Two more British soldiers have been killed in Afghanistan in as many days....

Scottish born Lance Corporal James Johnson (31) of the Royal Regiment of Scotland, B Coy 5th Battalion, was killed instantly earlier today when he stepped on what was believed to be a Soviet legacy mine in Lashkar Gar, Helmand Province. L/Cpl Johnson's unit were investigating a reported RPG attack on a civilian aircraft at Bost airfield when the incident occurred and it was shortly after dismounting from his vehicle that he stepped on the device.

L/Cpl Johnson had served in Belfast for two years and had completed a full tour in Bosnia in 2005. His Commanding Officer, Lt Col David Richmond, described him as "a superb soldier and junior commander....He died doing the job he loved among men who held him in the highest regard".

Lawrence Johnson, L/Cpl Johnson's father, said "I am very proud of my son for being a soldier. It was his life and he had wanted to be in the Army since he was a small boy".

His fiancee, Bernadette Broadley, said "I am very proud of him for being so brave and I want him to be remembered for who he was".

WO2 Dan Shirley (32) from Leicester was killed yesterday while on a routine force protection patrol in central Helmand Province, Southern Afghanistan when the vehicle he was travelling in accidentally overturned. He was serving with 13 Air Assault Support Regiment Royal Logistic Corps based in Essex. Two other soldiers were injured in the same incident, though their injuries are not believed to be life-threatening. The accident occured at around 2110hrs local time and was not combat related. Unfortunately, I have no further information with regard to either the incident or to WO2 Shirley himself.

One of our rangers (it doesn't matter who) was out and about in the middle of nowhere yesterday doing ranger stuff along the banks of a certain river when he encountered a man dressed from head to toe in "Advantage Leaf" camouflage clothing digging a hole in the riverbank with a spade. Various items of expensive-looking camera equipment had been placed on tripods or were in special bags nearby. the man had apparently been at work for some time because it turned out that he was on his fifth hole!

 
"Puffin" by P.H....Relief-carving on English Oak board. My Mother-in-Law knows that the Puffin is one of my favourite seabirds, along with the Gentoo Penguin (I'm only alive today because of a Gentoo!), the Gannet, the Manx Shearwater and, of course, the Fulmar Petrel (it was a Fulmar that nearly killed me on another occasion!). On the right is the definitive "Collins Guide to Butterflies" that my Mother-in-Law also gave me.

I also received an unusual present from my Mother-in-Law....a relief-carving of a Puffin (shown above) done in oakwood and which must have taken her ages to complete. She took up wood-carving as a hobby years ago through the "Art in Nature" place at Sandhurst and now spends a great deal of her retirement chiselling and scraping away at all kinds of bits and pieces of wood, turning them into a terrific assortment of birds and other animals. She then spends the rest of her time either playing Bridge in the evenings, going on sight-seeing holidays abroad or water-colour painting holidays in the UK with her friends. We've got quite a few of her paintings of landscapes and flowers on the walls at home and they're excellent (see below). In addition to that, she gave me a new hardback copy of the "Collins Butterfly Guide" by Tolman and Lewington (above) which, like its sister volume, the "Collins Bird Guide" is the must-have definitive guide on its subject.

I had a digital photo-frame from my wife and now I'm able to subject any an all visitors to a relentless barrage of my photographs....after I've tied them to a chair that is, and super-glued their eyelids open! I was also totally delighted that, following months of subtle and not so subtle hint-dropping, my daughter has finally relented and given me book tokens rather than trying to bring me into the 21st Century clothes-wise by presenting me with stuff like orange "Firecrap" socks or T-shirts with silly so-called "designer" labels emblazoned across them, such as "Aquascrotum" or "Hugo Floss"....not to mention the fact that it costs her way over the odds for the privilege of getting me to do someone else's stupid advertising for them....which just ain't going to happen! I'm happy the way I am thank-you, even if I do look like a refugee from an Oxfam shop most of the time and my kids are embarrassed to be seen out with me!

Following their deaths, 2 PARA's Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Joe O'Sullivan, paid the following tribute:

"Yesterday the Battalion lost one of its most senior and one of its most junior soldiers. Sergeant Major Michael Williams joined the regiment in1986, Private Joe Whittaker was a reserve soldier from 4 PARA and part of a 48 strong contingent of 4 PARA integrated into 2 PARA Battle-Group for our tour.

"Sergeant Major Williams died commanding C (Bruneval) Company's Fire Support Group while the Company was in contact in the Upper Sangin Valley. Private Whittaker was part of a mine detection team and was killed helping to ensure that the large vehicle resupply convoys could reach our Forward Operating Bases.

"Sergeant Major Williams had given most of his working life to the Parachute Regiment; Private Whittaker was just starting his working life. Sergeant Major Williams was a Warrant Officer and part of that very special group of men, the Senior Non-Commissioned Officers of the Battalion, who are its glue and its heart and who lead the engine-room of the Sergeants' Mess.

"Private Whittaker had already passed the Army Officers Selection Board, and was soon to begin his training to become an Army Officer and, he hoped, an Apache pilot.

"These two men were very different in age, experience and rank, but both were inspired by the challenge of service with the Parachute Regiment, and the very difficult task that confronts us each day herein Northern Helmand. Both were respected and both will be sorely missed by their friends and the Battle Group, but most of all by their families".

Four soldiers were killed today and a fifth injured when the vehicle they were in, a poorly armoured WMIK Snatch Landrover, was caught in an explosion while on patrol alongside Afghan police units East of Lashkar Gar in Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

Among those killed was Corporal Sarah Bryant (26) from Cumbria. She is the first female soldier to die while on active service in Afghanistan. Cpl Bryant served with the Army Intelligence Corps attached to the very small, but highly specialized 15 (UK) Psychological Operations Group based at Chicksands in Bedfordshire. She had been in Afghanistan for just three months.

Cpl Bryant's husband and fellow Intelligence officer, Carl Bryant, described his wife as "a truly special person who died a hero....I am so incredibly proud of her. She was an awesome soldier who died doing the job that she loved. My wife knew the risks, she was there because she wanted to be and she wouldn't have had it any other way".

Cpl Bryant's Commanding Officer, Lt Col Jim Suggit, said: 

Following their deaths the Commanding Officer of 2 PARA, Lieutenant Colonel Joe O'Sullivan, paid the following tribute....

"What are you reading about?" It wasn't like my daughter to be looking at a newspaper....magazines yes, but newspapers no.

"The wedding"

"Who's wedding?"

"Rooney and his girlfriend. They got married somewhere on the Italian Riviera. Don't you know anything?"

"Well, actually, I know that a couple of Sean's old mates are supposed to be helping out with the security....Something about lots of celebrities at a party afterwards on boats or yachts. He said that ex-SAS monkeys would just get sea-sick and so they'd asked the professionals!

"Eh?"

"Nothing.....So, how much did all that cost?"

"Five million" She glanced up at me briefly before continuing reading.

"FIVE million!....for a wedding?....Five MILLION? That's obscene!"

"I knew you'd say that, you always do".

"FIVE MILLION! How could a wedding cost five million?....I'd like to have seen the cake"

"Dad, it's what they do these days....Besides, it says here that Wayne and Coleen asked all the guests to donate money to a children's hospital instead of giving presents....That's good isn't it?"

"FIVE MILLION!" I sat down and took a sip of my coffee. "What d'you mean 'that's good isn't it'. If they'd donated the five million to the children and then got married in a registry office instead then that would have been good! Besides, they'll make up for the presents by selling the photo exclusives to 'Hello' magazine!"

"Er....it says here that they're rumoured to have struck a deal with 'OK' magazine for  £2.5m"

"Two point five MILLION....for a set of bleepin' photographs!?! D'you know how much I made selling my photos last year?"

"I didn't know you sold any....No....er, how much?"

"Two dollars sixty-seven cents....and I gave that to the RNLI!"

"You'll be getting an OBE before you know it! She'd turned her face away from me "Er....Apparently it rained!"

"Well, I guess the weather's the one thing you can't buy....not yet anyway!" How long d'you think it will last?"

"What, the rain?"

"No, the marriage!" 

"Hang on, it says here somewhere....er, yes....William Hill is offering odds of 5 to 1 that it will last no more than five years"

"Five years? That's a million a year!"

"Well, anyway....Coleen looked nice in her dress....It had pearls sewn into it apparently and she wore her hair loose....and....Wayne wore a nut-brown suit....and...." My daughter continued to read out the details. I shook my head and, not for the first time, tried to make sense of a world fast disappearing up its own backside!

Part Two
or
"Fuel for Thought"

Now, While I'm not altogether against people trying to earn as much a they can given the job that they do, when it comes to fuel-tanker delivery drivers striking for more pay when they're already on at least £31,000 basic or as much as £39,000 when they have no choice but to put in a forty-seven hour week, I would just like to make two observations on things which have either affected me directly in the past or continue to do so now....and to help put things in perspective....

