tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18527294018475897012024-03-12T21:53:52.440-07:00MoorBlog Thoughts From A BroadCeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-78079792097072397832019-02-23T06:59:00.000-08:002019-02-23T06:59:04.615-08:00It is the 23rd of February 2019.<br />
The temperature even on the Moor was about 13 degrees at midday and the sun was bright, the wind light and my horse and I were very happy to be out and about.<br />
As I rode past an old half-cut-down clump of gorse in a spot I shall not identify, I happened to look down - and saw a golden dormouse on the woody stump. It was less than 2ft from me and I'm not sure who was the more surprised. It did turn away, moving slowly down the wood,into the greener newer growth of the gorse. I could still see the furred tail, but the animal moved no further into hiding, either too sleepy to be afraid of its observer - or was genuinely unafraid.<br />
I thought dormice hibernated.<br />
Check the date at the top of the post.<br />
My little dormouse vanished down into the gorse after a few moments more and Hoss and I rode away.<br />
A buzzard was tilting on the breeze above us and I hope he didn't see what I'd seen only seconds earlier.<br />
I googled 'Dormice on Exmoor' when I got home and there's no mistaking what the creature was - I am thrilled and delighted with my wildlife encounter which will probably never be repeated<br />
There, that's all, just thought I'd post it up here for providenceCeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-16957376157547587962016-11-22T03:41:00.000-08:002016-11-22T03:41:18.721-08:00NaNoWriMo Years ago someone told me about this challenge, now in its 18th year, based in the USA. Basically it's a gauntlet thrown down to get people who talk about writing their novel to get on and do it - 50,000 words in the month of November. Go Google it, it's quite a big enterprise now, and people from all over the world have a bash every year.<br />
<br />
I'm not new to writing work of that length and longer but short stories turned out to be more profitable and for a long time I've not settled down to produce more than about 15,000 words - that was a serial for Woman's Weekly, published in 2014.<br />
<br />
But something went bump in the night and one of my three jobs is now an ex-job and although it was only one day a week, it still paid the bills. Without it I shall need to do some more writing and hopefully selling (it's the getting paid that's now more important than the fun of scribbling) and the discipline wasn't there so on 30th October at six in the morning I signed up for NaNoWriMo.<br />
<br />
I think you're meant to join in August and plan your novel and the characters and the plot lines and be ready with all your notes to start on November 1st.<br />
<br />
Well, I kicked off on November 1st with absolutely nothing in my mind except making myself write something. I plucked an idea out of my moth-eaten memories of a certain Luttrell Memorial Hospital, previously blogged about here about 5 years ago when it finally closed its doors. And I just kept adding to the characters and their lives and the things they got up to and when I got stuck on about Day Ten my editor at People's Friend suggested Ray Chandler's idea of introducing a man with a gun. That wasn't going to work but I loaded an ear syringe and fired that instead and off my burble went again. And it started to form a proper story with a real plot and a goodie and a baddie ...<br />
<br />
My mate Gail (The Writing Bug Blog) is hard at this too. We met up on Saturday for a PepChat and a cup of tea and somewhere out there in the ether, she's galloping away towards The End as well.<br />
<br />
Dear Reader, every day for 21 days I made myself push the story onward, straight onto the Word document, no editing, no stopping for the RSI that was developing in my hands or the bruising appearing on my forearms. My shoulders ached and my head hurt and HKC2 kept getting shoved off my knees because his paws each carry about 3lbs of pressure and it digs in after a while.<br />
<br />
And last night I finally stumbled over the Finish Line, deliberately writing a hundred words or so more than the required 50,000 in case someone at HQ got funny about the words 'Chapter Ten' or whatever and not counting them into my total. They didn't get funny and they validated my count instantly and a nice little Certificate came through. I've only got a black and white printer and I believe someone with a colour one might have a prettier version than mine, but who's complaining? I have 87 single-line-spaced pages of a document (I hesitate to call this a novel) entitled <i>In Memoriam</i>.<br />
<br />
It may be absolute twaddle, this wild free-writing exercise, and the required 50K words probably aren't the ones an editor would ask for in the order they're in, but it's <i>done. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I've proved a point to myself - <i>I can do it. </i>At a rate of about 2000 plus words on average each day it seems that having three jobs is no hindrance to sheer bloody-minded determination. Oh, the tyranny of seeing daily totals up there on the screen to bully you into not falling behind.<br />
<br />
The discipline of it was something I need to incorporate into my daily routine now to keep writing. It was easier for me doing 'free writing' than it is for someone following their notes and plans because they might feel obliged to stick to them - and I had a non-stick pan in which to fry my story and just flea-jumped to a different character every time I thought I was bogging down.<br />
<br />
Anyway, thank God it's over and I'm never doing it again. Can I now write at least a short story of saleable quality just once a week?<br />
<br />
Watch this space, but keep your duster at hand, because you know how disciplined I am about keeping this Blog ...Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-83981503830076390472016-09-15T12:43:00.002-07:002016-09-15T12:43:36.664-07:00Hardly a lost TreasureWell! I've just been on Gail Crane's Blog <a href="http://thewriting-bug.blogspot.com/" rel="contributor-to nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px; text-decoration: none;">The Writing Bug</a> and since we're both occupants of the same Moor it seemed only fair to leave her some comments. We did know one another a long time ago but time does pass very quickly when one is busy and YEARS seem to have gone by a) since we spoke and b) since I wrote a single word on this poor neglected Blog.<br />
<br />
See the dust? You could write 'LAZY SOD' in it<br />
And in a few weeks the dust will probably settle into the grooves again to prove the point<br />
<br />
I can't promise to keep writing anything either useful or helpful here, but I must must MUST try to get back occasionally to update my 'diary'.<br />
<br />
I keep a <i>proper </i>diary (actually since 1975) and the enormous leather suitcase - courtesy of my grandfather J.K.Bateman MRCVS - that carries all the books is so heavy I can no longer lift it. But a Blog Diary on line - no weight at all! (And I can't lift that, either. Hmmn)<br />
I wonder how long I'll be bothered with it this time?<br />
