January 31st 2014

It is unusual to write about butterflies on the last day of January, but today I shall. We first noticed this small tortoiseshell (Aglais urticae) in the second bedroom back in October I think. We were moving the curtains which rarely are closed and there clinging inside a dark fold was our link back to the long hot summer of 2013. As our climate warms overwintering butterflies in the UK are becoming a more common sight, so as that room is cold and above all safe from predators or damp, we left it there. And so it stayed until about 2 weeks ago when it appeared in the lounge, flying about, which was nice to see but not good as it will be using up precious energy reserves. We fed it a 50:50 sugar and water solution and put it back in the spare room. The proper thing really would be to put this out into the shed (who's roof leaks so not good) or the garage (now housing rats it seems) so as it was just when that cold snap began, back into the spare room it went and back to hibernation. This morning the heating was on quite high as Julie is in bed resting on doctors orders, so 'our' butterfly was once again gambolling about the house. It's in beautiful condition as this photo shows, but should not be up and flying. I know on probability it won't make it but that's not the point, I feel responsible for its survival to March and to pass on its genes. And so to put it back into stasis it is now in a box in the greenhouse, not ideal but my only option. What this morning did allow me however was a very close up view of it pumping its wings to fly as it sat on my finger, and later closing down into stasis in the box in the cold greenhouse. Wildlife observation is always fascinating.

January 30th 2014

This was a lovely surprise in the post today, made all the more interesting in that it arrived at the third way mark in my 365 day blog. Today is my 122nd posting and marks the first point of the triangle of my year.

We often get books sent to us in the post from authors but this one caught my eye when it arrived first thing, 'The World in our Hands - we can save our planet and our species if we can share our the and our space'. Often these books are a rehash of well known ideas in another form, but reading the accompanying letter from Mr Pinder I became interested. On the fly-leaf it states 'We count and measure most things in tens, except a 7 day week and a 24 hour day, a 10 day week and a 1000 milliday day would be simpler and more efficient'

Intriguing, especially as within the covering letter Mr Pinder states that if most people shared their job in a ten day working week, they would put far less pressure on the environment an have more time for gardening, walking and other outdoor pursuits'  I particularly like this form of curve ball thinking. Curve ball thinking has its place but with caveats that many times it is not feasible, either intellectually or practically but I hope I am open minded enough to read this and decide for myself if there is a anything but an Utopian concept in this. My weekend reading then, I may begin at 10 minutes to 10 o'clock on the 1st of February.

January 29th 2014

I'm still on medical duties with Julie but getting there so it was nice today to be diverted by some spring flowers on my way into work. January may be heading for one of the wettest months since records began but a consequence of this wet and windy weather is that its been mild. Whilst North America and Canada struggle to get temperatures above minus 20oC, in the UK we struggle to get temperatures below +5oC. As such spring is coming early this year, not least this not very good image of winter aconite and snowdrops. Next I'll be looking for the celendines, one of my favourite of spring flowers as they carpet woodland banks and hedge bottoms with their bright yellow flowers, a sure sign the lanes will be drying out and soon we'll see dust blowing across arable fields again.

January 28th 2014

It has been an interesting 24 hours and as I woke at 3am this was the view that greeted me. I'm not sure what is more worrying, the fact that I woke at 3am, or that I had the presence of mind to look at my bedside table and think, that's quite interesting as a topic for my blog. I blame the tea from that mug, a mug which has special significance to me. Back in 2009 I worked with Sir David Attenborough on his first foray into radio for decades 'Life Stories'. My role then was to be a general everything for Sir David who would write the script, send it to me, I'd fact check it, add suggestions, and send it back ready for the recording. We'd record 4 or 5 programmes in a day and on his final recording day Shauna a PA to the Radio 4 commissioner came to see the great man in action. With her she brought some gifts for Sir David including this mug, he thanked her, and gave it to me. Possibly an awkward moment but I couldn't refuse, could I?

January 27th 2014

This is the corridor into my office, a part of the BBC I walk up and down all day every day and again as part of my year long blog and recording parts of my life in my 50th year it is often easy to overlook the everyday things that happen, those things that we take for granted but one day will stop. Should I worry I have these types of thoughts at my young age? Well no, I've always been fascinated by the routine things of life. How we automatically do them without really thinking about why we do them.

Thomas Hardy put it better in Tess of the d'Urbervilles;

“Don't think of what's past!" said she. "I am not going to think outside of now. Why should we! Who knows what tomorrow has in store? ”

January 26th 2014

This week is Farmhouse Breakfast Week and so to be part of this great British institution, I had a 'Full English' in bed, and I have to say that was delicious.

January 25th 2014

Today we bought 5 more fish. Our fish tank is what they call a desktop starter tank, holding about 2 gallons of water. Enough for half a dozen fish. Initially we had red platy fish but over the year all but one died. That sole survivor was lonely over Christmas, no one to buy him presents, so we set forth to The Water Garden near Swindon and bought another red platy, 2 neon wagtails and 2 bottom scavenging bronze cory (a form of catfish), plus a tank heater. The original tank didn't have a heater so now we're helping to keep the water at an even temperature (possible one of the reasons why some of the fish died). And so here they are, installed and enjoying their new home. I've never really been one for aquariums, but I have to admit I am now spending hours just watching them swimming about. Very relaxing. 

