Yoinks! Grendel's Mor Cometh

Screened here for the first time, an avant garde production titled "Yoinks! Grendel's Mor cometh".

Filmed underwater, the piece is loosely based on Scandinavian epic Beowulf with all the actors a species of fish. The Grayling take on the challenging role of the Danes, a Brown Trout plays the lead, with further Brown Trout playing the part of "Geats" various. A rogue Rainbow Trout's portrayal of Grendel's Mother is a particular highlight.

With a musical score by the maestros of free jazz "The Nicholas Chientaroli Trio" hopes are high on the cusp of Cannes.



Last week the lady who sleeps on my left and myself went to work, came home, had our tea and then, post Pointless, for three evenings we travelled several times around the world.

It’s the sort of stuff that would set Cook and Columbus coughing but by the miracle of modern science we watched a series of live TV programmes from the international space station as it circumnavigated a turning Terra that made its seemingly unending way around the sun. To quote the Fast Show sometime in the nineteen nineties “Space is amazing!” The spacemen in this show came from all quarters of the globe,and who'd of thought the trouser of first choice for today's spaceman would be khaki staypress action slacks. I know ironing must be difficult in space but what happened to the range of silver spacewear that was promised throughout much of the sixties and seventies, lets work the Dan Dare look a little more with a little less Alan Tichmarsh.
Looking down on the shimmering orb on which we shuffle, division over race, religion, territory or any other differences for that matter, seemed somewhat irrelevant.



Enlightened Aliens, in an advertising campaign of the seventies, termed us all as earthlings, which I too was tempted to do throughout the programme as a “gosh this planet is fragile and why aren’t we all in it together vibe took hold” but I was reminded that the same said aliens saw the future of carb loading as a powder that when mixed with water turned into mashed potato, so had the wise aliens failed to grasp what a complicated soup life on earth is.

Sorry, that’s wrong

Viewed from space the earth is a fragile and isolated place with a limited shelf life, we are all earthlings and because we fail to grasp that fact, and continue to squabble and trash the rock on which we live, we can come across as a pretty primitive bunch, which is one up for the aliens, but outer space is not the best place to make a judgement call on the best source of mashed potato. An earth produced muddy Maris Piper produces the best mash and will continue to do so while Terra continues to turn, but they were right about the earthlings bit.

Back on earth, I have had a countryside and wildlife management student arrive, and for much of this week and the next two we will be tackling trees that continue to tumble over. The poplar across the river posed a unique challenge. Like my torso, weight was distributed in unexpected areas, and rumination was extensive over locations of crux, where weight was actually lying and the point at which to make the decisive cut. A series of props did for weight issues (you heard it here first, the prop diet is the next big thing) the decisive cut was tentatively delivered and the beast was slain. In the words of BA Barracus “You crazy fool!”

Or possibly his erstwhile "A team" companion Hannibal Smith “I love it when a plan comes together”

Each of the poplars that toppled over were riddled with woodpecker holes, some people are not so keen on balsam poplars, I can’t say they are my favourite species at the moment having spent much of this month cutting them up, but they do have a beautiful scent when the buds break in spring and our booming population of woodpeckers with the green variety very much to the fore will miss them this summer. We now have enough wood stacked up for the next couple of winters, the wood on the non fishing bank is an arboreal disaster zone on a par with 1987 and 1989 and it will take several winters work to return some form of order.

The river is back within its banks although the banks remain very spongy. Some beats on the middle river have already delayed the start of their season by up to a month due to damaged and dodgy banks, but things should be ok here for our normal kick off time. Each afternoon Olives have hatched and several fish have shown interest. Roach and Rudd in the pond have proved remarkably active with the afore mentioned countryside and wildlife student banging a bag full of silver fish out while breaking for lunch. We have ducks sitting on eggs, and his grumpiness Gielgud and his petulant pen have made their voluminous nest on the flight pond and currently guard one large swan egg. Heron and egret abound and are making the most of a falling river. The arrival of several intense types in four by fours, clothed in “real tree” and armed with long lenses suggest that there is a bird that requires photographing in the area. Not Miley Cyrus, or an errant Kardashian, but a funny chirper that Mdme and myself caught while pausing in the garden on Sunday morning to take coffee. Twas a funny tune that we failed to identify in lots more than one, but it didn’t sound that big, or tuneful. Consultation with our bird app, swiftly eliminated Condors, Ibis, flamingos and most forms of geese but from there on we were flummoxed. I tried asking one of the men with a big lens who was sitting in a bush but his reply of “indeed, it has been a poor potato harvest this year” had echoes of cold war spy speak uttered socco voce while passing in a park, umbrella in hand.