Hmmn again.<br />
<br />
What news? Some I won't tell you, some I can't, this I shall: Hoss is still carting me about the hills and woods and our beloved Moor. The HKCs (now depleted in number since Number One died in 2014 and is now pushing up a pink hydrangea in PJ's garden) are well. The title 'HunterKiller' is no longer required as their prefix. Both have retired to their sheepskins with no further thoughts of murdering ducks or rabbits or guinea-fowl or squirrels or stoats or any of the other delights they used to drag home for my delectation. Somehow a bowl of Felix seems to do them both very nicely thank you.<br />
They still get fleas<br />
And ...<br />
Well come on, they're cats, of course they get those as well.<br />
I don't.<br />
<br />
Honest.Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-20356836464253694262014-11-23T09:42:00.003-08:002014-11-23T09:44:44.139-08:00The Middle-KaysI've recently stumbled upon a Blogsite I really should have found long ago: bigblackhairydog.blogspot.co.uk. (Huh, that's sposed to show up as a 'take me there' line you can click on to get you there quicko-like, but since it has failed to do so, so you'll just have to type it in for yourself.)<br />
It's full of the character from some of my favourite Christmas cards which come each year from my cousin (another one) who is a children's book illustrator. She's one of the 'Middle-Kays' I mentioned in September.<br />
The 'character' is a ... well, he's a big black hairy dog and he's gorgeous and since I've found the site I've been wandering around in it giggling inanely.<br />
Go take a look.<br />
I need to Blog more often if I'm to get any street cred at all!<br />
I can't get back into my original site (BlogThoughtsFromABroad.blogspot.co.uk) to write anything in that because I closed it down when I got 'acked a few years ago and they won't let me open it up again. So I must just bash on with this one, only a little more frequently.<br />
My diary-journal is full, but this is empty. Must try harder.<br />
Still faffing around with the next Serial and still failing to get the glue to stick.<br />
The sewing machines (I have two of them now) are arguing over which one is going to make my next piece of ... artwork. The Toyota would win, but it's going in to service next week so the 1928 Kenbar looks like getting the job.<br />
I'll let you know what 'appens, and I might even get some photos of previous creations (I only started in February!) just to prove I've not been entirely idle while the writing has been on hold.<br />
TTFNCeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-69054200501114288512014-09-15T14:30:00.002-07:002014-09-15T14:30:43.467-07:00About 'Poppa' - James Kay Bateman<br />
Just googled my grandfather, James Kay Bateman. He was a veterinary surgeon who was famous in his time for his orthopaedic work on racing greyhounds. He died in 1964. You wouldn't think anyone would know or care anything about him outside the family nearly 50 years after his death, would you, but I found a Revelation. A 93 year old retired vet from Donegal named Paddy Sweeney, now living in the north of England, has written twice about him in his Blog in 2013 (greyhoundfriend.blogspot.co.uk) and I can tell you I was riveted! I found out a few things about Poppa I hadn't formerly known. My cousin Michael even put a comment on one of the BlogEssays about our grandfather - I haven't spoken to M for a number of years so it was strange to see him posting.<br />
Poppa's middle name was Kay and both my cousin Bridget and I also bear that middle name - in Scotland Kay can be a boy's and a girl's name so we'll have no cracks about gender bending, thank you - and her daughter Martha has it also. We're the Middle-Kays!<br />
<br />
Thank you, Mr Sweeney for your lovely post, I wish I could meet you!<br />
<br />
My serial is still running in Woman's Weekly (part 3 this week) which is quite exciting for one such as I. Until asked to give it a try, I'd never even considered writing serials before and I fear this success may have been beginner's luck. Repeating the process is, quite literally, going to be another story! So far my editor Gaynor has sent back Part 3 THREE TIMES and I fear this latest serial is just not going to work.<br />
<br />
Back to the drawing board ...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-13701090176602776062013-12-31T14:23:00.003-08:002013-12-31T14:23:37.094-08:00Mon Beau Sapin<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P8h4P2SkbnQVALPB1RDLGKLcqLmA1oD8H081VxTHnVjGwdUbj6fyTAPLio3K704pTJ9Ry5avnVmzfH6M3KVGDwRWRJLnD-X71YDDmphA8vtNgx05Vw6FNdBaMSMZUbE8Zf8JDqQbPeQ/s1600/Mon+Beau+Sapin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P8h4P2SkbnQVALPB1RDLGKLcqLmA1oD8H081VxTHnVjGwdUbj6fyTAPLio3K704pTJ9Ry5avnVmzfH6M3KVGDwRWRJLnD-X71YDDmphA8vtNgx05Vw6FNdBaMSMZUbE8Zf8JDqQbPeQ/s320/Mon+Beau+Sapin.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I had absolutely no intention of decorating my new pad for Christmas, even though MMJ was due in on Christmas Eve. His idea of decoration last year was a single 70 year old toy tree about 6" high that had couple of scraps of tinsel attached.<br />
<br />
I was last-minute shopping on the 23rd after work and there in Bastins window was a sorry lump of green all bundled up under a group of pretty 'pencil trees', lying on its side, miserably waiting to be thrown out.<br />
<br />
'99p' said the assistant as he hauled one of the pretty trees away for another customer. 'In fact, you can have it half price. I found it in the back from last year and I'd like rid of it.'<br />
I could almost hear the tree sigh. I picked it up. It was intact, with a good wide base and its branches, although rammed together tightly, did seem to be in good condition. I felt so sorry for it that I tucked it under my arm and took it to the till, where the assistant grinned and charged me 45p. Bargain.<br />
<br />
I wandered round Bastins again and saw a red mini-bead garland for £1.99. I could hear the tree rustling with anticipation, like a little girl seeing her grandma eyeing up a pretty dress.<br />
<br />
'Oh, go on then,' I told it, and bought the garland.<br />
<br />
Biscuits, grapes, Alka-Seltzer, WD40, all the other essentials were bought in other shops and for some reason I went into PoundLand.<br />
<br />
The tree prickled at me through its plastic bag, hopeful and wistful. I'd stopped in front of some boxes of tiny glass angels, four for a pound ...<br />
<br />
'Oh, go on then.' I bought the angels - three boxes of them - and a mirror so that the tree would be able to see itself.<br />
<br />
Just along the same aisle there were some weeny metallic baubles which were just the right size for a tiny tree ...<br />
<br />
'Oh, go on then.' <br />
<br />
When I got home, I popped the tree onto the table in the 'lounge-diner' (God, what stupid names the estate agents come up with) and unpacked. I found some old LED mini-lights, a tiny string of them in the cupboard where I put the WD40 and when I'd stuck some new batteries in and fiddled with the on switch for five minutes, these dear little lights came on (and eventually stayed on) and I hung them round the little tree.<br />
<br />