January 24th 2014

Today I seem to have set the hare running, or at least the fungi running if there is such a thing. This fungi appeared recently on the front lawn. A north facing lawn that because of Julie's organic principles is alive with fungi in the autumn. This rosette however appeared after Christmas and it intrigued me. A photograph was duly taken and with the help of a superb naturalist, Richard Comont placed on the British Mycological Society pages for identification. As I write there is still discussion going. Initially it was thougt to be a rare species (a BAP or Biological Action Plan species called Podoscypha multizonata. However this is hosted by dead oak or beech. This is on dead birch roots immediately below the lawn surface. A late runner seems to be a more widespread fungus called Silverleaf, Chondrostereum purpureum, although this prefers fruit trees especially cherry. I just don't know. But that doesn't matter really, I just love the fact that this 20 year old lawn is now of suficient quality that it supports a myriad of fungi, lichen and mosses. Exactly what a lawn should do. Who needs grass anyway!

January 23rd 2014

 

Don't ask me why I liked this image, as I'm not sure why, but I do.

 

I think its the collision of circles and lines that appeals, the image promises a pathway from A to B (although actually its a route to a carpark at work). But that doesn't matter as the saying goes a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. The interesting thing here is that I've walked these steps for 20 years, but something today made me take an interest in their aesthetic quality. Better men than me can work the reason for that out.

January 22nd 2014

 

This was Julie's and then my view for the entire day, today. Julie was transferred into a different room in the Linnet Acute Medical ward overnight and the bed opposite entertained us for 10 hours. Hospitals are not restful places and so we watched this bed and everything around it that happened. Initially a middle aged chap from Tetbury was in the bed, but once he was discharged a chap who'd come in from Honda in Swindon. Time passes slowly in a hospital but uniquely the view constantly changed as nurses and doctors buzzed about the 4 patients. I have a lot of time for medical staff and Dana the ward nurse was brilliant, never tired even at 7pm, 12 hours since she'd begun her shift. But being bedridden literally gave Julie and I time to read a lot, as per the eclectic taste in reading matter below. At 7pm Julie was discharged and we came home via the Chinese fish and chip shop in Marlborough.....bloomin' lovely.

January 21st 2014

 

Although the photographs were taken on the following 2 days I have to admit that the writing happened on Friday the 24th. The reason for the delay in writing may be obvious from the photograph. I was having lunch on Tuesday when I took a call from Julie who was having a repeat attack of her ventricular tachycardia, in other words rapid heartbeat and associated problems. What was remarkable was that a year ago to the day the same thing happened. Last year as with this year an ambulance was called and poor Julie ended up in Swindon's Great Western Hospital A&E department. As with last year I drove over from work and met Julie in the hospital. Unlike last year when I drove to Swindon in a blizzard and ended up in The Holiday Inn Express in Swindon due to being snowbound after a few hours, today it was just heavy rain. The important thing was that Julie was in a good hospital being looked after, which after 6 hours she was moved into the 'Linnet' ward, Acute Medical. Once she was settled I left at 9.15pm and headed home taking this photo on the way out as a reminder of a bizarre anniversary of being in the same hospital 365 days apart.

January 20th 2014

Last year I upgraded my old Blackberry and so I thought today there are a lot of photographs on there (as it turned out over 800) which were a wonderful record of a very busy but very enjoyable time in my working life. They needed downloading onto a hard drive. From 2009 to 2012 I worked on a Radio 4 series called Saving Species and this series had the ambition to broadcast live from the field into the studio every Tuesday morning.  These 4 photographs were from an amazing road trip I did on my own, 8 days in early June 2010, on the road into Scotland, to the very north of Scotland and back. Over 1600 miles round trip and to be honest solo-trips are my favourite, I can really attune myself to my environment in a way I can't when someone joins me. 

The photograph above was taken on some very steep cliffs on the Black Isle north of Inverness. What looks like a cream laptop beside me is a BGAN a satellite transmitter, with me recording the sounds of the sea back into the studio. Later I sent back an interview from this location which by a complete fluke coincided with a pod of dolphins swimming past, wildlife broadcasting doesn't get more immediate than this. The photos below are from the rest of the trip, notes below.

An almost perfect boat trip to the Isle of May in the Firth of Forth to record a couple of interviews with seabird experts, Sarah Wanless from the Centre for Ecology and Hydrology, Mike Harris, a puffin expert, and Francis Daunt, a specialist in attaching underwater cameras to shags. With me was Michael Scott MBE as the reporter, ex chair of Scottish Natural Heritage. The trip there and back was picture postcard perfect with gannets, guillemots, puffins and a host of other seabirds diving into the sea around us as we sped to and from the Isle.

These two photographs are connected. The old cottage now a barn above housed (in 2010) what were thought to be the most northerly breeding pair of barn owls in mainland Britain. Bob Swann from the BTO was interviewed for Saving Species (from the location in the first photograph) and after we'd finished Bob said, would I like to see some barn owl chicks as he had to ring them. Climbing up into the roof space Bob handed each of the three chicks down to me which is when these photographs were taken. I shall remember that feeling of holding these puffball chicks for the rest of my life. I'm so lucky to have this job and be given access to such inspirational people.

January 19th 2014

 

Today I went to photograph a derelict cottage on the Wiltshire/Berkshire border. Soon this cottage will be renevated but it inspired me last year to write this ghost story.

