A Song Bird on my Pillow

Well perhaps not a songbird, but I can hear a tawny owl calling in the garden and that is even better.

Early mornings are my favourite time of day. 

The world is fresh and brand new and I am free to do what I want, without interruption.   Time is all mine, the house is all mine, and the sun will rise especially for my benefit.

Morning shadows, strong coffee, and solitude - if we discount the cats and Toby - a blissful hour or two which belong to me.

The very air seems fresh, clean, and full of potential.    My energy levels are high (probably thanks to the coffee) and all is well in my little bubble.

Two coffees down and if the weather is even half decent I am ready for the off.    There is a beautiful world out there and I want to be out in it enjoying the birdsong, the drumming of the woodpecker (still haven't caught sight of him), watching out for the deer, rabbits and hares, always hoping to catch sight of the magnificent fox I spotted a few weeks ago.

I have time to admire the dewdrops sparkling in sunlight, the sumptuous green velvet mosses and the marvellous lichens and fungi,  as I keep watch for the emergence of primroses, bluebells and other wildflowers.

I become almost tipsy on morning air.

Sometimes our walk takes us past the watermill, don't often see it set amidst snow like this.   In the grounds I took a few moments to watch the two resident goats and then I spotted one of the wallabies, all the animals seemed quite happy with their snowy landscape.

Decisions, decisions.  Should I take a left turn and walk along the bridle path, or turn right for one of the prettiest little hamlets around here...

Neither.  The conditions underfoot are not great for someone who has terrible balance, it is time to head home. 

Back under the arch of the old railway bridge.

Home awaits, so do the daily chores.


The old Vanity Fair song makes perfect sense to me:

"Evening is a time of day I find nothing much to say
Don't know what to do
But I come to   
When it's early in the morning
Over by the window day is dawning
When I feel the air
I feel that life is very good to me, you know.."



I have always been an early riser (much to the despair of my poor parents!) and find mornings a magical part of the day.

Are you a morning or an evening person?

English Muffins with Vodka, Beer, Takeaways and Chocolate

I admit that I have been turning a blind eye to the accumulation, perhaps hoping that it would all just melt away, or that the  Good Fairy would come along and sort everything out.    By yesterday it was still there and I could ignore it no longer. 

Time to gather up a couple of sacks, my 'grabber' and some stout gloves and get to work.    The lane which runs along the side of our property and down to the railway bridge was in need of a good litter-picking session.

I probably cut a comic figure as I drag my sacks along behind me, filling them up with the detritus that others just cannot be bothered to take home with them but, well, someone has to do it, the council won't and it probably irritates me more than most people because I walk that lane every day.

Sweetie wrappers, chocolate wrappers, several takeaway containers and plastic food wrappers, several vodka bottles (and it is almost always vodka bottles rather than other spirits)  countless beer and fizzy drinks cans, rubber gloves, the odd dog poop bag.    By the end I had gathered up the best part of one and a half sacks of rubbish and recycling.

This is one tiny lane in a quiet part of the countryside, scary to think how much rubbish is abandoned with such thoughtlessness every day.     I once came across a whole wodge of lottery tickets - very exciting - of course I had to check them out, but no winners among them, darn it!

Feeling a bit under the weather today, aching bones, streaming eyes, hacking cough.   

Which makes it a good day to sit by the fireside and indulge in some homemade English Muffins.

I know they are inexpensive to buy, but homemade ones are so much nicer

and very easy to make.

I'll put the recipe up another day.

Through the Arch

This green and leafy archway is at the far end of one of Farmer T's barley fields.  On those rare summer days when the sun is shining, and the field is shimmering with heat, it beckons with a promise of coolness and shade.

Old railway sleepers have been used to form a series of steps

I always have to smile when I reach the top, for there is a signpost, hiding its' head amongst the foliage.

The bank is the old railway line, it was closed in the 1960's and since then nature has been allowed to run riot.

Up one side, over the bank, then another drop down into Farmer B's field.   The official track cuts through the field - but it means a walk along a different lane - Dobson finds that far too scary - so we cut along the side of the field and emerge through the hedge near the old railway bridge which marks the start of Little Bunting.   We walk through the archway, up the lane, and we are home.  

This battle-scarred bridge was built in the 1840's.    A few weeks ago a skip lorry driver didn't bother to read the warning signs.   He drove through with the arms raised, causing a lot of masonry to fall.   As a result, the bridge was closed for three or four weeks, causing a long detour for drivers and problems for local businesses.  It was bliss without the traffic, just ask Dobson.

He arrives home exhausted with the stress of it all.

fliss&max