I swear it grew taller and wider it was so proud of its jewellery. The metallic baubles each needed a bit of thread so that I could hang them from the newly spread branches. The mirror reflected the lights and when the tiny angels were added, I realised that by sticking an LED up each of their dresses, I had made real fairy lights!<br />
<br />
My tree was so beautiful and so pleased and proud to be the only decoration in my house.<br />
To humour it and to add to its pleasure, I turned off all the other lights so only the Christmas tree was shining.<br />
<br />
Two and a half hours I spent fussing over that one bloomin' decoration. Thank goodness there<i> was</i> only one or I'd have been up all night with the glue gun and the icing sugar and moving furniture around to show it all off to best advantage.<br />
<br />
MMJ said, 'Oh for goodness' sake.'<br />
<br />
Mon Beau Sapin said, 'At least I bothered getting dressed up for her.'<br />
<br />
I said, 'Merry Christmas,' and added a butterfly I'd found for 50p to the top of the tree, in place of the more usual star.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-86977666823365365842013-12-18T18:52:00.002-08:002013-12-31T14:31:29.726-08:00The Moon Room<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzjeg6xFAQ6aBYAdte7Th5NjcCN41QYJ4nWm28bkmVgQoAQVUjWkjrKRRaLZpoUf60C75RoHy-zVsCjfMlE-yCwi9cMgoyrmJ8qpEPxurChxFyQkk5RY-qJ6X4Go4Kq7OlE5yVtKXjus/s1600/The+Moon+Room.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzjeg6xFAQ6aBYAdte7Th5NjcCN41QYJ4nWm28bkmVgQoAQVUjWkjrKRRaLZpoUf60C75RoHy-zVsCjfMlE-yCwi9cMgoyrmJ8qpEPxurChxFyQkk5RY-qJ6X4Go4Kq7OlE5yVtKXjus/s320/The+Moon+Room.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A 'sun room' is a special room where the sun (when it deigns to shine at all) fills the space with light and makes one feel one is outside in the garden. There's a lot of glass to clean of course, inside and out, but that's a price worth paying.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's the normal sun room anyway. My new abode has got one, but the sun never seems to shine when I'm at home so I don't get the benefit. Or so I thought, until the early hours of the morning when I woke and wondered where the brightness was coming from. I hadn't left a light on and the angels from the realms of glory weren't about, casting <i>their</i> light over all the earth. The sliding door between my bedchamber and the euphemistically-named 'sun room' was fully back and the silver brightness was from the glorious full moon, free from her imprisoning clouds and sailing round the night sky in luminous splendour. High as a summer midday sun, she was pouring forth beautiful reflected sunlight in through my windows and turning a very cool and otherwise uninspiring room into a magical place of silver and sharply outlined monochrome shadows. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I got up and went out there to sit on my second-hand sofa to enjoy the Moon Room, feet on a sheepskin rug, back supported by pillows ... yes, I did fall asleep. When I woke, very cold - there isn't any heating in that room - HKCs 2 and 3 were curled up against me, purring their approval of the midnight outing. The moon had moved only a little in the twenty minutes or so I'd been dozing and my eyes, accustomed to the night, were able to pick out all the trees and shrubs and heather-domes in the moonlit garden. What a treat to be awake to see the shadow-patterns made by 'the seven dwarfs' (mini-conifers) and all the other features of my new garden. I was quite literally seeing it in a new light and suddenly I wondered if it isn't going to be such a boring garden to work with after all. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The coolness sent me back to bed. I left the sliding door open so that I could still see through into my Moon Room. You'll be hearing more of this one! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-50768924775209397822013-01-21T13:42:00.000-08:002013-01-21T13:42:01.544-08:00The Sixty-Nine StepsIt's been ages since I spoke to you. No point apologising, because it's going to happen again.<br />
<br />
Those with long memories and even longer patiences might remember I lost 18lbs a couple of years ago, in 3 months and by walking a million steps at the rate of about 10,000 a day. Here's the proof, bar three steps, that I did it:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9qjpN5ii_X4UKhzO3mN8UW2rT6uVmJueQtaaFad2s7BghO80_l2YulrmABcGkPvw6OavnqYy0EkSBRbIPXzv1vGEbweVZLgtnnluTte1zdYfJYFfQ1QfsVhwLzUxjaQlNtg7pRj5PgM/s1600/To+prove+my+pedometer+million+steps.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9qjpN5ii_X4UKhzO3mN8UW2rT6uVmJueQtaaFad2s7BghO80_l2YulrmABcGkPvw6OavnqYy0EkSBRbIPXzv1vGEbweVZLgtnnluTte1zdYfJYFfQ1QfsVhwLzUxjaQlNtg7pRj5PgM/s320/To+prove+my+pedometer+million+steps.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I really did take the extra three at the end, but if the blessed thing goes over its million, it has the audacity to return to zero and I just couldn't face another million.<br />
<br />And therein lay my problem. I went down to MMJ (My Mate John) for Christmas that year (2011, the photo was sometime around November) and it's all his fault that the weight started creeping back on. By November 2012 all my clothes had shrunk again, buttons were screaming at me to release them, zips were sliding down to the bottom (well, another part of the anatomy anyway) and elastic pulled so tightly round my waist that I got indigestion on long car journeys (see March 2012)<br />
<br />
Worse, I went to MMJ for Christmas again. He's a seriously good cook and even makes his own ice cream and ... no, don't even think about it. I hit 62kg again. Dis-bloody-GUSting.<br />
New Year's Resolution: Dump the flump<br />
But I'm 2 years older now and the Lump doesn't wish to leave me this time. I've been walking my 10,000 steps a day for 3 weeks and only lost 800g. <br />
'<i>Can I really be a*sed to do this</i>?' I e-mailed to MMB (My Mate Baggy) she of the Dorset Diddlers fame (<a href="http://thedorsetdiddlers.blogspot.co.uk/" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: Candara; font-size: 12.499999046325684px;" target="_blank">http://thedorsetdiddlers.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.co.uk/</a>) at ten to eight this evening.<br />
<br />
At ten to nine the answer was in her mailbox.<br />
<br />
Treat yourself: when the night is cloudless and the moon high, get out into the country and just ... <i>be.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My front door (circa 1670) faces south and all I had to do was step out of it ... and keep stepping. According to my nerdometer I was 4005 steps short of the requisite 10,000 so, dressed for the night - no,<i> </i>not for the knight - I set off on my apparently useless quest.<br />
<br />
Oh, what a night. The air was lung-achingly cold, crystal clear and smelt of freezing snow. The moon, waxing, was just over half-full and Orion was climbing up into the southern skies.<br />
The snow reflected the bright moonlight and fabulous shadows fell across the lanes and fields. Every hedge had a different shadow-story silhouetting along its length, like a living monochrome Bayeux tapestry.<br />
