Day 240

Sunday 15 November

It’s really felt like the day after, the day before. We woke to torrential rain and strong wind battering our bedroom window. It makes a lively sound whilst lying in bed, climbing out of my metaphorical pit of sleep.

But with it came a leak through the window seal dripping on the downstairs floor. Nothing that can’t be sorted in the spring when we get the house painted, but a pain nevertheless. This was followed by a phone call from our next-door neighbour to say the water level was high in her loo, meaning I had to go outside and rod the drains. I’ve got pretty good at that over the years.

Country living, in a house that has been extended and adapted multiple times. But I don’t want to leave it to move anywhere else. The kids were born whilst we have lived here, they have grown up here. No other houses looking over us, or any chance of any being built. Living up a pot-holed lane that leads only to our houses and the Hall. It’s hard to think of giving it up.

I believe this is Yellow Brain fungus (Tremella mesentericain) in its early stages. it actaully feeds on another fungus that feeds on dead wood.

It’s raining again right now, but we had a brief couple of hours window just after midday when we were able to get out and walk Mabel. All five of us out in the fresh air. I so needed that.

Walking back to the car, clouds looming from the south bringing more rain this evening.

Dad came over today, as did Lisa’s mum and Bar. Whilst outside, two different times, I as distracted by a muder of crows dancing in the wind in the ploughed field opposite our house. They seem to be doing nothing else but be having fun. Swirling and dosey-doing across and in-between eache other. I counted around twenty, last week I only saw half of that.

Day 239

Saturday 14 November

11.30am. I am currently sat in the reception of Colchester General Hospital waiting for Mum to arrive from the care home. She has had two seizures back-to-back and is being brought in by paramedics.

Image from the editorial page of the latest Guardian Weekly. Inspirational reading whilst in the hospital waiting room?

The year has been pretty horrible and I fear that, as we approach December, it hasn’t finished fishing out it’s bad news. To be honest 2019 was shit too but was personally so, 2020 has had the global crisis of a Coronavirus pandemic. We have all shared the shit. I can’t work out whether it is easier for us all to be struggling through it together or for only one person needing the waders. 2020 is like a series of shitty personal experiences painted on a background of shit.

Now I am usually a positive person. But I can’t help having my moments.

Six hours later. Just leaving hospital now. Long day. Mum is heading home after scans and x-rays. No stroke but dehydration and a protein deficiency typical of Alzheimer’s. Thankfully, Mum does not appear to have been permanently affected by what has happened to her. And I am honestly relieved on many levels that mum is going ‘home’.

I was desperate for some fresh air and sometime in the daylight today. I don’t begrudge doing what was needed today, in many ways I am privileged, but I have realised how hard the working week is at the moment. Not leaving until it is pitchbdark outside and not seeing much of the reduced daylight simply because if the nature of the job. And thus, how I look forward to Friday evening.

The weekends are very precious and those two days (that seem always to go quicker than any others) I look to fill with lungfulls of fresh air and daylight on my face. No football also means no refereeing. So, tomorrow I will make the most of what is on offer and every Saturday and Sunday will be underlined as the most important days of the week by far. Again, simple pleasures.

Day 238

Friday 13 November

I think I saw a Goshawk circling above the school today. I don’t whether that’s an ominous sign on Friday 13th?

Not my image, teh beautiful Goshawk (Accipiter gentilis)

I am pretty sure it was a Goshawk, I have only ever seen one other before. Christmas Day 2019, I went for a morning walk with Mabel before the family came round for Christmas dinner.

It was just me and Mabel, and as we walked around the bend in the lane she stopped still, staring at the white pick up truck ahead. Not wanting to budge any further, I took the lead, and she reluctantly followed.

A few steps further, out heads turned in synch to our right side and the sound of a small bell. A man in green country wear backed out of the hedgerow with hands full. He held a ferret by the scruff of its neck in one hand and a leather strap in the other. The strap was connected to the foot of a stunning Goshawk.

I had a brief chat with the guy who explained how the two animals worked together to hunt and catch rabbits. The hawk would circle above the field and strike first. The ferret would cause the rabbit if it does down a hole.

