After the usual several hours of immediate pre-holiday dashing about; my standard sketchy last-minute hurling of a random selection of clothing into a bag, followed by an agonised interrogation of all my camera gear and portable tech – which to take and which to leave?? – which was ultimately resolved by cramming all of it into a large hard case and an overflow shoulder bag; and the packing of cool boxes and bags with essential food supplies (wine, butter, wine, beer, hot cross buns, wine, avocados and wine)… R and I managed to dispose of everything we were taking between our two cars, and got ourselves on the road a mere hour later than I’d hoped to be leaving. The Fosse Way, which resembles the Fifth Circle of Hell even on its best days, must have been having a particularly bad one today, because Apple Maps devised us a route which didn’t touch it at any point – instead taking us over the top of the scarp near the owl field and bouncing us off the edge of Cheltenham, before running us down a series of small Roman roads through some of the prettiest villages you’ve ever seen, skimming South Cerney, and depositing us neatly at the gate of the Lower Mill Estate.
I arrived a little breathless because of the Roman roads, which had triggered the almost physical sensation R calls my History Thing, and he arrived a little breathless from trying to keep up with my driving. But it turned out we’d beaten the rest of the party, and it’s always nice to start at the top of the leader board. G and the boys arrived shortly afterwards, but L, who had a project to finish, came just as R and I were starting to prepare dinner (wine in an avocado sauce, served on hot cross buns), and H, who’s just got back off tour, didn’t make it down from the Frozen North until mid-evening.
I’m not sure which of us it was who first noticed an increasingly loud chattering noise coming from the lake, but as soon as we went to investigate we realised that the reed bed opposite the bottom terrace was steadily filling up with juvenile Starlings, all jostling for good perches as they prepared to roost there overnight. I was so enchanted I could hardly tear myself away from the railing, and watched until there was barely enough light left to see the reeds, never mind the birds – by which time they were so thickly disposed across the reed bed, and their weight had flattened it so much, that it looked like a black and green carpet. There must have been several hundred birds in this one clump of reeds alone, and there are quite a few other beds dotted around the edge of the lake, at least some of which also seemed to be hosting roosts. If these Starlings are faithful to Howell’s Mere over the next few months, there will surely be some spectacular murmurations over the lake during the winter – a thought that makes the idea of a winter break at Lower Mill very tempting indeed.
R: L2, C10, D71.
