Child A's wedding

I was going to begin this chunk of guff with no little pep, vim vigor and a proclamation that we are Back! Back! Back! 

But a lot has happened in the past two months, 

So if we're all agreed I’ll proceed with separate chunks of guff in chronological order.

We did a wedding. 

After months of fretting, anxiety and no little hard work, Child A (Maisie) married Callum Aris in Kingsclere Church before repairing to the riverbank at Bransbury for a bit of a hooley. 

Despite underlying anxiety during the preceding six months regarding preparations. Everything went to plan, and for the final forty eight hours we always seemed to be half an hour ahead of where we needed to be (there were many spread sheets, Maisie likes a spread sheet) 

and with Madam and Maisie in Kingsclere with bridesmaids various William and I kicked back with a beer before departure confident that all was “good to go” for our return from the church, 

only for the wind to pick up and blow four vases of flowers and accompanying water across neatly prepared tables with high end linen. 

Emboldened by beer we didn’t panic, 

instead opting to employ six rolls of kitchen towel, while crossing fingers and walking away to undertake Father of the Bride and Head Usher duties. 

Luckily Richard (dizzy pig master extraordinaire and caterer for the day) and his team did some extra dabbing as William and myself high footed it up to Kingsclere. 

I met Maisie and Madam at The Bel and Dragon on Kingsclere High St, where they had stayed the night before, and proudly walked my beautiful daughter up the High St and then on up the aisle for an appointment with her beau and the vicar. 

Service passed without real incident, other than a marriage,

 

before we all headed back to Bransbury for a reception by the river.

More people turned up in the evening 

and music of some sort of genre was played loudly late into the evening The whole day was a tremendous success and far better than we ever could have imagined. The sun shone throughout, the vicar did jokes, the pig spun sublimely, the corks popped continually, the drummer hit the right beat and none of my bridges fell down under intense use or heavy traffic. 

It really was a memorable day enjoyed by all who attended. Madam and myself couldn’t be more proud or pleased for our daughter and new son in law and also our son for having a go at ushering.

Thank you to everyone who did so much to make the day such a success.

Further Apologies, been a bit busy

Apologies everyone for continued tardiness with regard to chucking up guff. 

Child and her Beau's nuptials are careering towards us and time is precious so this kind of literal caper is going to have to take a brief sabbatical. 

Here's the latest parish notice 

Through the marital machinations Madam and myself hope to head out to Italy for a period of recovery. 

I'll be back back back after that, 

providing there is still a river to keep, 

Here's one of the Dever sent in by a reader the other day a few miles up the valley at Stoke Charity. 

Why mention was not made of the requirement to go easy on the old eau a couple of months ago is beyond the comprehension of many who work on the chalk rivers. 

But I guess the continued imbalance between a powerful private water company and an underfunded environment agency will have something to do with where we find ourselves, 

that and a frustrating ignorance of Joe Public to be more "water wise"

Back in a few weeks 

Meanwhile here's the testcard with state music accompaniment 

Apologies, Tardiness but Guff (of sorts)

News in Brief: 

Once again apologies everybody for tardiness in chucking up guff. 

I’ve had a lot on and also been gadding about a bit, plus there’s the impending nuptials for Child A on August the 5th which currently seem to be rushing towards us at apace, we also lost a good friend and fisher who’d been ligging about the place for over thirty years.

First up the fishing. 

Mayfly went well and was all that it should have been. Water levels are a worry and with the June weed cut now done, it was all too clear when raking down the cut weed how little energy the river currently possesses. Sedge seem to have gone early and each morning there are several bumbling about the place having made it through the night.

Most mornings as Moss and myself parade along the bank, I see one or two fish rise to a sedge, the same fish descending to the bed of the river to nibble on gammarus and other sub surface dainties from midday on. 

We may be nymphing a little earlier this year. 

Plant wallahs arrived the other week to undertake a survey of all that grows along the riverbank, keeping a particular eye out for invasive non native species. 

We’ve Japanese Knotweed down by the road bridge that has been there for a decade or more and monkey flower and orange balsam all put in an appearance and seem to muddle along quite well. 

I’ve pushed the line many times, but not all non native species are invasive, although I used to deliver fish to a stretch of the Rother in Sussex where Himalayan Balsam was king to the detriment of all other flora. 

Apologies forgot this was supposed to be brief. 

