Monthly Archives: February 2025

Ornithological Notes

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Bear with me, the chronology is a nightmare.

Last night I said – “Yesterday morning, I saw a Goldfinch on one of the feeders in the back garden. It’s quite a common bird – number 8 in last year’s RSPB Birdwatch, but we’ve only seen two since we moved in.

Goldfinch

We have also had no House Sparrows and no Starlings, (Number 1 and Number 3 in the list, and only seen Long Tailed Tit, another top ten birds a handful of times. The 20024 results were

  • House Sparrow
  • Blue Tit
  • Starling
  • Woodpigeon
  • Blackbird
  • Robin
  • Great Tit
  • Gold Finch
  • Magpie
  • Long Tailed Tit”

Then, tired, and conscious that I had a big day ahead of me, I went to bed.

We used to have goldfinches on the farm, and in the back garden in Nottingham, so I have been surprised at the lack of them in Peterborough, particularly as we are on the edge of an area I would deem ideal. In Nottingham we actually had them singing as they perched on TV aerials. Here – two in three months.

Red Kite

Anyway, it’s a start. We then went to Nottingham to carry on with the house clearance. On the way back we stopped at McDonalds at Colsterworth and were surprised to hear the call of a kite. It shares some of the buzzard’s mew, but with a plaintiff whistle in it.

We looked round and saw a kite perching in a tree that had recently had some bits lopped off it. We have seen kites from the car park before, but never this close. It seemed to be calling to a kite that was perching two trees along. They continued doing this, and because we had to get on, we went tom eat. Twenty minutes later, the calling kite was still there, but jackdaws were occupying the nearby trees. They ere gathering to fly off and roost rather than mobbing the kite, but the other bird had gone. I will be looking up kites and courtship later. It’s an area near woodland, so it’s looking good for more kite breeding.

If you don’t look up the Colsterworth link look up this one – unbelievable!

Finally, arriving home, we saw some starlings perching in a tree near the house. I said to Julia how strange it was to see them so close to us, but not to get them in the garden. Not that I want too many of them as they do tend to take over. When we had unloaded I looked at the feeders and there was a starling on the fat ball feeder. Maybe they are starting to move about for spring.

Starlings at Slaidburn

Also, a couple of nights ago Julia heard the blackcap (the “Northern Nightingale” singing. We are now worried he is getting ready to leave for home (assuming he is one of the winter migrants).

Repeating Old Mistakes

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And suddenly, as I checked the date to fill in a form last night, I found that there are only four days left until the end of the month. I have nine possible sets of submissions to make, and none actually finalised. After a marathon session this morning I managed to get two sets near enough done. I’ll get another couple done tonight and things will seem to look a little brighter. However, it’s a long way from the scenario of being ready in advance, which I imagined when I got the least lost sent off.

The previous few days had been spent writing articles for Facebook and newsletters, intending to metaphorically clear my desk before getting to work on the poetry submissions. By the time I’d sorted out a couple of technical hitches and spent a couple of days in Nottingham and relaxed a bit, I found I’d actually lost a week.

If I cut out all the extra writing, I doubt I’d be much better off as I’m the sort of person who doesn’t do something until they are forced to. Some call it working under pressure, some call it being lazy. It’s much the same. Having honed my procrastination skills for the last 60 years, I’m unlikely to develop a sense of urgency, or a passion for efficiency, in retirement.

In fact, I’m so committed to procrastinating I just drifted off and read an article about how to make myself more productive. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t worked.

Wood Pigeon

 

A Nostalgic Interlude

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OK, it’s not a tragedy, but I was horrified, when booking our next shopping delivery, to find that it will be in March. Yes, two months of the year have already slipped by and we don’t seem to have made much progress. Not only that, but it’s just a week until the end of the month and I have nothing ready to submit. Even worse, I seem to have lost the drive I had when I was in this situation last month. I have also had to plan for a lot of submissions to magazine where I have a long history of rejection, so I’m not likely to have a successful month either. Looking to the future, I wonder if I’m fated to deliver a post like this in the third week of every coming month. Or will I simply buckle under the pressure. February is a bit early in the year to give up on good intentions, even for me.