1....A level-3 Army private serving on the front-line in Afghanistan earns just over £18,657pa, a top level (Level-9) Lance-Corporal earns £26,664pa, while a level-7 Sergeant (on the higher range) gets just over £34,025pa....and even a full-blown Captain on level-9 only gets £41,544pa! It's also worth remembering that these guys, while at home, will often work a basic shift, but on active service and in a front-line position, they are technically working a 24/7 shift system prolonged over several months with a few hours snatched here and there when they can to eat, crap and sleep!

2....My wife, a fully qualified nurse, earns just over £30,000pa working alternately three or four 10 hour, severely under-staffed night-shifts per week plus an average of a further ten hours per week UNPAID to cover shift hand-overs and absentees until suitable agency cover arrives in the form of a single nurse who then works as a supposed subordinate to full-time nurses like my wife, but on a separate pay-scale almost twice her own in a hospital they will probably never have been in before, where they will know none of the patients, staff or routines or even where anything can be found!

Now I'll ask the question....what is the difference between a front-line trooper in Afghanistan a "front-line" nurse (up to your elbows in faeces, vomit and administrative bullsh*t every shift) and a fuel delivery worker....

Well....

1....The soldier in Afghanistan risks his life every waking and sleeping moment of his working day under the most arduous and demanding of conditions while believing for the sake of sanity that he or she is there to make a positive difference to the lives of usually totally unappreciative strangers and while occasionally having to watch his or her oppos literally blown to pieces by IEDs or shot to death on foot-patrol....

2....The nurse meanwhile, has to cope with the intense demands of providing medical and emotional support for the sick and the dying (sometimes on a long-term basis with certain patients and with whom they can't help but form attachments no matter how long they've been doing the job) while quite often having to provide the very last sympathetic word and kindly smile that a terminally ill patient will ever see as the poor b*stard passes from this world to the next!

3....The fuel delivery worker....er, what does he do? Oh yes, he drives a frickin' lorry! He works long hours quite often....yes, but he drives a frickin' lorry....a frickin' lorry! Try driving a lorry through a frickin' war-zone for less than half the money you get now for a few weeks instead and see how you feel then! Mmm....if I'm not being PC enough for the PC Brigade....then frick it!

Interestingly, I did five old-style CSEs and two GCEs when I was at school just over 400 years ago, but in those days, a top grade CSE only counted as a GCE grade "C"....so my total score would have been 5 points for my CSEs plus 4 more points for my two grade "B" GCEs....I believe that adds up to 9 points in total....not even half of what my daughter and her friends must achieve! Mind you, she works at least five times harder than I ever did....not that I tell her that of course....as far as she's concerned, I never stopped working!

I've worked out that for every hour I spend in the field, I have to do about twenty minutes of paperwork to cover it....and by "paperwork" I mean such things as collating data, interpreting some of the survey results (most of it goes abroad to be interpreted, but then it usually needs extra cross-referencing), annotating map references, adding appropriate photographs and sketches with captions as required, putting in a few bar charts, pie charts, venn diagrams and graphs and writing out summaries of the notes I make in the field....and, unfortunately, it all takes time!

Anyway, being at home does at least give me the chance to look out of the window from time to time and observe everything that's going on birdwise in the garden. If I'm quick enough, I even manage to take a few usually blurry photos of the more interesting things that might be happening. Here are some that I took today....

I watched this very young Greenfinch, probably no more than three days out of the nest, trying to get into this very hard seed for about five minutes. He was forced to give up eventually because his beak is nowhere near as hard and tough as an adult's and decided to go back to pestering his mother (below) for some of that regurgitated creamy stuff she's fond of storing in her crop instead!



There are seven chicks inside this nest-box and they're probably no more than two days away from fledging. However, the parents are beginning to feel the strain and are in desperate need of a break! meanwhile, I think I know exactly how the bird having the bad hair day in the picture below feels!
.

Jenny made me stay in the car first thing this morning while she went into the pet shop to have a chat with the owner who'd just arrived to open up. He'd got my message and was expecting someone to turn up. She was inside for about fifteen minutes, but eventually came out holding a small cardboard box containing the Dove.

All that must have taken Jenny just the first ten minutes because she even managed to get the owner to promise that, in future, he would only sell obviously established pairs as an item and not split them up, as well as put up a sign to that effect. Oh yes, she even persuaded him to let her phone the customer, a Mrs J, ahead of our visit, not only to ensure that she was in, but to ask if we could speak to her and to say that we were on our way.

Well done Jenny and well done the shop owner as well for being so amenable.

As for the bird....We delivered it to Mrs J who was only too pleased to reinstate the love-lorn couple in the small aviary her son had built for her in her out-house.

It was brilliant to watch as the little female was set free from the box. At first, she just sat on the floor in the aviary, but then the male seemed to recognize her and immediately flew down and began circling her on the floor while bobbing his head and dragging his wing-tips along he ground. The change in her was almost instant and we eventually left them snuggled together on a perch at the back of the aviary to go and have a cup of tea....Sorted!

It's not uncommon for Diamond Doves to be sold individually and most of those that are tend to be very young birds that haven't yet found themselves a partner. Nor do all Diamond Doves mate for life, but those that do are basically inseparable and pine horribly when parted!

So, why go to all that bother over a single, insignificant little bird? Well, for a start, both birds had been affected, as the male had apparently been showing symptoms of separation anxiety as well, but the main reason, at least as far as I was concerned, was that I know only too well what it's like to lose someone very special to you and for those little birds, forced to endure months of existence in a tiny cage....well, all they had was each other and then, suddenly, even that was taken away from them!

The great Peter Scott used to be an avid wildfowler in his younger days....blasting away with his shotgun, totally unaware of the devastation he was inflicting upon some of the birds he didn't kill. One day however, he shot one of a pair of wild Geese, but was unable for some reason to retrieve the dead bird. He was horrified the following day to discover that its partner had refused to leave its side....and then the next day as well....and the next! For several days it continued to just sit there....confused, distressed and alone!

The sheer enormity of the emotional distress that he had so obviously inflicted upon the surviving bird had such a profound effect on him that he never killed another living thing as long as he lived! It also acted as the catalyst that eventually led to Scott establishing the world's very first Wildfowl and Wetland Trust Centre (the one at Slimbridge) and to himself becoming a leading light in the field of wildlife conservation!

So you see, a single unhappy bird can actually make all the difference in the world!

There's a little pet shop south of Swindon that keeps all kinds of birds from Avadavats to Zebra Finches in very small cages to sell for profit. There is nothing illegal in this, but some of those birds remain unsold and are subsequently forced to "exist" in those tiny cages for many months at a time. I know this to be true because I wander in there quite regularly to check on how the birds are being cared for. In fact, I was there early this morning (they're open on a Bank Holiday) and I noticed that a solitary little Diamond Dove (a female) was looking very out of sorts and totally miserable on the floor in the corner of its very tiny cage. I had the following conversation with the teenage part-time employee....

"Excuse me, is this Diamond Dove for sale?"

He looked up reluctantly from his motoring magazine/comic "Which one's that?" He stood up and sauntered across to me. I pointed to the bird "Er....yeh....yeh. It is  yeh".

"How long have you had it here?".

"Not long I don't think....A few weeks maybe". It had been there since July last year!

"Where's the other one? There were two in this cage last week weren't there?"

Er....yeh, I think it was sold to someone"

"What, just the one?"

"Yeh. They're quite popular with people"

"Mmm....Do you know anything about Diamond Doves at all?"

"Not really, you'd 'ave to speak to the owner an' they're away camping this weekend. Hah, hah...Look at it!" The youth nodded towards the shop window and the gale-driven rain hammering against it!

"They mate for life....Diamond Doves. Many pairs mate for life. They're totally devoted to each other and you sold just one of a pair!" The youth just stared at me blankly for a moment.

"Yeh....well, it wont be long before the other one goes as well".

I took a deep breath "Bakka Yoro Desu!"

"Eh?"

"Nothing....This bird is desperately unhappy. You've sold its soul-mate!" I gestured towards two Lovebirds housed in a cage behind the bewildered teenager. Beneath the cage was a sign that read 'MUST BE SOLD AS A PAIR'. "Diamond Doves make Lovebirds look like they're on a one-night stand!" I continued "A pair should never, ever be split up....Ever!"

"Well it's not my fault is it!" This was more a statement of a fact as he saw it rather than a question he expected me to answer.

"Really? I'd say that it WAS you're fault for taking on a job where you have to care for the welfare of animals that you obviously know little or nothing about! When does your boss get back?"

"Eh....Er, tomorrow"

"Right, I want you to tell him that I'll be back tomorrow and that I'll buy the bird from him to give to whoever bought the other one. If he doesn't know who they are or where they live, then I'll buy it anyway and pass it on to someone I know who breeds Diamond Doves and who can at least house it with others of its own kind in a large aviary. Meanwhile, this is my I.D. and this is a card with my Boss's number. Give the card to your Boss. If he rings that number the situation will be made very clear to him. Is that totally clear to you....Yes or no?"

It's well over fifty years since I got into such serious trouble at primary school for smashing a much older kid across the knee with a rounders bat as hard as I could. I had referrals and everything! He was throwing stones at birds, but nobody understood how it made me feel when I had to keep asking him not to do it or how the more I asked him, the more he carried on! Nobody understood either, how it made me feel when he kept laughing at me! The trouble is, I feel exactly the same kind of outrage over things like the pet shop incident today and I know that I'll have to get one of the others to go with me back to the shop tomorrow because the owner's not the type who likes to be given "advice" and will probably get all stroppy....and I know I'll go cold as ice and....maybe Jenny's free?

