All Over for Another Year

Well that was Ottermas. After the weeks of eager anticipation and preparation the actual day seems to have been over in a flash and now I guess we all feel a little flat and perhaps a touch hung-over.

Ottermas night was the usually fever pitch of excitement, with the young (at heart) staying up late to watch out for the oddly dressed stranger entering their homes to deliver magical images of aquatic beasts and talk poo – sorry I mean spraint.

In the elves grotto the naughty spraint – sorry I mean sprite – stroked his (ready stuffed) furry friend and told numerous Ottery facts – he certainly packed’em in.

Far in the north (if not quite Lapland) it was nice to see the presents presence of one of Father Ottermass’s original little helpers, Simon. Simon it seems had not been given the sack after all and was sharing telly time with his nemesis Charlie, although no one has actually seen both of them on the screen at the same time.

Some say Ottermas has become too commercial and that Aunty Beeb is handing out contracts to every Tom, Dick and Harry that posts a picture on Flickr. It is rumoured that sums of money are changing hands that would make the British Olympic Handball hopefuls green with envy. Others, it is suggested, only look at Ottermass as an opportunity for self gratification and cheap fame. Perish the thought.

Yes, I’m positive that the spirit of Ottermass lives on and if you look carefully enough amongst the turkey and trimmings, I’m sure you too will see the whole picture.

 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year of Nature

Tales of a Bank Vole

Paxo Turns Sage

Last night I happened to catch the close of BBC’s Newsnight and was surprised and rather delighted, to hear Jeremy Paxman talking about the current UK Waxwing irruption. Indeed according to Mr P these delightful little birds can currently be found en masse from Aberdeen to Exeter. The presenter went on to dispel the “old wives tale” that the arrival of large numbers of Waxwings to Britain indicated the coming of a harsh winter, “They’re just hungry” he explained. The programme ended with a lovely collection of Waxwing photographs accompanied by a festive tune – I think this must be the first time I have ever finished watching Newsnight with a happy smile on my face and a warm glow inside.

Sadly of course, it does tend to suggest, that given the accuracy of Newsnight’s reporting over the last year, we should be stocking the larders and dusting off the snowshoes, in preparation for the imminent arrival of the next ice age. More reasoned observers, have reported that the bumper UK crop of Waxwings is in inverse proportion to this year’s poor store of berries in Scandinavia and Northern Europe, from whence these birds have relocated.

 

 

I do have one small rankle with the BBC’s report, which implies, that to see these sky darkening flocks of Bombycilla garrulus, all one has to do is open the front door and look for the nearest tree. As someone who has been desperately trying to spot (and photograph) even a single waxwing over many winters, and to have finally succeeded this week – amid much self congratulating and back slapping – I feel a bit peeved that the BBC should suggest the completion of my goal, was the equivalent of popping down the shops to buy a newspaper. Pee on your own fireworks if you wish Mr Paxman, but for now my parade stays rain free.

I must confess that the actual finding of the Waxwings, was not without a small degree of soul searching (not to mention industrial estate searching) on my part. In previous posts I have indicated that, whilst I respect everyone’s right to adopt and pursue their pastimes as they please, twitching is definitely not for me.






Favourite foods: Berries, particularly rowan and hawthorn,
but also cotoneaster and rose

As an (rather lapsed) angler I always felt that the fly fisher’s motto, Piscator non solum piscatur (broadly translated as, there’s more to fishing than catching fish) rather nicely summed up my approach. For me the “being there”, the scenery and the joy of nature were by far the bigger picture. So then, to be checking e mailed sighting reports and then hot footing (hot twassering?) to various rather unattractive localities, in the hope of catching up with these vagrant migrants, ran somewhat against the grain.

Nonetheless, needs must when the devil drives, and so to Denbigh Industrial Estate to find the “Bletchley Waxwings”.

 

 

As an aside I have just finished reading “Enigma” – the spy novel based on the code breakers at Bletchley Park – and which beautifully captures the period and life in and around the Bletchley area during the second world war. “Lord and Lady Waxwing, Inspector Fieldfare is here to see you”. I move on.

 

 

My first visit to Denbigh had blanked, but I returned again on Saturday morning and initially again couldn’t spot the Waxers. Being Saturday, the estate was much quieter than my previous visit and so I toured the site in the hope of finding them. Eventually I spotted a flock of around fifty birds moving from tree to tree, and there, at the corner of First and Third Avenues (now it sounds like I’ve started a Philip Marlowe novel) I found them, feasting on berries and trilling in the sharp bright air. Oh joy unconfined - and it wasn’t even a bit like twitching, was it?

Unhinged and Bracket

So that was November. Festive fireworks, first frosts, floods, mad moments and a few sparkling images to treasure.

A touch of frost and early morning sun - who needs gunpowder?

November was a pretty bad month for Roberto Di Matteo, sacked by Chelsea six months after leading them to European Champions League and FA Cup victories. Although, no doubt, feeling pretty sore regarding his demise, Roberto can take comfort that his dismissal was a great deal less terminal than that of a certain John Austin. Mr Austin, a convicted forger, also met his end in November when he was the last man to be publicly hung in Britain on the 7^th November 1783 at Tyburn.

This Goldfinch thinks the world is stood on it's head

 

Someone, who of course was not convicted of any financial impropriety, was our old friend Harry Redknapp. Harry probably thinks Christmas came a month early when he signed a contract as the new manager of QPR, reported to be worth £7.5 million over the next two and a half years. Daylight robbery it seems is no longer a crime in Premiership land. Oh well, at least all that tax he will pay, will, no doubt, help the beleaguered British economy?

A departure that certainly did surprise me mid month was that of Paul (Larry) Grayson from Northampton Saints, after 19 years loyal service as first player then coach and finally assistant coach to Jim Mallinder. Without doubt, during his time as a player “Larry” was one of the outstanding English fly-halves and thoroughly deserved his world cup winner’s medal, as backup to Jonny Wilkinson. It seems unclear at the moment what lies behind the “mutual” parting of company, although, I have a suspicion that Paul may be carrying the can for the inconsistent performances by the back division this (and quite a bit of last) season.

Like many long term Saints supporters, I can’t help feeling that the lack of attacking ideas once the forwards have relinquished possession of the ball, may well have more to do with some of the recruitment strategy, rather than any failure on behalf of the coaching set-up. If Paul Grayson had any influence on the decision to import these players, I have no idea (but suspect not), but everything I have heard and seen suggests that Paul is a first class bloke and I hope that all goes well for him in the future.

Rose Hips - Still a little colour to be found in the hedgerows

 

Talking of barmy November decisions, thank goodness all came right for England’s Autumn International Season in the end, after Chris Robshaw’s 78^th minute moment of insanity against South Africa. A match which, by the way, took place three days short of ninety eight years after the first policewoman went on duty, although I don’t think the two events are connected.

The Leveson report was it seems the month’s weightiest matter, in volume (or volumes) if nothing else. Although the speed with which any of it’s recommendation are likely to be implemented, may well be on a par with the equally controversial November decision to increase the speed limit for horseless carriages from 4 to 14mph, in 1896.

Bracket Fungus

I totally agree that the innocent and particularly those grieving a loss or emotional crisis should be protected from the cheap, sensationalist, mud-slinging, gossip mongering, hacks (of all papers) – forgive me if I have left any categories out. But, I do also feel that Ian Hislop has a valid point, when he says the law is already adequate to deal with a lot of these issues if only it was properly prosecuted.

For which of course you need an honest and independent police force without influence from an honest and independent government. Hum!

Now, just run it past me again, you say the fireworks are to celebrate the failure to blow up parliament?