 

I stayed in this house’ she said, ‘but that was long ago’

The window was smeared with rain, winter rain. The type of rain which, if it had more energy would turn to snow, but today, sapped of energy, it remained as rain. Incessant rain.

This would have to be the day when the car broke down in a remote lane miles from anywhere in deepest rural Wiltshire. The last signpost had said something like Shalbourne but not knowing where that was in relation to other towns she knew, it made no difference to Fiona’s sense of desperation and frustration.

‘I’ll just try it one more time’

Nothing, the key was turned and nothing.

‘Agggghh, this car isn’t going anywhere’

Rummaging about in her handbag, she found her mobile phone and started to dial her husband. Hearing nothing she looked at the phone. ‘Call failed’ flashed over the screen. "That’s odd" she thought but looking closer noticed the telltale signs of being in an area of no mobile reception. ‘Oh that’s all I need, now what do I do?’

She took a deep breath and then peered out of the car window, a window obscured with rain, to a landscape of wet ploughed fields and standing water. To her left a small oak copse, the overhead trees dripping raindrops onto her car roof like some form of musical percussion. Ahead and behind her car, only the narrowest of single track lanes she’d driven along after stupidly taking a wrong turning near Hungerford.

For 10 minutes she stared out of the window at the forlorn landscape which now surrounded her, a landscape devoid of life except her; no car passed, not even a farmer heading home to his warm inviting house, probably a wife and children, fire roaring in the grate and a warming cup of tea. "What I’d give to be somewhere warm now drinking a hot cup of tea" she thought. "Well girl, there’s no use sitting here, no knight in shining amour is going to come and rescue me this day, and, as the light is rapidly beginning to fade, I’d better walk to the nearest house and see if I can summon help"

Bleak though the weather looked inside the car, outside it was a lot worse. A low growl of a wind had begun to sway the trees by the car, a wind-borne sound which from a distance reminded Fiona of the low roar one hears when approaching a rough sea with invisible waves crashing on a sandy shore. The wind added to the rain’s bite and as she walked down the lane it was apparent instantly that her shoes were not up to the job. ‘Needs must’ she muttered to herself and, head down, plodded on through the rivulets of water cascading along the lane.

Pulling her coat tighter around her, as she walked Fiona amused herself by recalling the lovely weekend she’d just had with her best friend in Norfolk. She lived near Cley and for four days in the bracing January weather she and her friend had walked along the windswept beaches with the dogs and children in tow, shopping at Burnham Market, and maybe just one too many coffees in local farm shops. Fiona had gone to school with her friend Gail in Salisbury, but then ten years ago Gail had married Peter and upped sticks to Norfolk where Peter made his living as an artist of some renown. They had a perfect life, he was successful in a career cum hobby, she was a devoted mother and wife and they seemed to have it all. Fiona and her husband Colin ostensibly had it all, but they were both career people. He worked for a big multinational that saw him away from home most of the time and Fiona worked for a PR company in London. Rarely did their paths cross these days although recently she’d been allowed to work from home and that had taken some of the commuting strain out of their relationship, one which after 5 years of marriage looked set for failure. Certainly there were no children in her life ‘I’m too busy for that’ Colin would say when Fiona mentioned that they were in their early forties now.

Fiona missed Gail. Unlike friendships made later in life, a friendship from schooldays has a strong and unbreakable bond. So the invite to visit contained in Gail and Peter’s Christmas card was just the impetus she needed. "Pete’s going away to Spain after New Year on a painting trip, I’m at home, come and visit and we’ll have a long girly weekend". At first Fiona thought it’s a long way to go in the winter, but her husband Colin insisted she went ."It will be good to be with Gail, just the two of you" he said. And he was right. They’d laughed and drunk wine and played with the children and slept in the same bed giggling with the dogs in the bed with them. Such a perfect weekend in the middle of winter, but now she was 30 miles from home and walking along a deserted Wiltshire landscape looking for help.

To be honest in any other circumstances the walk along this deserted lane in foul weather would have pleased Fiona. She was an outdoor girl at heart, who somehow had drifted into an indoor job she hated. The feel of the rain on her skin was refreshing while the wind whipped eddies over puddles ahead of her into a series of vibrating mirrors. But she was worried. The light was rapidly beginning to fade and still after 20 minutes in this lane including 10 minutes walking she could see no sign of life, no houses, not even the sound of a distant car. "This is Wilshire" she thought, "I’ve lived in this County all my life but never realised some areas are so rural, where is everyone?" She was just beginning to wonder how much longer it would be before anyone drove along the lane when, as she rounded a corner, there ahead of her a dim light shone like a star through a dark sky of winter trees. It was a good mile away but definitely a light which from this distance seemed to come from what looked like an old thatched cottage set back a few feet from the lane, its porch light dimly lighting the way.

‘At last’ she said, quickening her step. In no time it seemed she found herself at the gate of a lovely old thatched cottage. Herringbone brickwork filled the gaps between stout oak beams; the thatch had seen better days and was deep with moss, making this look more like a woodland shelter for the many animals which presumably made their home in there, rather than a house. Best of all the entire cottage was surrounded by a garden which merged seamlessly into the surrounding woodland. Even in this semi light and snow-whipped driving rain, Fiona stopped at the gate and thought "This is so beautiful, magical in fact, the sort of house I’d love to live in if I could reprioritise my life".

