Wet and windy...

The heatwave seems a long way away. The weather today, in Suffolk, is cold, wet and windy, so I'm heading for the Cakes and Ale campsite for a day of editing. Getting a flurry of pic sales, as is usual at the end of a month, including this shot of Levens Hall, in Cumbria...

Esso & BP...

Foot gouty; fortunately, after taking a pill yesterday, and another today, I’ve gone from hobbling to walking. Still in Suffolk, busy writing. Parked up today near a branch of Barclay’s Bank, which means I have wifi. My latest pix are all edited, uploaded and keyworded; I’m closing in on 20,000 pix in my Alamy folio.

A change of ownership at a petrol station: a saleable stock shot, I think...

Felixstowe...

I’m parked up in Felixstowe, next to the library, where I’m having an editing session (assisted by the free wifi). In giving their offerings a backstory, even fish & chip shops are trying to boost their foodie credentials. While waiting in line, last night, for cod, chips and scraps, I was able to read the following, chalked up on a blackboard. “Cod: caught by long line in the Barents Sea, off the coast of Norway, by the vessel M S Leinebris. The potato variety for the chips is Sagitta, grown by Mr Tandley, from Lincolnshire, and finally chipped by either Ethan, Dan, Rian or Nigel.” My fish & chips, despite all this verbiage, were nothing special.

Licensed this pic of Storrs Hall Hotel, Windermere, yesterday...

Witnesses...

Licensed this pic today (though the Jehovah's Witnesses merit barely a footnote in my book)...

New pix...

It makes a change to have some new pix to upload. Lakenheath Fen and Woodbridge (I like the divergence of attention: sports car or shop window)...

Cakes and Ale...

Found a campsite just a couple of miles from Minsmere in Suffolk: well-appointed, reasonably priced, hassle-free, wifi working and, best of all, with showers that start hot and stay hot. The campsite is called Cakes and Ale, which should be easy to remember. Been busy editing and uploading recent pix, and will have another stay, later in the week, to finish off the job.

Licensed this shot today...

Woodbridge...

What a lazy weekend. I had a wander round Shut Heath Wood yesterday morning, near Great Totham, Essex, having been told that lesser spotted woodpeckers are sometimes seen there. I heard green woodpeckers ‘laughing’ and saw a greater spotted woodpecker; I occupied a bench for an hour, sitting and listening, watching and waiting for a woodpecker no bigger than a sparrow. No luck, but I saw a treecreeper, heard blackcaps and whitethroats singing, and the woods were very peaceful.

I stayed the night in Woodbridge, one of my favourite small towns. This morning I went to Quaker meeting; it was as tranquil as Shut Heath Wood. Took loads of pix around town, so I’ll need to find a campsite soon, where I can edit and upload them. In the meantime I’ll stay another night in Woodbridge, so I can have a couple of cold beers…

Nightingales...

I heard my nightingales at Finginghoe Wick: at least a dozen males singing. They all have their own territory. One song fades as you walk along the paths, surrounded by the thickest undergrowth, and another song rises up to greet you. I didn’t manage to see one, but that doesn’t matter; the song is enough. There were blackcaps singing, and chiffchaffs, and my first cuckoo of the year, though I didn’t see or hear any wheatears or sedge warblers or reed buntings. I wonder if that arctic spell of snowy weather has killed off a lot of the smaller birds. I only saw a couple of swallows all day. This isn’t a typical April.

The reserve is being extended, along the estuary of the River Colne, and I spent a soporific hour, in the heat of the afternoon, in the Kingfisher hide, watching a trio of little grebes chase each other around the saltwater pool, making more noise than you’d expect from such a tiny waterbird. A solitary greenshank was having a protracted siesta, as was I.

Another image of Petworth licensed...

Peterborough...

Saw an old friend, Mandy, in Peterborough yesterday evening. Thanks to the startling change in the weather we were able to eat a Thai meal al fresco next to the River Nene. Back on the road again, heading for ‘nightingale country’.

Licensed this pic of Petworth today...

Whittlesey...

The temperature in Whittlesey is a balmy 24 degrees. I’ve taken off the fleece, for the first time this year. I’m not wearing my one and only pair of shorts, but at least I know where to find them. I should be out taking pix; instead I’ve written myself to a standstill, editing the book.

Licensed this pic today: a green lane near Flatford Mill...

Loneliness...

Another quote from Krishnamurti...

One of the factors of sorrow is the extraordinary loneliness of man. You may have companions, you may have gods, you may have a great deal of knowledge, you may be extraordinarily active socially, talking endless gossip about politics, and still this loneliness remains. Therefore, man seeks to find significance in life and invents a significance, a meaning. But the loneliness still remains. So can you look at it without any comparison, just see it as it is, without trying to run away from it, without trying to cover it up, or to escape from it? Then you will see that loneliness becomes something entirely different. We are not alone. We are the result of a thousand influences, a thousand conditionings, psychological inheritances, propaganda, culture. We are not alone, and therefore we are secondhand human beings. When one is alone, totally alone, neither belonging to any family, though one may have a family, nor belonging to any nation, to any culture, to any particular commitment, there is the sense of being an outsider, outsider to every form of thought, action, family, nation. And it is only the one who is completely alone who is innocent. It is this innocence that frees the mind from sorrow.