I allowed the now justifiably disgruntled teenager to return to his motoring comic featuring the usual succession of ridiculously endowed, so-called glamour models draped across the bonnets of equally ridiculous testosterone-evolved automobiles and drove to a cafe in a garden centre in Lechlade to have a sit down and a cup of coffee until the shaking finally stopped! I eventually thought about Kelly....He'll be coming home later this week!

Yes, it stinks, but I do have a solution....We still have the competition, but we do away with the actual songs! That way, we get rid of all the incidental stuff, everybody can still get to vote for their best mate and/or neighbour, the trophy can stay in the Eastern Block (where "proper" pop music is on the very brink of being discovered....no, really!) and we can continue to be treated to such inspirational "half-time" musical extravaganzas as the one in Serbia last night!

As for who I'd have voted for....Spain of course ("Cheeki Cheeki")....or possibly France!

After I was adopted and especially because of what I'd been through, he was determined that I should be immersed in what he thought of as "real life" social events and situations involving "real", down-to-earth people in ordinary situations. This included regular weekend trips to London to stay with various members of his extended family and nearly always coincided with Chelsea Football Club playing at home at Stamford Bridge.

Meanwhile, it appears to me that few Premiership managers these days are simply allowed to get on with their jobs without constant, insidious and totally unwarranted pressure and interference from the new generation of unrealistically expectant foreign owners. Surely, it should be the primary function of such owners (and the Chairmen too) to protect their managers, thus enabling them to get on with what they're supposed to be good at....managing and motivating the team!

The dismissal of the "Chosen One" was a classic example and now the sacking of Avram Grant following Chelsea's failure to secure significant silverware this season (if only by the thickness of the paint on a goalpost) just about sums it up for me. Nobody likes losing and everyone in football is desperate to win, but these are purely money-driven decisions.

It's at this point in particular that I feel I must be completely out of touch with the modern game....Surely no-one has a "right" to win anything, no matter how much money they throw at it! Being mega-rich may help pave the road to success, but you still have to weather the storm and it makes sense to me that the more you are able to protect the man in charge from constant battering along the way, then the greater will be his chances (and the team's)  of remaining on his feet!

I've been uncomfortable supporting Chelsea for a while now, but this is the last straw. The little boy who chipped away at the ice on the rope at Stamford Bridge more than fifty years ago was there because his Dad wanted him to be immersed in the "real" world, to be a part of it and not feel distanced from it, but this isn't the real world to me anymore or, if it is, it's not one I wish to be associated with. I guess I'm just another old dinosaur gradually being replaced by the rodent!

Sorry Dad, but they've forgotten everything that people like you stood for. It's said that the only constant in life is change and someone like you simply wouldn't recognize the money-junkie world of modern football....but then, neither do I!

A British soldier was killed in Afghanistan yesterday. He was on a routine foot patrol near Musa Qala in Helmand Province when he was caught in an explosion.

His family have requested that neither his identity nor any details of the actual attack be made public.

Home....My son is home for a few days, having already finished university for the Summer and then he's off on holiday with his girlfriend to Croatia via a couple of days in Venice. Meanwhile, my daughter is in the middle of her GCSEs and only has to go into school to sit the exams!

Open Markets v Hypermarkets....Is it true (according to BBC Radio Wales it is) that the age-old open market in Darlington town centre is to be discontinued by order of the local Town Council? A number of nearby residents (most of them new to the area apparently) have allegedly complained about the amount of noise created by vehicles and a small amount of livestock first thing in the morning and that certain questions have been raised about a number of possible health issues! Mmm....I refuse to be drawn into making comments about selfish, self-centred, self-serving, self-obsessive sacks of spineless er....poo-stirrers who expect the world to work exactly how they want and then get their own way like spoilt little brats because they know how to manipulate the system....so I wont, but I do wonder why people buy properties so close to such areas in the first place if they're not going to cope with a bit of disturbance two or three days a week! Surely, you'd have to be either a bit stupid or very devious....or both!

Darlington is yet another one of those places in which the town centre is slowly dying....mostly due to the adverse effects created by the development in the area of those awful, soul-less retail parks that seem to be springing up everywhere these days and the massive Tesburys hypermarkets that continue to force the smaller retailers in the towns and the local farmers alike out of business....allegedly! Still, I've said it before, as long as people can get their pound of flesh....sorry, meat....for a few pennies cheaper than in their local shop (even if they do have to spend a few quid in petrol to get to the outlet), then I guess that's all that matters! I'm afraid that I'll never understand the attraction of shopping anywhere....let alone in a bleepin' supermarket!

Finally.....Remember the guy a few weeks ago who was fined a couple of hundred quid by his local council for leaving the lid of his wheelie bin open by four inches? He refused to pay and they took him to court where he received an even bigger fine and a criminal record to go with it!

Well, it appears (allegedly) that one of the people so determined at the time to wield the mighty Hammer of Justice and smite the wrongdoer for failing to sing along to the tune of the council's chanson de geste in the war against climate change et al, not only lives in a very large five-bedroom house with just his wife for company, but insists on driving his big silver 3 litre 4 x 4 on a thirty-eight mile round-trip to get to work five days a week while his wife drives her own car exactly the same distance to get to her place of employment just across the road from him....but she finishes work half an hour earlier apparently and therefore NEEDS her own car!

Mmm....What can I say? For as long as people refuse to grasp the nettle of common sense and are prepared to make certain sacrifices and/or a few fairly significant adjustments to their lives, we will continue to spiral into the abyss! Ignorance is not a defence....nor is self-denial, but such blatant double standards as those illustrated above simply beggar belief!

For example, because my job entails a great deal of wandering about in many types of terrain, not only all over the South-West of England, but across much of the rest of the country as well from time to time, I often stumble upon some very pretty, picturesque or even beautiful little places tucked away and out of sight in some corner somewhere off the beaten track. It's very obvious that many of them are rarely frequented by other people, while a few appear never to have been discovered at all!

I might consider them to be special for any number of reasons....perhaps because they are remote or fairly inaccessible or simply because they are less than fifty metres away from a much-used woodland trail! For me however, they all have one thing in common....they are pristine places of overwhelming peace and quietude where the only sounds to be heard are the buzzing of the insects, the birds in the trees and maybe the babbling of a nearby brook. They are places of self-defining solitude in which to close your eyes and perhaps find an inner peace of sorts and feel a special harmony with the world around you, at least for just a little while....only to open them again with a start an hour later to realize you frickin' well dozed off!
 

Shortly after returning home from one of my Skylark walks late this afternoon, I heard an almighty shrieking racket coming from next door's garden. I rushed outside and peered over the six foot fence just in time to see no less than six Blackbirds and a Song Thrush mobbing a cat! The noise the birds were making was almost deafening and I noticed that a few other neighbours were starting to peer out of their windows to see what all the din was about!

Two Blackbirds in particular were making the most noise, but only because the cat was just sitting there in the middle of the lawn with a young fledgling bird dangling helplessly by one wing from its mouth! The terrified young bird was still very much alive and shrieking as loudly as it could. Mum and Dad were also greatly distressed and completely helpless despite all their efforts! I also immediately recognized the Blackbirds as being DT and his mate. They've managed to rear four chicks this time around and have already lost one of them to Magpie predation, but now the youngsters have reached the very dangerous stage of being too big to remain in the nest, but are not yet quite able to fly effectively!

The cat was obviously happy to just sit there with the stricken bird dangling from its jaws and had made absolutely no effort to kill its prey. My own experience with the domestic cat's bigger cousin, the Lion, made me soon realize in those days that cats are quite content to let their prey suffer unnecessarily, taking as much as an hour to kill an antelope, for example, after bringing it down and before finally killing it....or even eating it alive as it slowly bleeds to death! Not really something you tend to see on your average family-orientated wildlife documentary!

Running after a cat made it drop this Song Thrush victim, but
not before the bird had been killed this time!

Many cat owners readily admit that their pet will often catch a bird or a rodent and play with it for ages before finally killing it, even bringing the live creature home with them sometimes! It's what cats do! However, I wasn't about to stand by and allow this particular feline to kill yet another one of DT's youngsters. In the last four years alone, DT has fathered seventeen chicks, of which fourteen by my reckoning have been taken by cats. His previous mate was also killed by a cat (this cat), but I was too late on that occasion when I tried to rescue her in pretty much the same way! In fact, this particular cat has been responsible for the demise of almost every one of DT's youngsters....plus an unknown number of Dunnock, Robin, Thrush and Wren chicks! Each and every year, a solitary much-loved and greatly cherished family moggy single-handedly decimates the entire local young bird population!

I fully realize that many cats do this sort of thing and that it's a totally natural feline instinct, but it does get me down, if only because I invest a huge amount of time, effort and resources (not to mention money) in first attracting birds of all kinds to my garden and then in encouraging them to nest there! This cat manages to destroy most of that work almost entirely by itself!