Julia went to see Flying Scotsman yesterday. It is running on the Nene Valley Railway for a couple of weeks. As you can see, she took some pictures. She would have taken more, but he platform was crowded and she got pushed around a bit. I, meanwhile, was able to stand in the front porch and watch it go by. Once the trees are in leaf again, I won’t be able to do t5hat, but for the moment I can. It reminded me of the time I was about three years old. We had a shop in Blackburn and there was a section of railway track across the road where you could often see steam trains. Well, it was the early 60s, and a diesel locomotive was a somewhat futuristic beast. I remember thee excitement of first being pulled by a diesel. It was very sci-fi, like something out of Gerry Anderson. It was a nice nostalgic moment in a day of worries.

A Squirrel and a Sail Tail

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I frequently forget about notable parts of the day and write a post which is accurate, in that all the events described did occur on that day. However, it isn’t accurate as a reflection of the total day. I did that in my last post. I did do all the cookery described, but I did other things and other things happened.

One of the most notable events was the one referred to in the title.

One of the squirrels was, as usual, hanging upside down struggling to get at the sunflower hearts. It slipped a couple of times and dropped to the feeding pans lower down. As I watched, it positioned itself again and at that moment, the blustery weather took a hand with a strong, sustained gust of wind that caught the squirrels tail and almost pulled it from its perch. For a moment it hung on by the tips of its claws, them managed to get a secure grip and reposition itself. For a moment I thought I was going to see a squirrel snatched away by the wind and blown over the garden wall. I didn’t, but it was funny while it lasted. It was probably less funny for the squirrel, but it has several choices available apart from taking seed from the feeder so I have no sympathy.

 

Today, having discovered a couple of mouldy crumpets in a packet (they were a couple of days past their “best by” date), Julia decided to cut them up to feed the birds. Some of you will, I know be in shock at this idea. You are probably right, once the packet has a little mould in it, the sensible thing to do is to throw them away. I’m sure the RSPB would agree. On the other hand, some of you, like me, will be aghast at the idea of feeding perfectly good crumpets to the birds. I would have trimmed the mouldy bits off and eaten them. I know people bang on about mould being bad for you, but we eat Stilton and Quorn. Stilton is mouldy cheese, and Quorn, as far as I can tell, is 100% mould. Anyway, health and wellbeing concerns set aside, we are all, I believe, going to eat a pound of dirt before we die.

I will never feed crumpets to the birds again. The pigeons, who usually go for the bread, had a go but were generally not enthusiastic. The magpie, in contrast filled its beak and headed off somewhere. The robin pounced on the smaller crumbs. But basically, we were left with quite a lot fo crumpet scattered round the garden by birds that were lukewarm about them. Even medium-sized bits weren’t taken with gusto. I think it’s the texture – they just don’t break up like bread. At least it wasn’t as bad as the time we tried pasta.

A Good Start to the Day

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Today, as i so often do, I rose trotted along to the bathroom and looked at the clock. Time, I thought, to start my energetic morning. And for once I was right.

As I sit here. full of potato cakes, sausage and scrambled egg, I feel frugal and well fed. The sausage was one set aside from last night’s meal (sausages with onion gravy and mustard mash – we had to change plans at short notice so I fell back on something easy) and the potato cakes were made from the leftover mash with spring onions, flour and an egg.

As I write, I can hear the soup maker on its final blending cycle (broccoli and leek – I should have used onions but we have too many leeks) and the scent of slow-cooker lamb casserole is filling the house. It’s not quiet the same recipe as the one on the internet (which is so often the case when using online recipes) as the recipe uses just carrots, onions, peas and potatoes as the vegetables. We only had one carrot so I made up the deficiency with sweet potatoes, parsnips and swede. We also had surplus leeks and celery (see above) but it’s true to the spirit of the recipe. However, I was a bit annoyed to find it was New Zealand lamb when I looked at the label. I had assumed, in the absence of information on the supermarket website, that it was British lamb.

And that is pretty much all the news for the day. I am now writing, and that, if I’m lucky, will fill the rest of the day.

This is how I filled some of it.

