Apologies for going “deep cover” for a few weeks, but once again,
WTF (contemporary parlance)just happened?
In late April I was dealing with ranunculus that was on the cusp of flowering and pushing water over the banks,
where did all the water go?
Once again WTF (further contemporary parlance)
I have been falling in and our of this stretch of the Dever for over thirty four years and this was my fortieth season having a go at working on the Test and it’s tributaries. I have never experienced such a rapid drop in water level and have spent most of the season blistering in the sun, stumbling about with my tongue dragging along the floor wondering how it has come to this.
It goes without saying that we have gravels that are dry and most fish have concentrated on getting through the day, tucking away in shady deep spots in a river that for several weeks began the day at seventeen degrees celsius and ended at nineteen degrees celsius.
Some stretches on the middle and lower river experienced water temperatures in the low twenties, and several clubs closed down for a period. Trees have been under stress and I have had to deal with several that just gave up in the heat. Donning chainsaw gear in such conditions was an experience that resulted in me fitting into evening trousers that have not been comfortable for a decade or more, I know fashion moves on but this was one plus that arose from the brutal conditions this summer, and I briefly considered putting my earing back in and jigging about in a field somewhere with other people, new torch in hand showing off my new svelte form.
It was very hot and considered thought was hard to come by.
Lizards! Waaaaah!
We have lizards in the garden, little brown ones that are more attributable to the Med.
I don’t think we brought them back in our case but we have more and more ligging about the place, along with the resident Grass snakes and an Adder that Madam and myself disturbed one hot afternoon.
We have a record crop of inedible grapes (except to the blackirds, who love them),
many lemons on our tree,
and melons thriving in the polytunnel.
Peppers and aubergines are in rude health, tomatoes are a ball of sunshine, half the size but with an incredibly intense flavour. Potaties are rubbish, beans are quick to go to string and leeks are pencil thin.
Once again, if anyone chimes up and questions climate change and it's influence on this corner of old Albion, feel free to flick (or possibly punch) them on the nose, clap them round the ears and call them out for the Contrarian that they are, with possible additional further financial interest in it’s continued denial.
It may not be apparent from guff chucked up by this house, but I have spent forty years in a workplace that is very much influenced by the climate. I’ve yet to see a flamingo about the place, but there has been a Mill on this site for over a thousand years. There have been long periods during the past ten years when there has not enough water to turn the wheel.
Warming climate, on which we have had an influence, is a thing in these parts, It’s not some cycle.
There is a diminishing and to many, invisible, groundwater resource in this corner of South East of England that supplies seventy percent of it’s population. It’s on here somewhere, (ad nauseum – ed) but we need to get more “water wise” with our knowledge of the “old eau” extending beyond it falling out of the tap and exiting down the plug hole. We’ve almost managed it with rubbish and recycling so there’s hope, but maybe a few water shortages and empty pipes this summer could focus minds and the lady with the Croydon facelift from local town society will not rant to the local news camera that it’s her right to wash her car and fill her hot tub, there’s loads or water because it didn’t stop effing raining after Christmas.
There now follows a succession of deep breaths by way of balm to an ageing constitution.
Deep breath one
Deep breath two
Deep breath three
In other news we went away to cool down in Kefalonia.
A beautiful island, infested with goats, that we have visited previously. We were billeted a hop and a skip from the beach in the small village of Assos.
Four tavernas, two mini markets a bakery and not much else. It is reached by the most precipitous road that I have ever driven along, which inevitably brought me out in hives. Madam and myself love to snorkel. We both have prescription masks for our ailing eyesight and rise early before anyone else is about, entering the water with a handful of stale bread by way of groundbait.
It was some of the best snorkelling we have ever done. Crystal clear water with many massive mullet, bass, wrasse, flatfish, octopus the occasional ray, shoals of anchovy, further whitebait plus many that I failed to identify.
Back home, all appointments have been cancelled as we await the arrival of our first grandchild. Child A has struggled in the heat but is almost there, further news to follow.
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