Are we fit to Frack?

Mark Lloyd Chief executive of the Angling Trust said:

“Fewer than a quarter of our rivers are currently in good ecological condition and the rest suffer from widespread pollution and over-abstraction. The Environment Agency is struggling to tackle these existing problems, and faces the prospect of losing 1,500 staff. Our wildlife and fisheries need another major risk to water quality and an additional demand for water like they need a hole in the head”

Well said Sir, and thanks for reinforcing views held on this poorly written journal for the past twelve months. They’ve made some encouraging noises on the dangers of over abstraction too. The clue is in the name, if you are an angler, get on and join, they are doing really good things for all things angling,

www.anglingtrust.net

Today in a heavy handed and opportunistic piece of big stick politicking, Flashy (who has done some good things of late) invoked the spectre of Percy Putin, and how we must frack, frack, frack if we are not to fall under the weight of the Russian Bear.

Well in the words of the rabbit in the Cadburys Caramel advert, “Slow down Mr Bee/Cameron/Flashman”

Only frack if it’s safe to do so, is sustainable and there is no impact on groundwater or the aquatic environment, there cannot be an environmental price to pay for shale gas exploration particularly with regard to groundwater supplies in the South East of England. A race to frack is a frightening prospect for some, with the prospect of the required due diligence for applications being watered down by government.

Midway through the month, squeezed in between the anniversary of Julius Caesar cashing in his chips and the day commemorating the chap who chased all the snakes out of Ireland, sits a day when the historical events organiser took a day off, it also happens to be my birthday. By coincidence it also used to mark the end of the coarse fishing season ( No longer, but that merits a few thousand words on its own) and teenage frustration was only exacerbated by a pile of new fishing tackle that I could only play with in the garden for three months. In previous years to mark the passing of another year the day’s activities have included a variety of activities, from sledging (tobogganing, as opposed to verbal abuse dressed in white) through to fish and chips while watching the boats in Lymington harbour. This year we tripped south to visit child A and in twenty degree heat had a picnic on common land just back from the beach, we would have had a barbecue but no garage on the way down had any charcoal in (The accompanying photo is a little misleading in that there were many other people doing the same and I was not required to sit on my own and rejoined the main party once the photo had been taken). This is on the back of the wettest winter on record (if records are to be believed) Three weeks ago the piece of common land had been underwater and crabs were cock of the walk. In recent times several have joked about the possibility of hosepipe bans this summer, which just about sums up the current appreciation of water supply in the south of England. A few successive dry months and yes, the groundwater supply may need some form of protection, all of that water that went whizzing down the roads and rivers is now on Neptune’s ledger, and all we are left with in the south is the stuff that is soaking into the ground. Statistically, (which is what weather forecasting is all about, there’s little science here) the threat of a hosepipe ban in the south is reduced this summer but possible protection measures for a precious groundwater supply should not be ruled out, after the long forgotten low flows of last October the “get out of jail” card of record rainfall has been played by the chalkstreams of the south, this cannot be relied upon every year, we may have had a lot of rain but it will not keep us going forever, a dry six months and the chalkstream environment could once again be back on its knees.