Popped up to Lords for the first day of the Test. 

You may be surprised to hear that that's me in the middle, Child B on the right, long time family friend lost to the antipodes on the left

Lower Tavern stand this time. which was a first for me. Seventeen wickets in a day may cause a county cricket pitch inspector to twitch, but this is Lords. 

I climbed up to the top tier of the new Edrich stand to touch base with Child B and some of his cricketing mates, both English and Antipodean. It’s a terrific view and to my poor peepers from high up  the pitch did seem to have a tinge of green that wasn’t being mentioned on the radio. 

It’s always a terrific day out and a very special and unique sporting venue. Thanks as always, for the invitation. 

Had cause to pop up to the borders for a few days. Embedded deep cover in Kelso on a mission to visit many beats on the Tweed and their ghillies by way of research and customer service.

 

Every river we crossed on the way north - the Lune, Ribble, Eden, Esk, Teviot were all down to their bare bones and while beats such as The Junction on the Tweed, Hendersyde, Lower Birgham, North Wark and Sprouston will always produce fish, few flies were being flicked. 

It was an enjoyable few days spending the day chewing the fat with venerable ghillies on such a renowned river during the day while  enjoying the fleshpots of Kelso by night, but goodness so many rivers need rain. 

Wedding preparations are proceeding apace and we are currently sourcing a gilded barge to deliver the newly weds to their reception on the banks of the Dever. Ebay is currently being uncooperative and apologies again to whoever is fishing on that Friday, but you are welcome to join us for a drink at any point. 

 And while we’re on fishing on Friday, planet earth lost one of the “good ones” a few weeks back. 

Taken too soon at the age of sixty one, he fished here with his father when I first started falling in and out of this river. A medical student at the time, his father was a political advisor to several health secretaries including Ken Clarke and Edwina Currie, had a fund of tales and would regularly “off load” while tackling up; the gift of a watch for Michael Mates MP instigated some particularly humorous invective as he put his rod together. 

Possessed of a tremendous sense of humour, he too was taken too soon at a similar age to his son. 

Justin, or Professor Justin Mason as he went by at Imperial College Hospital London, was equally loquacious and humorous on arrival at the river, and conversation would cover the full gamut of subjects of the day from daily gossip to deep dish, it was not unusual to spend twenty minutes in the yard chewing the fat before fishing. 

Both he and his father were talented anglers and appreciated the social aspect of a day on the riverbank, never fishing “too hard” and always pausing for a beer. 

Justin, or “The Prof” as he was known in some quarters signed off my last three passport applications, he was a great supporter of this house and always insisted that I should write something with hard covers, my reply always went something along the line of 

“But Justin, books are really long, my mind tends to wander after a thousand words or so”

One of the nicest and cleverest people I have known and completely without ego, he was someone I was proud to call a friend.

He will be missed by many who bumbled along a bank in his company. 

Valarie Singleton, The Future and Victorians

Hello Hello, 

We’ll start this chunk of guff revisiting the substantial conker tree that lost its top section when the wind blew last October. 

Here she is candles and all, 

Not quite the shape she was, but undoubtedly the last vestiges of a once great beauty,

Which is I'm sure something to which all present can relate. 

She’s demonstrating more pep and vim than the wisteria and my taytos, which were caught out by a hard frost on the last Saturday in April. The Mulberry hadn’t yet woken up, but that tree knows stuff.

We’ve drifts of wild garlic. One of the best shows for years and the stuff features in many meals throughout the week. 

I’ll fill a few big bags with leaves for freezing as summoned from the ice they add a slightly more delicate flavour to a recipe than the “in your face” garlic bulb. 

Cuckoo flowers are out and the cuckoo finally put in a turn at the end of the last month, along with the occasional swallow. The river remains low. With regard to rain and aquifer replenishment April was indeed the cruellest month. It was also quite cold and windy which I don’t think drew the eye of T.S back in the day. 

Cold arid conditions that also set my psoriasis off, apologies to everyone for the scratching,

Something that I think T.S also failed to mention. 

In the name of impending nuptials, last week I had cause to broadcast grass seed in the wood. Dry weather isn’t the best weather for getting grass going (Hants FA Groundsman of the year 2011 – never forget!) 

So I invoked the forces of the electric vehicle that will one day save the world. Filled a tank of water on the back and used a half inch 12 volt “live well” pump to water the seed in. 

