Sunday, July 31, 2005

Not a Happy Kraut




Watching the news this week , makes for uncomfortable viewing in Britain. It’s over here, it’s a few miles away, places, many of us have used in the past without a second thought.

I think what really pisses me off is the loss of innocence.

Watching the faces of residents evacuated from Notting Hill this week as the police made an armed raid on a block of flats, the bewilderment and the fear made me realise what we have
lost.

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We know too much about the face of terror now.

You and I won’t be the same, none of us will be the same. Pick up our bags and move on, re-adjust to the world.

On a lighter note, even the humble spud isn’t safe. I have a friend who works in agricultural research, potatoes to be precise. From Germany, comes her anguished email.

Some assehole had stolen her experimental spuds. I expect her prime, disease resistant potatoes disappeared into the evening dinner.

Not a Happy Kraut.

The buggers even stole her scarecrow. Yep.



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Sunday, July 24, 2005

Singin' In the Rain



The bravura of the reactions to the 7th July bombings has largely dissipated over here, and a very different mood prevails in response to the latest threats. The sense of shock is compounded by the shooting of an innocent man.
A resident evacuated from his flat was quoted as saying that it was all very well being told to soldier on when bombs are apparently being left on his doorstep.


The Mayor of London says that these are difficult times. Yes Ken , they are but forgive us all if we ain’t too happy about innocent people being shot. ‘Executed’ is the right word.



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The Lock, Iffley


As an antidote I take some bread down to the river, the geese are greedy sods, beaks wide open at all times. They collect round me with many sharp retorts and pecks, to neighbours. The more savvy ones just park themselves in front and let their beaks hang open.
“Just put it here chum.”
I walked down to the lock this morning in the rain, thinking it would be both wet and peaceful.

Not a bit of it.

A river-boat with a party of very happy and totally sozzled tourists was filling up the lock, creating an incredible level of noise. Bemused, I glanced over at the lock- keeper. The lock- keeper shrugs, it’s party time.

The crew of the preceding boat, stood glumly in the rain, soggy but determined to go boating. The rain drips off sou’westers, and my waterproof has given up being water-proof. As the boat glides through the lock, the Missus does a bit of musical.

“We’re singing IN the rain!” holding her brolly up as they sail down the river. The audience of two, myself and the lock-keeper applaud her efforts.

A fine silver mist comes off the river as the rain pours down but the ducks seem to be enjoying it, bobbing gently in the middle. Nothing like a good downpour say ducks, if you want to relax.
The geese have retired to their homes, fair weather impresarios – as soon as the sun comes out they will showing off with their flotilla parade, sailing majestically in formation.


I stand on the covered bridge enjoying the muted colours, a mixture of silvers and greys, and the cool rain-soaked air.

A squirrel runs along the fence, he has been feeding well by the look of him, nicely plump. He flicks his tail, not liking the moisture and does a vertical climb up the side of the bridge house, seeking shelter under the eaves.

A fisherman sits over on the far bank, he’s going to be there for a while, rain or no rain.

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Sunday, July 17, 2005

Life on the River



Life on the river is beginning to change. The last batch of chicks are growing up now, taking on their adult colours, we won’t be seeing any more babies until next season.

I notice the youngest goslings are changing. The last of the geese family to have chicks escorts them down the river, and I can see one chick already has his yellow beak, the other one still with a dark beak and his spiky baby hairs.


Only two in this family, which makes me wonder if the parents lost some of their young.


I’ve been watching the bird families on the river since early spring, the geese making the most noise, honking like air raid sirens and flapping wings “Don’t mess with me”.


It’s an impressive sight in the morning as the flotilla of geese parade down the river, with the young positioned in the centre.

Always four adults as guard duty, and no quarter given if anyone gets too near. Wham! The offender gets beaten up, dunked under the water, hit the road Jack.

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Photo: Iffley Lock, the Cottage

I sit by the river and listen to geese couples talk, in conversation geese have short deep notes.