Social Experiments in a House Coat and Big Slipper

Film free this one, and not through lack of effort. Several attempts to gain coverage of sub surface life have resulted in four hours of footage featuring flotsam and jetsam hurrying away downstream. The river is stuffed with fish but as soon as my underwater camera is introduced to the margins they scarper. It’s fairly discrete and slightly larger than a box of matches having initially been designed to ride on top of a skateboarders helmet, so it may be problems over image rights, in which case I need an aquatic agent.
Plans are afoot for a fantasy epic “The Life of Pike”, in which our hero, a ten pound pike, is trapped in a spring ditch by falling floodwater with only a shoal of Roach for company. After a 227 day journey up and down the ditch to seek their escape, the two species bond, enlightenment is attained and the pike plumps for a diet of bugs and beetles while the roach promise to nibble each others fins from time to time.
An 18+ rated feature, in which "The lady of the stream" gets jiggy in the sunshine and preliminary titled "Grayling Gravel Grinders" is also in the pipeline.
Unlike my land based camera this one is obviously not “idiot proof” It’s a dark place underwater, and while chalkstreams may look clear from the surface, they are far murkier when viewed from side on, and time definitely does not fly by when searching through four hours of film for the briefest glimpses of fish: I seem to have lost a week to underwater footage, March only started yesterday and now the ides are only two days away, making today the twenty fifth anniversary of the internet, which I am sure only started around eighteen months ago.

The invention of the internet coincided with the onset of my fringe going into retreat and withdrawing over the horizon that is my forehead,

Googling

“does the internet cause hair loss”

confirms that this is purely coincidental

The inventor of the internet was “outed” recently during round two of Pointless (In this house anyway). The chap, whose name I forget, came up with the idea while working at SERN (Self Employed Resource Network) and managed to couple the task of promoting and developing the expansion of self employment with the invention of the internet, so well done Sir!

Mdme and myself have taken to spending the winter teatime slot shod in comedy big slippers with accompanying house coats while taking tea on padded trays on our knees (the trays are on our knees, we are not kneeling down) taking in all things Pointless and Egghead. The round two revelation on the internet’s invention, led to a discussion as to what life was like before it entered our lives.

I wouldn’t be doing this for one.

Previous rails against authority, were conducted over the phone, by letter or in person. In a filing cabinet somewhere at Command Centre Central, is a handwritten letter from myself highlighting concerns about over exuberant gravel jetting that would prove to be too aggressive an action for some spawning gravels, they promised to keep it on file.

We used to go to the bank with forms and pieces of paper, visit garages in order to replace our car, use cefax, brochures or a travel agent to find somewhere to go on holiday, walk aimlessly around shops, visit car boot sales (something currently being revived by our local town society as “EBay Live!”) look things up in books, buy encyclopaedias. I was recently asked to pitch five hundred words for a website on the delights of visiting Melbourne. Best times to visit, things to do, places to see, recommended restaurants, hotels and the best means of getting about. No plane ticket was proffered, Melbourne would be experienced at our kitchen table, where Wikipedia and the internet would be my guide and provide me with all the information I need. If you ever read a travel review on the internet, have at the back of your mind that the writer may not have actually visited the destination in question and the piece may have been written from the other side of the world.
Born fifty years later Alan Wicker’s life may well have been very different and he could currently have been on the cusp of thirty years service and a commemorative headboard from Bensons for Beds.

Our list of ways that the internet has changed our lives extended all the way through to the “head to head” round of Pointless at which we point we decided to try twenty four hours without the internet, a “No Download” day; not quite the alcohol equivalent of “Dry January” but a small social experiment to which many households are becoming increasingly prone.

Drumming our fingers through Eggheads, I was picked up on my personal appearance so I repaired to the bathroom for some non digital ablutions, with a simple book and wine served in a plain glass,

this wasn’t the time for cut glass or goblets.

On returning to the lounge, sans internet, we took in another social experiment whereby people have resorted to making their own clothes.

Titled “The National Sewing Bee” it is remarkably addictive.

Hard times, funny ideas or Amish influence, has given rise to a new movement who furtively pass patterns and speak a language that can only be uttered while pinching pins between the lips. For many years sages have predicted that psychological damage caused by home-made clothes worn during the nineteen seventies will be the next scandal to rock today’s society. Many of my own ancestors were/are particularly proficient with patterns and pins, and I remain convinced that my younger brother’s experience of being clad in a range of unusually checked trousers (Rupert the Bear was quite the thing then) twinned with loosely knitted tank tops in horizontal pastel stripes has directly led to him residing for all of his adult life in urban conurbations.