Currently the sward develops at the pace expected by the Hants FA Groundsman of the Year 2011 (Remember that one?) 

This electric buggy is the future for short journeys, it's only flaw being that the roof is not a solar panel. I made the case to Child B (a planner by trade) that all inhabitants of the parish should have one. The oil burning pigs could be held in a pen up by the Highway to the Sun for when longer journeys are required.

but for short journeys of up to a couple of miles this thing is surely the future. 

Weed remains reluctant to grow and the river is gin clear presenting challenging conditions for the angler. The river is stuffed with soporific fish patiently waiting for a good hatch of fly. Bunched up in holes, with little cover from fringe or weed they are easily spooked, delicate and precise presentation of the fly is key. Time was when this time of the year would see substantial roach going spoony and cropping up in water that they would never consider haunting in the winter months. Spawning was the driver but very few roach remain now and Tarka undoubtedly had a part to play. 

Our resident pair of senior swans have claimed a corner of the bottom bends as their nesting site of first choice for this year. For years they have nested on the pond. Not sure why they have moved down river this year. It may be global warming, it may be impending ice age, we don’t know, but they are where they are. 

Mayfly appeared in the first week of the month, although only the merest  vanguard of  Valerys (Singletons) and fish have yet to acknowledge their/her arrival, although it won’t be long before mayfly pitch up in numbers for the annual festival of dry fly fishing. 

Valerie Singleton once walked past our house,

There, I said it. 

She did, 

It was a Sunday and at the time (Post Blue Peter) she was presenting programmes about money in the graveyard slot on BBC2. Pre Kinder, Madam and myself had just finished lunch, wine had been taken and we were washing up (pre dishwasher) Val sauntered by with a man, possibly her husband, possibly not - we couldn't say, but it wasn't Peter Purves as he didn't have a collie, or was that the other one?  In similar circumstances we touched base with "Old Tel" and the present Mrs Wogan a few years later and while Val had ignored our banging at the window, Terry and the "present Mrs Wogan" couldn't have been more gracious during our brief encounter on a narrow footpath in Kernow.  There were rumours at the time that Val had become a little "difficult" and her time at the Beeb was coming to an end. We had grown up Val her on Blue Peter, and she always seemed ok. 

When she passed our window she was at best indifferent, but I guess that's just Val  

The log splitter is crying out for some action, because yes we are already thinking about next winter and goodness with all trees coming into leaf (bar the Mulberry – see above) it is again apparent how the ash tree population has been devastated by the insidious ash dieback. 

Here’s a fridge door handle I made from a slice of ash. 

It’s the mother of all fridge doors and we’ve gone through a couple of plastic handles while hauling the thing open. Replacements come in at around forty pound a pop, so with a cost of living crisis on, I made a replacement from a slice of ash. 

Ludgershall and The English, wealthy and well fed pensioners both, who, in May are still lighting the fire, muttered their disapproval. They insist that all ash should be introduced to the wood shed. We had a fisherman arrive in a high end Morgan towards the end of last year and each of them made preparation to fire up the chainsaws. 

Oh yes, satellite technology is a great thing, 

I note that Ludgershall and The English are still lighting the fire of an afternoon. There is now a chimney pot monitoring app available that detects smoke emitted. I’m not saying they are being a little profligate with their stash of ash but…… 

We’ve wallahs coming out in a week or two to assess the presence of non native species in the valley. I will monitor the movements of previously wallahs along the riverbank as their tangerine high viz jackets won’t be conducive to stalking wary trout in gin clear water. 

At which point I will again make the point that not all non native species are invasive. 

Victorians rolled Brer Brown Trout out to much of the empire and beyond, where it now sits on the bucket list of many a travelling angler, having adapted, thrived and contributed to conditions presented.

Fangio, Bins and Billy's Islands

Apologies, completely forgot about this, 

Thanks to those who did for chivvying. 

Errrr what have we been up to? We went to Italy after Easter, 

Hotel Belvedere on Isola Pescatori, Lake Maggiore to be precise. 

We rose trepiditously early in the morning on our day of departure. Certain newspapers (the same trouble makers who have promoted much of the chaos throughout much of the last decade) had trumpeted lengthy delays at airports, missed flights and a generally chaotic travel experience. 