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

The Sons of Apathy

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I did 300 words on a mythical motorcycle gang earlier today, based on this one. We would, I decided pass our time hanging round on electric mobility scooters annoying teenagers and lecturing the police on how young they look when chastised for geriatric anti-social behaviour. Then I started to wonder if I really could start such a group and go round raising funds for local charities. I often have such ideas. They usually come to nothing, and this will be one of those doomed ideas. I no longer have the energy to do such things. Blame LA, it was one of her comments that started my train of thought. Anyway, by the time I’d finished, I realised I had better things to write about. That really sums me up doesn’t it? I was going to write about “The Sons of Apathy” but I couldn’t be bothered.

Meanwhile, I had the provisional acceptance confirmed (after a discussion of the correct spelling of Breughel). That’s the correct one for all the family apart from Pieter Breugel the Elder, who dropped the “h” in 1559. As this was the man I was writing about, it meant I was wrong, or even worse, sloppy with my research.

The eighth and final editor replied today. I have been trying to get one of my haibun into his magazine since I started writing haibun. It’s probably six or seven years – time flies. I wrote to him to make up the numbers and didn’t expect much, but he has finally accepted one! Not only that, it is one that has been submitted to something like five other editors. Admittedly it’s been tightened up over the years, but it just goes to show the value of persistence and the way that different editors view submissions. So, the final figures for January – nine submissions, eight acceptances. It’s a good start but it’s obviously too good to last.

Finally, we had long-tailed tits in the garden this afternoon and as the light faded the parakeets flew over to their roost in the country park. One day, I hope, one will drop in for a snack.

 

 

The Cormorant Tree

The Days of Adequacy

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I see, on reading today’s comments, that in 2020 I wrote about Iranian Vegetable Stew and included a picture. Yesterday when I wrote about it I had completely forgotten about the first post. And so, my memory, which used to be above average, slides towards “adequate” and I feel the cosmic vibrations of another nail being driven into my coffin. However, adequate is good enough, as the definition suggests.

Spring is coming!

If I were to run through a list of things like my knees, my ability to resist procrastination and my skills in the kitchen (apart from soup) most of them would be barely adequate, if that. You come to a time in life where adequate seems quite a decent standard. My days of being outstanding exist only in my dreams, my days of being average are behind me and I am now entering the days of adequacy.  I will use that as a title. I may even use it as a title for a poem.

That seems to be all I can mange this morning, despite my best efforts. I made a list of jobs to do last night and, believe it or not, I’m keen to make some inroads into the list.

You have to admit they work hard for the food.

Later . . .

The day has gone. It was mainly marked by the use of leftovers. For lunch we had leftover pizza from last week (the third meal of pizza e have had), the surplus potato wedges and onion rings from last night and the slightly sorry looking rocket salad. We seem to be out of tomatoes and are saving the mushrooms, so only had peppers, olives, spring onions and some leftover pine nuts for the salad. I suppose I could have added a bit of fruit and some sweetcorn but I didn’t think of it in time.

This evening we had the quiche we hadn’t got round to using last week with baked potatoes and beans. The beans weren’t left over, but the potatoes are starting to sprout. I added extra grated cheese to the quiche and topped it with the bacon lardons I’d used to make the sprouts with bacon and pine nuts last week. I liked the sprouts with bacon and pine nuts, but haven’t got round to making them again and didn’t want ingredients to go to waste. It was OK but the generally flavourless shop-bought quiche managed to drag the cheddar and bacon topping down, rather than the extra topping dragging the quiche up. It’s a bit like shop bought quiches are filled with anti-flavour.  Now I have the time I may start making my own quiche again.

Electric Scooter with inadequate wire basket on the back. Driver with inadequate knees.

On the birdwatching front, we had long-tailed tits in the garden this afternoon having a feed on the fat balls. I was washing up after lunch when they arrived, so it was pure chance. Ten minutes either way and I’d have missed them.

After the washing up was done, I had a parcel delivery – the locking box for the electric scooter has arrived. It has brackets and instructions so that will be a job for when we get back from Nottingham. I will keep you updated when it is done.

Long-Tailed Tits

Photos are a vaguely relevant selection.