<br />
There is something magical about a deep country night in winter. I love the peace and the silence. In the hour I was out, not one owl called, not a fox called to its mate, not a sheep to its flock. The only sounds seemed to be my boot steps on the frost-damaged lane and the rustlings of my clothing. The only light was God's designer-shine and its reflections on the whiteness of snow.<br />
<br />
All's right with the world.<br />
<br />
Oh yes, and I did 4069 steps back to my door, so tomorrow owes me some ...<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.499999046325684px;">
<div class="yj6qo ajU" style="cursor: pointer; margin: 2px 0px 0px; outline: none; padding: 10px 0px; width: 22px;">
</div>
</div>
<br />
<i><br /></i>Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-74207177889589682362012-09-01T11:37:00.000-07:002012-09-01T11:37:46.569-07:00Wedding Day after after a Blue Moon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAY-nvRw4BgIVuLzfqDzs5AqEVaTTHgoe5Tb0os7QNQ4_IQUUUdAjbWydHOxiRjUz8miwtCEVGqGos61YY0ndwkZuh0LTtuF_IiPkp1uySpD-wP2AuLe_Mp3cwplRD4bzydp3k8V_0sq4/s1600/August+31st+Blue+Moon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAY-nvRw4BgIVuLzfqDzs5AqEVaTTHgoe5Tb0os7QNQ4_IQUUUdAjbWydHOxiRjUz8miwtCEVGqGos61YY0ndwkZuh0LTtuF_IiPkp1uySpD-wP2AuLe_Mp3cwplRD4bzydp3k8V_0sq4/s320/August+31st+Blue+Moon.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Last night there was a 'Blue Moon'. It was the second full moon of August 2012 which is how it gets that lovely name, and here it is, just about to be banked over by clouds from the southwest, at dawn this morning.<br />
<br />
<br />
Today was a Wedding Day - the fourth in two years in the village, they are one ahead of funerals in the frequency stakes at the moment. Don't watch this space for updates!<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMGun8k0R948rAgHY47PtK1rovd1YfTSCwAT_9jaYevjl4mhltY-rerIY4CGkYdV6fdWAS2dmGKTtHna1eTsr479BMPmhnlz17Ofdlih3-zYZXMs8scLGZvujUfGVIvoPxhnha-6JKgk/s1600/Derek+and+Becs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMGun8k0R948rAgHY47PtK1rovd1YfTSCwAT_9jaYevjl4mhltY-rerIY4CGkYdV6fdWAS2dmGKTtHna1eTsr479BMPmhnlz17Ofdlih3-zYZXMs8scLGZvujUfGVIvoPxhnha-6JKgk/s320/Derek+and+Becs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Above to the left, are Derek-and-Becs-from-'<i>The Dunkery'. </i>They'll always be known as that in this village - despite the fact that they've retired and someone else has taken over their hotel - and today their son Tim married Rebecca-from-Leicester in All Saints church.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Wa1w_GqY28_6GR5y4Cgf47VFSTyvudiJHz62I-cWYzJyLGNX4RJMjk4dJf-djuBvMdVhsCH6wKvAq3d4jGznyjwXBccYrBSPChhlql_wp_QHS81ExtCZi_Dp-2uvWNXDDN3SnZIBWZc/s1600/All+Saints'Arch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Wa1w_GqY28_6GR5y4Cgf47VFSTyvudiJHz62I-cWYzJyLGNX4RJMjk4dJf-djuBvMdVhsCH6wKvAq3d4jGznyjwXBccYrBSPChhlql_wp_QHS81ExtCZi_Dp-2uvWNXDDN3SnZIBWZc/s320/All+Saints'Arch.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
As ever, many villagers turned out to applaud the arriving bride and then wait, gossiping at the crossroads, until the service was over. A couple of farmers drove up in battered old Land Rovers and they too stopped to catch up with news. (Bruce's new knee is just fine, thank you, and they'll be baling their second-cut hay tomorrow.)<br />
<br />
On the reappearance of the celebrants there was further applause - I think the visitors from Leicester were somewhat surprised by our reaction to a wedding party - and then lavender and rose-petal confetti was scattered over Tim and Rebecca as they left for the reception in George-from-the-Garage's old Rover 3500. The bridesmaids, having arrived in Eddie-from-Lowertown's open-top Morris Minor, left in a posh hired car.<br />
<br />
The villagers then nipped up into the church to look at the flowers done by Jane and her capable assistants. There were many niches full of these displays, here are three:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTlSaxpwdwYiK2DEWrEc3VoWMmML5U6fXYTAp7_OSzjZE9EsBpSK6N-UvDn62oKhARa1Cph9rAmGsfGmFusOuGMhF89Ag_XhFVoEEm4MHNCsX4VB3iR04NmjMDLeBUzBVYan5EQS5SMw8/s1600/church+flowers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTlSaxpwdwYiK2DEWrEc3VoWMmML5U6fXYTAp7_OSzjZE9EsBpSK6N-UvDn62oKhARa1Cph9rAmGsfGmFusOuGMhF89Ag_XhFVoEEm4MHNCsX4VB3iR04NmjMDLeBUzBVYan5EQS5SMw8/s320/church+flowers.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnq9A_-NIJQvHGLI7iMX7HzkOxOwiYa7_Lp01w2_6lmh3V8HCft2oGJpTKG8KJnADn-lubDSxm-BBOg-VYQVHz8vicS-Qf6f8GJOb3ZBntZSeRZPmZw47vTVl-vZLipgkbsDVX4ZufRw/s1600/church+flowers+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnq9A_-NIJQvHGLI7iMX7HzkOxOwiYa7_Lp01w2_6lmh3V8HCft2oGJpTKG8KJnADn-lubDSxm-BBOg-VYQVHz8vicS-Qf6f8GJOb3ZBntZSeRZPmZw47vTVl-vZLipgkbsDVX4ZufRw/s320/church+flowers+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwXzdj5mXpFTpwFYbkCqiSIBdhgMSJiwkiFGZZ3dE5RoMy42DJit9kNvIZzoyrjhaYElLr7c12RSBYKbUQk1yg_Iz_Y4d1_Dlki8Lgjyq2NrHUShd27wIE0DXCBUwElMWjDwIh0BmSfPA/s1600/church+flowers+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwXzdj5mXpFTpwFYbkCqiSIBdhgMSJiwkiFGZZ3dE5RoMy42DJit9kNvIZzoyrjhaYElLr7c12RSBYKbUQk1yg_Iz_Y4d1_Dlki8Lgjyq2NrHUShd27wIE0DXCBUwElMWjDwIh0BmSfPA/s320/church+flowers+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And we also looked at our lovely retired vicar, Stan, who told us that this is the first wedding he himself has taken at this, his local church. Astonishing! I'll send him this photo as a memento of the occasion.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfl1HW_SI_v-csqyELrywy5q9IH-_CkP_rum7YE9GnUQK_y3ynreyYh6ToqsgRlqLLr7tnWno5KQ6xPLTk81IBuBSJ32xXOxztJMba4S4UxU6TuWPzLnFBuLpscFhsw8P0nUPsUjN8y8/s1600/Stan's+first.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfl1HW_SI_v-csqyELrywy5q9IH-_CkP_rum7YE9GnUQK_y3ynreyYh6ToqsgRlqLLr7tnWno5KQ6xPLTk81IBuBSJ32xXOxztJMba4S4UxU6TuWPzLnFBuLpscFhsw8P0nUPsUjN8y8/s320/Stan's+first.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-69753305221728252622012-07-26T12:48:00.000-07:002012-07-26T12:48:09.511-07:00A Summer at lastThe interminable rain has gone for a while and I've come out of hiding. Since parking The Ashes at a secret location in the Highlands at the end of March - in a glorious week of sunshine, the like of which I've never known in Scotland in springtime - I've been under a stone. Wet, wetter, wettest three months on record: I nearly send for the Ark Construction kit.<br />
<br />
And suddenly the jet stream snaked northwards again, back to where it's meant to be and summer has come to the Moor. <br />
<br />
On the first day, the farmers cut the hay. On the second and third, they turned and turned it and yesterday the tractors and balers turned up like manic dinorsaurs to roll up carpets of it into massive, tight, round bales. Neighbour Mark got the job of spiking them onto the back of his tractor and carting them away to the Ox Court and Easter barns to 'make' for a few months. Last year this top field yielded over 150 small bales, this year only a dozen or so large rounds. The wet spring held the quantity back and, because the grasses had seeded, also a little of the quality. Never mind, at least we've got something!<br />