The permanent solution could be an easy one, especially if you measure the life of one cat against the lives of dozens, if not scores of birds over the years (he's also a very active bird killer throughout the rest of the year as well), but I can't bring myself to do that. As I say, what he does is entirely natural....unfortunately, he just happens to be very good at it! Consequently, I make my own garden as cat-unfriendly as possible....allowing the dog to come and go as he pleases in the garden, at least in fine weather and by installing humane, but expensive sonic devices that serve as cat deterrents. It seems to work too and I can't remember the last time that I saw any cat roaming around in my garden! However, I'm not responsible for other people's property and that's where any cat is able to ply its trade relatively unhindered!.

Anyway, because the house next door is currently empty, with the new owners due to move in any day soon, I've been keeping my eye on the place and checking it out first thing in the morning (when I've been at home) since the previous owners moved out a few weeks ago. This means that, on this occasion, I was able to rush round to where the cat was still sitting as smug as you like with the screeching bird in its mouth and launch one of my wife's best cushions (one that I'd grabbed from the settee as I ran through the living-room) straight at it before it even knew I was there! It had the desired effect too....the cat dropped the bird almost instantly and scarpered over the back fence as fast as it possibly could!

I then picked the bird up and gave it a thorough examination. There seemed to be no major physical damage....a small amount of blood on one wing and a few lost feathers, but it was ok! The main thing was to return it to its parents as soon as possible, but in a place not accessible to the cat who might easily choose to come back! The solution was to place it on the roof of my garden shed where DT and his mate would easily see it.

Unfortunately, although the bird had suffered no major physical injuries that I could see, it had suffered a severe shock and, for more than an hour, it just sat there showing no signs of movement at all, despite the attentions of its parents. I figured I'd give it a little more time to respond to the adults before they gave up on it altogether (the last thing I need at the moment is to be hand-rearing yet another baby bird) and, thankfully,it suddenly snapped out of its torpor and finally half flew, half jumped off the roof of the shed to eventually join its siblings and its dad now mooching about in the undergrowth. Hopefully, he'll be fine, but he's very lucky really and is already one of only three of the original four birds to hatch out!

As for using the prize cushion to scare the cat away....I got a clip round the ear and was sent to bed without my tea....Bl**dy typical!.

Mmm....Now, I understand EXACTLY how harmful continued exposure to the sun's rays can be (especially in a survival situation for example) and even I wear a hat on the hottest days, but all this sending people home to get hats and putting up gazeebos every time the sun threatens to shine is all part and parcel of what I call the "Cotton-Wool Syndrome".

Obviously, no-one WANTS their child running around outside in the fresh air and sunshine, breathing-in lungfuls of goodness knows what for minutes at a time! Nor does anyone like to think that their kids will be using up precious energy, getting all hot and bothered and, dare I say it, sweaty...at least not without first being provided with the appropriate protective head-gear, knee and elbow pads, safety-goggles, surgical mask and rubber gloves and....oh....one of those new-fangled GPS child-locator micro-chip thingys surgically inserted up their....person just in case they happen to wander off!

As the parent of any pre-school child will tell you (based on the fact that after just three or four years, they're bound to know all there is to know about bringing up kids in a happy, healthy and, above all, SAFE environment)....warm weather will make children tired and irritable enough without subjecting them to some kind of sadistic outdoors activities regime involving running around, shouting, jumping up and down and laughing a lot! The last thing poor old Mum or Dad needs after a busy day doing Dad and Mum stuff is a grumpy, tear-stained, sweat-drenched, snotty little four year-old jumping around in the back of their big, powerful, shiny 4 x 4 and distracting them while they're trying to focus on overtaking all that bleepin traffic at seventy miles an hour as they rush to get home! It must be a complete and utter nightmare! Still, at least good old Health and Safety are doing their bit....and it's certainly beginning to show!

Princes William and Harry fully understand the sacrifices that those who serve in all three of our Services are prepared to make on a continuing daily basis and the awful risks they willingly take to get the job done. They recognize the level of commitment required and how the highest possible degree of professionalism is shown by all ranks involved. They appreciate the dedication shown by everyone concerned and, perhaps most importantly, they are eminently capable of sharing that all important "gallows" sense of humour so beloved of the average squaddie and bootneck....something those civilians who criticised Harry for today, will never understand....particularly after he squatted down to look a badly injured and now wheelchair-dependent ex-soldier in the eye and ask "where were you then when I was there....hiding in a tent?"!

You see, what I saw, but what the critics failed to notice (and always will), was the bond that flickered between the Royal Prince and the injured squaddie....for just a few moments. A bond forged by the experiences they must have shared in a place that ordinary people can't even begin to imagine!

Harry wasn't allowed to be with his unit for anywhere near as long as he wanted to be, but he WAS there and that makes him a member of a very special club....and it's a membership that entitles him to say things in jest to a fellow soldier that will often shock the rest of the world! They are usually things however, that will make the other members of that very special club smile a little for maybe the first time in a long time and help then cope with the absolute sh*tpile that their lives may have all too suddenly become! Most of all, it helps them realize that at least one other person in the world actually understands....and cares....even if it is a bl**dy officer!

This is the man who scored my favourite all-time goal when England played Scotland in Euro '96....Following a brilliant, opportunistic run from deep midfield to the edge of Scotland's penalty box, Gascoigne received the ball from wide left only to flick it over the head of a surprised Colin Hendrie. Then, in a single, breath-taking movement, Gascoigne continued his run past the now stranded defender to make the the volley. Andy Goram was beaten low on his near-side post by the sweetest right-foot strike of a football in the history of the game....Absolute magic! Mmm....I remember how much it made me actually cry at the time!

I cried again when England played Spain in the same tournament and beat them in a penalty shoot-out to get us into the semi-finals! It was Stuart Pearce's soul-cleansing blast inside of the right-hand post and the passion he showed afterwards that really did it. It was a special moment that actually made me proud to be English!

These days, I watch programmes like "The Apprentice" on TV with all those "brilliant" young things, the so-called creme-de-la-creme of British business talent, competing so er....enthusiastically to impress the "Man"....and then I think about the nationally humiliating Heathrow Terminal 5 debacle and the current state of many of our schools and hospitals and the railway networks and the management practises of local councils and the way the banks behave....and....and then I watch another episode of "The Apprentice"....and I get this strange, empty feeling inside....

Anyway, apropos of nothing in particular, I understand that they're looking for ordinary people to volunteer for trips into space. Well, it just so happens I'm not doing anything next Saturday....

Meanwhile, watch out for the new catchphrase that will probably do more to raise public awareness of environmental issues than all the expert's initiatives combined....it's just a car sticker, but it sports the legend...."Old Bag On Board"....Brilliant!

2nd May....I returned home from North Cornwall today and one of the first things I noticed was that a pair of Blackcaps have built a nest somewhere just beyond the back garden fence. I'm tempted to think it's the pair that continued to visit the bird-tables throughout the Winter rather than newly arrived migratory birds. Whatever, the male is extremely vocal and spends most of the day singing his heart out from the trees at the top of the garden! 

1st May....The Robin chicks finally fledged just thirty-one days after the eggs were laid (the day before I returned home so I missed it). They'll probably remain dependent on their parents for another couple of days, but will then gradually learn to fend for themselves. However, the parents might well sever all ties much sooner than that if they decide to start all over again with a second clutch of eggs.

27th April....My wife noticed the return to the Close of the first pair of House Martins for 2008. Meanwhile, they were beginning to show up in small groups of up to ten birds during the week in Cornwall. There are now (3rd May) five birds to be seen performing their ariel acrobatics over the Close, but no sign just yet of either pair of birds who always choose to nest under the eaves of my own house.

Trooper Ratu Babakobau (29) of the Household Cavalry, 5 Scots Brigade was killed today in Afghanistan when the vehicle he was travelling in hit a landmine during a routine patrol. The incident occurred close to the town of Nowzad in Helmand Province.

Trooper Babakobau, an armoured vehicle driver and originally from Fiji, served in the same regiment as Prince Harry, who was amongst the first to pay tribute to his comrade.

Lt Col Harry Fullerton, Commanding Officer of the Household Cavalry, described Trooper Babakobau as "an outstanding soldier who was destined for great things in the Regiment. His loss is an enormous tragedy to the Household Cavalry. We have lost a top soldier who was loved and respected by all".

Lt Col David Richmond said "he had excelled himself as a truly versatile Household Cavalryman, rising to become a star of the Mounted Regiment and proving to be one of the best Troopers in the Squadron".

Trooper Babakobau leaves behind his wife Camari and two sons, Ratu Seru, aged four and Ratu Sakeasi Sucumailadoni Selamu, aged one.

If you could look up "Rare Comic Genius and Talented Jazz Musician Combined" in the dictionary, there's a good chance you'd find a description of the hilariously laconic radio presenter and acclaimed master of the free-style jazz trumpet, Humphrey Lyttelton.

"Humph", as he was affectionately known to family, friends and fans alike, was the much-loved Jazz musician and panel-game doyen with the exquisitely deadpan delivery. He was the deliciously scornful host of BBC Radio 4's brilliantly madcap and howlingly funny "I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue (the self-styled "antidote to panel games") that was first aired way back in 1972.