Where there are shops.

He recently featured in the TV programme “Mind the Gap” about all things Metropolitan and, as Evan Davis quizzed him on the capital’s “Crossroads” project, (I think that’s right, although no mention was made of a motel) he exuded a confidence that can only be derived from “store bought trousers”

Although I should add that “Child A” who, throughout her formative years regularly donned dresses created by the same seamstress, remains unaffected, principally because the designs were quite good, well made and “Child A” genuinely wanted to wear them.

The Internet free experiment extended up to the ten o’clock news, when my phone pinged with a text reminder that an item I was watching on eBay was about to end. The social experiment was curtailed, and conclusions drawn that life is very different with the internet, we live in super fast changing times and home-made checked trousers made from flammable man-made fibres is a phase in fashion that need not be revisited.

Social Science Experiment, Done!

Earlier this week we listened to a BBC Radio 5 live reporter interviewing a remarkable young man who had trodden on an IED and subsequently lost both legs and his genitals. His marital relationship had failed and yet he bravely campaigned for soldiers sent to the front line to be given free deposit accounts at a sperm bank, in the event of anyone else incurring a repeat of his injuries. Truly an inspirational young man,

The opening gambit from the inane reporter:

“So, how did it feel to lose your legs?”

An Interview by rote,

brainless and insensitive, the young man merited much more.

If you come across the young man’s campaign I urge you to give him some support, if you come across the Radio 5 live reporter, slap him several times across the face with a fillet of fish , fresh or otherwise (he will be aware of the significance), and then ask him how he feels.

Away from the media and all things internet, the river is slowly fining down, silt and sediment lie across much of the banks and thousands of footprints betray all manner of creatures that have coped with the recent flooding. Plenty of voles the obligatory otter, lots of little egrets, masses of moorhens and coot and the odd waterail on steeper banks below the middle bends. On the water meadow above, many puddles remain and finally the geese have turned up. Not in the numbers that we have experienced in recent winters and far later than normal but a smattering of greylags and canadas nonetheless. There are many duck in the valley mostly mallard along with a reasonable flush of wigeon who have taken up residence on some flooded meadow. I had expected to see more snipe than we have, although temperatures may not have fallen far enough to push them this way and they have an extensive choice of suitable sites at which to poke and prod for dainties.

Oak is on order to replace bridges that are currently nudging their way around the Needles. Constructed of French oak they may well be making their way back to the place of their birth. I don’t follow the “timber index” but green oak does seem to be remarkably good value at the moment when purchased direct from the sawmill.

The sturgeon that escaped from Romsey’s World of Water has been repatriated after a several week sojourn on the flooded forecourt of a nearby garage; other escapees remain at large although reports of large shoals of neon tetras on the middle river remain unconfirmed.

In line with resolutions made around the New Year I have again made efforts to keep this a little lighter, but now that floodwater is subsiding, how long before we see a chap clad in the finest fleece and cutting edge walking shoes with clipboard in hand pop up to state “Gosh those floods were great” and tush tush to management of waterways. In three months the problems that beset the river valleys of the South and South West of England will be forgotten and the goons who have been conspicuously quiet this winter but whose policies were partly responsible for events of recent times will walk among us once more spouting further guff on the best way to manage river systems.

Naked from the knees up with a slice of Half Moon

With my cricket head on, and bearing the hat of office of our local club, we received an urgent message from our county board urging all clubs who have been affected by the flooding to get in touch no later than the 5th of March, as ECB funding for a big bag of sponges may be available for clubs who get their applications in early.

Why March 5th?