Lakenheath Fen...

The bird-watching has been a mite disappointing, mostly due to the unseasonal weather. I was waiting for something to happen and, today, it did. I spent the morning at another RSPB reserve, Lakenheath Fen. I heard a song thrush singing from a stand of poplar trees; for the first time this year the song seemed amplified, expanded. Not just louder, but clearer, more penetrating. I don’t know whether this has anything to do with woodland acoustics, or whether (the more likely option) it’s just the thrush putting in a bit more effort to attract a mate.

I spent some time gazing out over a stretch of reed-fringed water, just enjoying the unaccustomed sunshine, the piercing light and the cumulus clouds stacked up like scatter cushions. I didn’t really care if I saw any birds or not; it was just a good place to be, with a few birders to chat to. A pair of great crested grebes performed their mating rituals. A coot chased a canada goose away. A kestrel hovered. Cetti's warblers sang from scrubland. A heron landed in the shallows. A marsh harrier glided over the reedbeds.

Another bird flew towards me; at first I thought it was a second marsh harrier, but it turned out to be a bittern: a bird so shy and retiring that a lot of people who have heard them ‘booming’ have never actually seen one. They tend to hide in the reeds (for which their plumage is perfect camouflage). Bitterns are not good fliers; this one battled with the wind, head hunched into its chest, but still managed to circle the pool three times, before diving into the reeds. Whenever I think about a bittern in future, it won’t be a picture from a book; it will be the bittern I saw today.

I sat with another guy who looked happy to stare vacantly into the middle distance, on a pleasantly warm April day. We agreed that we weren’t at the zoo, wandering listlessly from cage to cage, enclosure to enclosure, and that what’s needed, in a search for birds, is patience and stoicism. At that moment a pair of cranes flew over. I’ve never seen cranes before (not this side of the Channel, anyway), but they were unmistakable, flying with neck and legs outstretched. What a sight! Apparently, there are a couple of pairs at Lakenheath; one day, perhaps, they may breed here. So within five minutes I’d seen a heron, a bittern and two cranes.

I called in, later in the day, to another small reserve, near Weeting, run by the Norfolk Naturalist Trust, in the hope of seeing stone curlews: another extremely shy and retiring bird (and, like the bittern, perfectly camouflaged for its breeding territory: not reedbeds, but stoney fields). Modesty prevents me from reporting who it was that finally saw the first stone curlew. Although I’d never seen them before, they are as unmistakable as the cranes. That’s two new birds for me in the course of a few hours. And yet the high point of the day may have been the song thrush; it was like hearing a soloist in a cathedral.

Stone curlew (pic by Frank Vassen, Belgium)...

Titchwell...

Spent the morning at Titchwell reserve, on the North Norfolk coast; it being Sunday I only had to arrive at 8am to have the place to myself. With a large nesting colony of black headed gulls, the noise was amazing. I spent a few minutes with my eyes closed, enjoying the incessant racket. Saw some more avocets; in the manner of Audrey Hepburn, everything they do looks graceful. They can sleep with head tucked over the shoulder, balanced on one impossibly slender leg (I distinctly recall the actress doing something similar in Breakfast at Tiffany’s)…

Cley Marshes...

Called in at Cley Marshes, perhaps the best-known bird reserve in the country, and had a wander through the reedbeds. I heard - and briefly saw - a couple of bearded tits. Saw my first avocets of the year; what handsome birds they are. Plenty of wildfowl squabbling and mating: sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. The ruff were coming into their elaborate breeding plumage. After so many days of mist and gloom, the sun came out - the light moving across the reedbeds like a golden tide. It was like the landscape had suddenly gained an extra dimension. I’ll hopefully visit another reserve tomorrow, RSPB Titchwell, and I’m waiting to see if I’ll be visiting an old friend while I’m in North Norfolk…

Normality...

The mist came down a few days ago and is refusing to lift. I’m in a favourite part of the country, yet everywhere looks the same: drearily monochrome. This quarter of the year, from the day the clocks go forward, to the longest day, is generally my favourite time for taking pix, but this isn’t the photogenic kind of mist. There may be lots of rare birds in the reedbeds, but I can’t see them. So I’m busy with the book.

I phoned the health centre in Windermere, to get the results of my blood test. “Normal”, said the lady at reception, then, continuing down the list, “normal, normal, normal, normal” and “no action needed”. What a wonderful word is ‘normal’; at such a moment I’m happy to be normal, average, regular, expected, conventional, typical, unremarkable. Three cheers for normality…

Licensed today: the garden at Calke Abbey...