<br />
I've been riding out at 6am each morning in this heat. Today, up on the Dunster Path on the shoulder of Dunkery, I watched a red deer hind lead her calf out of the birchwoods and onto the open sunlit Moor. It was an enchanting moment: the hind was completely unfazed by the presence of my horse and me and simply stood watching as we passed. Minutes later two buzzards appeared over the horizon, gliding and sliding around the far blue yonder, calling to one another, quartering the ground below them for edibles.<br />
<br />
The dew was heavy on the spiders' webs, some as wide as eighteen inches across, many of them dipping from heather height to an unseen undergrowth attachment, giving the impression of lace shrouds cast over bushes to dry. Of the spinners and weavers I saw nothing and, from the size of those webs, am glad I did not. <br />
<br />
Down on the shaded ancient, stony track that leads home, I felt a different type of web break against my face as I rode through. Another kind of spinner had sent out trapeze wire traps for unwary insects, slung five feet across the path and seven feet above.<br />
<br />
And finally, when I'd freed Hoss for the day, I went to work and by chance saw a sparrowhawk break cover at speed from a laneside hedge in pursuit of some hapless bird.<br />
We all have to eat: I must earn money and the sparrowhawk must kill. Good job the two don't get muddled up.Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-48056161815236703612012-03-08T00:51:00.000-08:002012-03-08T00:51:51.689-08:00HKCs 1-3For those of you who ever wondered, here are the HKCs (HunterKillerCats)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2D7o5RWVhvz1GEBcgPUPienztyKvfkwhMZ4h6b-yOgPCY2CmN0O29MTg8dFXwBwLBekYpO5oH3ibXgyVweMYENFu2hg2jQXxkpg8RJhbznLRJCr8gZL6CCkZuocPUG7Qkn_CKz1mbyaY/s1600/HKCs+on+window+ledge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2D7o5RWVhvz1GEBcgPUPienztyKvfkwhMZ4h6b-yOgPCY2CmN0O29MTg8dFXwBwLBekYpO5oH3ibXgyVweMYENFu2hg2jQXxkpg8RJhbznLRJCr8gZL6CCkZuocPUG7Qkn_CKz1mbyaY/s320/HKCs+on+window+ledge.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The small fluffy one is HKC1, Senior Cat, now 16. I brought her home from a farm with her (now departed) sister when she was just a few weeks old. <br />
The larger tabby is HKC2, now about 13. I wanted a Maine Coon and couldn't afford one. However, a friend of a friend in Buckinghamshire owned a siamese queen who had escaped and been Seen To by a vicar's Maine Coon tom ... and HKC2 was one of 6 resultant offspring. I've always referred to HKC2 as a Tycoon and his mother as a GI Bride. He can take out full-grown squirrels, pheasants, weasels, rabbits, rats and on one hideous occasion also a small snake. He's steadied down in his mature years, thank goodness.<br />
The ginger job is HKC3 - of indeterminate age. He walked in one Christmas nearly 6 years ago and we hadn't the heart to turn him out. He and HKC2 had just one rather bloody-furry fight and thereafter settled down together. Bit of a boys' club really ...<br />
<br />
Just to prove they like one another:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHnbWoAUIpgm0tfVnmLJvywodJb_3-l8G8JLXULrI6fl6XRdGerQCp2ZDM5l8rAbiXxTmEcOLu8nBu7QnAIPvs275OGWejNEjBNrbX7GO6fD2ZXkHOG-3ICUEeTtwNQPENcPP_ncMxHg/s1600/HKCs+2+and+3+asleep.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHnbWoAUIpgm0tfVnmLJvywodJb_3-l8G8JLXULrI6fl6XRdGerQCp2ZDM5l8rAbiXxTmEcOLu8nBu7QnAIPvs275OGWejNEjBNrbX7GO6fD2ZXkHOG-3ICUEeTtwNQPENcPP_ncMxHg/s320/HKCs+2+and+3+asleep.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Humour me, just one more Cat Photo and then I'll let you off the hook.<br />
<br />
This is HKC1 sunning herself:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEhjcYqRAyH1a_9uxAIkPuxD-DUjCBYzFLKAfm4H1k68FCf-h5ksK9qTR4bnFW1KkXTGe-XvmNzTkElXtzfu2N4rldGVnNQpI1lTXBF0Mt9BVGAMV0HTlaKCFlBp_mXMlYYRkMuTVd3o/s1600/Possum's+Best.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEhjcYqRAyH1a_9uxAIkPuxD-DUjCBYzFLKAfm4H1k68FCf-h5ksK9qTR4bnFW1KkXTGe-XvmNzTkElXtzfu2N4rldGVnNQpI1lTXBF0Mt9BVGAMV0HTlaKCFlBp_mXMlYYRkMuTVd3o/s320/Possum's+Best.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
OK, that's it, thank you for looking. Now you know who I'm going on about when HKCs 1-3 come into conversation.<br />
<br />
I'm saving Hoss for another day!Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-39107024332340869222012-03-06T13:08:00.000-08:002012-03-07T11:07:04.436-08:00Sunshine Award<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipEkzsNzO-oByTU1_baMg_nEf6wRC97h5uy6lUElAQzPC-fjeGixqyuHSMfqOcLNFiustgUYRBjH20RIyoT7Ehq9Sz08o0I4frY2GqcTWuFvESPLzUtoyEV6p9NkzPx1NztzSUUBnxmc/s1600/SunshineAward+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipEkzsNzO-oByTU1_baMg_nEf6wRC97h5uy6lUElAQzPC-fjeGixqyuHSMfqOcLNFiustgUYRBjH20RIyoT7Ehq9Sz08o0I4frY2GqcTWuFvESPLzUtoyEV6p9NkzPx1NztzSUUBnxmc/s1600/SunshineAward+(1).jpg" /></a></div>
Now there's a pretty thing!<br />
Thank you, Tosh (OK, Patsy) for this. <br />
Apparently I'm sposed to tell you some random things<br />
about myself and then hand the Sunshine Award on to<br />
somebody else. Tosh wrote about FeelGood factors and, as most of me is fairly random anyway, I'll just write you a short rhyme about small things that make me feel good:<br />
<br />
A sneeze in the morning<br />
An owl in the night<br />
A rainbow by moonshine<br />
A merlin in flight.<br />
Laughter and silliness,<br />
Talking with friends,<br />
Well-written novels with<br />
tidied-up ends.<br />
Views of the wild Moor,<br />
stags in the gorse,<br />
Rides up the Beacon<br />
on Dear Hoss - of course!<br />
<br />
Actually, on a good day, just about anything makes me feel good - and even on a bad day, a smile from a stranger or a robin landing on the gatepost or even just the sight of dew on a spider's web can make the day better.<br />
<br />
The trick seems to be: <i>you have to want to feel good. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
Look for the good in everything and somewhere you'll find it. Sometimes putting on your glasses can help, however.<br />
<br />
And now for The Clever Bit - can I follow Tosh's instructions on how to pass this Award on to three amigos of mine - <a href="http://shirleyelmokadem.wordpress.com/">Shirley</a>, <a href="http://blogathonchallenge.blogspot.com/">Baggy</a> and <a href="http://writing-bug.blogspot.com/">Gail</a>. Shirley's the Proper Poet among my friends, Baggy is the Article Writer (and Daily Blogger) and Gail is Doing A Degree and doesn't get much time to blog at all these days. She once passed an Award on to me but I didn't think I deserved it so I didn't take it ... and anyway I didn't know how to make it appear AND it was on my original - now obsolete <a href="http://blogthoughtsfromabroad.blogspot.com/">BlogThoughtsFromAbroad</a>. Its demise is a long story ... to do with hacking and losing accounts and other IT sadnesses which Did Not Make Me Feel Good.<br />
<br />
But being positive - now I've got THIS blog instead. Must use it more (Moor) often or it'll be going rusty.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-68547068671648357422012-03-06T03:45:00.001-08:002012-03-06T03:56:41.808-08:00Onward March!<br />