A Few Odds and Ends

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Yesterday we started the day late, with an almost Full English Breakfast for brunch. It was, to be fair, Full enough, and lasted us until the evening, when Julia cooked Iranian Vegetable Stew, which we ate with fresh bread from the bread maker. It’s a stew made with squash, spinach, potatoes, onions, tomatoes and (in our case) cranberries, flavoured with ras el hanout. Julia’s version is similar to the recipe in the link, though there are various versions of the recipe, and after reading the link  I see there are various versions of ras el hanout.

There is, I feel, little point to retirement if you have to get up early and stick to a routine, or even a recipe.

We had black-headed gulls in the garden yesterday. They didn’t stay, just dropped in, grabbed some bread and flew off. We have frequently seen them overhead but this is the first time they have come to feed. We also had white doves. There is a small flock that flies round. I presume somebody local has a dovecote. There is no way to record them on the garden birdwatch site, but at least the gulls were a new species, as was the rabbit.

Then, between darkness falling last night and Julia looking out of the kitchen window this morning, something managed to open the bottom of the peanut feeder and drop the nuts to the floor. It was almost empty so it isn’t a disaster, but at the moment we can’t find the base. We suspect the squirrel is heavily involved. That’s the trouble with squirrels, they just have to escalate things.

Thought this might be Cauliflower Fungus. As I don’t intend eating it, it doesn’t really matter.

Lessons from History

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I wanted to see the heron again

It was the monthly meeting of the Peterborough Military History Group this week and the talk was about the Great War in Serbia with particular reference to six female soldiers and a boy who all fought with distinction. It was quite an eye-opener. I knew the basics, but wasn’t aware that the massacre of Serb civilians was commonplace during the occupation. or that there had been so many female soldiers in the Serbian Army. That’s why history is important. Although I knew there were problems between Balkan states, I hadn’t realised that Serbia had lost between 21 and 27% of its population during the war, including the systematic massacre of civilians by the Central Powers. There was also quite a problem with Albania in the Great Retreat. In the retreat King Peter, veteran of three previous wars and a guerilla campaign, led the civilian column, walking every step of the way and refusing to ride a horse as others had to walk. He was 71 years old. You can see why his people venerated him.

I’m practicing to be artistic. 

The “boy” of the talk’s title, Momčilo Gavrić “enlisted” at the age of eight when his parents, grandmother and seven siblings were killed by Croat troops of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He was adopted by an artillery unit and provided them with information on the location of the troops that committed the crime. The battery was able to open fire on the troops and they allowed him to fire one of the guns to take his revenge. He had an interesting life, but I’ll let you read the rest of it by following the link.

It was, as I say, an interesting talk, and shows what happens when generations of struggle breaks out into warfare, and why that warfare is more savage than you sometimes expect. However, the real question is, what can we do about breaking the cycle? The evidence I see today is not making me optimistic about peace, or even common sense.

Not tempted one of these into the garden yet . . .

 

Getting the Hang of It

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Teasel heads

No, not driving the electric scooter. I had several moments in that again, including a repeat of the track crossing where I came close to running off the path.  It swoops down whilst slanting off to one side and switching angles all at the same time. I probably should take a photo to explain, but I may just stop going that way. Mostly it was OK though and I am getting better at driving it.

Greylag Geese on a grey day

As I stepped outside this morning I noticed something brown and furry on the driveway, disappearing behind the car. I followed, with a sense of rattish foreboding, then looked in amazement as a rabbit hopped out of cover, through the gap in the boundary vegetation (to call it a hedge would be boastful and inaccurate), across a path and onto the grass strip between us and the woodland strip. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a rabbit in the garden.

Rabbit

The day was cold and gloomy, made more cutting by the brisk wind coming off the cold body of water.

I really need to dress better for using the scooter, including finding my gloves. I have several different pairs, but seem unable to find any at the moment. I suppose I will be looking for things for months, or years, to come. That’s the problem with moving in a haphazard fashion. It’s also part of the fun. I have rediscovered so many things in the move, including some I didn’t know I had. In the end I stopped taking photos because of the difficulty in operating the camera with no feeling in my hands.

Cormorant on a buoy

That’s about it for now. I’m going to go and sort some of the stuff we brought from Nottingham this week. The problem is that we have been bringing stuff up without sorting it, so we can get the house cleared out, but we are falling behind with the sorting at this end and the bungalow is in danger of becoming cluttered. That is precisely what we don’t want.

Teasel – me being arty