Well the form filling the week before was a bit of a ball ache but Heathrow was a breeze; strapped and sucking sweets with the plane ready for take off ten minutes before we were due to depart. 

Landing and leaving Milan Malpensa and our return to Heathrow were a similar experience, the only short delay, when collecting our cases from the carousel due to a shortage of baggage handlers in terminal 5. 

No car hire this time, just a forty five minute transfer to the ferry terminal at Carciano, where a five minute ride would set us down on Isola Pescatori.

Only complications set in. 

Unbeknown to us (and around fifty others who arrived at ferry terminal Carciano) Passengers could only ride the ferries if they were wearing an FFP2 grade face covering. The blue and white ones that we have been wearing for the best part of two years and which Hatt Mancock’s mates made an awful lot of money out of in supply, would not suffice. 

So myself and many others trudged the mile and a bit into the centre of Stresa to purchase FFP2 masks, probably from the brother of the man in the ticket booth in Carciano. Seems it wasn’t only Mancock’s mates up to their eyes in it over the supply of PPE. 

Anyway, masks fitted we boarded the ferry an hour or so later than anticipated and soon settled down to take on board Aperol Spritz sitting on the roof terrace of our Hotel Belvedere bedroom looking out across the lake to Isola Madre and Pallanza beyond. 

Isola Pescatori can get quite crowded from mid morning on, but by 7pm the ferries and crowds have gone and we were deserted on this beautiful island with a handful of restaurants still open. First night nosh was on the very western point of the island in an establishment dripping in wisteria that we could smell from fifty yards away.

 

Most restaurants serve “fishes of the lake” several of which, vendace in particular, are very rare in the UK and are protected. Maggiore is thick with the things and several restaurants on the island have their own fishing boat to guarantee supply. 

During our visit, Lake Maggiore was six feet lower than it should have been, there were also two fire fighting planes taking water from the lake to drench a neighbouring hillside that appeared to be smoking. Snow melt will help but like many of us they are desperate for rain in northern Italy. Six feet of water in a lake that is forty miles long and often several miles wide is an awful lot of water to go missing. 

Out to Isola Bella the next day. 

Formally known as Isola Inferiore (Isola Pescatori was Isola Superiore) It is basically just one massively elaborate palazzo with equally elaborate gardens. Understated it ain’t, spectacular it is, and is quite the thing built by Billy Borromeo to impress back in the day. 

On to the ferry for a late lunch in Stresa at a restaurant in the central piazza that we had first visited nearly twenty years ago with Child A and Child B. At the time we were camping in the Rhone valley in Switzerland near Brig and we drove over the Simplon Pass for a day out in Stresa where the air temperature was ten degrees higher than in Brig. 

Isola Madre the next day, a far more understated Isola and our favourite. We arrived on an early ferry and there were no crowds in the house or garden. 

It has some stunning views and vistas.  The drawings of how the island was laid out to terracing having been converted from agricultural land by Billy were particularly revealing.

On completion and before the planting had become established, it must have look like a bit like  a terraced Fort Boyard out in the lake, with Billy playing the Leslie Grantham or possibly Tom Baker role.

Palanza for lunch and another establishment that we had visited before. We were billeted in Palanza when we visited six years ago and there is a waterfront café that chucks up some delicious savoury pancakes washed down with a knock out Nebbiolo. 

Back to the island for more semi solitary isolation and some surprisingly good steak in the hotel restaurant. 

Over to Intra on the next day. Six ferry stops away it is an interesting town and an easy place to lose a few hours as there are lots of shops.

Intra also serves as one end of the line for the car ferry across the lake to Laveno. We boarded as passengers for a twenty minute trip for a ride up the bins in Laveno. We rode the bins six years ago when there were crazy fools at the top throwing themselves off a ramp in the name of competitive hang gliding.

No hang gliders this time but we took Aperol at the small café at the top, gazing with wild surmise on the snow covered alps to the right and Lake Como off to the left with Maggiore and Billy's islands laid out in front. 

Home the next day. Through no fault of his own our pre arranged taxi was an little late meeting us at the ferry terminal, but no matter, with the spirit of Fangio invoked this old guy hurtled us up the hairpins on the hill in his Alfa Romeo away from the lake to Malpensa, delivering us to the door of the terminal ten minutes faster than our outbound transfer.

Bridges, Bittern and Michael Fabricant

Hocha! 