We continued walking and completed our loop of the fields and as we came back the hawk was on the grass verge, next to the truck, tearing threads of bloody meat from a warm, dead rabbit. The efficiency by which she ate hinted at the efficiency and prowess she must have shown as a hunter and killer.

Indeed, Goshawks are deadly efficient killers. And as the white under parts flashed in the afternoon sunshine above the school, I spared a thought for the rabbit or bird that was going to spending it’s last day alive today. There are around 8000 in the UK today and recovering well from virtual extinction in the 19th century.

Day 237

Thursday 12 November

The Swan by Nelly Sachs

Nothing
above the waters
and suddenly there hangs on the blink of an eye
swanlike geometry
water-rooted
creeping up
and bowing again
and with the air vying
with the universe.

I went on a walk yesterday to scan the area around the school. Just a routine circuit to make sure all was good.

Trudging over gravel and leaf mixed paths to the canal. And as I passed under the bridge I was met by a lone swan heading towards me at some pace.

Knowing how territorial they can get, I kept close to the tunnel wall and as far from the water’s edge as socially possible. Whilst at the sametime, ensuring I didn’t give my feathered friend a sense of me being alarmed at all.

The beautiful and deeply impressive creature came to a skilled stop near to the topath. Looking at me the whole time. Then sensing I was no threat up ended itself, head down, tail up.

I passed by mid-dip and whipped out my phone. I thought it wouldn’t take offense if it couldn’t see me. Click.

Day 236

Wednesday 11 November

Today is Armistice Day. At 11am the nation stops what it’s doing for two minutes of silent reflection. I was actually on the phone to a parent at 11am this morning and neither of us noticed. That’s the first time in as many years as I can remember. I was able to observe it on Sunday however.

In the window of Weavers House in Stratford St Mary.

A few weeks ago I wrote about a house in Stratford St Mary called Weavers House. A slowly crumbling Tudor home that would have been one of the grandest on the high street back in the day. Now it stands on the end of the row, the edge of town, falling apart.

But it’s history is pretty solid, and we walked past it again the other day. In the window were a few open poetry books and postcards. Purposely pressed against the grubby glass. Why? I have no idea. They all seem pretty random.

A book of modern poetry proudly claiming Larkin on one back cover and Nelly Sachs in another. Sachs died on the exact day that I was born, 12 May 1970. Her life was plagued by mental illness brought on by her childhood in Germany during the rise of the Nazi party. She fled to Sweden with her mother on the eve of her scheduled deportation to a concentration camp. She would write her poems whilst being tormented daily by her experience.

And on the day and week that we remember those that have lost their lives fighting oppression and cruelty, it is only right that we also consider those that survived the wars but suffered for years afterwards. And in particular the young witnesses who bore no responsibility for it yet experienced a lifetime of pain and guilt.

Day 235

Tuesday 10 November

Yesterday it was announced that there was a vaccine that had been successfully tested and trialled and had 90% success rate.

It could be a real game changer. On the BBC news app yesterday.

Everyone was understandably buoyed by the news and were excited that it could mean then end of the virus. Within a few weeks, the vaccinations could start with forty million doses already ordered by the UK government. Each person requiring two doses each.

I don’t whether it was a reluctance to believe the hype (a sign of synicism in older age?) Or a fear that it would be followed, a day later, by a punch-in-the gut climb down over its plausibility. But I didn’t mention it in yesterday’s post, instead waiting twenty-four hours to see if it was all for real.

I found this crazy thing on a walk at the weekend. White Helvella (Helvella crispa).

I found a very weird fungus at the weekend whilst walking. Helvella crispa, White Helvella, is like something from another world, an underworld. In fact, it is sometimes referred to as ‘Elfin saddles’ probably deriving from its Latin name and the ‘elvin’ link. It’s great how common names, or regional names develop usually because of local folklore or name adjustments.

So, I sat in my office today, opened both windows and pulled the blinds back. I was getting daylight withdrawal fatigue. At the same time tits, sparrows and a robin sang and fed at the feeding station that has been set up by then staff.