She hesitated for a brief moment before she opened the gate and walked up the flagstone path. As well as the porch light, a room to her left was illuminated. Rather than knocking on the door, Fiona thought best to just check who lives here. She wanted help, but tales of lone women being abducted by strange men were rife in the national press. Silly I know but best to be careful. She need not have worried. Through the window she saw a woman reading in front of a fire. She was probably in her seventies and had a cat curled up next to her by the fire. Fiona noticed the fire, it was bright, strong and most inviting especially when viewed from the ravages of a winter’s day without. She retreated to the porch and knocked on the door, noticing a small sandstone plaque overhead, AD 1790.

‘Ohh hello, my name’s Fiona and my car’s broken down about a mile or so over there’ she said pointing in a vague direction to where she’d walked from. ‘Do you possibly have a telephone I could use to summon help?’

‘Oh my dear girl’ said the woman at the door ‘you look frozen. Come in, come in and warm yourself. This is no day to be outside. I’m afraid though I don’t have a telephone; I live on my own here and have few friends so never saw the point of having it installed after my husband died. I am though expecting a visit from my nephew first thing in the morning; he has a car and can help you I’m sure. You’re welcome to stay the night. Apart from my nephew, I haven’t had a visitor here for weeks so on a night like this I’d welcome some company. I’m sorry I haven’t a phone for you to get help sooner but it’s a long way to the next house at the edge of the village, nearly 4 miles further on’

Fiona tried not to look crestfallen, looking once more at her mobile for salvation: ‘No network coverage’. Had she really found the only house in Wiltshire with no telephone in her hour of need? But on the plus side the lady, who Fiona discovered was called Mrs. Beddoe, looked genuinely happy to have a stranger in her house overnight, she seemed very kind and as by now it was almost dark, Fiona didn’t really have an option.

Mrs. Beddoe showed Fiona into the warm lounge which she’d seen from the outside and although surprisingly her cat left the room quickly.

‘Sit yourself down Fiona’ Mrs. Beddoe said. ‘I’ll pour us a whisky and hot water, that should warm you up nicely.’

Fiona sat in a very comfortable armchair, her legs stretched out towards the blazing fire feeling the warmth return to her body while she sipped her whisky. Mrs Beddoe chatted about her life. She’d been in the military intelligence service just after the war and had travelled across North Africa and Europe helping the allies rebuild a war-ravaged landscape. But all that changed when in her early 50’s she met and married a local farmer at an out of the way place called Wexcombe on the Wiltshire Hampshire border. Sadly he died just a few years after they were married and that is how she came to be at this cottage. It belonged to the farm which passed to her brother-in-law and she had been left it in his will to live in rent free during her lifetime.

‘I’m so glad he did that’ she said ‘otherwise I’d have had nowhere to go. I’m very happy with my books and my cat. We live simply and quietly but it is the woods and landscape that surround the cottage that is my first love now; it is so beautiful in spring when the woods are alive with bird song and carpeted with bluebells. Maybe in the spring you can visit me again and see for yourself’

By now Fiona was feeling almost restored to her former self, and inwardly made a note to take up Mrs. Edward’s kind offer of another visit in May when the bluebells come into flower. Even on a bleak day in January when her mind was on her broken car and getting home, Fiona could tell the landscape was stunning. Mrs Beddoe was a wonderful host and repeated how lovely it was to have a visitor in the house again after so many years without having anyone to talk to. At 8pm she provided a light omelette supper before they both retired to bed well before 10 o’clock.

Fiona lay in her bed in the low ceilinged spare room listening to the storm which had developed outside. The cold rain of the afternoon had now turned to wet snow. The snow wouldn’t settle but as she lay there listening to the howl of the wind through the trees around the cottage she welcomed Mrs Beddoe’s generosity. It was a shame she couldn’t get home that night but she was warm, felt really at home here and she could think of a lot worse places to find shelter in on a day like this. Going to bed this early was unusual for Fiona so she got up and opened the bedroom window curtains; wet snow was sliding down the glass in great gusts as the wind blew in gusts from the east. Getting back into bed she watched the snow fall, letting the forces of nature envelop her as she closed her eyes for the last time.

She woke after a deep sleep to the aroma of cooking downstairs. Mrs Beddoe had obviously been up for a while and was making breakfast. Eggs, bacon, fresh bread and tea. The house felt lived in, it felt warm, and not for the first time during her visit Fiona felt more at home here than in her own home in Salisbury. "What was it?" she wondered as she came down to breakfast "what is it that makes me feel so at home here?" Mrs Beddoe beamed a smile and motioned her to the table. My nephew will be here soon" she said "so eat up quickly and then he’ll help you with your car"

And he did come. Peter, a good looking man in his early forties, with a gentle pleasing manner much like his aunt and instantly Fiona felt drawn to him, as if she’d known him all her life. After the introductions he said he’d drive Fiona to a garage about 6 miles away and they should be able to come out and tow her car back there and she could also contact her husband from there. Colin, she’d forgotten about Colin. He must wonder where she is. How could she have forgotten about her husband so easily?

