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The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month

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Book ending the day

Well, after a first cup of tea finished off by Lucie, we set off for our earlymorning walk to be greeted by a beautiful dawn with the sun not even over the horizon, a little chilly but as yet no ground frost to speak of and wildlife still dozing apart from the odd rabbit and alerted pheasant. When we set off for the evening walk the sky was pretty much the same with just a few clouds and the odd vapour trail from the fast jets from RAF Marham and the USAF at Lakenheath but the sunset was almost, not quite, but almost, providing a matching bookend for the day. It was going to be a frosty night and mist which may thicken was rising from the dykes, all very atmospheric and a pleasure to be alive and see it. Some days you just get lucky.

An icy evening

Walking Lucie on a cold, clear late afternoon, the temperature hasn't risen above plus one all day and there's no doubt that tonight it will drop to minus four or five. Fishing plans have been suspended because every waterway in the Fens has a coating of ice. The was one piece of clear water I noticed the day before, it was under a tree, and I could see fish moving there. Now it is frozen over but as a test I decided to drop half a brick on the ice and it just made a twanging sound and then skated away over the ice sheet for ten or twelve feet. This morning a change, it's minus three and freezing fog is setting in and getting thicker by the minute. Proper winter weather and home for a cup of hot tea I think.

A Beach Gentleman's boot?

There we were, the Boss and I gently staggering arm in arm through the banks of shingle on a Suffolk beach when our eyes fall on a lone boot. A flashback, the sight takes us back to our respective childhoods' in the North East of England when, on a Sunday morning, there always seemed to be a white stiletto shoe on the roof of the bus stop shelter. Can't think why. Thanks to Lord Lite, aka The Essex Scribbler, we've been told all about the Beach Gentlemen clad in fishnet tights and flip-flops that he and his fishing mates encounter on lonely Essex beaches when they are casting their lines and harvesting the sea's bounty. We can only assume that the 'Beach Gentlemen' must be enlarging their territory and casting their fishnets ever wider you could say. On the basis of finding this lonely boot on a shingle bank we can only assume that the police are looking for a man wearing only fishnet tights and ...

Code breaker needed

When we were up in Northumberland a few weeks ago I walked Lucie through the parish church graveyard first thing in the morning. As always a long established village has a lot of old graves and this one with the lichen growing on it caught my eye. Now one of the interesting things about these quiet places is the local history that is there, you can read the carving on the stones and see who's who, who was rich and who was poor but this one was quite literally impossible to decode with the erosion and the lichen garden growing it. Spectacular and interesting in a different way you could say.

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