There's absolutely no doubt in my mind that Humphrey Lyttelton made a massive contribution to the enormous increase in the popularity of modern-day radio and certainly provided his appreciative and adoring public with some of the most hilarious comedic moments in the entire history of broadcasting.

He received a huge amount of recognition in his later years for services to both broadcasting and Jazz, including a Sony Gold Award in 1993, a lifetime achievement accolade in the Post Office Jazz Awards of 2000 and a similar acknowledgement in the BBC Jazz Awards of 2001.

Humphrey Lyttelton died peacefully on 25th April at the ripe old age of 86 following surgery to an aortic aneurysm. I was away when the news of his death was first made public, hence my delay in typing up this dedication.

Without doubt, he was a truly gifted man in so many ways, but it was the happy marriage between his tinder-dry take on the world and his profound sense of comedy timing that gave him such a relentless and totally unmerciful ability to make even caustic, grumpy old sods like me laugh out loud over and over again! In fact, just half an hour of listening to ISIHAC could leave almost anyone feeling completely exhausted and I always felt that the show should only be aired subsequent to some kind of a government health warning!

For me, Lyttelton will always be one of the "Greats"....a fully paid up member of an esteemed band of comedic geniuses who each added something extra-special to our lives. Dawson, Cooper, Milligan, Sellers, Morecambe, Rushton, Hancock, Barker, Cook and Moore must now make way for a new addition to their ranks....a man who made us laugh until we cried for nearly forty years and who we'll miss more than we can ever guess!

Commanding Officer Lt Col Richard Nixon-Eckersall described Trooper Pearson as a soldier who had "already made a name for himself in his squadron where he was a popular and well-respected individual....He took a keen and professional interest in his job as a formation reconnaissance soldier, his outgoing and confident manner giving a strong indication to his chain of command that he was a talent to watch".

What the frick was that all about? Extreme survival? I suggest Mr Grylls tries it for real for weeks at a time without the benefit of having a cameraman, a soundman and a health and safety backup truck along for the ride....and where were the enemy search-parties constantly trying to track him down to add that little bit of extra drama? As for the camel-gutting stunt and the frog episode ("you can tell it's a Saharan Frog because it's....er, green")....or the ever so subtly edited eating desert beetles section....many desert beetles, by the way, contain extremely toxic chemicals (to humans) that prevent them baking in their own juices in all that desert heat (the beetles that is, not the humans)!

You know full well Mr Grylls, it's just not necessary to kill anything if you really know your plants (even in the desert), but then stalking an underground root system rich in fluids and carbs for half an hour before beating it to death with a very large stick or cutting it in half with a knife just to see it squirm and bleed wouldn't make such good TV would it....or maybe it would if the rest of the Monty Python team were there to help you out!

The danger is, regular people will want to go out and buy all the "gear" from their local "Outdoors" shop and head off to their nearest desert thinking that they've got all the right moves because they've watched a couple of Bear Grylls "shows" on the idiot box....but unfortunately, they WONT have their own health and safety backup truck and a make-up girl armed with a box of baby-wipes along for the ride! They'll set off on foot across the salt-pans in the pressure-cooker heat of the day, instead of resting up during the hottest periods and doing something really old-hat, but sensible, such as only moving at night and using the stars to navigate by!

Three rules of desert survival....DON'T watch Bear Grylls on TV, DON'T go to the Outdoors shop, DO take all your holidays in the Lake District!

Being ex-SA frickin' S is NOT a qualification for anything....doing it for real and living to tell your grandchildren about it is what really counts....I give up!

Senior Aircraftman Gary Thompson (51) from Nottingham and serving with the Royal Auxiliary Air Force Regiment and Graham Livingstone (23) from Strathclyde, a Senior Aircraftman with the RAF Regiment, both died at the scene of the incident.

Further details have not yet been released by the MoD, though I do know that SA Thompson leaves behind a wife and five grown-up daughters. He is the oldest serviceman of any British regiment to be killed in either Iraq or Afghanistan since fighting began.

Two other RAF personnel were also caught in the same explosion, but their injuries are not thought to be life-threatening.

The demarcation line between the old traditional concept of Winter and Spring is now so blurred that I've decided to invent a brand-new season altogether....and call it "Sprinter" ("Winting" didn't have the same ring to it somehow)!

Two sightings today, just North of Moreton-in-Marsh, certainly had me thinking twice about which actual month we're supposed to be in....

Firstly....I was walking out towards the arboretum near Bourton-under-the-Hill, when I spotted what, at first, I thought was a Robin darting back and forth from a barbed wire fence alongside a small stream at the edge of a field. However, as I drew closer, I realized it was a Spotted Flycatcher chasing flying insects! Mmm....No big deal probably, but it's at least two weeks earlier than I've ever seen one before up here in the Cotswolds!

Secondly....I saw eight Swallows in total today, although it's nearly a month since I saw my first one for 2008. However, four of them were together, doing their Swallowy showy-offy flying acrobatics in a field just over from where I'd seen the Flycatcher and right above the heads of a flock of about forty Fieldfare and Redwing who were, at that moment, foraging for any edible bits and bobs they could find on the ground!

Again, it's probably no big deal, but the sight of Swallows, Fieldfare and Redwing all in the same place and at the same time didn't seem quite right somehow! I've certainly seen all three species on the same day and in different places before, but this small incident brought home to me just how disjointed things are at the moment out there in the countryside!

Eventually, the Swallows flew off, having spent most of the time chasing various insects emerging to fly from the brackish water that still lies in the fields in so many places these days, but which simultaneously provides plenty of early-in-the-season food for the likes of Hirundines and Flycatchers!

Taken from about 75 metres and with a Deer-proof Estate fence preventing me getting any closer, I decided to sit down and eat my lunch and just enjoy watching these beautiful animals doing all the different Deer stuff they like to do while I tried to work out the herd's basic pecking order. The old Alpha Stag by the way, was lying down just out of camera shot and apparently enjoying the attentions of several Crows who took it in turns to sit on his back and hunt for insects.

I watched all this as I ate my lunch in the sunshine beneath an old Stag's-Head Oak, just across from a herd of around thirty Red Deer. I was amused at how two pairs of Crows constantly hopped across the backs of the accommodating Deer as they searched for any tasty bugs or Ticks to eat....It was another one of those special moments that I always enjoy so much and which nearly always seem to coincide with me sitting down to eat my lunch under a tree or by a river bank miles from anywhere.

The head cahone has to be the bull lying down behind the tree on the extreme right-hand side of the picture.

Eventually, the Scandinavian avian visitors also took flight as I stood up and prepared to resume my journey. They headed East....and I followed after.

Tourists

I can nearly always tell when I'm talking to a foreign tourist....their English is usually better than mine! The Dutch, the Swedes, the Norwegians and the Danes always seem genuinely pleased to meet me, the Canadians and Americans are, without exception, friendly and enthusiastic about knowing who I am and what I'm doing, Germans are always polite and respectful (it might be down to the camouflage gear I wear!), the Spanish never stop smiling, the Japanese are excruciatingly polite, painfully demure and delighted beyond belief when I talk back to them in their own language, the French are fine too, but....well, er....French, while the Australians absolutely define friendliness, but just can't seem to stop telling me how green everything is in the UK....

....but then, sadly, there are the British....

Many of them are more than ok....like the mixed bunch I ran into earlier today. They were friendly and chatty and interested in what I was doing and even promised to keep an eye open for me when it came to the thoroughly unpleasant rifle-wielding city-based poacher ba**ards I've been tracking (on foot) and photographing for the last few days, while Nobby provided "eye-in-the-sky" air support from the Boss's helicopter and didn't have to walk anywhere because he's a lazy SOB (Have I mentioned our new recruit by the way....ex Navy pilot James and his big, shiny, olive-green chopper....No? Oh well, I'll see what I can conjure up about him ere long).

Meanwhile however, not everyone of British origin (or, perhaps I should say English to be more accurate) is quite as pleasant as the group I bumped into today and I've had a week of constant verbal abuse from all kinds of English morons who think they're being clever in front of their wives or girlfriends or mates at my expense! So it wasn't entirely my fault! What is wrong with people these days? All I ever want to do is mind my own business and get on with what I'm doing....Is that too much to ask?

Unfortunately, he left before I could get a photograph....forced to leave the garden when Big Willy, Beavis and Butt-head (three of the local birds) appeared on the scene, but he seemed to be managing to feed ok up until they arrived.

Now he must struggle to survive on his own, but at least he'll have some chance if he has the sense to continue sneaking into my garden to feed. Who knows, I might even be able to catch him, cage him for a week or so and administer a broad spectrum antibiotic to clear up the infection. Admittedly, I was never able to catch Peg, but like the females of most species, she's a lot smarter than the average male!

Sadly however, she didn't!

Such self-aggrandizing middle-aged male ego-centrics appear to be everywhere these days (certainly in the world of wildlife conservation....and birding in particular), but basically, if you're not going to be able to cope with the odd deprecating remark thrown in your direction by the eternally acerbic Jeremy Paxman  (an oxymoron of a name if ever their was one), then don't go on the bleepin' show in the first bleepin' place!

