It’s nice when interests coincide. Behind one goal at Atherton Laburnum Rovers’ Crilly Park stadium, there was growing today a whole run of plump, ripe blackberries, of which this was just a small part. Luckily for me I had a collection vessel, which was definitely filled before I settled in to watch the game.
You might have noticed that a nice round number approaches, in terms of the number of days I have been doing this. But that’s for tomorrow.
This pigeon nest has been under observation for a couple of days now, seeing as it resides just above the outdoor seating area in the pub, and for the duration, this fledgling has been receiving plenty of encouragement to leave it. Every so often it comes out, slithers around on the roof tile (some seven feet above the ground) for a while, cheeps in an alarmed fashion, then goes back inside. Mum, or possibly Dad, seems to be getting rather fed up with the whole thing. I can’t say I blame it. My one was off like a shot, first chance he got.
Ben gets some Him Time, and seems thoroughly contented by the experience. As the amount of white around his muzzle attests, he’s an old man, and at some later point in our own lives I guess we’ll all crave this kind of attention.
Perhaps, like this wasp, we are all trapped, aware of the world beyond the glass but frustratingly unable to reach it. But perhaps, again like this particular insect, there is a way out (undepicted here) at the bottom that we just haven’t found yet, we just need to change direction.
It is plastic, but it does look very realistic, particularly sat on a cushion outside the pub in the sunshine. Many passers-by were seen doing double-takes. Why was it there? Just one element in a range of junk (hence the pile behind it), passing through.
“Who are you then? I haven’t seen you before.” Nope; and they won’t see me again: but this morning I found myself temporarily responsible for these (roughly) six-week-old chickens, living still in their plastic incubator and definitely in need of plenty of liquid on these hot days. I conducted roll call, watered them and left them to it.
Summer fruits and rosemary. All picked from the garden just before this picture was taken: and all eaten, one way or another, within an hour afterwards. Most enjoyable.
Respect the pollinators. This bee was giving our incipient loganberries some care and attention. It had put in a longer working day than me, anyway.
Year on year, some photogenic subjects come round: foxgloves make a regular appearance around this time of year for instance. Baby plums or apples. And here, the year’s first wild stawberries, a June staple. Enough for a bowl in the evening, with cream and sugar. Nicer than the watery cultivated version, in my opinion.
Is waiting a thing that dogs would do if we hadn’t trained them to do it over millennia? Predators learn to wait, I guess. But not for their human master to come back from the bar.
Being 42 