Fresh tracks

Took a stroll along the Oxfordshire Way, around the ancient villages of Islip and Noke. Hell it was hot.

It felt like the grass was alive with the humming of the flies and the buzzing of the crickets – or maybe it was just the electric fences.

Saw squadrons of dragonflies and damselflies, clouds of butterflies – most meadow browns – but a few marbled whites, a peacock and a comma which stayed resting just long enough for me to steal a photo. Pictures in the usual place.

I wanted to walk alone to let my novel ferment but it didn’t feel quite right without a travelling companion. Using the guideook Morten lent me made it feel like he was there in spirit.

And what a change in two weeks – all the wheat fields are a golden brown now and a host of different flowers are in bloom.

Looks like we’re in for another scorcher this week. I fear for my hydrangea.

Stop press: An archaeologist wants to use one of my pictures in a montage for an exhibition at Heathrow. I’ll link up to it when its under way.

ZZ flop

Well the whole Zidane thing kinda summed it up for me – football is now just too cynical and nasty to be fun. The group stages were good but apart from a couple of entertaining games during the knock-out, the World Cup descended into a talking point for future refereeing.

Now I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but whilst I congratulate Italy I’ve ended up feeling sorry for both France and Germany. There’s a first and it’s in black and white.

Nice to see And on the blog – he has commented on the Crouch story. Let me know the film news mate.

Although I’m back in harness, I did write a story today that I found inspiring. Read the last comment, it cheered my day, and if you have time take a look at the bloke’s biog on his website.

It’s here:
Man turns paper clip into house

Before the end of the summer I would like to organise a bit of a do – something a bit different. Happy to entertain ideas if you have any, otherwise watch this space. And although my career break is over, if you would like me to keep the blog going do let me know. I’d hate to blather on in the dark.

Both my parents and Morten have now heard the ‘Bring on Roo-ney’ blackbird so I have earwitnesses. Will still try to get a recording. Come to think of it, poor old Mort has probably heard enough of me saying “hark, a grasshopper warbler” for one lifetime.

Anyone want to trade for a rather fine book and CD of bird songs and calls? I’m aiming for a spaceship/time machine. Nothing too fancy, second-hand will do.

Return to the pond

This little fella has been hanging out in my garden for more than a week now.

Sometimes he hides in the cool of the drain, sometimes behind the pot plants, only venturing out at night to hunt.

I call him Andrew “Froggie” Flintoff. He looks particularly peeved here because I moved the betulia which seems to be one of his favourite haunts. Hope he survives this hot, dry period.

This might be my last stab at humour for a while as I am back to commuting, long shifts and unsociable hours.