As for the other team....they couldn't resist going for the jugular of course and the only thing to exceed their final points tally was the size of their heads and the level of irritation created in me by the superior expressions on their oh-so smug little faces....and it wasn't as if they'd done anything remarkable....The questions had obviously been dumbed-down to take account of their advancing years....something eventually proven by the fact that even I was able to answer one correctly for a change!

I've enjoyed watching the "Antiques Roadshow" for years....it was often something I used to do with my Mum and Dad back when the show first started and I was home on leave paying the usual Sunday visit. We'd all play the national sport of trying to guess the values of the various items brought in by members of the public and my Dad had to give me ten pence every time someone said "Oh....well, I'm not really interested in its value of course because I'm not going to sell it"....I remember making twelve bob one week! Anyway, I was sad to hear that it was Michael Aspel's last show, he's another one of TV's old-school broadcaster-type geniuses who will be near impossible to replace!

I watched a truly inspirational, but heart-wrenching little documentary on BBC2 late this evening called "The English Surgeon". The film-makers followed elderly Henry Marsh, one of the UK's top neuro-surgeons, on a busman's holiday to the Ukraine where, twice a year for fifteen years, he's been performing a host of frighteningly skilful brain operations while giving hope to dozens of desperately poor Ukrainian people....for free! He deals with harrowingly sad cases and suffers overwhelming bouts of regret if he's unable to help someone brought to him with a hopeless prognosis.

Meanwhile, the programme also touched on his struggle to cope with the death of a very young girl patient who he was forced to operate upon several years ago under the most Spartan of conditions and who he ultimately failed to save. However, in his effort to perhaps find some kind of inner peace, he set off not so long ago to visit the little girl's mother and her economically impoverished family at their rural home. I really felt for them all....It must have been such a difficult thing to go through, though I also think it did them all the world of good! The final shot however, of Henry Marsh sitting all alone on a wooden bench alongside the little girl's grave and huddled against the bitingly cold Ukrainian winter wind, was one of a man thoroughly battered, both physically and emotionally, by a relentlessly cruel and unforgiving world....and it will stay with me for a long time to come!

It was a stark reminder for anyone watching that The Henry Marshes of this world are the real heroes out there, but that the saddest thing of all is that there will never be enough of them to go round!

Well, there are five things that I do know for certain....(1) The Wrens had at least some part in building the nest because, although I had no idea whose nest it was at first, I did eventually see the male taking nesting material into the box and I saw the female attempting to finish it off....(2) I discovered three Robins eggs in the same nest a few days later....(3)  I could see "Stroppy Madam", the female Robin, sitting on the eggs this morning (see above)....(4) I've watched both Wrens continuing to show an interest in the nest-box many times during the last couple of days, but I've also noticed them being chased away by one or other (or both) of the Robins! (5) The area of a neighbour's garden where the Robins have always nested in the past was cut back and cleared last Autumn!

However, I'm not sure about....(1) where the Wrens are nesting now (if they are)....(2) whether or not the female Wren actually managed to lay any eggs at all in the Buddlea nest-box and that, if she did, what happened to them exactly and....(3) whether or not I've finally gone completely mad!

I watched her finishing it off herself with a lining of fine grass (she might add moss, down and/or feathers as time goes on), but so far, she appears to have laid three Robin's eggs!

With four more US troops killed in Iraq this week, the total number of American military fatalities has reached a staggering 4000 since 2003! Meanwhile, the number of British Forces personnel killed remains at 175!

A conservative estimate for Iraqi civilian fatalities has been made at just under 100,000 (though a more realistic figure may well be in excess of 120,000)!

An accurate total for the number of deaths amongst Taleban-related insurgents is impossible to calculate, but generally believed to lie in the tens of thousands!

The "official" number of those seriously injured amongst all factions throughout Iraq is thought to be incalculable, but, "unofficial" claims made by the people who are actually immersed in the sheer horror of it all on a day to day basis, suggest the figure may be as high as half a million!

Meaningless statistics? Well, to put those figures into some kind of perspective, they represent the total population of a UK city the size of Bristol, Nottingham or Sheffield....That's more than 600,000 men, women and children killed or seriously injured....and then there are those less seriously injured and/or psychologically scarred for life....and the widowed....and the orphaned....and the bereaved! Now you're probably talking about the population of a city the size of Leeds or even Glasgow....It just beggars belief!

Mmm....Obviously, I couldn't agree more with the actual sentiment of the words themselves, but there is at least one small part of me that still looks forward to the day when just one of those senior, decision-making politicians (or any politician for that matter) will be able to stand tall, look the massed ranks of the world's media squarely in the eye and genuinely be able to say the words "MY sacrifice" instead of using the sacrifices of others by proxy to provide desperate justification for the completely insane political policies which caused the deaths of all those soldiers and civilians in the first place!

It's a sad, miserable war fought amongst civilians by predominantly US and UK troops who remain totally committed and professional in the extreme against a predominantly "invisible" enemy under the most arduous and demanding of conditions! It's a war that no-one wants to fight and a war that few, if any, will ever fully understand!

Uncertain political directive and a total lack of inspirational political leadership (there are no Churchills, Kennedys or Roosevelts in the world today) conspire to ensure that the very best amongst us will continue to sacrifice themselves in the name of "Freedom", that innocent civilians will continue to suffer unimaginable horrors on an almost daily basis and that the metaphorical "city" will just keep getting bigger and bigger!

What in the name of Great Atuin's toenails have I just endured? Was that really someone's idea of "The Colour of Magic"....two hours of total Turtle-tosh punctuated by no less than thirty-five minutes of adverts designed to influence people who can't help dribbling when they think!

Terminally miscast and under-developed characters populating an increasingly bewildering storyline that, at times, I struggled to make head or tail of....and I've read the book twice....along with every other Discworld novel known to Man, Werewolf, Troll, Dwarf and  the Ank Morpork City Watch!

Where was the irrepressible Pratchett humour? Where were the rib-ticklingly funny sartorial observations and witty statements of the blindingly bleedin' obvious? Where was the crude subtlety of the Master of the bludgeoning oxymoron? Where was the TV remote when I needed it most.....and what was with the relentless, non-stop bleepin' background music from beginning to end? I don't remember any bleepin' background music when I read the bleepin' book!

Two more hours of much the same tomorrow....or will it get better? I dare not tune in....but I shall....just on the off-chance that Pratchett was actually allowed some kind of direct input somewhere along the line.....apart, that is, from a couple of appearances as a bit-part stunt-wizard-cum-extra who was probably only allowed on set in the first place to make the numbers up!

Meanwhile, included above are a few of the more badly torn, creased, stained or generally faded examples that I have already managed to rescue.

Chloe circa 1989....Taken with my old Olympus OM20 SLR

It's always something of a shock to hear that someone who has contributed only positive things to your life has died....no matter how indirect or seemingly distant those things may appear to have been....and it was with a fair degree of sadness that I learned today of the death of Arthur C Clarke.

Somewhat predictably I guess, the news media have focussed on Clarke's collaboration with film director Stanley Kubrick in the making of the excellent "2001 A Space Odyssey", while completely failing to so much as mention his "Odyssey"-influencing novella "The Sentinel". Mmm....Nor have I heard any reference made to his totally outstanding Hugo and Nebular award-winning novel "Rendezvous with Rama"....an infinitely influential piece of hard-core science fiction writing that not only went on to inspire films like "Alien" and "Star Trek, the Motion Picture", but provided the inspiration for just about every asteroid-related disaster movie made in Hollywood since the 1970s....not to mention the eventual creation of the real-life "Project Spaceguard"! 

Despite the fact that it was first published more than thirty-five years ago, "Rendezvous with Rama" remains well within my top-ten favourite science-fiction novels of all time and now that the author has departed to make one last "rendezvous" of his own, I guess the long-awaited film version of the book, supposedly to be directed by David Fincher ("Alien3", "Fight Club", "Zodiac") and to star the sublimely talented Morgan Freeman, will at last get the required funding it has always so desperately lacked....Remember, you heard it here first!

Basically....and for what it's worth, I feel that Arthur C Clarke added something of value to my life, enriching it profoundly, both through his writing and as one of life's more energetic and meaningful visionaries....He will be sorely missed!

There have been several things of interest to capture my attention during the past few days....

2....Fire extinguishers! Mmm....I'll certainly be sleeping easier in any hotel or guest house I might choose to stay in from now on, knowing that fire extinguishers have been banned in all public access places! The infinitely wise Health and Safety Goblins have decided that fire extinguishers are far too much of a risk to ordinary people like me to use on any small-type fire....especially those possibly caused by myself! So, rather than simply reaching for a CO2 extinguisher and dealing with the little fire started in the hotel room by the faulty hair-dryer (and while it's still easily manageable), I must get out immediately, leaving the fire to spread and then raise the alarm with a member of staff who will eventually decide whether or not to contact the emergency services. They, of course, will speed to the scene, but only in time to tackle what will probably be a raging inferno on the fifth floor of the fifteen story building! Mind you, who cares about the ten year-old twins left in their room on the fourteenth floor watching TV while their parents go down for breakfast and who don't know what all those bells and sirens mean....or the deaf guy still asleep on the eleventh floor who didn't hear the alarms at all....but then, it's his own fault I suppose, for being deaf! It might also be that my hotel is situated in the busiest part of uptown Cityville, but that wont bother anyone else living or working in the neighbourhood will it? The important thing is, I didn't end up getting injured myself....Yea, I can see that working!

