"Master Charlie"

Foxes.

The 4-legged type of the genus vulpes.

If you've ever watched All Creatures Great And Small, about the country vet in the Yorkshire Dales, you may be aware of Siegfried Farnon's term for a fox as "Master Charlie", hence the title of this post.  Some may think, what's the big deal? I see them every day in the city!  But that's a different type of fox.

Now, I don't remember seeing any during my childhood - not even by the roadside or flattened by traffic in the centre, so it was a bit of a magical experience to see my first one even if it was an urban fox - just after the Knightswood traffic lights on the Great Western Road in Glasgow on my way to my parent's house for Christmas in 1998, at about 5am.  At first glance in the streetlights as I approached at 30 mph I thought, jings, that's a big cat, but it's got a funny sort of profile - and  when it turned to look at my car, its eyes shone in the headlights like no cat's I've ever seen - it was this that told me it was a fox.  Wow, my mind was blown.

The next encounter - or sighting, I suppose, and in daylight for the first time - was of a pair, early one May morning in 2008 when I was out walking Loopus.  They slunk across the access road between each side of the racecourse's the hayfield some 200 meters away from us, and it was wonderful to see.

During the awesome cold winter of 2010, I'd see one occasionally crossing fields, and once at night I turned on the head torch to see if i could see Loopus and saw two eyes coming towards me in the dark, a good 400 metres away, so whistled him to "come", only for Loopus to turn around and come-to-heel but 40 metres from me.  The eyes in the distance disappeared, stage left...

We saw an urban fox in Edinburgh, too - on it's way home one October morning after a night on the bin-leftovers, no doubt.

When i started my new job in Midsomer Norton at the turn of the year, it was an unusual journey down where I didn't see a fox when south of Bristol, running off to the undergrowth in the brightness of the full beam headlights.

Once the firm and myself had moved to Bristol, it wasn't uncommon to see them, usually (in best Terry Pratchett's Gaspode the wonderdog style) enjoying the eat-all-you-can-from-the-bins-for-free of the city.

Tonight, however:  it's a harvest moon, and we've enough clear sky to enjoy it fully.  Unusually for a Friday night having travelled the 200-odd miles home to Yorkshire, I decided to take Loopus out for a walk in the moonlight, just because it was fantastic.  The whole walk was superb, I've missed doing this so much, but the highlight was really in the first few minutes, and the rest the icing on the cake.

We were less than 100 meters from the A1 underpass, and Loopus less than 10 meters in front of me when a dog-like animal half the size of Loopus bolted across the cyclepath in front of me.  Not an urban fox - a very wild (and bloody startled!) rural fox.

Master Charlie!

A laggard bemoans the passing of analogue

Tonight I am grumpy because as of tomorrow, the government's desicion to sell the airwaves for 4G telephone communication will make the 2nd-hand television that I've owned since 1998 obsolete, and there is nothing on the market that can replace it in its as-is state. If I want to be able to see the news again while cooking tea, or pick up on Newsnight as I'm sorting the dog's tablets out just before bed, I will have to spend a huge amount more than the £10 that television cost me back at the end of the last century.

So what's the problem, I hear you say? I will admit that as far as consumers go, I am a laggard - a "forced adopter" in the terms of innovators - as I could have bought a digital compatible television some time before. There's the rub - it is the terms of the forced adoption that I am angry about. I shouldn't have to buy anything else, as I have bought my television, and I buy my TV license, so why should I have to buy anything else?

The old television still has an excellent picture - a black & white picture - and it doesn't require an external aerial. The wire loop built-in to the back of the set has allowed it to receive signals from more than one transmitter for the past 14 years, it has worked in the depths of Devon valleys and even in the depths of the kitchen with the extension shielding the back of the house.

