lizwilliams: (Default)
Last night it rained and rained and rained and rained. The river has flooded up and they've had to open the sluice, which has got rid of most of it. Let's hear it for ancient drainage systems. (We pay £25 a year as our contribution to the county's intricate anti-flooding network of channels and rhines). This morning, my Jeep got stuck in the driveway and we had to push it out so that I could get to work.

But the fields are full of wild swans and there is a watery sunlight. The hedges are a foam of blackthorn and bird cherry. I gather from the home front that the farrier has finally shown up - this is a different farrier to the one who didn't show up (without explanation) last time, although his habit of leaving answerphone messages without actually, you know, leaving his phone number as well (we don't have that system which tells you who rang) has put a hitch in things. Also the following conversation:

Me: When can you come?
Farrier: Either Saturday or Sunday.
Me: Which is more convenient?
F: Well, Sunday is my day off.

If some hunting type tells you that they're keeping old rural crafts in business, don't believe them: even finding a farrier who will bother their arse to get out of bed and earn £50 for an hour's work has taken weeks. They're like supermodels. Don't get me started on Somerset Man. Maybe you should just go and see HOT FUZZ instead, which, so my local sources tell me, is practically a documentary.
lizwilliams: (Default)
The snow did not last and we woke to a wet and windy dawn. It's been pouring all day but this afternoon I went to the garden centre (and spent a fortune on seeds but hey, if the apocalypse comes and we survive, at least we'll be self sufficient) and came back to find the Tor swimming through low cloud, and in the west a low brassy sun and stripes of acquamarine sky. The temperature is up and down like a yoyo.
lizwilliams: (Default)
It was lovely this morning, but has now clouded over and there's heavy rain over the Channel. However, coming over the top of the Downs, the Isle of Wight was clearly visible - 'rainy clear', as my family say - even though it's 50 miles from here.

Years ago, a friend of mine (academically extremely bright, but without the sense God gave him to open a paper bag) noticed the IOW, and promptly phoned the local paper to inform them that an island had 'appeared,' rather like Tir-Nan-Og, off the coast of Brighton. The paper treated this with the contempt it deserved, naturally.


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April 2017

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