3....I've just looked at the new, "official" list of most desirable role-models for the children of today. Mmm....I must say, there were one or who who seemed to stand out....Posh and Becks and, a bit further down, Paris Hilton!

* They didn't even appear to know the name of their own National Flag!

If nothing else, this little episode goes some way towards highlighting the profound difficulties that many people in the UK have with the notion of "Queen and Country"....and it's not just kids and teenagers either! It's something that infects every shade of the social spectrum, at every level of society, right down to the politicians....It seems to occur most notably within the semi-fabled ranks of the bureaucrats....those almost mystical so-called decision-makers who, as legend would have it, make all those mundane, but apparently essential er....decisions on our behalf!

Anyway, perhaps the knock-on effect of kids pledging alleigance to the Queen might well work its way through the system eventually and result in future generations being at least a little bit more respectful towards Her Majesty (or even "His" Majesty) in years to come....who knows which way the wind might blow?

However, there is one problem as far as I can see....What would be the most appropriate wording for such a pledge?  I can't see the kids of today "connecting" with too many "thou shalts" and "why fors" and "giveth unto thees"! They'll need something slightly more modern and upbeat, so I've asked my fifteen year-old daughter to come up with something a little more "in da groove"....and yeah, harketh! For hereth is what she wroteth and I verily giveth it big unto thee....

Whatever next? Gale-force winds and pouring rain....in March! Why have the Media gone completely bananas over the weather all of a sudden? You'll have to forgive me, but sending rosella-nosed journos off to the far-flung reaches of darkest Porthcawl or frontier Frinton-by-the-Sea to report on anything from broken umbrellas to blown-down fences, let alone those idiots who stand on harbour walls in 70mph winds trying to take photographs of thirty foot waves crashing over them, just doesn't rock my boat in quite the way the drama-hungry news editors obviously think it should!

Mmm....It seems to me that this is pretty much the first time in two or tree years that a month is actually experiencing the kind of weather that it's supposed to....or is that where the novelty really lies? Meanwhile, here's an extract from a March entry in my 1965 diary (I was sixteen years old at the time, I was living in Tewkesbury and it was a Monday)....

"Floods came up bad over the weekend, so had to walk to school along the old railway in a howling gale and pouring rain....got soaked! Forgot maths homework and had to do it again at lunchtime! The chickens were in three inches of water when I got to school so had to move the coup to higher ground...."Skelly" (the art teacher) helped and we both got soaked! The wind got stronger in the morning and blew the (corrugated iron) roof off the bike sheds and into Mrs Pervis' garden! "Walnut" (a classmate) and me were sent to get it back during break....got soaked! Nobody else allowed out in case they got wet! "Pick-it-and-eat-it" Peters (another teacher) made us get changed out of our wet things into our PE kit so spent the rest of the morning freezing! Got told off later for putting wet clothes on the radiators in the hall by "Bert" (Mr Weedon, the headmaster)! Made to take them back to form room (other end of the school)....got soaked! Moved the Goats into the (school) shed for tonight before coming home and I'm bound to get in trouble for it! Mum got sent home from work lunchtime because the river's flooded into the factory. She's worried I think. Can't afford to lose pay! Forgot to bring tonight's maths homework home!

I've corrected the spelling mistooks (I think) and deciphered the unintelligelligibubble bits, but believe me, storms in March are nothing new....just be glad I haven't recounted the March 1968 entry....the one involving a howling gale, a wind-blown metal litter-bin, torrential rain, an unsuspecting middle-aged lady with a very large red umbrella and Wendy the Elephant....at the zoo!

Well, I shall certainly miss him....the man's a living icon! I watched David Attenborough bow-out officially in the last of his beautifully photographed  "Life in Cold Blood" series on the BBC tonight and I don't mind admitting it brought a lump to my throat!

I have watched just about every programme that this wonderfully avuncular TV presenter and natural history guru has ever made, from "Zoo Quest" in the 1950s on a TV at my Aunt's house to this evening's episode of "Life in Cold Blood" and, although I have many favourites, there are two particularly special moments that stand out for me. Both are in episodes of the "Life" series, with the first occurring in the "Life on Earth" episodes back in 1979 (I eventually saw it on video due to being er...."indisposed" at the time), wherein a completely spellbound, though fascinatingly apprehensive Mr Attenborough places himself entirely at the mercy of several very large, but inspirationally gentle Mountain Gorillas! The second came at the very end of his near impossible documentary journey when, in an episode of "Life in Cold Blood", he finally encountered the tiny Madagasgan Pygmy Chameleon, the species that he failed so miserably to find during a previous visit to the island in "Zoo Quest" all those decades ago. He was so visibly overcome with emotion for something so seemingly insignificant and his passion was so tangible that it was impossible not to be drawn into his experience....Absolute magic and pure TV gold!

From the largest of the large to the teeniest and tiniest of them all, Sir David Attenborough defines passion and enthusiasm. They threw away the mould after they made him and I can't even begin to guess at who will eventually replace him. There are many pretenders to the throne, but none can compare to the Master....at least not favourably!

As for where the BBC wildlife documentary goes from here....who knows? Hopefully Sir David will return to our screens from time to time (rumours already abound that he will). He doesn't strike me as the sort who could just sit at home planning the installation of his Stanna stair-lift and step-in bath....the man's an adventurer first, last and always and a nosey b*gger of the highest order and I don't think it will be all that long before he's gracing  our TV screens once again up to his waist in mud or dust....or Mosquitoes....or Penguins....or Earthworms....or Porpoises....or....Birds of Paradise....or

Sergeant Duane "Baz" Barwood (41) from Carterton Oxfordshire and based at RAF Brize Norton, was killed earlier today during a rocket attack in Basra, Southern Iraq.

Attached to 903 Expeditionary Air Wing, Sgt Barwood had first joined the RAF in 1985, proving from the outset, to be an enormously popular and capable airman. Senior officers spoke today of his "strong judgement and exceptional courage" in the fulfilling of his duties as the airfield motor transport officer at the base where the rocket attack took place.

He had only recently been commended for demonstrating considerable bravery under fire throughout a previous rocket attack at the same base and for his professionalism in the aftermath.

Group Captain Malcolm Brecht, described Sgt Barwood as a "true professional....an enthusiastic, loyal and dedicated member of the RAF....A caring and diligent man, he was admired and respected by all those he led....Sgt Barwood was an outstanding senior non-commissioned officer loved by his people and respected by all".

Sgt Barwood leaves behind a wife and two daughters.

It's not just Harry who's at risk, but everyone around him, including the specialist reconnaissance elements deployed to provide him with flank protection. As he readily admits, he's a veritable bullet magnet out there and that makes every soldier in his unit a bullet magnet as well!

The fact that he's serving alongside the Gurkhas (the best a man can get) and that every single one of those guys will do whatever it takes to protect him, may still not be enough to stop a "determined" individual from getting close enough to cause a bit of a problem!

Mmm....How about sending the idiot who did this out to Afghanistan to sit quietly in Harry's vehicle for the next couple of days to help him understand the gravity of what he's done...except that Harry will have to come home now of course!

 US Troops

I've just read a very abusive article in a not-so-cheap glossy magazine accusing US troops in Iraq and Afghanistan of being an undisciplined rabble with a license to kill indiscriminately and without fear of official recrimination. It maintains that the vast majority of American soldiers lack sufficient training and/or motivation to do their jobs properly and that far more harm is created than good! It goes on to cite the US military as being little more than (and I quote) "a salivating dog of war !"

Mmm....Cobblers!

I hate jingoistic, nationalism, so I'm not about to stand up and start flag-waving all over the place, but I hate that kind of unsubstantiated, so-called cutting-edge journalism even more! The American military doesn't need me to stick up for it, but I will say this....

US troops have an absolutely foul job out in Iraq especially....the real sh*t end of the shovel and while I do my bit on my websites to remember British casualties, it would almost be a full-time job writing up the details of all the American ones!

Tens of thousands of US soldiers do an outrageously difficult job in the most awful of circumstances and I take exception to some washed-up journo trying to earn themselves an easy buck and an easier reputation as a  "serious" news reporter at the expense of people who work for a living!

At the very least, US troops are our allies and without their input out there, the under-resourced and under-manned British would probably be overwhelmed!  Few Limey soldiers will have a good word to say about a Yank and vice-versa. They'll do nothing but moan about each other and complain to each other about how things ought to be done and how their way is the best way, but that's the military for you!  It's all about rivalry....Royal Marines v Parachute Regiment, US Marine Corp v Airborne, UK v US....It keeps people sharp and on heir toes!