There goes another month, and although Winter has not completely been put to bed and indeed there was a frost this morning, the worst of the cold should be over. That said, I never dump my thermals until the end of April.<br />
<br />
The ground has dried up much sooner than usual and I think I've missed the 'roller window' for the fields - that's the time between the very wet ground being too cloggy for the rollers and then, sometimes only days later, it being too dry for the rolling to do any good.<br />
<br />
The snowdrops are going over, the primroses have started sprouting in the hedgerow banks and the daffodils - those that didn't flower in December! - are out and blowing around in the high winds. I even found a cluster of daffydowndillies up in a remote south-facing hillside on Grabbist and have been wondering since how they got there.<br />
<br />
Greenfire has started along the Exmoor lanes. Just a tiny wavelet of grass below the hedges will soon be followed by strands of nettle and wildflower growth and in a month or so, a mass verdant climb-away will light the hawthorn buds. When they open fully, come May, the whole world will be properly alive again. <br />
<br />
Lambing is over for one of my friends and only just beginning for another. Farmer Joanna wanted hers out of the way early - she's gone to Australia for a wedding now - and Farmer Caroline's season kicked off at the weekend. No signs in either flock of the awful viral disease that has struck this year - Schmallenberg - but 121 farms in the south of England have now had cases confirmed and there's nothing anyone can do except hope. The virus, believed to be midge-borne, causes deformities in lambs, which can only be detected at lambing time. It also affects cattle but so far the reports have been mostly in the sheep community.<br />
<br />
No Exmoor pony foals yet - it's a bit early, although they have been known to appear at this time. A notable one, later called 'Bat-and-Ball' was born on the village cricket pitch about ten years ago. His mother has a habit of finding great spots to drop her excess baggage!<br />
<br />
That's your lot for now.<br />
<br />
Oh no, not quite: Patsy has nominated me for something called a 'Sunshine Award' and although I'm not sure I deserve such a thing - let's face it I'm hardly a regular Blogger - I would quite like to accept it. But before I do I'd better find out:<br />
a) how I cart it over here and<br />
b) what exactly I'm meant to do afterwards. <br />
<br />
Something about putting Things About Myself on the web for any passing T,D or H to read and something about Passing On the Sunshine. We'll see! This little backwater blog of mine doesn't get many passers-by and I'm quite happy with that. It is, after all, just a Memory-Jog- Blog for the various Celiae Personae (don't ask, but I am Not Alone and neither are you!) rather than anything more serious or useful.<br />
<br />Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-48353465712414630692012-02-20T12:47:00.000-08:002012-02-20T12:57:44.311-08:00Dark of the MoonFrom down in the Hamlet Hollow there was a fabulous view of the midnight sky last night - I even saw a shooting star and made a wish on it. The Dark of the Moon is quite the best time for observing the night heavens and being so far from towns and light pollution, the Moor offers a perfect viewing environment: hence it has been nominated a 'Dark Park'. No doubt there will be Star Tourists soon ...<br />
<br />
The owls, unimpressed by such magnificence, were shrieking their heads off and twitting to one another in the surrounding woodlands. They have no sense of awe. One of them had the audacity to do a fly-past so close I felt its swoop and saw its shape - but heard nothing. Owl wings are rounded on the leading edges, to give them near-silent flight. Good trick if you're hunting I suppose.<br />
<br />
I really haven't got anything useful to say, but Tosh had a go at me for my lack of posting, so here's the (probably only) February Offering. <br />
<br />
Enjoy.Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-34092862208257414022012-01-09T23:34:00.000-08:002012-01-09T23:35:08.740-08:00Mooncast RainbowsA high bright moon, just over full (they call this phase waning gibbous) lit my route along the lane to the horses at 6am this morning. The air was fresh but very moist and high overhead in the sky in front of me arched a mooncast rainbow. I've not seen one of these for many years and it was absolutely beautiful, its arc-bands in different tones of a kind of purple rather than in definitely different colours. <br />
<br />
Look up, if ever you're out walking in the dark of a winter's night and there's rain in the offing but the moon's full and bright behind you. Look up, enjoy yet another of nature's free lightshows and be glad to be alive.Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-60084264052424966182012-01-04T12:03:00.000-08:002012-01-04T12:03:09.384-08:00Something Fishy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NMXxS9AXIi4/TwSwYWw9HOI/AAAAAAAAACc/zzqvhfdZejw/s1600/Jane%2527s+Lalique+Fish+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NMXxS9AXIi4/TwSwYWw9HOI/AAAAAAAAACc/zzqvhfdZejw/s320/Jane%2527s+Lalique+Fish+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I've just been going through some old photos and found this little gem. He's a Lalique angel fish belonging to a friend. Isn't he just lovely? He has a curious 'opalescence' if that's the right word and appears to change colour in different lights but I couldn't capture it on my camera.<br />
Photographs are great inspiration for short stories ... so I'd better get on with a Fishy Tale<br />
<br />
When I'm rich and famous I'm going to collect pretty things like this!<br />
<br />Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-85306585417640270152012-01-02T10:30:00.000-08:002012-01-02T10:30:45.330-08:00A Room with a View<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4L4iuFdKPms/TwHz_9joLLI/AAAAAAAAACE/dkvolaKzrq0/s1600/Huntscott+view+returns.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4L4iuFdKPms/TwHz_9joLLI/AAAAAAAAACE/dkvolaKzrq0/s320/Huntscott+view+returns.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This is the view today from my kitchen window. I love it.<br />
<br />
Three weeks ago all I could see was a tree-hedge the height of the remains of the offending article to the back right of the photo.<br />
<br />
For many years, the owner of that hedge refused to have it cut down, despite my neighbour and me offering to help pay for the work. Poor Mrs A had bought her cottage for this view but and within a few years had lost it, completely in summer and partially in winter - until the Americans solved the problem. They'd bought another cottage just out of sight to the left and the 30ft wild and unruly 'hedge' was blocking their view entirely.<br />
<br />
They set to doing The Obvious Thing: they bought the field as well. They got a local chap and his boys to cut and lay the hedge and burn off the rubbish. It looks a little stark now, in the dark January light but come spring, all will be well again.<br />
<br />