Hastily Fiona made her goodbyes to Mrs Beddoe and then joined her nephew in his car for the few miles drive to the garage. The snow overnight had settled in the fields but the roads were clear. A small herd of deer, startled by an early car, pranced across a white ploughed field before leaping through a hedge. But the wind and bad weather of yesterday had awoken as a perfect blue-sky winter’s day. As they drove through the countryside the sun’s warmth began to melt the snow on branches which fell in small drifts onto the road. Overhead a red kite glided lazily across the sky.

The garage was just opening as they arrived and with the help of Mrs Beddoe’s nephew, the garage mechanic was told where Fiona’s car could be found before he then made his apologies as he had to get back to his aunt. The mechanic apologised to Fiona that he couldn’t leave the garage for about half an hour, not until the owner arrived to look after the place; but she was welcome to stay and wait. Obviously she had nowhere else to go and so not wishing to delay Mrs Beddoe’s nephew any more she said goodbye and asked him to thank his aunt once again, adding, ‘tell her I will come and visit when the bluebells are out’. As he drove off back down the road to the cottage he cheerily waved out of the driver’s window and was gone, and Fiona felt a pang of having lost something important, but she didn’t know why.

"STOP! STOP STOP!!" shouted Fiona and with a deep lurch the garage recovery truck skidded to a halt on the wet lane. They had been retracing her morning drive along the lane, the same lane she’d walked along the afternoon before. The truck had now stopped outside the cottage which had been her place of refuge last night. Except it wasn’t a cottage now, it was a ruin. The thatched roof had collapsed in on itself, a small oak tree grew out of the hole which had once been the window of the lounge she’d relaxed in, the gate was off its hinges and a huge crack was zigzagging through one of the herringbone brick panels on the wall.

Fiona’s heart was pounding, her mouth was dry. "This can’t be" she thought.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked the mechanic, ‘why have we stopped here?’

For a few moments Fiona couldn’t speak, but then she got out of the recovery truck and ran around to the cottage, as if by running towards the cottage it would be miraculously returned to how she remembered it just an hour ago. The driver, looking worried and confused now, also got out of the truck and came towards her by the porch ‘are you okay?’ he asked.

‘I was here last night’ Fiona said, ‘I slept in this house’

The driver looked baffled. ‘No you must be mistaken; this house has been derelict for over 30 years, maybe it was another house you stayed in further along the lane’

‘No No’ said Fiona, ‘it was this one’ she was feeling hysterical now. ‘I remember the herringbone bricks, the woodland surrounding it and there look above the door in the porch, I remember this plaque AD 1790. I don’t understand how this can be’

‘Come on’ said the driver, we can’t stay here this is a godforsaken place, they say bad things happened here one winter’s night years ago and ever since people hereabouts have avoided the place’.

‘I’m telling you I stayed here last night, how else would I be here standing next to you by a recovery truck heading down here to collect my car? You saw me being dropped off by the nephew of the cottage owner, he was coming back here to collect his mother.’

‘Well I can’t answer that. I’m afraid I didn’t recognize the man you came with and I know most people around here’ he said ‘but I’m telling you this house has been derelict for years, ever since the previous owner was killed in her kitchen’

‘Killed in her kitchen, you mean murder?’

‘Yes’ he said ‘It was long before my time here but when I passed this cottage for the first time I said to someone it would be a lovely place to restore and live in as it is in an idyllic spot, but they warned me off with the story of what had happened here. If I can remember the poor woman who was murdered lived alone. Her husband had died some time before. I think she was called Mrs Beddoe’.

Fiona shot him a look of horror. He went on.

‘Apparently it was stormy night and some say the old lady had a visit from a woman who it was thought was the wife of the woman’s nephew. Apparently the young couple had rowed as she was leaving her husband having met someone over East Anglia way I think. This nephew was a bad lot by all accounts and his temper had flared up and he had attacked his wife so she fled their house in Salisbury and the police believe she was on her way to her new lover. But for some reason she stopped at the cottage. Why this was is a mystery, some say it was to warn the old lady she was leaving her nephew, others that she was frightened about what he would do next having already attacked her. But whatever the reason, the old lady put her niece-in-law up for the night, but in the morning the husband arrived at breakfast time and in the ensuing row he’d killed his mother in the kitchen before driving off with his wife. The police never did find the couple, where they went remained a mystery for months, but 18 months later, in springtime a car belonging to the couple was found in a woodland lane, not far from here, a very remote spot few people ever drive along, near a small clump of oak trees. In the boot of the car, the police discovered the remains of a young man who had died they believe from a single blow to the head with a heavy blunt instrument, something like a car jack. They think he’d been dead just a few days as by his body lay a small bunch of bluebells tied with a red ribbon, the bluebells in the woods were still in flower at the time.

‘I always remember that strange fact, that the killer left bluebells on the body’ he said, ‘such a strange thing to do.’ He went on, ‘ever since then no one has come near to the house so it slowly fell into disrepair, which is sad as it would make such a lovely family home’.

Fiona had tears in her eyes now; she was confused and not a little frightened. That story, her night in the cottage, the bluebells, she didn’t know what to say. The mechanic taking her silence and tears as shock on hearing the story put a comforting arm around her shoulders and led her down the garden path towards the truck.