This has been one of the toughest effects of the season changes. Neither myself or Lisa are back in time to take Mabel out for a walk in any daylight. My thinking has been more jumbled of late, a cluttered mind and a struggle to keep focused. I think I’m still reeling from the chaos of last week and the weekend and the fact that there has been a further 532 deaths. This was the highest daily total since May 12.

Day 234

Monday 09 November

Always a bit of a chore to write my blog on a working Monday. It’s a tough enough job at the best of times. But with everything else going on its that little bit harder in all directions.

A foggy morning over the fields at Stratford St Mary yesterday morning. Thanks, Paul.

We woke this morning to a thick fog. The clocks have been adjusted to save daylight, All Hallows and bonfire night has delivered it shocks and it’s oohs and ahhs – much, much quieter this year. And the wreaths have been laid to rest on cold stone steps on remembrance Sunday. We are trudging along the annual winter pathway and it’s all too familiar and different too. The season of morning fogs is upon us, making the daylight saved much harder to find. And on a Monday morning that affects me.

Paul took this picture yesterday walking the same path as we did but much earlier than us. A very similar start to the say confronted us all this morning too.

I’ve never been good at or enjoyed Monday mornings. But today was mild, damp and uninspiring. But it was dry and as I drove to work the fog lifted to form low cloud which was even higher in places, allowing smudges of beautiful bright blue to scrape through the ever lightening greys and whites.

Like suffering a mother of a hangover, I managed to struggle through the day, my head spinning from the emotional liquor of the weekend and it’s news. But the nature of the work means that you cannot wallow in it for very long and by mid-morning I had sobered up. I called Dad this evening and chatted about his day, what he had to eat, what he thought of the days news. The small talk of two blokes, father and son, working through the agenda that befits countless father and son chats up and down the land.

No TV tonight. I think we are all a bit news’d out to be honest. Instead, we take a bit of quiet time to read our books and drink tea. No footy tonight either. We are five days into lockdown #2.

Day 233

Sunday 08 November

I just took a look at the coverage of my blog. How many different countries it has been read in. Wow.

We have been out on some nice local walks this weekend. Enjoying the mild temperatures and accompanying sunshine. It does make a real difference when the weather is good. But as we are deep into the Autumn, it’s not so much of an issue if the weather is good or not. Just getting out is what is important, and this is one of the many positive aspects of having a dog.

The Pine Ladybird (Exochomus quadripustulatus). Pretty widespread in the south of England’s deciduous and conifer woodland.

There are so many ladybird beetles about right now. I never associated them with this time of year. During the summer I only saw the 7-Spot variety but just this weekend I have seen a few others.

I think this is a Harlequin Ladybird (Harmonia axyridis) a non-native beetle from Asia that is out competing our native varieties.

The lockdown is getting many people out and about which is a good thing but we are competing for space on the public footpaths. I know that sounds a little melodramatic and extreme, it probably is. But when things pile up and seem like they are weighing me down, I like to escape from the trappings of society as best I can. A walk on my own or with my family was what I needed this weekend. I got it but was conscious that strangers were out in numbers. How selfish?

It feels like there is so much to think about at the moment. Really big stuff too. I always like to say to myself and others “Don’t sweat the small stuff”, the trouble is none of it feels small. I stress that it doesn’t feel small. It may be to others, or the different things in isolation. But together, right now, I feel my emotional backpack is full, heavy, crammed full. Coronavirus, my Mum, my Dad, work, Autumn, short days, long nights, no daily walks, fewer birds, reduced travel, places closed, lockdown restrictions, no football, kids not being able to get out/college as they should, deaths, politics. Fuck. Stop, just stop!

This corkscrew pattern on a tree we walked past today was eye-catching.

And all of a sudden it’s Sunday evening again. What is the next week going to bring? I will find my way to manage it all, I know that. It’s just difficult at the moment. But we have had a sunny weekend together as a family. And I am surrounded by love.

Day 232

Saturday 07 November

I woke this morning at 8.04 am straight out of a dream. When that happens it is quite disorientating. But the sun was shining and I had had a wonderful deep and long sleep. So, a smile soon planted itself on my face and has pretty much stayed there all day.

