Tuesday 06 October

Wow, 200 posts! I didn’t know I had it in me. I wained a week or so ago, thinking I would need to reduce it to a weekly account of the previous seven days. That may still come, but right now, although the material has changed direction slightly, I reckon I can keep this up.

At the weekend thousands of runners completed the virtual London Marathon around their local areas. Hats off to them, but this is my own marathon of words. The finishing line is still a way off but I am nearing the two-thirds-of-the-way-there stage, that must put me around Canary Wharf?

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So, I’ve had an idea for a supernatural short story. It centres around an apple orchard and involves a creature/being called an ‘orchard crawler’. Fruit farmers across East Anglia have heard various versions of the same tale. As word of mouth told the tale during the ages so they became localised. Each town or village with an orchard of note has a specific local name for theirs. The local children in this story sing about ‘Scrappy Jack’ in rhymes passed down by parents and relatives and even in school assemblies. There’s even a special day when the villagers come together to give thanks to him for allowing a bountiful harvest and for not stealing any of their children.

That’s what he does you see. Medieval tales tell of bad harvests leading to his appearance and if he is not satisfied children went missing. But not really, that was just a silly old folk tale, wasn’t it?

Scrappy Jack’s limbs resemble the branches of the apple trees, crooked and knarled. His arms are longer than his legs. He crawls, spider like, head close to the ground as soon as the first windfalls drop to the ground. His elbow and knee joints can bend both ways. Up and down, between the rows of trees, only lifting himself upright to look over the treetops. Above the scent of apples, sniffing for unsuspecting children that it sees as a threat to the harvest. If/when his face is seen by an adult, a child will be taken. The see-er can never describe the face – they simply cannot recall what it looks like.

So, a couple of ideas within a simple premise. All the best supernatural stories keep it simple.

Obviously I have been reading lots of ghost stories lately and books on the history of Essex too. It can’t help but stimulate the imagination. I’d love to write it a short story but a) I don’t have the time and c) I would miss chunks out (funny). I also don’t have the skills, but one should challenge oneself, especially when you get to fifty. Bucket list and all that.

Sunday 04 October

It has rained all day. All day. Far from torrential but relentless.

Drove to Halstead to referee two football matches this afternoon. It was touch and go as to whether they would be on, but thankfully they were.

Running around on a pitch, getting loads of fresh air and exercise. Plus, having to focus and be mentally switched on all of the time. Training to be a referee is the best professional development I have ever had. Managing situations, preventing others before they occur, interpreting actions within the seventeen laws of the game. Straight after I blew up, the seagulls (so far from any sea) descended on to the pitch to look for worms brought to the surface by twenty three pairs of football boots and studs running all over it.

And, despite the weather, it was such a pleasent drive. I used to do that drive quite a bit in a previous job visiting loads of small primary schools when I worked for the local authority. But driving through Ford Street, Chappel and the Colnes, it reminded me that Essex isn’t completely flat. There is some undulating of fields and woodland. The viaduct at Chappel itself is a wonderful sight. I must get out walking there.

Then back for some crackers football matches on the telly and bangers and mash for supper. With a diversionary work related conversation too. There were also 22k confirmed Coronavirus cases reported today but this was a misleading figure as it apparently included numbers from the last week. A technical glitch?!

Saturday 03 October

It has got to have been the wettest day of the year today. It’s pretty much rained all day. I woke earlier than I wanted to then, wellied-up, we walked the dog across the fields in Lawford.

Squelching underfoot followed by huge puddles in the lanes.

Trump is ‘comfortable’ in hospital whilst many parts of the UK experience additional restrictions to try and suppress the infection rate. The north-east, the north-west, the Midlands, large parts of Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland have all been affected.

Our ‘new normal’ for watching Colchester United is via a streamed video from the club website. It has the local BBC radio commentary over laid on top. No fans in the stadium (obviously) – we would ordinarily be there. The crazy thing is that they are streaming live football in cinemas (indoors) but we can’t attend the actual thing (outdoors). I don’t get it.

The eeriness of the British countryside, and particularly East Anglia, continues to fascinate me. And many others it would seem too. I have just watched the first episode of ‘The Third Day’; a occult/thriller mini-series set on Osea Island in Essex. The island has been used by the military in the past and as a residential retreat for addiction and the mentally ill. It has a tidal causeway providing access to the mainland and sits in the Blackwater estuary. Just a short, watery drive from the school I am working at, in the parish of Heybridge.

