I haven’t been getting about much over the last couple of days. Point the camera up at roughly a 45ยบ angle from where I took yesterday’s shot, and you will catch our tenant spider in your viewfinder. I noticed today that she’s built up quite a larder for herself. Fine by me: at least all these critters aren’t eating the houseplants.
I’m not convinced about all the technicalities of this shot but it was done with an extremely long zoom (x80 at least) and in that respect it’s pleasing enough. We don’t really pick up any of the details on the wings of the Cabbage White but let’s not get too ambitious, eh — at least, not with my kit.
“I dunno mate. It gets worse and worse. Look at these scraps.”
“Know exactly what you mean, Bob. You just can’t get the humans these days. Must be global warming or summat.”
“Well, let’s see what we can get out of it before that twat over there decides to muscle in.”
Let’s get on with another year, shall we? Three fowl (I assume, one duck, two geese) drifting by serenely on the Rochdale Canal is not any metaphor for life that I can think of, but it is a way of representing a peaceful (birth)day.
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.
“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.
On the move again. A scene on the train to London, where I will be for the whole week to come. The field of poppies outside — somewhere near Doncaster — was so extensive that I had time to see it, get the camera out, set up the shot and still capture it OK, despite moving at around 75 miles per hour at least. I believe black won the game in the end.
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.
Being 42 