I could buy a digibox, but I would still need an aerial to attach to that, and the advice given by the digital switchover telephone line is that I will find difficulty in buying a free-standing aerial that will allow use of a digital box, as we live too far away from the nearest transmitter (50km) and will probably need an aerial external to the house. This makes a mockery of the idea of a small television being that it is portable, being portable, as there will need to be a socket for the aerial in every room in the house to allow this.

Added to this, it turns out the digital box we have may also be obsolete, as it was bought over 5 years ago - some are not compatible with the new digital signals. Why were these types of receivers allowed to be sold in this country when it was known that it would eventually become obsolete? Are we not meant to be reducing the amount of electrical waste that we churn out?

Then there's the cost of the electricity, and added plug sockets required for each digibox that is needed, too. When not being watched these will need to be unplugged to prevent the low-level draw of current required for the devices' transformer. Think about this for a bit - sooner or later, every country in the develoed and developing world will have digital television - can you imagine the sudden increase in CO2 emissions when China switches off its analogue TV signal, and all manner of digiboxes are switched on?

Tomorrow they switch off the analogue signal.

A nice bit of Fewston in the evening.

Last Sunday, Loopus and I met David in the carpark at Fewston reservoir for a walk around it. It was a glorious evening, and for a short while we walked along the banks of the River Washburn. This is usually covered by water, but the level of the reservoir was so low that, in the upper reaches, the old banks of the river that fills the ressy are exposed.

I asked David, "What's your plans for next Saturday evening? I'm in Leeds for a tutorial which finishes at 4."
"Not got anything planned", came the reply, "Curry in Leeds?"
"Do you fancy a walk rather than beer and curry? We can do that stuff when it's dark in the evening."
"Aye, sounds good."

Thus we met again on a Saturday evening, and set off around Fewston. The plan this time was to see if we could include Swinsty too, which is the lower reservoir that Fewston feeds into.

It was another stunning evening, but the rains over the week had raised the level of the ressy to hide the banks we'd walked on the weekend before. Loopus, as usual, was running around daft at the opportunity of smells and new things to see around the reservoir, he was loving it.



What I love about this is getting to go for a wee drive on quiet roads, and seeing wildlife that I wouldn't usually see. Towards the dam the footpath becomes tarmac, and covered with a light carpet of pine needles. I spotted a black slug on the path, with its tail covered in a ball of these needles:

We dropped down to (naughtily) walk down the spillway that leads to Swinsty, and happened across some graffiti! It says "THE LADS..."

The spillway hasn't seen running water for some time, the algae, moss and plants were bone dry.


You can see from the next photo just how late it was, so we made the decision not to walk around Swinsty this time, and save it for the next time.

On the way back we spotted a leopard slug,

and some more waterfowl - the Oyster catchers were having an argument across the expanse of the ressy too.

We returned to the cars, having spent the best part of 2 hours of a lovely evening in a fantastic location. Wonderful.

So I bought an engine off eBay...

Back in the middle of February I was invited to a 40th birthday/emigrating (to France) do on the 19th of March, with the venue being a cottage on the West Highland Line, just off of Rannoch Moor. Brian's a good friend, so I accepted readily, and looked forward to it.

The same night I accepted the invite, I was scanning eBay for Imp stuff. I put a mad drunken bid on a 930 Talbot Sunbeam engine in Inverness, and e-mailed the vendor asking if he would hold it for me if I won the auction - if not then to cancel my bid and let the auction progress. He agreed and so the auction went on, with me fully expecting to be outbid - 930s go for over £200 usually.

I was the only bidder, and won the engine for the princely sum of £50!

So the decision was to be made about which shite-heap to take - the Imp, the Saab or the Cavalier?

The Imp - too small, too loud, no radio.
The Saab - 33 MPG at best, probably 26-30 on the run, and not as relaxed as:
The Cavalier - 8-10 MPG over the Saab, comfortable, tidier handling and less arse-draggy than either of the above.