Apologies regarding tardiness etc, etc But the lark is on the wing, the snail is on the thorn and the hat is currently worn on three hairs. 

Well not entirely. 

The lark is undoubtedly on the wing and the snails descend the sheltered wall in the garden to target thorn, and my mildly hirsuite status guarantees that the hat currently sits on considerably more than three hairs, 

double figures easily. 

It’s just that we haven’t had enough rain this winter. It’s an old story writ large in these chunks of guff across the ages, but we didn’t get the old eau between October and March and now the valley enters the impending spring and summer with what we have. All things Flora are waking up and taking a sip following their winter hiatus which is a tremendous thing to see after the dark days of winter but August could be a bit of a struggle. 

Work has largely centred around getting ready for the impending trout season and also getting a few things “wedding ready” for Child A’s nuptuials. Bridges have been buffed up, including a complicated operation on the bridge over the millstream which included the use of props, jacks and possibly a trebuchet at some point, but it’s all done now and we are ready for the return of our regulars next week. 

There has been a bit of fly about, mostly midges with the odd olive, but no sign of any hawthorn yet. The river is bursting with fish, although they are quite skitty due to slow weed growth. The odd one has a dot of fungus on their nose which is to be expected at this time of the year. I was quite surprised to see a few large grayling cash in their chips and rock up on the weed rack in front of the house. Senior fish cashing in their chips post spawning is not a new thing, it’s just that I’d not seen many senior fish through the winter just passed, they must have been hiding up somewhere: they were all pushing two pound. 

Up in the air, there’s been a Bittern about. Not seen it myself but there have been several substantial bits of glass paraded up and down the lane by the birding community in their quest to record it's prescence. An osprey also passed through a few weeks back, and the ceti’s warblers have turned up to resume their annual row. No swifts swallows or martins yet, but they can’t be far away. All things allotment are going to plan and we are currently engaged deep cover in “frost watch” This time last year we had a week or more of frosts that devastated the fruit trees, wisteria and much more besides. I covered my plot with the mother of all tarpaulins that lent a Salisbury plain training ground feel to the piece. 

As I write, Madam is outside in the dark furiously digging a hole in the garden. It’s something she picked up from Alan Partridge and his response to an acrimonious divorce in an attempt to quell ire. 

Michael Fabricunt’s comments this week regarding teachers and nurses have driven her to this task. 

To recap: Wiseacre Fabricant, in defence of “our Great Leader’s” latest mugging off of the general populace, suggested that nurses and teachers were kicking back in a communal room with a glass of bubbles after a hard day at a complicated coal face throughout the pando. 

We only have one spade, so in support of Madam the following was fired off to my local MP who I consider to be a very good constituency MP 

"Apologies, me again,

Michael Fabricant's intimation that teachers and nurses were meeting up at the end of a shift for a cheeky glass of bubbles during the pandemic is deeply insulting.  

My wife, an educator, spent much of the first lockdown teaching offline to the children of key workers, and online to the remainder who were confined to their homes. PPE provision was initially inadequate, she is in her early fifties, an age that we were told at the time was an increasingly vulnerable age group.  It was a stressful time, the staff room was out of bounds and a cheeky glass of fizz at the end of the day after a day in a draughty classroom could not have been further from her, or her colleagues’ minds.  They were confined to their bubbles for nourishment and all ate lunch at their desks, sans vino.

In the second lockdown, (or was it the third) she remained in the classroom, unjabbed (not through choice) as fifty percent of the parents claimed "key worker" status and we were told that infection from children was very low (A claim now completely debunked after Covid 19 ripped through schools, children and staff alike, from last October to the present day) Restrictions on the staff room remained and the number allowed inside limited to four, sans vino.

Again a cheeky glass of fizz at work at the end of the day was the last thing that my wife or her colleagues contemplated. It was an incredibly stressful time, in which she and her colleagues felt deeply let down by government, who it now transpires paid little heed to the restrictions they were implementing to Joe public.  

Fabricant confirms that he is a cypher on society and in the current climate of "cancel culture" should be put firmly back in his box. 

Yours in anger,

 Chris" 

A reply (within minutes) 

"Sadly I have no control over what that man says.  I can only apologise for his ludicrous comments." 

 Rt Hon Caroline Nokes MP Member of Parliament for Romsey and Southampton North  Chair of the Women and Equalities Select Committee