Now we've all got our lovely view of the hills back! I can see the 800 year old oak tree (it's dead, but one of its daughters is growing in its bowl) and the buzzards that land on it. I can see the deer as they pass through, the foxes going about their lives, and I can see the moon set right down into the rim of the world. <br />
<br />
God bless America(ns)Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-14063067206135203372012-01-01T12:30:00.000-08:002012-01-02T10:41:45.485-08:00Finding North<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zi7fjQ3vm6g/TwC-MPvkpBI/AAAAAAAAABg/h_i3UWihLYY/s1600/Exmoor+Pony+Vane.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zi7fjQ3vm6g/TwC-MPvkpBI/AAAAAAAAABg/h_i3UWihLYY/s320/Exmoor+Pony+Vane.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
Finding North can be a tricky number. To make things easier, I bought myself a compass last year - it looks like a tiny hunter watch, complete with a lid and a spring-loaded opening button and a clip-on hook. But with a little effort, I can make north be anywhere from north-north-east to west-north-west. It's all very well having such control over the earth, but if I want to know true north ...<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
I go outside, away from any magnetic influences in the cottage.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
It's night. From where I live the Milky Way is pretty clear and at the right time I can pick out lots of constellations, my favourite being Orion because he's so easy to spot. Ursa Major - the Plough, the Big Dipper, the Drinking Gourd, whatever you want to call it - is opposite Orion and supposedly points north. But is that a bit north or very north? And which part of it is the final reference point?<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Out with the compass. The little needle trembles in my hand, unsure of its reception or its future if it cocks my orienteering up yet again. It says east is north. Frowning, I tilt it a little and the red part of the needle suddenly ungums itself and swings round several degrees. It settles.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
You sure? That's North? You don't want to ask the audience or anything?<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
No, the needle stays pointing towards Easter Farm. To test it, I turn around and face the other way and the needle sways, wobbles and points back the way I've come.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Fine. I've found North. I chalk a white line on the flat topstone of the wall.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
In the morning, I'll get out the ladder and fix the weathervane.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Until then, navigators wanting to know which way the wind is blowing will have to lick a finger, hold it to the wind and check their own bloomin' compass ...</div>Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-52014212927910897162011-12-21T13:02:00.000-08:002011-12-21T13:02:48.228-08:00The Scotland Diaries: Part Two - Ashes to Ashes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFDaeg-Vw0SxTdah99UAfQLm0_kR2LwA5jwIKGZSv_9pt-1oyCsHokUVbqyJqN_ADRZnSWy2ytuYH8XpIC2DOVrd-MlYgDCqDKbTEz0o2dXFfIIO5HnXrwpF1DjsHnYTpYDfIcPML6DY/s1600/Loch+Awe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFDaeg-Vw0SxTdah99UAfQLm0_kR2LwA5jwIKGZSv_9pt-1oyCsHokUVbqyJqN_ADRZnSWy2ytuYH8XpIC2DOVrd-MlYgDCqDKbTEz0o2dXFfIIO5HnXrwpF1DjsHnYTpYDfIcPML6DY/s320/Loch+Awe.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Just a quick one, to bring the year to its close:<br />
<br />
There was a death in the family recently - no excuse for not writing but it's the only one you're gonna get so make the most of it - and it has Been Decided that next year we will return the Dear Departed's remains to Scotland.<br />
<br />
So should you be passing Loch Awe some darkening evening (see above) and you notice several furtive-lookin' blokes and a now-ash-blonde dame apparently shaking a huge pepper mill out over the silver waters ... you'll know it's just the family releasing Mum back into the wild where she belongs.<br />
<br />
Knowing her sense of humour she'll get into all our eyes and up our noses and refuse point blank to be ejected over the loch because she never could stand deep water. She'll blow away on the wind, up the mountains and into the free far north where her ashes will dissipate over the Beloved Country with those of my father and grandfather and all who have gone before.<br />
<br />
Requiescat in paceCeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-49982472974185812142011-10-12T13:12:00.000-07:002012-01-02T10:36:53.749-08:00The Scotland Diaries: Part One - Staggered Stars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8BF9eAvJErc/TwH4zTbwP7I/AAAAAAAAACQ/SY1ENCB2vEI/s1600/Ellary+SparklyWater.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8BF9eAvJErc/TwH4zTbwP7I/AAAAAAAAACQ/SY1ENCB2vEI/s320/Ellary+SparklyWater.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
I've just been reminded that I've not written on here for some time. I confess to having forgotten all about you. However since you have not been waiting with either held or bated breath you can't have missed me much, so I shall simply dust you off, check your pulse and respirations are still in order - and continue.<br />
<br />
In mid-September I drove north from my beloved Exmoor to the equally beloved Other Country, from which my family originates. Eleven hours - get out your atlas - took me to a near-deserted loch below Oban. Alone I was, since The Others although invited, declined to accompany me - but not lonely. <br />
<br />
Odd how one can feel lonely in a crowd and not on the edge of a wild, glacier-designed landscape with only curlews, owls, bats, red squirrels and huge red deer for company. <br />
<br />
The sunshine on the loch made dancing flashing mirrors of every movement of the water and the reflected light from the sky turned the sea turqoise. The air was so pure that mosses and lichens capped the granite stone walls to a depth of nearly two inches. And my cabin was so close to the water that I could hear the gentle ebbing and flowing of the tide lapping on the shore. <br />
<br />
That evening as dusk fell, I walked the two miles to The Big House, along the narrow lochside lane, often stopping to examine trees, tiny flowers, still-purple heather and many rocks and stones both in and out of the water. The geological history of Scotland ('Land of Mountain and Flood') is fascinating ... but not my story to tell. <br />
<br />
The red deer were already in rut and in the fading light I watched two stags sizing one another up for possession of a single hind who was waiting on the rocky foreshore. As it happened it was no contest - I think the younger stag saw the magnificent antlered head of the older (sporting brow, bey, trey and I think four atop) and realised he was outclassed.<br />
<br />
I watched the Elder trot off with the hind and a couple of bats swooped low, no doubt feasting on the late summer midges still around. The light did a cinematic fade-out and my eyes adjusted to it in gradual and natural relaxation.<br />
<br />