Come on, this is no place to stay and linger’ he said ‘it’s got an air of sad melancholy about it, come on , let’s go, before adding ‘Hop in; our car is just around the corner, beside a small clump of old oak trees I believe’

Fiona only half registered these last words; "our car" surely he meant ‘my’ car? She must have misheard him; her mind was playing tricks now. Yes that must be it. So full was her head of the tale, the ruined cottage and the old lady she wasn’t thinking straight, she just wanted this nightmare to end and get home to her husband

So full was her mind, so preoccupied was she with these facts all tumbling around in her head that as she reached the truck to began to climb in, the words of the mechanic didn't fully register. " a bad business that, but time to get you sorted, call me Peter by the way, I'm Peter Beddoe".
  

January 18th 2014

 

A full day at the Richard Jefferies Museum, Coate near Swindon today. Last year I was kindly asked to join the Trustees of the Museum at a time when it is going through a major transition. I first visited the Museum in 2011 after years of wishing to visit. It is a hidden gem to this genius of a writer. However the Museum was showing its age and being largely run by volunteers it was struggling to keep going as visitor numbers continued to decline. Yet today (although there is a very long way to go) the drive of the Trustees of the new relaunched Museum Trust was so stimulating. Today was a brainstorming day, no set agenda, but aiming to put the benchmark foundations in place for the next step. I loved being with positive people, all with superb ideas to both modernise the Museum whilst also maintaining its core values. A lot of work to do and to be honest others are inputting more than me due to their superb experience and drive, but an early May soft launch will assess if we are going in the right direction. A very positive focused day.

 

January 17th 2014

 

Tonight I planned to write about sunshine on the way home from work. For the first time since Christmas the sun was above the horizon as I walked out of the gate. This light and shadows against a gable end caught my eye and made me have an extra spring in my step. After taking the photo I put my phone in my pocket and drove to Wiltshire. Downloading that image next to it was the image below, which must have been taken somehow. And I like it. Modern art in the flash of the shutter.

January 16th 2014

 

How do we collect so much paper in a digital age? Tonight is a catch up with 4 months of accounts and receipts. After over an hour I'd lost the will to live and so to entertain myself I took this photograph to remind myself of the need to do this regularly. The glass bowl by the phone is my filing system which I think is particularly impressive. After 2 hours I'd finished and retired to the garden to burn all the receipts and other paper containing personal information. Which was nice - in the rain!

January 15th 2014

I have Viking blood coursing through my veins, tough northern blood capable of felling a moose with a single blow. Or at least that's what I try and convince myself of when I stub my toe and squeal like a piglet. From childhood I've been fascinated by my Norwegian and Swedish ancestry, and it is not ancient history as my grandfather was called the wonderful Harald Eugen Oscar Johnson. Although born in South Shields in what was then County Durham, his parents were from Norway (with Swedish ancestry) and settled in England as economic migrants in the late 19th Century. For years we believed the name Johnson was anglicised from the original Johansen, however a bit of digging by another member of the family uncovered Johansen-Berg as the original name. I need to do some digging myself I think. But this fascination with my Scandinavian roots (and my manic gloomy persona) has been with me as long as I care to remember. Recently I stumbled across the 'Orkneyinga Saga' and not knowing anything about it have bought the book. I'm just about to read it and the 300 year old history of the Kings of Orkney around 900-1300 AD, when Orkney was economically, politically and culturally closer to Norway than Scotland. I feel a visit coming on especially when I've read about Thorfinn Skull-Splitter in the introduction. I bet he could fell a moose with one blow too!

January 14th 2014

A new toy arrived today, an Olympus ME-31 Condenser gun-microphone. For work I use full scale professional microphones and recording devices. The recording devises are over £3,000 and some of the microphones costing as much. Plus there is all the paraphernalia and so on, its an expensive business. But I, and my colleagues, are doing this for broadcast. In my spare time I still like to play about with sound and recently I've invested in a mini recorder, an Olympus LS-11 which we use a lot of the time at work and is absolutely brilliant for what I want, to have a small hand held recorder with me so that if something happens while out and about, I can make a recording. The results are superb for such a small kit, but what it is not good at is recording directional sound, say from a bird in a tree. This is because the microphones are at a 90 degree V on the machine, which is perfect for speech. I've therefore invested in a relatively inexpensive mini gun-microphone, which I'll trial over the coming weeks. As the name would suggest gun microphones can be pointed at the subject and  in simple terms focus on that sound rather than the ambient sound around it. So for example if a gun microphone is pointed directly at a singing bird in a tree, a clearer recording is made of the bird and the background ambiance of the woodland is reduced. Ideally a parabolic reflector and microphone would be used in this case but they are cumbersome and from my own experience can be frustrating as they can pick up too much background noise, such as a nearby road. So I plumped for the mini gun-mic which while it will never match the professional quality of my work kit, it is compact, easy to carry in a pocket and will I hope provide some fun in the weeks to come.

January 13th 2014

My working day today has been taken up by a full day 'Safety' course. This mandatory course needed to be done as it is over 5 years since I attended the last one. Often these courses are as dull as ditchwater, where did that phrase come from, but today's was lively and informative. So that's me done for another 5 years, it will see me out. To remind myself then a photo of the College of Journalism sign at the top of the stairs, actually it covers half the wall at the top of the stairs.

By the way I've just done a bit of research into where 'as dull as ditchwater' comes from, and can't find anything out other than it has been in English usage since 1700's. Will need to do some more digging as to its origin.

January 12th 2014

 

After yesterday and unbroken sunshine, today was a bit dreek to say the least. A walk was on the cards so where to go that allowed for a longish walk but not to end up being soaked and enveloped in mud. Chew Valley Lake.