I would have no problem serving alongside a US Marine and I'd be proud to do it. They are EXTREMELY well trained and THOROUGHLY disciplined. My father saw plenty of action serving alongside American troops in Normandy and never had a bad word to say about them. On Remembrance Sunday he always placed three poppies on little wooden crosses at the foot of the Cross (Tewkesbury's war memorial)....one for his friends who died during the push to Berlin, one for my Great Grand-Dad Price whose name is listed on the memorial and who died in one of the several last ever British cavalry charges in World War One and one for the American soldiers he knew and who died fighting a common enemy!

I'll certainly agree that not every soldier is a good soldier (whichever army you're in) and there will always be bad leadership from clueless individuals who shouldn't be in charge of boiling an egg, let alone a fighting unit on active service! In my experience however, such people tend to be the exception rather than the rule and I would be just as comfortable knowing that my flanks were protected by Marines comprised of men and women from Pocatello, Kodiak, Laredo and Seneca Falls as I would if they were from Tiverton, Coleraine, Forfar and Haverfordwest!

No doubt I'll get slated for saying all this, but it's what I happen to believe based on both my own experiences with US Forces and my Dad's....so tough doo-doos!

CEOs 

So they've decided that traffic wardens mustn't be called "traffic wardens" any more....they're to be called "Civil Enforcement Officers" instead! Well, I know what my neighbour calls them! Anyway, I'm sure it will soon catch on, what with the way it just rolls off the tongue and everything! After all, look at the way we all took to calling linesmen "Referee's Assistants", dustmen "Sanitation Engineers" and politicians "Self-Sacrificing Human Beings With Everyone's Interest at Heart but Their Own"! Mmm....Who are the people that think these ridiculous things up? I say we find out and string 'em up!

They are however, tremendously well prepared psychologically for all but the very worst of case scenarios and equally well versed in the eminently sensible arts of disaster preparedness....People simply negotiate themselves around the tremors and the earthquakes somehow and life goes on....

"The city (Kobe) was rocked his morning by what, to me, seemed like a very powerful tremor! I was with Sergeant Tomita, the base QM picking up some kit when it struck. There was no warning. The whole place started to sway and then shake! At first the windows rattled and things just fell off desks, then a couple of windows shattered! Finally, the desks themselves started to move as several stacks of boxes fell over and some equipment crashed to the floor! It was all over in about thirty seconds (probably less) and I had to check carefully to see if I'd crapped my pants!

As I regained my composure, I realized that no-one in the room (about eight people altogether) had uttered a word....they'd all simply taken cover under their desks (I'd been dragged under one by Sgt Tomita) or under a door jamb while they waited for the tremor to pass. Within minutes staff had begun clearing up the worst of the mess while others appeared to be checking with designated roving response teams regarding possible casualties, structural damage and/or fires. Everyone seemed to know what to do and were busy doing it. Nobody had panicked. It was all standard procedure to them and par for the course!

I walked by the same building later in the afternoon....everything was back to normal....even the broken windows had already been replaced (despite two far less powerful tremors occuring later on). I don't think I'll ever get used to it....Earthquakes are terrifying, but the mere threat of the tremors makes me more nervous than I care to admit....and the preparedness training we get seems woefully inadequate somehow! There must be something about the Nihonjin mentality that enables them to cope with all this worry on a daily basis!

I described what had happened to Kenji (my chaperone) this evening and he said that I should put in a "requesto shitty (chitty)" for more pairs of pants....just in case!"

Happy days....YES and NO!

I guess it's just another little oddity taking place out there in the natural world that will go mostly unnoticed, but surely, all these hundreds of seemingly insignificant little things must be adding up to something....as I've said many times on these websites, Nature is all about balance and connections and things rarely happen in isolation or of their own accord.

I'm no Arsenal fan, but I sincerely hope that Eduardo is eventually able to make a full recovery after the shocking challenge made on him during the game against Birmingham City!

He's is a terrific footballer and a joy to watch and I'd miss seeing him play for the Gunners week in week out. Players like him are a big part of what makes football the "Beautiful Game"!

Meanwhile, it was almost certainly delayed shock after seeing the results of the tackle on Eduardo that probably made Gallas behave so oddly at the end of the game....I've seen some very strange reactions to gunshot and explosives injuries by soldiers who witnessed their comrades killed or injured in front of them, so people shouldn't be too hard on Gallas, it wasn't something he'd necessarily have been in control of.

On the other hand, I feel that the BBC were totally wrong to show a replay of the injury on "Match of the Day", particularly in slow-motion....it may have been transmitted after the watershed, but the producers would have been fully aware that millions of youngsters were watching, particularly during half-term week. I'm also willing to bet that quite a few adults would have found the incident quite disturbing as well!

 
The little woven nesting basket I attached to the side of the large shed last Autumn. It's ideal for
Wrens and a new pair to the garden are currently taking a very active interest in it.

Most pleasing of all....it looks a though a new pair of Wrens might well be thinking about nesting in the little woven nesting basket that I attached to the side of the big shed during the Autumn. They are constantly showing an interest, but I wont risk disturbing them to take photographs while they're there until I think they've completely settled.

Be More Positive

I was told-off in no uncertain terms by elderly Mr Werther in Chipping Norton yesterday when I stopped off briefly to go to the bank there. He tapped me on the shoulder, introduced himself, shook me by the hand and then set about telling me off for being so negative about my  photographs and my writing! He said that his wife, Margaret,  has been  house-bound since an illness a few years ago and that she logs on to my websites every day because, as he put it, "she desperately misses going for walks in the country-side and my pictures bring the country-side to her and they are very important to her"!

He added that she also enjoys reading the bits and pieces that I write and that sometimes she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry! Mmm....that's exactly the effect my wife says I have on her....except for the laughing part that is!

It's nice to get some positive feedback for once....it does tend to be very much the opposite normally....and I'm delighted that Margaret and perhaps others like her, feel that they're getting something worthwhile out of all of this. It also makes it so much more worthwhile when people occasionally tell me that they've joined the RSPB, the WWT or the RNLI or made donations after visiting my sites.

From my own point of view, most of this is really just an extension of my written diary (usually far more comprehensive and acerbic than this on-line effort) and which I've kept for fifty years, but it's also a kind of therapy that I believe genuinely helps me to work through some of the more debilitating psychological symptoms that I've experienced as a result of certain episodes in my life!

Anyway, thank-you Mr. Werther for your kind comments....and I love your toffees by the way!

Corporal Damian Lawrence (25) of 2nd Battalion The Yorkshire Regiment was killed when he trod on a landmine yesterday while on foot patrol with elements from 40 Commando Royal Marines near Kajaki, Southern Afghanistan.

Commanding Officer, Lt Col Simon Downey said in a statement that "every way you considered him Cpl Lawrence was outstanding....good company, a trusted friend, warm and blessed with an infectious sense of humour. He could mix with anyone, puncture any ego and lighten any mood. As an infantry soldier and junior commander he was formidable. He was able, determined and driven. He was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and had a fine career ahead of him"

Cpl Lawrence's mother, Alison described her boy as a "very special son" whose death had left her "very proud and heartbroken". In an address to his fellow troops in Afghanistan, Mrs Lawrence went on to say "I am enormously proud as his mother to say that he died doing what he loved....I still wear my support bracelet and will not remove it until every one of you has returned home where you belong".

A veteran of Northern Ireland, Kosovo and two previous tours in Afghanistan, Cpl Lawrence leaves behind his partner Eve and Daughter Jessica.

Another bitterly cold night for Peg (my outside thermometer showed minus 3 Celsius), but today's bright sunshine and clear blue skies appear to have raised her spirits quite noticeably. She was in the garden very early this morning, so I had time to take these photographs before setting off for a quick sorte into deepest dark South Wiltshire.

Peg is quite an old Jackdaw and was around when we first moved into the house nearly fifteen years ago. She's very much a fixture really and that's why I'm so concerned about her.

Not the best photograph I've ever taken, but it does show some of the swelling to Peg's ankle joint (the joint that looks like a backward-facing knee) and which might hold a clue to the true nature of this elderly bird's extremely painful problem!

I still can't be certain what's wrong with her leg, but these photos might hold a clue....She still can't use the leg at all, is unable to place any weight on it and clearly suffers a great deal of pain. However, the above picture seems to indicate that there is no injury to the bone as such, at least as far up as the ankle and the fact that the entire leg is held at a correct angle would suggest that there's no actual break anywhere. What does look suspicious to me though is the apparent swelling in the ankle joint and this, when considering her advanced years, might possibly be indicative of severe and debilitating arthritis!

Peg will watch me intently with her beautiful almost white but (these days) slightly bloodshot eyes as I potter about in the garden and I'm absolutely convinced that she knows I only want to help her. Unfortunately however, she just wont go that extra half yard and allow me to get really close!

If this is the case, then there's still a good chance that I might be able to catch her and get her down the vet's for a steroid injection at some point (bang goes the money for my new computer again!), but just in case she continues to outwit me, I've already started adding fish oil to her special high-energy food splodge in the hopes that it might help ease her suffering a bit. It's no good using cod-liver oil....I don't care what the experts say, it's useless in combating rheumatism and/or arthritis....it has to be proper fish oil!

I'll see how it goes....