Wet stuff

4 km swim yesterday -- 160 lengths in 140 mins! Particularly pleased that I wasn't knackered afterwards, but able to settle down to 'working at home' -- with laptop on a tray across my knees, in my upstairs study comfy chair, with view of back garden and lots of little birdies playing around the bird feeders.

This weekend, we have the annual local street party on Sunday -- Joseph has made an info display on what being a 'conservation area' for local architectural heritage means; I'll be working on the book and/or plant stall. The last few weekends, we've visited Sutton Hoo in Essex, and Rye Gate House and nature reserve up the Lea. Next weekend, we're off to Lyme Regis and JN's parents for the end-of-August Bank Holiday.

Sutton Hoo is like Tolkien's Barrow Downs: a field where rich Anglo-Saxon burials, two of them inside ships, were found; the barrow down is on a ridge looking down on the Blacwater estuary, at the furthest point that ships could navigate up the river Debden. Around the pagan warrior burials there are later Christian-era Anglo-saxon bodies, some decapitated -- thought to be criminals who were hanged from a gallows up there, their bodies left with the ghosts of the heathen damned.

Rye House is just a local train trip up our river valley: it was one of the first houses in this country built of bricks, when they were a new-fangled architectural innovation. Then it was the base for an attempt to assassinate Charles II when he was due to ride along the road past it -- but he headed off early, so the assassins missed him -- but were caught when one of them betrayed the plot and got the chop themselves. Just the gatehouse now stands, on an island moated by a channel dug from the river. Beyond the old house, the wide flood plain is now nature reserve, partly managed by Royal Society for Protection of Birds, partly by the Wildlife Trust: Jospeh saw his first ever live kingfisher -- a fast-moving turquoise and russet streak that, every now and then, went into its nest hole in an artificial sandbank beside a weed-choked pool then headed back off towards the river to hunt more fishies. Masses of luscious blackberries ('please leave for the birds'), water buffalo keeping the grazing marsh grazed, grey heron, lots of wood pigeons.

Meanwhile, this is harvest season: masses of lettuce, runner beans, raspberries. Some blackberries. Tomatoes just starting to come ripe (a race against the blight which is taking hold on their leaves). Main job down the allotment is transplanting broccoli and cabbage seedlings so they can grow big and fat for winter harvest. Freezer already stuffed full -- but we think its time we got a new (energy efficient) fridge, and we've spotted one that offers an extra, fifth freezer drawer...

How are you all?

A Grand Day Out

One of many lists which I carry around in my filofax is of places in and around London to visit. I've had it for some years, and it gets added to from time to time -- and just as occasionally, a tick appears next to an item to show that it's been duly visited. These ticks don't appear very often, even though Judith and I tell each other at the start of every year that we really must make an effort otherwise we'll never see them at all....but then ordinary everyday life gets in the way and before we know it the summer's over, we've spent most of our time gardening, and places are closing up for the winter.

But this weekend just past we made an effort, and took a train up the Lee Valley to visit Rye House Gatehouse and Rye Meads Nature Reserve. There's not much to see at the Gatehouse, although the late medieval brickwork is worth more than a passing glance; one would probably see more from the roof during the winter, when the trees aren't in leaf, but as the property is closed to the public from October to March inclusive, only the Lee Valley Park Authority's maintenance staff ever have that opportunity. There's more at Rye Meads, mostly waterfowl; at this time of year, the meadows are being grazed by three water buffalo advertised as of Romanian origin (although how these animals differ from the water buffalo one finds in southern Italy was not at all obvious), and there was an excited notice in the visitor centre announcing that kingfishers had bred in the artificial sandbank in the northeast corner of the reserve. Predictably, the hide overlooking that sandbank was crowded; but we got seats, and waited. And waited. And waited....

When it arrives, kingfishers are less like the bird one sees perched on a branch on television wildlife programmes, and more of a linear phenomenon: a bright blue and red blur as it zooms down into the burrow (presumably with a fish in its beak), followed some seconds later by another bright blue and red blur as it zooms back out again in search of more food. In the fifteen minutes or thereabouts we sat watching, it zoomed in and out three times. But it does mean that, after a life of never having seen a kingfisher except on television wildlife programmes, I have now finally seen the bird for real.

Not something else to tick off, because we don't do that sort of birdwatching. But it was a grand day out just the same.