The Cav it is then, despite this being the first BIG journey (and I mean BIG - it got warmed up enough to open the 'stat prior to the retorque before coming back off the road to start on the rear arch) since the head gasket change, and the first journey since I welded in the new wheelarch and rear valance. However, it needs some more stuff doing to it - fresh oil (fully synth Unipart 5/w40, extravagant but it seems to like it!) and a new filter; dig the old tape player out of the loft and swap it over with the one that's in there as I want to have both FM radio and tape; new brake pads. Remember, this is the £95 stop-gap car bought 4 years ago...

So at about half 11 on The Friday, the Cav and I travelled north on the A1. Over the A66, no problems, and stopped at Todhills for me to empty my bladder and fill up the car at about half 1. The next planned stop, Inverness...

I tramped on up the A74M, waiting for the hill that would slow the Cav down (remember it's a 1300) but it didn't come, and I did the border to the M73 in just over an hour - the next time I stopped was in traffic in the roadworks on the A80, as some eejit had caused a lorry to go through the central reservation in the contraflow, blocking the northbound.



Once clear of that, then the roadworks, more tramping on, with some lovely vistas over the A9:



I reached Inverness at around 6, and picked up the engine - the vendor's a top bloke, I got the carb and manifolds chucked in too - he wanted it to go to an enthusiast. I reiterated that I couldn't believe that I'd won it; he said there were 26 watchers and just the one bidder...:-)

Out with the spare wheel and into the spare wheel well went the engine - I don't want to have to lift that out to change the tyre! A bit more blether - it was 6:50, and time to get on. Into Inverness, phone the wife while having a coffee outside a car dealership.

I'd just got off the phone to Her when Craig, the organiser of the weekend, phoned to say he'd forgotten the key to the doss - it was lying on the kitchen table in the south side of Edinburgh and it was a 5 hour round trip to pick it up... Good job I brought the tent! Then I thought, I'd better get some get some gas for the stove - will Nevisport in Fort Bill still be open? Ahhhh, there's a Halfords just over there and they do camping stuff! Gas bought, then onwards again.

Just as I was about to leave Inverness I got another phonecall from Craig - they'd managed to get into the doss.
Good. Time for food.

I stopped for a fish supper at Drumnadrochit (they're really good) but as they cook the fish to order it was too hot to eat straight away, so I thought I'd have it in Invermoriston. I didn't get that far - Urquhart Castle was lit up for the night, and the moonlight was bouncing off of Loch Ness - a fantastic photo opportunity, and as good a place as any to eat a fish supper.


Back on down the road - it was getting cold, but whether it was cold enough for a frost to form was worrying. I tried to take it steady, but every so often I'd get into a rhythm and have to make the conscious effort to slow down. I picked up a young hitchhiker in Spean Bridge, going to Fort William to see his girlfriend. He'd been faced with the choice of staying in watching Comic Relief with his mum or trying to thumb a lift. If I'd had that choice - Comic Relief or the chance of a bit of houghmagandy - I'd have walked the 9 miles...

Into Fort Bill at about 10 past 9, and Morrison's was shut - arse! Still, the petrol station was open and the car needed fuel - 37 MPG, which isn't bad considering the amount of WOT I'd been using. Then on through Glencoe to the doss at Achallader. I'd just sorted my stuff out when another car rolled up - the occupant (from Knaresborough!) was heading off in a different direction towards one of the MBA's bothies.

Up the hill and into the doss with the lights of engineering train on the West Highland Line showing me where the bridge across the track was, and hence the way to the accomodation for the weekend - the Achallader lineside railway cottage, built just on the edge of the railway line - then beer! Ahhhh, at last, I can stop moving...

The next morning dawned nice and bright. While others made plans to go walking and that, I got the books out and did some studying - such fun, but needs must. I did go to Brodies for some supplies, and walked into the Green Wellie shop to laugh at the prices - £9.99 for a box set of 3 beers! It's good to know that tourists are being fleeced.
Here's a view from the bridge over the WHL, looking north:

One looking south:

And a shot of the doss:

There was also the chance to photograph the occasional diesel multiple unit

...and some of the locals.
 