Fingringhoe Wick...

Had a leisurely stroll around Fingringhoe Wick, in Essex. I’d assumed I was too early for nightingales, though I was told, at the visitor centre, that the first singing male had been heard yesterday. I listened to a blackcap (whose song is almost - but not quite - as evocative as a nightingale’s), which was perched just a few feel away, wary and watchful, as I sat in a hide. The nightingale proved to be elusive, but I’ll be back at Fingringhoe Wick before the end of the month. The reserve is advertising ‘nightingale walks’, so the birds will have to be there!

Drove north to Minsmere, probably the RSPB’s best-known reserve, in Suffolk. The mist had rolled in by the time I arrived, so I only had a quick look round. Plenty of people around, and plenty of birds; I just couldn’t see most of them! It doesn’t matter that my spring of bird watching has got off to a slow start; it gives me more time to edit the book…

Not much of a pic, but it sold today: Goat Fell on the Isle of Arran...

Kindness...

Enjoyed these thoughts from Krishnamurti, which arrived in my email inbox today.

"Compassion is not hard to come by when the heart is not filled with the cunning things of the mind. It is the mind with its demands and fears, its attachments and denials, its determinations and urges, that destroys love. And how difficult it is to be simple about all this! You don't need philosophies and doctrines to be gentle and kind. The efficient and the powerful of the land will organize to feed and clothe the people, to provide them with shelter and medical care. This is inevitable with the rapid increase of production; it is the function of well-organized government and a balanced society. But organization does not give the generosity of the heart and hand. Generosity comes from quite a different source, a source beyond all measure. Ambition and envy destroy it as surely as fire burns. This source must be touched, but one must come to it empty-handed, without prayer, without sacrifice. Books cannot teach, nor can any guru lead to, this source. It cannot be reached through the cultivation of virtue, though virtue is necessary, nor through capacity and obedience. When the mind is serene, without any movement, it is there. Serenity is without motive, without the urge for the more"...

Wivenhoe...

After a clockwise half-circuit of the M25 (AKA London’s orbital car park) I’ve wound up in Wivenhoe this afternoon. I’ll have a walk around Fingringhoe Wick tomorrow morning, even though I’m probably a few days too early to hear nightingales…

Another pub at twilight, licensed today: the Red Lion, Coleshill...

Book...

I have consolidated all the book chapters into a single document, so it looks like a book… kind of. The word count is 84,000. This will go up and down as I carry on editing, and should end up close to 90,000 by the time I’m finished.

Another church pic licensed: St John's at Helsington in Cumbria...

First swallow...

Spent the morning at Pulborough Brooks, an RSPB reserve in West Sussex. I heard, and saw, chiffchaffs; they’re easier to spot before the trees are in leaf. I saw half a dozen swallows swooping over the water - my first of the year - so today is the day that I’ll cut and paste all the book chapters into a single document. Though the reserve was quiet, I enjoyed walking through the woods, enveloped by birdsong. The best sighting, just before I left, was a female blackcap…

Hartley Wintney...

Staying with sister Kari in Hartley Wintney; it was worth the long drive in the rain just to be able to use shampoo that actually smells nice. Been writing all day, despite the sunshine, before heading off for pastures new…

Licensed this shot of Dunwich Heath, in Suffolk, where I'll hope to be in a few days (and maybe spot another Dartford warbler)...

Saved...

Yesterday I drove from Yorkshire, where’s it’s still winter, down to Hampshire where spring has sprung. For a change of listening, while on the motorway, I tuned into a Christian radio station. There was plenty of talk, mostly about “being saved”, and listeners were asked to donate money so that “the word” could be brought to those who “wouldn’t normally hear it”. There was Christian music too: relentlessly upbeat, built around predictable major chords (minor chords might have suggested doubt or indecision), with lyrics as bland and generic as a Eurovision song entry. The music could have come from any ‘big hair’ band from the States (Toto or REO Speedwagon, say) or undistinguished B-sides from Neil Sedaka, Deacon Blue, or Bonnie Tyler.

Licenced this pic yesterday of a cricket match in Hartley Wintney... and this is where I am today...

Easter...

What a dreary bank holiday: cold, wet and miserable. Got plenty of writing done, but there’s a fair bit left to do. And when the rain is hammering down on the roof, I look at the chapters and can’t decide if the book is really good or a load of cobblers. Maybe it will look better after some fresh air and sunshine.

April has started well for stock pic sales, including this shot of Smardale Gill: a Cumbrian railway line that's now a nature reserve...

Snow...

Seven or eight years ago, March in the Lake District was so warm that people were swimming in the lake (and I’ve got photos to prove it). Even though the trees were still bare, the weather was hot and hazy, more like August. Now it’s April, in West Yorkshire, and I’m snowed in…

Another church pic licensed, Odiham in Hampshire...