 

After a coffee and chat we headed off along the gravel path which skirts the lake. Even though the path is hard standing in places after all this rain it was impossible to remain dry. The lake water level was as high as I've ever seen it, so I never thought we'd reach the hide half way along the bittern trail. What a surprise then to stumble across a brand new hide to replace the dilapidated hide, which was no more than an open shed with a roof. This new hide is very des-res ornithology as ably demonstrated by my lady assistant. This is the second new 'improved' hide I've been into recently and that previous one was also spacious and inviting. I hope this is a gathering trend as there is nothing quite as off putting for the novice birder than to open the door on a traditional hide and either find it in pitch darkness and the windows wont open easily, or to be confronted by a row of camouflaged gentlemen looking around disapprovingly because ones kagool rustles.  These new hides are the way ahead. Marvellous!

January 11th 2013

Gardening; As Thomas Jefferson said 'No occupation is so delightful to me as the culture of the earth, and no culture comparable to that of the garden'.

I have been fascinated by gardens and gardening since I was a tiny child. Before going to infants school I remember hosting a flower and plant stall in my back garden to allow my parents and neighbours to buy, at an extortionately high price, some wild flowers (weeds) I'd potted up and gathered from the garden. As long as I can remember I've enjoyed lawn mowing too, possibly my favourite job of the year is the first spring cut when that sent of new mown grass pervades the air, spring has arrived. I love too that sense of bringing order to the garden that a good day of weeding and digging brings with it and a weed free bed of newly turned soil.  Today then as the sun bore down upon us from an azure blue sky after a walk around Cheddar reservoir, the pull of a 50% off sale at the local garden centre was too much to resist. Left forground 6 Euronymus for £5.99 and at the back 2 variagated Ilex ( one each of male and female) at £7.50 each. The latter I wish to plant up in two large pots and create a feature on the patio which will also double up as a Christmas feature in years to come. I love gardening, but I love a bargain almost as much.  

January 10th 2014

Having a bit of a walk at lunchtime to take in the Clifton air I walked past a garage I used for a while to get my car serviced. The chap who ran it died suddenly a few years ago and since then I've not been past there.  Today walking past it is all change. The garage now seems to restore and service classic cars, of which this wonderfully restored Austin-Healey 'frogeye' Sprite was on full display in the showroom. The Mark1 Austin sprite was a cousin to the MG midget, a car as a teenager I wanted to own. My uncle had a 'frogeye' when they first came out of which there is a good story I may recall one day. What was remarkable is how small these cars seem now to today's beefed up cars due to the myriad of safety features now installed. Also in the garage was a 1980's Ford Cortina, which parked next to a modern Peugeot 306 looked tiny in comparison. I like classic cars for their elegance and simplicity, although not in any sepia way, modern cars are much more reliable and well built, but rarely now have any character. Which is sad.

January 9th 2014

 

Working from home today and one of the joys of doing so is being able to take screen breaks involving the antics of the birds on the feeders. Most mornings I have around 30 house sparrows lined up on the fence waiting to feed. I'm lucky, with the national decline of this species some areas close by have not seen a cheeky sparrow for years. As ever when there are half a dozen bold and brazen males on the feeders I don't have my camera and then when I get my camera ready the birds fly off. As a record image then, a couple of females feasting on the seeds.

January 8th 2014

 

From this microphone 1.2 million people get to listen to the warm liquid tones of Monty Don. It has felt like the last day of term today, a strange feeling since it is the first week of the new year, however today was the final studio recording day for Radio 4's Shared Planet. Series 1 at least. The day also coincided, more by fluke than planning, with my 100th posting on my personal 365 day blog diary. What better way then to celebrate my 11th programme in the series than to write about it, the Medicinal Planet which will be broadcast on January 21st. Shared Planet has been part of my life since 2010 with research and planning, a full 3 years before it was commissioned. And then we were off and into production in May last year, my working life consumed for the next 7 months. So that's that for the moment, the wonderful team I am part of can take a brief rest before we crank up again for Series 2 in June. Without that team we'd never had made it the success that it seems to have become. In my dotage I shall remember this day, the script, the recording and that end of term feeling and forget about the blood sweat and tears that occasionally manifested itself during the run.

January 7th 2014

 

I've been waiting for my old friends to pop up for a week or so. I'd been looking for them before the Christmas break but they were keeping well below ground and yet today my patience was rewarded with their return.  These daffodils are the earliest I know to flower in Bristol, planted at some time long forgot around a horse chestnut in the garden of the Catholic Cathedral in Clifton. Usually their first green shoots poke through in December, as can be seen here in a blog entry from December 10th 2007. I'm not sure of the variety but I'm guessing something like January gold as they usually flower before the end of January and looking at how advanced these are, they may be out in a week or so if it remains mild.

 

I get so excited seeing these particular daffodils emerge as it brings a renewed sense of moving forward, nights getting lighter and the merest hint of a spring to come after the dark days of mid December. Having said that this morning was so dark and stormy even by 8.30am streetlights remained lit. And yet, by 4.30pm when the photograph below was taken it was mild, calm and for the first time in many weeks I managed to get 20 minutes sitting in the garden with a cup of tea after arriving home after work. It felt great, I can feel my old energy returning and for me there are few things more pleasurable than being able to sit outdoors at dusk in the first part of the year and feel fresh air envelope me. All I need now is a blackbird singing a territorial call from a high rooftop and I'll be in seventh heaven.