One goose doesn’t say so much, I’ll bet my last stick of lip gloss, that’s the guy.
“Yes dear, no dear, of course dear.”
Yea sure, keep the peace dear, and hope she forgets all the other stuff she was laying on me.

The lock-keeper’s cottage is a mass of flowers, the dog a kind of walking carpet, slumps on the path in the heat. The coots splash about near the river bank, preferring the shelter of bushes and reeds.


It’s the end of the year, and the mother coot has had enough, she gets physical with one of the chicks who’s messing about.

Maybe it’s time the kids left home.

Soon the geese will take the migrating flight, but not the Canadian geese.

We will see them on the river over the winter.


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Thursday, July 14, 2005

Down by the River




All summer long, war has been raging on the river, the backdrop to long sunny mornings, where the bird population guard their chicks, and wait for you to drop them largesse, brown bread, white bread, they don’t care.

The river has also been the backdrop to war waged on us, all of us.

In London on the 7th July, outside London, it doesn’t make a difference – we have all been hurt.

It started slowly – the first report said no more than a loud bang had been heard on the Liverpool rail line. That was around half past nine.

By 12 midday, the world had changed

I came online to some very frightened emails and messages – one in particular from some one who had just woken up in the States, and didn’t know if I was safe.

I work in an Oxford college, stone towers, climbing ivy, green velvet lawns, the lot. I sat at my desk, looking out on the quad, thinking about being alive.


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Photogrpah: Iffley Lock, early morning

Down by the river, we have been counting the cost – the mallard hen had produced a brood of 15 bundles of fluff.
The lock -keeper tells me that a magpie had taken out four of the chicks, we both regret the murderous magpie.


“The geese have done well” I remind the lock-keeper, thinking of the daily parade of proud geese parents escorting their young down the river, hissing like kettles at anything that comes near their babies.

The keeper agrees, although ‘they had lost quite a few chicks,have the geese.’

The weeping willow bends down to the river and the geese honk loudly to each other.

Life goes on for them – next year they will be back with a new brood. I look forward to that.


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Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Amid the darker notes




After the events of the 7th July I had to take some time out – rather like many others I suspect.

I am sure many blogs are expressing the anger and the sorrow of that day.

Those of us Brits who live outside London can hardly believe the apparent peace of our surroundings.
News pages, TV newscasts, make for harrowing viewing, the continuing pain of people searching for loved ones, makes your heart ache.

Amid the darker notes, lighter notes can be seen.

In small things.

Two days after the bombs, I walked down to the river, stop to confer with the lock-keeper. We are concerned for the safety of the coots' five chicks.


A seagull attacked last week, and he isn't sure if they survived. I can find two chicks, now so well grown they have gained their adult colouring.

"Not a bad attrition rate" says the keeper when I report the survival of two chicks.


The fate of the moorhens and their babies still cause concern.

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Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Le roast bif!



London joyous, Paris stunned by 2012 vote

LONDON (Reuters) - Supporters of London's bid to host the 2012 Olympic Games reacted with joy and surprise to the capital's shock victory on Wednesday while France struggled to comprehend how Paris had lost.
Thierry Rey, another former Olympic judo champion, summed up the sense of incredulity." "We don't understand...what more could we have done? I wonder if sometimes people don't want us."

Well my froggy friend, you got it in one – no, the IOC don’t want you and maybe yer Msier Chirac will give upon being so rude about ‘Le roast bif’, and the Finns were very unhappy about his comments as well.


Only happened to have a judge on the IOC panel , did the Finns.

Silly buggers, just because we flayed ‘em at Agincourt...sore losers the Frenchies, dunno why they have started making remarks about ‘Just playing the game’

Never knew they felt like that; and they won’t admit we has the most delicious lamb - expect we are in for a season of road blocks and banning of’ ‘Le mutton’ now.
Shucks, I had better sharpen a few arrows. Yep.


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