Might be worth a visit.

Friday 02 October

It hasn’t stopped raining today. Batches of perpetually wet, dark grey clouds drifting below a blanket of higher cloud. Just a shade lighter.

Left work early enough to allow for a walk with Mabel around the orchards and polytunnels. More light tonight, so not so eerie. Although I looked down the lanes of raspberry plants, which are starting to wilt, and I thought back to last night’s experience.

I shook hands with my son this evening. Not because we are a formal family, it was a light-hearted jape. And it felt very strange. I realise that I had not shaken anyone’s hand since March. I was struck by a sadness that we are all missing out on even the most basic of contact with each other.

I would shake hands with so many people during a typical week and hadn’t appreciated just how intimate a simple handshake is. This pandemic has made it such a weird experience and I wonder how permanent some changes to our social behaviours may turn out to be.

Donald Trump has been diagnosed with Covid-19 just a few weeks before the US election. He blatantly refused to follow advice to wear a mask and avoid crowds. As I write this late at night, he has just been moved to a hospital for closer observations.

Thursday 01 October

I left school today pretty drained. In a sort of numb head fug. It got to a stage where I was just staring at the laptop screen and I couldn’t make any decisions. As I walked out to the car I noticed four elderly folk, wearing face coverings, playing on the outside table tennis table.

I carried on and saw half a dozen other grey haired friends on the outdoor gym and a couple of gents playing tennis on the multi-sports court. I found out that we open our school facilities to the local community in the evenings and at weekends. Every Thursday a local group of elderly neighbours come down  be active and the smiles on their faces said it all. It also made me appreciate who I work for.

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On the way home I listened to another ghost story. Another M R James’ short, ‘The Wailing Well’. The evening light was fading as I arrived home but I was keen to take Mabel for a swift walk around the polytunnels and apple orchards. I needed some air.

It was a beautiful dusk sky. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon and the cool, fragranced air brushed my cheeks and forehead. I took big, deep breaths every four or five strides. The ripened raspberries and apples were hanging on to the bushes and trees, but only just.

It was almost dark when I chose to duck down a craggy alleyway, walled by two long rows of apple trees. My trainers squeeked ever so timidly on the clumpy, damp grass. It’s almost as if they didn’t want to make too much noise in case someone, or something, heard us.

I felt a need to walk quicker the further I walked down. I got about halfway. The end seeming to be impossibly far ahead, the back of my neck felt vulnerable. I looked behind me, it was too far to go back. I couldn’t see the end, in fact it looked like the darkness at the end, lacking any detail, was following me. Getting closer.

At least twice I thought I saw a movement in the apple alleys two or three to my left or right. Shoulders or a head profile, the same shady, autumn colours as the trees themselves. I had Mabel with me so felt a little safer, she snuffled below me dipping, without warning, into the adjacent lanes only for me to pull her back closer. I was wary of her wrapping the extendable lead around a tree by coming back to me a gap after of the one she initially ducked through. That would be bad, we would have to stop and untangle it. She was sniffing madly, head down to the ground. What scent had she latched on to? Surely she would bark at something she was threatened by?

We came to the end of the lane. I walked even quicker to the gate and cllimbed over. Mabel through the gap between gate and fence, and back home to the reassuring crunch underfoot of the gravel on our drive. I’ll listen to some music on my way home tomorrow.

Wednesday 30 September

It’s been one of those ‘hunph’ days. It just happened. Constantly overcast with heavy, sodden clouds.

The news is full on about the first tv debate of the presidential nominees in the US. I never recall that being such big news when I was a kid. I think its down to a few things. The US is obviously the most influential country on the planet. Our relationship with them has never been so critical as we approach the new year needing to strike trade deals with them. Trump and Biden, two seventy-something white men squabbles for the upper hand in what was an embarrassing ‘show’.

The other news was that we have another 7,000 plus confirmed cases of Covid19 in the UK and another 70+ deaths. Too early to determine if the latest measures brought in will help. I am sceptical.

I get to this time of the year and I want to get everything sorted ready for winter. Get the car cleaned inside and out, the chimney swept, the boiler services. Outside, the summer shrubs cut back, the garden furniture covered in tarpaulin. And lots of bird food in.

The sunflowers from the summer are draped over tree branches for hungry tits and sparrows to pick at. But it’s high energy food that they’re predominantly searching for. High protein foods and fats. The Goldfinches are back this year in their numbers. Last year saw a bit of a dip but I counted six at the feeders this morning.