As one sense lost its supremacy, another took over. Night sounds serenaded me back to the cabin - was that still curlews? Owls, Tawny and Little from their calls, mourned across the evening, rushes of wind shivered through the leaves of birch, oaks and pines, small mammal rustlings twitched the undergrowth.<br />
<br />
Seemingly from everywhere - and dominant over all the other noises - the eerie primeval roaring of red stags came at me: from the other side of the loch, from the lane behind, from somewhere high up on the hillside above. <br />
<br />
Oh, glorious night!<br />
<br />
I stayed out for a long, long time. The heavens were unbelievable - just a dome of stars stretching to eternity in every direction. The Milky Way was clear and constellations such as Orion very easy to spot, with the Pleiades up beyond and oh, how I wished I'd brought my 'Observer's Book' with me to identify all the others! Once enchanted by such a night sky, one puts up with the inevitable sore neck - but at last I had to go indoors. I did consider setting a camp bed out there on the shore and just lying on my back to stare up all night at the beauty of a trillion miles of starstruck forever ...<br />
<br />
Oh, glorious, <em>glorious</em> night!Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-66200065545432598862011-08-08T00:03:00.000-07:002011-08-08T00:03:02.413-07:00Flea FreeNo, we're not giving away free fleas.<br />
<br />
This is to announce that we are now a Flea Free household.<br />
<br />
If that can ever be true where there are HunterKillerCats.<br />
<br />
End of AnnouncementCeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-69191186033025771722011-08-07T08:19:00.000-07:002011-08-07T08:19:04.457-07:00The Flea Flee FeeAll the HKCs have been scratching a lot recently. It's bloomin' irritating, being woken at 4am by the powerful 'thud-thud-thud' of a hind paw vigorously working at an itch. I investigated, come daylight, bowl of hot water at the ready.<br />
<br />
The 'nit-comb' (designed for children's heads) removed about a dozen live fleas from HKC2, and I drowned them in the bowl. HKC3 has a thing about being combed and buggered off before I could get more than four out of his fur and HKC1 heard me coming and also scarpered.<br />
<br />
A colleague reminded me that the chemists now sell the appropriate 'spot on' flea-killer drops - cheaper than getting the same thing from the vet - so I rang a large well-known pharmacy to enquire: for just over £30 I could have six phials. With a discount for working where I do, there was a 10% reduction in that fee.<br />
<br />
While discussing this at main reception, the head pharmacist from another well-known company (based next door to the practice) overheard and offered to check <i>his</i> fees: after discount - £21.<br />
<br />
I took that offer. But the nerdy-number section of my brain was disappointed: there would have been about 2000 steps to the vet's, great for a lunch-time exercise. Had I gone for the first pharmacy, 1000 footfalls could have been added to my count. As it happens, the second (and successful bidder) pharmacy lies less than 200 steps there and back and that's the one I chose. Good for the pocket, bad for the pedometer.<br />
<br />
I did an extra walk to and from Hoss that evening to make up for the 'lost' steps, de-flea-ed the HunterKillerCats and wondered what I should do with the 'saved' £9 ...Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-49576937448121056562011-08-07T07:53:00.000-07:002011-08-07T07:53:31.595-07:00Sunshine and ShadowsWeird weather, the sun is shining but the rain is pouring down. If I could be bothered I'd go and look for the rainbows that must be arching across the skies over the Moor. Unfortunately apathy has set in as well as the rain and I can't get motivated. <div><br />
</div><div>That must be why there's nothing in my 'writing in progress' file.<div><div><br />
</div><div>HKC2 is at present sitting on that file, washing his nether regions.</div><div><br />
</div><div>This act counts as 'showing' not 'telling'.</div></div></div>Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-35197844035543614482011-07-30T23:23:00.000-07:002011-07-30T23:23:36.340-07:00Nerdy Numbers 2Yesterday, after I'd reported my early morning total, my counter at 11am showed 2,245.<br />
<br />
I hadn't been walking backwards. The counter had somehow pressed against something solid (I blame Hoss) and reset itself. Somewhere I lost a few hundred steps but at the end of the day, even with the reset hiccup and NOT adding in any extras as those lost ones, I'd still done 14,522 steps.<br />
<br />
Which, for the nerdy part of my brain that wants to know, says that my apparently sedentary Friday was just about as active as my Day Off Saturday. <br />
<br />
So if the recommended number of steps a day is this 10,000 and I'm already doing well over that, I'll need to double this figure to halve mine - if I'm ever to get into a size 10 again.<br />
<br />
Hmmn. I'll think about it.Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852729401847589701.post-59284877362919020002011-07-30T00:08:00.000-07:002011-07-30T00:08:11.026-07:00Nerdy NumbersHoss has got his way, as he so often does: I've joined the 'Go For It' challenge being run at present by the NHS in conjunction with the British Heart Foundation. I only wanted the bloomin' pedometer but my contact on the MotherShip said I had to register for the whole package, so I did. <div><br />
<div>There's a whole heap of healthy-living information, a free T shirt (will I be wearing that? No, HKC3 is now sleeping on it and if he turns round one more time, he'll wake up wearing it) and a cute little pedometer.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I clipped said pedometer onto my waistband yesterday morning at 05.53am (not that I'm obsessive or anything) and forgot about it until 07.49 when I arrived at work: 4,752 steps, and I'd driven in. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The calling system failed, so I had to walk from my office to the waiting room to collect my early patients: 50 steps each way. And that morning I saw 22 people. You can flick your own abacus.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>Feet off floor at bedtime, 14,758 steps taken.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Still full of enthusiasm this morning, I reset the counter, rolled out of bed and started again. By 07.06am I'd taken 5,129 steps - Hoss is currently living just under a mile away and I mucked out his field while I was there.</div><div><br />
</div><div>He gave me one of his Looks: "What's this all about then?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Your fault." (step-step-side-step-bend-scoop-muck-dumpinbarrow-step-step-step)</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Have I got to wear one of those?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Yup. It'll be on me when we go to Saturday Club." (step-scoop-dump-step-step-sneeze-step)</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Bleshoo!" (nuzzle-nuzzle-nuzzle) "Lost any weight, then?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Hoss, tell me after our ride." (step-step-step etc)</div><div><br />
</div>Celiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14247161759331341885noreply@blogger.com1