Now that the 16th of March is the “new” 23rd of March. Does this mean that anyone born on the 16th of March now has two birthdays a year or no birthdays a year, and will the celebrant either age twice as fast as everyone else or stay at the same age in perpetuity.
Apologies for the query.
Everything else regarding current day to day doings is brim full of clarity, it was just that I needed to know when to send a card.
Oh yes, when is Christmas this year, or have I missed it?
Asking for a friend.
Once again, Are we not Mugs?
Well the July weed cut was another event. For the last few seasons weed has taken a turn for the worse through July in a river brim full of nutrients having been deprived a winter scour. Ranunculus remains in reasonable condition and shows little sign of being overcome by the filamentous algae that has made merry in the last six summers. Hatches of fly remain disappointing. There are a few sedge and a trickle of olives, but most fish feed sub surface or pick at terrestrial dainties blown from trees. A black fly or black emerger is worth a go, or a small drab nymph, as anything flashy or splashy will cause fish to spook and bow waves will result. Shock tactics with Daddies are also worth considering. Orchids are still putting in an appearance. Seed heads formed, I would normally be topping the meadow around this time but it will be August before I mount the swipe.
In other time travelling news, during an evening preamble up the river a week or so ago I caught a few spent Mayfly making their way back onto the water.
Spent Mayfly in July?
Strange times, but referring back to the opening skirmishes of this chunk of guff, the new 8th of July may well now be May the 25th, We don’t know. But they were spent mayfly alright.
Mayfly hatch throughout the summer on the Hampshire Avon. I once caught a fish rising to Mayflies at Middle Woodford while fishing as a guest of the “Sage” of Longparish in September. It was a Sunday and I was dipping in and out of an exciting Ryder Cup finish via a discrete ear piece. The Sage, a keen golfer and talented fly fisherman, approved when my cover was blown.
I once sat next to him at a wedding in the church that his father used to run at in the nineties. The wedding clashed with a vital Calcutta cup match that would determine the “Five Nations” as was. Johnny produced a small portable TV from his morning suit (pre mobile phones) and we watched discretely as the union was made, the muffled “Oh bollocks” as Gavin Hastings secured the win and the slam for the Scots, can be heard on the video as the groom leads his bride down the aisle from the church.
Cricket’s back, and Madam’s scored a few games.
It’s an odd affair with a Bedouin feel when it comes to changing and tea, but cricket all the same which is great, and it all feels well done and safe. Well done the Hampshire Cricket League, which also seems to incorporate large swathes of Berkshire, Dorset, Sussex and Wilts.
In hair news, To avoid crowds I touched based with my Turkish barber last Sunday when Matins was on.
It seemed like a plan.
Masks were worn, shearers were sanitised and the perpetual pitch for products that would do great things for my greying locks returned, despite the proprietors own salt and pepper bonce.
Done with clippers, Attaturk flashed ups his lighter and singed out my nose, then my ears and eyebrows were attended to, if there was hair anywhere, he was going to have it.
He’d been shut down for twelve weeks, and was grateful for the government grant that covered basic costs and would have gone bust without it, so well done for that Mr Sunak.
Currently the parish is abuzz with what is now known as “The Home Bargains” incident.
At five thirty on Saturday afternoon the Highway to the Sun became blocked by an accident, no surprise really as it’s been rammed for the past ten days and goodness the West Country must be cramped for room.
Clearly on a promise, a driver on his way back to the iron age Home Bargains distribution centre which forms part of the Stonehenge complex fifteen miles to the west of here, sought an alternate route for his High Capacity articulated lorry via the medium of Sat Nav.
Pulling off at the Bransbury turning he soon realised the error of his decision (He missed the sign warning of a road width of 6ft 6in), there was no choice other than to press on regardless.
Which he did,
bringing branches and foliage crashing down onto the road.
I don’t know what shape the lorry was in the next morning, there were reports that he got stuck in Chilbolton, having to reverse very slowly for several hundred yards to a symphony of beeping, but please Hampshire Couty Council could we have a sign stating that this road is unsuitable for Heavy Goods Vehicles.
The last time it happened was on a Sunday night with a lost Portuguese seeking the world’s biggest provider of bagged salad. He knocked on our door and sought assistance, but my advice to back up the road got lost in translation and he crashed on up the road taking out the church wall in the process.
Catholic insouciance to the C of E, or just bad driving?
we don’t know.
In allotment news, this week I dug up 32kg of second earlies. Variety – Charlotte they are the best crop I have ever had, and highlight that for twenty years on my old plot all I had been doing was feed the mother of all Sycamore trees.
We’ve a bounty of beans various, and carrots coming out of our ears. A polytunnel has been sourced and now stands in place of my imperial greenhouse and is currently plays host to a variety of salad. The highlight being a romaine lettuce called Forellenschluss. The name means “speckled like a trout” and it’s a cracker, if you like your lettuce give it a go.
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