"Sods law"

The winter solstice was yesterday and for me it is always a day to look forward to, the return to lengthening days perks me up and with today's repeated dumping of snow I am pleased to have something that lifts my spirit. For the last four or five days, "T", who is 9 years old and one of our grandsons came to stay with us, he likes to go fishing with me and seems to have a growing interest which I am keen to encourage. Many times he has told me that he would love to fly fish, so after a few fruitless sessions, in temperatures that can invoke temporary, involuntary sex change in men we made a trip into town where he bought himself the basics in fly fishing gear. He is naturally very proud of his new equipment and despite the fact that the river has been frozen over for much of it's length we kept having a bash. I would love to have seen his face when he hooked into a decent grayling, but sadly this time it wasn't to be. This morning we had to take the little chap back home to his Mom in order to ensure he is in his own bed when "Santa" calls by. As we returned to the site around midday, the snow began to give way to the sun and I went walkabout with my camera. It was so pleasant, that within half an hour I decided that I just had to try my hand fishing once more. I made my way to a spot that I know often holds a few fish and knelt down facing the sun. Casting here is difficult, there is only a narrow window of about six foot between the boughs of trees but my little 7ft rod is perfect for the job. The water here runs quite slowly and so I laid the fly with as much delicacy as I could muster. It took no more than ten minutes before I was in a full scale battle with a good sized fish. I was sure that I had hooked a grayling because this fish fought me long and hard for several minutes. When the fish finally conceded defeat and was nestled quietly in my net I saw that it was in fact a chub, the second in a week and weighing in at 2lb 1oz. I felt so sorry for "T", only a couple of hours since his departure and "sods law" applies.

One more cast

Today has been quite overcast and despite a temperature of 5 degrees Celcius, with the northerly wind it felt more like 0 degrees and with nothing very pressing to do I went fishing, fishing for grayling that is. For an hour and a half, I searched a stretch of water of about half a mile or so without so much as a sign of any fish. Having only caught one fish each time that I have been out this week, I wasn't too surprised. When the cold had penetrated my bones to the point of near immobility I decided to head back to the truck. Every 20 metres or so I would stop, peer into the water and make another few half hearted casts in the hope that I may get lucky. As I approached a sharp bend in the river I saw a large dark fish, unfortunately it also saw me and moved away. Like a geriatric commando, I crept away and upstream in the hope that the fish wasn't feeling too energetic and may still be in the area. From a kneeling position I made several casts of a fly followed by a slow and gentle retrieve. Another half a dozen fruitless attempts and a small collection of rotting twigs and I decided, one more cast and I'm off back in the warm. So, one final cast and a long dead drift toward the bend before beginning the retrieve. To my surprise I felt the hook set into something quite heavy. Slowly I pulled in the line thinking I had hooked a dead branch or tree root, then the line really tightened, my rod bent over and I had to ease my grip on the line so that my 2lb line tippet didn't break. This was followed by a large swirl on the surface of the water and the brief showing of a fin. Gently and smoothly I hauled in the line and brought my prize over the net, a big fat chub. Before releasing it I weighed the fish on the new digital scales that Pat bought me for our anniversary, 2lb 8oz. what a corker.

The dangers of a safety rail

Well, what have I been up to for the last couple of weeks? Shovelling snow, defrosting water pipes, consuming huge amounts of fuel in an attempt to keep warm, much the same as the rest of you, I imagine. Of course, I took a few photographs just to look back on in the future. I have continued making Christmas gifts and have just about completed my list.

For the most part we coped with the last cold snap quite well, the one persistent problem was the freezing of the waste water pipe. It is routed on the exterior of the truck under the floor and therefor I don't really see that lagging it would serve much purpose in temperatures below minus five degrees Celsius. Defrosting was not an option and so we just took to using a bowl for washing etc. and emptying it in the normal place. Pretty as the landscape may have been I am pleased to have sight of green grass and tarmac once more. For a couple of days we had to return to the house, each day the children board the school bus just a few metres away from where we park up. The pick up point is on a corner and for the safety of the children there is a tubular steel safety rail to stop exuberant children from spilling into the road. Six of our eight grandchildren catch the bus here each day, one of them being Anabelle, aged nine. Now "B" as she is often called, is the kind of child that if you tell her not to do something because of inherent danger she has to find out if it is true. One day last week the temperature locally reached a piercing minus ten degrees and "T" (our grandson) warned all of the kids "Do not touch the rail with your tongue because you will stick to it" So, you guessed it. "B" did no more than walk over to the rail and licked it like a lolly. You can imagine her panic, when she tried to call for help with her tongue stuck firmly to a length of scaffold type railing. Her arms and legs flapping as she tried to attract attention to her plight. Unfortunately all of the supervising adults, myself included, were unable to assist due to incapacitating laughter. Poor little "B" eventually broke the bond and dripped a trail of blood in the snow back to the truck for some first aid by her Nan. Like a true hero she boarded the bus to school, a little embarrassed and with advice not to eat any salt and vinegar crisps for a day or two.The evidence was clear and visible for the next 24 hours and not just on her tongue. Oh "B", sorry for laughing but it did look funny.

