Monthly Archives: November 2018

I had an errand to run in Stratford this morning, and decided to combine it with a quick trip to the Butterfly Farm in search of a macro shot for today’s challenge. Not that I need one, given that it’s … Continued

By the time I reached the high Cotswolds this afternoon I had a Bad Feeling: the light was vile, and the wind was howling across the soft top of the MX-5. So when I spotted a red kite hunting over … Continued

It was another long afternoon of nothing much happening up in the Cotswolds, suddenly but briefly enlivened by a confrontation between a short-eared owl and a kestrel. The owl had just gone up to hunt when the kestrel bombed over … Continued

I didn’t feel up to doing much today, but made a late decision to zoom up to the owl field – arriving just before 3.30pm to find the lane so packed with cars that I left mine round the corner, … Continued

A long and tiring day (especially for R who did seven hours of driving, two of them in stop-start, nose to tail traffic), but highly enjoyable. After a hellish journey across London (I used to drive around London all the … Continued

Today was a bit of a curate’s egg, but ended on an absolute high. I had an appointment in Coventry this morning for the Mazda garage to change the SD card in my satnav. The bad news is that the … Continued

I was standing in happy solitude by the wall on the south side of the owl field, chimping at some earlier photos on the back of my camera, when I glanced up and found a roe deer doe staring at … Continued

I felt that in the circumstances, being this month’s host of Tiny Tuesday, I should show willing and post a macro shot. So this morning I rattled off a few frames at one of the two C******** cacti we currently  … Continued

The weather this morning looked very promising for owling – right up until I reached the top of the Cotswold escarpment, when the sky blackened and the wind picked up. As you probably know, short-eared owls hunt largely by hearing, … Continued

Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way To the siding-shed, And lined the train with faces grimly gay. Their breasts were stuck all white with wreath and spray As men’s are, dead. Dull porters watched them, and a … Continued