 

January 6th 2014

 

As I walked into work today this abandoned Christmas tree by the side of the road summed up the end of the festive period. Presumably decorated, loved and admired for 3 weeks or so, it overhung presents, it twinkled lights, but like an old slipper no longer worn, today it was thrown into the street awaiting its fate. Twelfth Night and all that.

January 5th 2014

There is more of me behind now than in front
 

I realised today that in this 365 day long blog, I'd not taken a photograph of myself. As a record of the past, present and future over the twelve month of my 50th year it seems remiss to not record what I looked like at this time. And so I set too. There is a lot of talk on social media about 'selfies' these days, but for me a good self portrait tells a story. As a teenager I discovered Julia Margaret Cameron who produced for me some of the most evocative female portraits in Victorian times. Now I'd never put myself in the same camp as Julia Cameron but over the years I've loved some of the monochrome images which tell a journey through a single snapshot in time. We rarely know what happened just before or just after the shutter snapped and that's what makes the image fascinating. In a way this blog is a way to encapsulate the mundane, the exciting and the mood across my own snapping shutter on April 1st. I enjoyed taking these self portraits. These two in particular I love and so they get into the posting today.

 

From my window all moments of life pass

January 4th 2014

Another dire and wet day as another low pressure front comes in to deluge an already sodden land. A good day to crack on with a job I've been meaning to do for a long time. As part of this I put together my 1980's Hi-Fi separates, including the turntable which has been languishing unloved for a few years under the stairs. Wonderful to get it all working well again and I'd forgotten how wonderful an experience it is getting a vinyl LP out of its paper sleeve and physically put it onto the turntable. Kate Bush, Never for Ever which I was given as a present at Christmas 1980. I can recall playing it at my childhood home, at the farm when I'd left home at 16 and now in 2014, 34 years later, in Somerset. Playing it takes me back, and, I can remember when every click and scratch on the LP was about to come along. How is that, how over those 34 years has my brain remembered the sequence of clicks and scratches. Memory is an astonishing thing!

January 3rd 2014

 

Working from home today. Which gave me an opportunity to head off at lunchtime to my local piece of Somerset coastline to see what if anything had happened after the storm and high tide at 7am. I can see Sand Point, the hill in the distance of this photograph as I write this in my office. It's about a mile away. The bay, Sand Bay, is a special place of mine just 4 fields away and I realised I've not mentioned it in this year long blog yet. I love it as it is a world away from Weston super Mare over and around the opposite headland to the south. I do a lot of bird-watching here, it is a good passage migrant spot and holds good numbers of waders in the winter, plus birds like merlin and if lucky short eared owl. Today though in the half an hour I wandered about in very strong wind there was nothing more exciting than a flock of starling wheeling aloft in the gusts. It's always wild and windswept here and before I got to know Wiltshire well, it was where I came to escape the rat race for a moment and walk the three mile round trip in relative isolation. And that is important. As is the importance of knowing that from this office window as the crow flies, there is Sand Bay, the Bristol Channel opening out into the Atlantic and next stop America 3,000 miles away. That could explain why it's often windy here!

January 2nd 2014

 

It is a necessary evil at times to shop in a supermarket. Take yesterday. I'd been away for most of Christmas and was returning to the Somerset abode where my cupboards were more empty than a wannabe famous at all costs celebrity head. Christmas has passed and so with every household in the land now fed to bursting, the world and his wife had descended on Sainsbury's to restock. After all they may waste away if they don't eat 5 square meals a day. The place was heaving and absolutely ghastly. But I needed milk and fruit. The local farm shop is best for fruit but the road getting there was flooded and so with best brave pants on I ventured into the den on iniquity. And took this photo.

 

Even buying 3 punnets of grapes for £5 worked out more expensive by 40p a kilogramme than buying a bag of loose grapes (£ per kilogramme) in the box underneath it. I had to take a photograph as bargains are not bargains if they cost you more in my book.  I bought loose, loose is good!

January 1st 2014

 

It may be a New Year but 2014 has arrived in Wiltshire as it pretty much left 2013 with deluge after stormy deluge playing havoc with us over the Christmas period. Yet another low pressure is sweeping across the Atlantic to batter the West and South of Britain. As I write this there has just been a gust which rattled across the house like an express train.

 

But this being a new day of a New Year I'm feeling positive and so this morning as the gales picked up I did 3 sound recordings to remember this day by. I absolutely love bad weather and so here they are;

 

First recording: Outside the house are 2 birch trees, this is the gale force wind through those trees first thing this morning

 

http://soundcloud.com/wessex_reiver/new-years-day-2014-wind01

 

Second recording: This time as the wind and rain blew outside I wanted to record the sound of rain battering the window in the office, something I have heard many times before.

 

http://soundcloud.com/wessex_reiver/new-years-day-2014-wind02

 

Final recording: My final recording from New Years Day is from inside the greenhouse. I love the sound of rain on the glass when working away in there, and today with the storm raging it really says wild elements to me.

 

http://soundcloud.com/wessex_reiver/new-years-day-2014-wind03

 

I shall remember waking to those sounds in the years to come. Happy New Year.