Going soft?

When I opened the curtains this morning, my heart sank a little as I looked out at our first snow of the winter, albeit only a sprinkling. From the warmth of the truck, I watched the birds as they flitted about in their search for food, for a breakfast, to fuel them through the day. Then for some reason, this got me thinking about the past. From the age of about six we lived in a council house, as did everyone that I knew and because it was new, it had central heating on the ground floor, real luxury. I remembered some of the winters, substantial snowfalls and frost were normal. Of a morning, our then pretty young Mom, would wake us for school before she went downstairs to light the coal fire, which heated the water for the radiators. Clambering over my disgruntled brothers bed, I would pull aside the curtains to look outside, to find the windows encrusted with ice. The net curtains would be locked in the ice on the glass. I would place the end of my thumb on the glass to defrost a hole through which I could look. "It's snowed, it's snowed" I would excitedly tell my brother Ian, whose head would wearily lift off his pillow as he sat up to check whether I was lying or not. The moisture in our breath was visible as we excitedly chatted and dressed. Mom made us wear a vest in winter, a white singlet beneath a grey flannelet shirt and a short sleeved jersey, that is now called a tank top. For the winter months we both had thick grey shorts and long grey woolen socks that were held up with bands of elastic called garters. We both hated wearing a vest, it was cissy, but our garters were essential and if one was displaced it would sometimes cause a minor skirmish. By the time we got down stairs, the fire would be burning bright, but with no heat in it yet and the room would be filled with the smell of coal and wood smoke. After breakfast, we put on our second hand corduroy "windjammer" jackets and knitted balaclava's before we set off for the mile and a half walk to school and a snowball fight or two, the last words from Mom would be "Have you put your vest on?" Sometimes, the snow would come up to our bare knees and beyond, our socks would be soaked before we had got two hundred yards. The leather of our "Tuff" shoes (a boring but quality brand) beginning to absorb the wet as we kicked about in the snow and slush. All day long we sat with wet feet, the schools never closed due to the weather, later with the shoe leather slowly beginning to turn white as it dried on our feet, it would be time to walk home again and tuck into a plate of sandwiches for tea, or if Dad had finished work a plate of belly pork or perhaps even neck of lamb.

Maybe this morning isn't so bad after all.

Misty morning

We are back in the midlands and have been for about a week, there is not much happening so we are just kicking back as we prepare for Christmas. Most of my time has been spent making more gifts, it has so far been a very useful exercise because I have made items that I perhaps would not otherwise have tried. Last Sunday we turned out for the local Remembrance Parade, which sadly I found a little disappointing. The only serving military presence was two army officers, with the majority of the parade made up by children of the cadet forces, scouts and guides etc. Not a good example to the youngsters I thought.

Due to the increased frequency of frosty mornings I have fitted some carpet in the truck, it takes the edge off placing feet on the cold cushion floor when getting out of bed and scraping ice from the inside of the windscreen yesterday, spurred me into repairing the ageing external thermal screen cover which we made about three years ago.

I am not one for lying in bed, even in the winter when it is cold and dark and this morning was no exception. No more than five minutes walking and I caught this chap just as the sun was rising at the start of a lovely day. I walked for about a mile or so before turning back towards the truck, this is the view that I returned to.

Resting up

On Tuesday we went Christmas shopping, we had a fairly successful day and came away a few pounds lighter, both physically and financially. As the day went on Pat seemed to be getting less and less well, coughing, sneezing and croaking like Kermit. Despite dosing up with decongestants and paracetamol the following morning she was far worse. We went into town at 09:00 am to try and get to see a doctor, but the health carers at two surgeries didn't care and so we had to attend the hospital. I ask you, hospital for a dose of antibiotics. Happily, half a dozen capsules later and she is already sounding a lot better. While Pat was resting up, I decided to take advantage of our inactivity and make some Christmas presents. No clues and certainly no pictures. The weather has been very pleasant and for most of today we have sat with the door open. As the daylight began to fade, the sun cast a brief golden light across the field which I thought worthy of a photograph or two.

A time to worry?

Well, things have been somewhat slow. We have carried out a few grandparent duties as planned but with our daughters' independent streak, the requirement has been less than anticipated and so we have now left Staffordshire and our daughter with foot still in plaster, for warmer climes, ie. Somerset. Over the last few weeks there has been a short series on TV about the "Eddie Stobart" trucking company, with both of us having a passing interest in trucks, we have watched several episodes. We were told, in one of the programmes, that on average a "Stobart" truck will be seen every four minutes. Well, something is clearly amiss. Last week, we made a brief shopping trip to Belgium and back by coach, none stop, in 16 hours. During that long, mind numbing, butt crunching, night and day of relentless motorway travel we only saw about 25 Stobart trucks, but who's counting. Today we began our journey at 09:30 am. We travelled non stop, by motorway for 140 miles until 12:05 pm. Now I don't want to be alarmist, but we only saw ten Stobart trucks. What's going on? Have I really become that sad? No....I just need to get out more, Now then, where did I put my anorak?