Another night of beer and laughs followed, including a weird vehicle on the tracks.

Sunday dawned cloudy and dull - and so was the weather. Another weird vehicle on the tracks:

Brian and other friends were heading to the Clashgour hut for a cuppa and reminice some more, but I decided to begin the 300-mile journey down the road towards home. At the Dumbarton by-pass there was an amazing sight - A Sherpa camper! I got some shots, the first one at Dumbuck garage, the second half a mile later. I bet it rolls in a roundabout!



At the services on the M74, there was this wee thing, any idea what it is?

Finally, home. I just need a spare pair of hands to get this engine out of the boot...

February Blues

I'm a bit down at the moment: for some reason February does this to me. Perhaps it's the fact that there's fuck all to look forward to in the rest of the year, like my birthday. That was just at the end of the start of January, or the start of the middle. Everyone's realised just how little money they have to get to the end of the month, and they're partied out from the festive period anyway, so no-one can afford to help you celebrate/can be bothered. Birthdays in early-mid January are awful.

Then there's the job situation: made redundant in June, job hunting since November, not even a single offer of an interview. I hate not being able to suss out the HR bullshit.

So I've upped the Open Uni work, just in case I can't get a job for a wee while. The problem is, one of the courses I've chosen, although austensibly a technlogy/engineering course, it is being studied by way more non-engineers than engineers! Managers studying for degrees in mind control, sorry, management; Business and Marketing and other such onanists with non-jobs. They've already carved up the course fora with their "aren't we the chosen ones" bullshit to the extent that a clique has formed already - the official start of the course isn't until Saturday!!!

Also, I'm trying to sell a car: and old one, one that has a high mileage, a little rust, but a good 'un none-the-less. The last MOT went without difficulty; the engine doesn't smoke nor lose oil; the electrics, bar a rear window (because there's no switch) and a headlight wiper(it's Swedish: you don't realise just how good headlight wipers are until you travel in heavy snow like we had in early December) all work; the tyres are all good and have plenty of tread; but the interior headlining has been removed because it had fallen down.

I've had a couple of enquiries from chancers who want buy it for less than it's worth as scrap - F right off.
What is it about February that sucks?

Wildlife photography... The Camera

Why do I bother? Last year I splashed out on a compact digital camera (henceforth known as "The Camera") with a 12 times optical zoom - one that would fit neatly into a pocket - so as not to have to take the BIG camera out whilst out walking the dog - because I was fed up coming back from a walk, digging the phone out, and explaining to my wife that the tiny blob on the screen that you could just make out was, indeed, a deer, or such other distant piece of wildlife.

So this year, whenever I've not taken The Camera out with me I've seen some cracking wildlife. In the snow of January, a fox in the middle of a field. March, a red kite overhead. May, it was either a red kite being mobbed by a buzzard or the other way around.

We'e also got a pair of Oyster Catchers nesting on one of the drainage ponds for the A1M, but that's not why I'm writing.

It's the pair of whaups. The glorious curlew has decided to nest in this vicinity.

So of an evening when I go out and walk Loopus, I hear the most fabulous birdsong that I know - the curlew's call, and see them flying through the air.

However, they know, like all wildlife, just when I will be carrying The Camera. They stay away. All last week, I didn;t take The Camera out, and all last week, in the evenings, there they were, flying overhead, warbling that wonderful song.

This week, new memory card, thus new incentive, took the camera out - they didn't appear. Not even a whisper. Not once.

Then tonight, I didn't bother with The Camera, I took a bottle of beer instead. I'd got 100 yards into the walk when:-

"Whau-whau-whau....!" The pair of them, overhead!

Here's some lovely video from someone else.

Yet another bloody night where I have to take the dug in the car to gie him a walk!!! The underpass is 2 foot deep FFS! This is not on.