Tuesday 29 September

Well, what a twenty-four hours. Just when I think that Autumn is reducing the amount I can write about. Mother nature and the local area keeps giving. Our smoky-brown fox last night was followed by a hedgehog just before bed.

It turns out to be one of the hedgehogs that our next door neighbour re-homed a few weeks back. It’s so sad that the decline of hedgehogs in the UK of late has made these snuffling little prickle balls such precious creatures. They are now looked after by dedicated souls who then allow them to be adopted by other good souls with safe homes.

I heard some incredible news on the radio this evening on my journey home. On a rubbish tip in Japan, scientists have found a bacteria that consumes plastic. In particular polyethylene terephthalate (PET), the plastic that makes up our disposable water bottles and clear cases for fruit and veg.

These enzymes are now being worked on in laboratories to engineer them to be even more effective. So they ‘eat’ more and quicker. They might even produce enough heat to create energy for us to harness.

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/sep/28/new-super-enzyme-eats-plastic-bottles-six-times-faster

So, once again nature has come (potentially) to our rescue. No matter what we seem to throw at it, it keeps bailing us out.

Monday 28 September

Just when I make the decision to do weekly posts rather than daily, my local patch comes up trumps again.

Before that, I was already persuading myself that I must keep it up. A good friend said at the weekend that the posts had really helped him during the pandemic. A couple of people have been impressed how I have continued it as a daily record for over half a year already.

That’s another big thing, isn’t it? Half a year! That is a big thing. I’m over half way there. Over half way towards another spring.

Then, as I say, the outside world where I live nudge me to continue popping something up each day. The UK alongside a number of other countries’ leaders have pledged to increase the amount of natural spaces. 30% of the UK by 2030. That’s a really positive promise.

Then I go for a walk at dusk with Mabel around the orchards. The polytunnels are open and I confess that I pinch a few raspberries as I walk round. They are beautiful. The rabbits cause a lead-tugging distraction to Mabel and as the sunlight dies away I watch our local Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes) for over a minute as he slinks, confidently along the field edge towards me. I smell him first if truth be told. He is heavy and thick-set. Then he slips to his right through the hedgerow. He is so recognisable. This is the path he follows night after night. He has a distinctive dark brown tail and a heavy ruby brown coat. He is OUR fox, and he is magnificent.

Sunday 27 September

FOMO, the fear of missing out, is not something that I can honestly say I have ever suffered from. As a name, it’s a fairly new phenomenon. But today, I have come seriously close.

I refereed two youth football matches again today, they were excellent actually, two of the best games I have ever done. Under 15’s A League, the technical quality was right up there and I had to be at my best too. I don’t think I did too bad. The wind played a part, the drizzle came in waves and the pitch was slightly softer than the very same baked one form last week.

Every weekend that comes and goes, I fear that it may be the last for organised youth football. As Coronavirus spreads again there is a realistic chance that congregations of parents and players, unmasked, up and down the country, will be a gamble that the authorities may prefer not to take.

And it is true that, whilst we are meant to be observing the rule of six nationwide, there were many more than that within two metres of each other on the touchline at both games. I don’t blame them, they come to support their sons and daughters and forget about the world for an hour or two.

But the risk of not having this weekly, family outlet is potentially just as great. The mental ‘good’ being outdoors does is immeasurable. The youngsters are playing a team sport, laughing, being together, doing something positive, learning to socialise. Challenging themselves to be better footballers, friends, comrades and citizens. I fear them missing out on that again. I fear missing out on being part of that again.

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I also had a pang of walking FOMO today too. The Gentleman’s Film and Leisure Club went walking again in Norfolk. More of that coastal path and there were some amazing pictures sent through.

I wish I had been there but I also loved doing the football thing. I guess I am just lucky to have a range of things to be a part of. We shared an online glass or two with wonderful friends living in Scotland last night. And we had a beautiful walk with a beautiful friend yesterday morning. Our thoughts are with our friends who have experienced the loss of a loved one today. And my mind drifted downstream to our great friends in Herefordshire this evening whilst we watched the Mortimer and Whitehouse fishing programme on the telly.

So, I guess I do suffer from a bout of FOMO every now and then. But rather than of events its of people. And if the restrictions become even harsher (again) it’s going to be a challenging winter.