peewit and wisdom

Normally I'd be out at dawn with my tea, watching and waiting to see what might come along. This can eat a big chunk out of the morning when your most productive period is the time before most people are out of bed. 

Midsummer's dawn, though, was chilly and wet as old heck. So I lit the fire and got on with this picture, and finished it in time for lunch. It's the lapwings in the field opposite, mobbing a buzzard. Bolshy blighters, lapwings. Yesterday morning the local seagulls got bored of playing chess with the crows in the south field, and tried to create some lebensraum in the lapwings' field. It did not end happily.

The rain stopped, the sun even came out for a while, and I popped into Devizles with the toilet tank that needed emptying. It's been sitting outside for several days, oppressing me. When I changed tanks over, I had to scrape some slugs off the empty one before I inserted it into the Thetford bog. As I was doing so, I saw Labrador Woman looking appalled.

"I'm just scraping the slugs off" I said, lest she might be thinking I was emptying the damn thing in the hedge. Then I realised that my explanation was hardly helpful in building bridges between the Nice People and us ditch gypsies. 

Hands across the ocean. Ect ect. 

cheesy buntings

It was crazy bonkers mad here this morning, let me tell you. I took my bucket of tea up to the conning tower and surveyed the dawn. It was kicking off like Stokes Croft on a Friday night when a new Banksy's appeared; over the hill a herd of cattle were apparently murdering each other. The rooks were sharing dirty jokes in the trees on the skyline. The yellowhammer complained endlessly about a lack of cheese, and was meanwhile taunted by the reed bunting, who assured us that he had sixty flavours of cheeses.

An odd grunting, almost lost in the aural clutter, in the reeds opposite. I waited. And then waited some more. Presently, the reeds shook and with a great PLOP the otter dropped into the water. A gentle wave advancing along the bank, and a bowing of the reeds, marked its passage, a hundred yards along and then up into the cave of an overhanging hawthorn. The briefest of shadows, and then silence. 

Presently, a tubby torpedo hurtled towards me. I kept very still; kingfishers are fond of perching on boat tillers. At the very last moment, it noticed me and peeled off; the sun that shines straight down the cut at dawn caught it in an explosion of red and blue.

It settled in the fallen tree. We waited. Presently it plummeted down, then reappeared, perched, smacked its bill, and went on its way.

Cycling down the towpath yesterday, I passed a boater who was carting her baggage onto the boat. She had a large and expensive looking camera. "Got any good shots?" I asked. "Oh, no, I'm a professional photographer," she said. 

lapwing central

Something new at every mooring. Out here in the Vale of Pewsey, we're moored near a new long barrow, built for people who want to spend eternity in the style that was fashionable several thousand years ago. The people who built the original barrows were swept away by history. Following the news of murders by far right terrorists over the last couple of days, I wonder how much longer our brief flowing of culture will last.

In the great open fields, lapwings call and rise up to chase away any potential predators, and sometimes tumble around the sky for the joy of it. 

The other day they divebombed a buzzard that was in the field; it was a dramatic scene, and I've been trying to capture it. Experimenting with scraper board, inspired by the work of Kay Leverton. And realised that I've got a long way to go with learning how to use the medium.

...so reverted to my canal pictures while thinking about it.

a verse to Brexit

Where is this country you want back?

It wasn't yours to start with.

It's still the land of all-right-Jacks,

And you're the arse they fart with.

canal cuisine

I woke up the other morning, hopped out of bed and the boat started rocking as though we were side seas in a storm. Unusual behaviour on a canal on a bright and calm June morning. 

It wasn't the boat, it was something in my head. Off to the medics I went; it's either labyrinthitis (an infection of the inner ear) or possibly something else... so I'm off to see the ENT folk soon. My kind GP referred me for an emergency appointment. 

"How will you contact me?" I asked the receptionist.

"By post" she said.

In present NHS terms, I guess that emergency means sooner-than-two-years. I'm grateful we've still got the NHS. 

So I'm not very good at moving around much, as vertigo and nausea cut in. On the plus side, if I sit still and draw pictures, that's mostly fine.

I saw the drowned fox floating near the Avoncliff aqueduct, and wanted to paint it. Finally did, then. It was of course Sherry Jim wot ate the badger.

cuckoos and fieldguns

At its usual time, the otter bumped and splashed its way along the underside of the boat. I checked; 0120. I thought of scrambling to the after hatch to see if I could see it, but remembered all the piles of stuff in the way and I couldn't find my torch. The bumping receded; then there was a whistly sort of noise in the distance. Then silence.

When I reawoke, it was twilight and the birds were singing. I made strong tea and went outside. In the still air, high jetliners traced slow white lines into the sunlight that was yet to reach down to the vale.

The strange bird's peeping noise that had flummoxed me yesterday was there again, close at hand. I finally saw linnets; a first for me.  

me old cock linnet

...and me old hen linnet too, guv, gorblimey

 It was a morning it was hard to tear myself away from; the heron warned of its passing with a polite cronk, and I grabbed the camera just in time.

The kestrel flew into its nest hole in the solitary oak.

As the day warmed up, we heard a cuckoo from far across the fields.

in the summerlands

Tiff, Matt and Gabbs the dog

A new picture- Tiff filling up the water tank on her boat. 

We're up in the summer lands now- the Vale of Pewsey, very peaceful. And very poor internet signal!

Here's a passing red kite....

...and one of a family group of young long tailed tits, who were all around me; I had to stand still for ages and keep watching before I started to see them.

...and finally, an idea for a poster competition that is being organised to mark the opening of the new improved towpath at Bathampton.... hands across the ocean...