- a knife scraping on a plate- as bad as Murray’s maw- Doctor, Doctor, I’ve got tennis elbow- non-rugby conversion- love fifteen – mega bucks

In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, in the summer it turns to tennis. Without bumping my gums too much, if I had a bigger serve you’d never have heard of Jamie Murray. Failing to make it at the highest level hasn’t bothered me and my life took on a new career track. Continue reading “The minor league tennis champion”

Nasty stinging things

Imagine this. You go to bed tonight and as you are settling down to sleep you hear a loud buzzing sound; there in the room with you is a large WASP with a very long sting.

Your choices are –

  1. swat it,
  2. open a window and let it out,
  3. go to sleep and hope it does not sting you.

Now personally I would go for option 1, followed by 2, but no way would I pick 3.

The reason behind this blog?

Well I just read in the paper that Qatada has been refused bail in case he absconds the country and that the police will not have the man power to keep track of him.

Surely our choices should be swat him or open the doors and let him run away from the UK to another country where he will not cost us a penny and we will be rid of him. The thought of keeping him here to sting us in the future is beyond belief.

A fishy story (or two)

We have been spending a few days in the Cevennes, but with only my little netbook, so no photographs yet.

One stop was in the little town of Florac where a gushing spring called the Source du Pecher throws itself into the Tarnon river which flows through Florac to join the Tarn just north of the town.  This spring is one of those which has never run dry according to local history and has given rise to this legend. Please do not read any farther, OZ, as it could upset you. Continue reading “A fishy story (or two)”

Wow…

This is a picture of a SINGLE , relatively simple, molecule containing just five aromatic carbon rings. It may not mean much to you, but this molecule is called olympicene for fairly obvious reasons and it is just one billionth of a metre across.

Once, when Michael Faraday was asked by a politician, “But of what use is your electricity?”, he replied , “Why, sir, one day you will be able to tax it!”. I think the same might apply here.

Olympicene

You can read more about it here.

Open Gardens

The Yellow Book Scheme is a very British thing it seems to me. The premise being to
open your garden and invite folk in, sell tea, cake and cuttings, then give the takings to charity.
The charities they support are close to my heart and I love going around gardens, especially those gardens which are on a scale that I can relate to my own small patch. I’m always on the look out for ideas that I may be able to translate for my own use.

Yesterday afternoon we walked around a collection of gardens which had opened together, in one little community. It was a true ‘village affair’ – with the village hall open for tea and cakes, and 7 gardens open.  It was warm and there was a breeze – a quintessential English afternoon, just like you may see in ‘Midsomer Murders.’

The village topology is very different from ours, even though it is only a few miles away. Our village is flat: not a contour in sight. The village we explored yesterday is steep and has a river running through it.

To my mind it was a bargain – £5 a head, plus a little for the tea later on.

Early summer border

Continue reading “Open Gardens”