I have become addicted to CNN over the past few days and have needed to get a daily fix every evening.

This evening, it was finally confirmed that Joe Biden is the new president of the US and celebrations are breaking out in all the major cities across the country. It seems to have struck a chord with many, many people in the UK. It’s a real moment of positivity and it’s made us all realise that there has been none of that since March. I really feel that, none.

The trees may be leafless but there is still plenty of green around still. The lambs have grown and the balls of mistletoe are visible in the branches.

So anyway, today my smile held strong from the moment I woke for the majority of the day. We had coffee and croissant and went out for a walk in the sunshine. We all went on the walk we did a few weeks ago. Mabel loved it. It was unseasonably warm, which has sadly become seasonably normal year on year. All part of global warming I guess.

There was seemingly no difference on the roads or in the middle of Manningtree today. People still out in numbers despite this being the first weekend of the second lockdown.

This is a weathered egg gall of the spider Pafiscura pallets. A small pale spider that is fairly widespread. The chances are this would have had many spiders leaving it around July time.

My smile remained this evening as the news from the US came through and when I went to see Dad.

He is resigned to what is inevitable with his cancer and has been trying to ensure all is in order. It must be the hardest thing to come to terms with, your own impending mortality. Dad spoke to me (and my sister earlier) about the birds who are no longer visiting his garden despite the bird feeder remaining full. I brought a different one over for him, one that holds fat balls rather than seed, as it’s more appropriate for this time of year. I replaced them in the dark only to find out that grass was growing out of his old feeder where the old seed had germinated. This greenery was completely blocking access to the rest of the seed. The birds have clearly moved on to a different food source.

Dad mentioned beforehand that some poets had described how the spirits of those that have died move to the bodies of birds. He felt that they may have stopped visiting his garden because they knew he would be joining them himself soon. I like that idea and I don’t want him to lose it. So, I will go and see him again tomorrow and, as the birds inevitably return to his garden now that food is in abundance, I will encourage him to welcome back his feathered friends. Ones that may become long-term friends moving forward.

Day 231

Friday 06 November

Today all eyes have been glued to the news coming from the US and waiting to see what has happened in the election. But this is a distraction from the craziness of life in the UK and across the world right now.

A ghostly sky and skeletal trees over the Blackwater canal next to my school this evening. I am very lucky to work where I do.

Anxiety is rising amongst the staff and generally across the country right now. I find some emotions to be a little extreme and wasteful but I truly do understand why people think and behave as they do. Trying to make sense of the pandemic and lockdown alongside a stressful job, family life and the onset of winter and a pretty unusual Christmas makes for a very unsettling time.

Back in the US it appears that Biden is knocking on the door of the White House. He is just a state or two away from securing the votes needed to get over the finishing line. That, in itself, provides optimism. And optimism has been in short supply of late.

The idea that Biden may become President in a country that I don’t live in is something that I can latch on to. I will take that shard of good news and hold on to it. Tight enough not to lose it. Nurture it as a little bit of positive.

Spoke with my sister and my dad this evening. He has been for a test on his oesophagus and his tumor is now mailgnant and he is finding it more tricky to swallow. It’s going to be a rocky road ahead, I feel, but we have a family full of love, which I can ultimately thank my mum and dad for. That love means that we will weather whatever is thrown at us.

My sister took this wonderful clip of a fly washing itself. A bit of self-care. Great soundtrack too, Sis. Thanks.

My sister shared this wonderful mobile phone clip she took of a house fly (Musca domestica) grooming. They spend a lot of time doing this. Rubbing hands and legs together, sweeping their legs over their wings and eyes. They pick up so much chemical and physical ‘dirt’ as they go about their lives. They rely so much on their smell and sight that they must keep these receptors in top working order. So, it makes them one of the cleanest creatures on the planet. The flies olfactory receptors (smell sensors) are on its tiny antenna at the front of its head. Which is why it’s often seen rubbing it’s ‘hands’ together near these and over its head and eyes.