Hampshire will be affected by groundwater flooding well into April. Tewkesbury may be drying out and the carp cleared from the outfield of the county ground at Worcester, but chalk valleys have some way to go yet. The small borehole on the edge of our square threatens to spout forth like “Old Faithful” in Yellowstone Park and plans are afoot for a six foot fibreglass model of the “Mannekan Pis” in Brussels to stand at square leg on match days. Principally to move water away from the square, but also to don the umpire’s garb on match day and adjudicate on run outs through a series of carefully placed lights.

On this river the main river flow is making preparations to return to its original channel, and as a result I have been able to mount an assault on the substantial trees that currently litter the meadow. In the wood a stand of twenty odd Scots Pine, each one about forty feet high, have all blown over. A warm roost for pheasants and much more besides, they have now assumed the guise of ground cover and will be tackled next winter.



On a rare sunny afternoon, while hacking away at a poplar that had cashed in its chips in the meadow, fish fed sporadically in an eddy off the main current. An underwater camera was introduced to the margins, with a deftness that would have delighted the Milk Tray delivery man, and the footage is premiered here in glorious technicolour(forty five minutes edited down to just over one minute) and features fish in fine form, if a little camera shy. Preliminary titled “When Trout Attack!” production was unfortunately completed too late for this year’s Oscars ceremony, but fingers are firmly crossed for next year.

We can but dream, David Attenborough give up your shoes!

Weren’t the Winter Olympics great! A fantastic effort by team GB considering the number of winter sport venues that we have/don’t have. The use of Mclaren F1 technology made a significant contribution in the sliding sports and the skin tight outfits of sliders and skaters played their part, although the genesis of their design lay in the disco’s of the 1980’s; The finals of the four man bobsleigh featured a team who, in dim light could easily pass as a Hot Gossip tribute act. A record medal haul that relied on a particularly un-English response of imploring others to fall over or crash in order to bump up the GB medal count; and now the Para-Olympians are having a go, inspirational stuff!

Apologies, but it has been drawn to my attention that something titled "LinkedIn" has been making many proposals on my behalf. I know nothing of their ways or their intentions so please ignore any requests of friendship/ marriage or possible provision of services.

The Internet, Eh?............Tut.

There is still plenty of standing water about and the soggy grass is taking on its first flush of green growth. We are inundated with Little Egret and it is not uncommon to see a quartet of the funny birds poking around in a puddle. No Bittern yet, and it may be that his yellow legs are not long enough for usual wading haunts on the flight pond this year. Hares are starting to congregate for their annual conference in the back field, I counted six when cleaning my teeth the other morning.

Briefly on teeth,

Mdme and myself are fairly fickle when it comes to all things orthodontic, there’s no brand loyalty around our sink, and we’re suckers for an offer where teeth products are concerned, but this week we have already purchased three tubes of the stuff. The first was lemon flavour that came with the Queen’s blessing but had no mention of any citrus twang on the box. The second came with a nod and a wink from Holly Willoughby and turned out to be infused with all things menthol, performing the dual role of buffing up your molars while keeping your sinus’s phlegm free and instigating a bizarre dream that culminated with me reclining naked from the knees up bar a powdered wig and wellies on a Chaise Longue working my way through a green packet of long brown cigarettes.

No Holly, No!

The third saw a return to trusty mint. The experience has led myself and Mdme to develop a degree of brand loyalty but when did these new flavours that were probably pushed as an exciting new concept in toothpaste technology, come about?

I don’t like them, and I don’t trust “non mint” toothpaste.

Recently I was summoned by village elders to give a photographic account of my activities over the past twelve months. A difficult crowd with no qualms over throwing things or turning their backs on a speaker, I relayed a tale that had seen record lows and highs within the valley, facts that were confirmed by a succession of Septuagenarians and Octogenarians who, over a cup of tea and slice of half moon, recounted how they had not seen flooded roads such as we had in January and February at any time during their long lives.

On the Itchen the threat of direct flooding from channel flow has receded but the threat of groundwater flooding has increased substantially and will remain for many weeks. A brief bumble up the Bourne Valley revealed a plethora of private pumps moving water away from property and personal effects, and one road remains closed out of this village as over a hundred yards of road has been transformed into a winter bourne, the head of which continues to creep further and further up the valley indicating that substantial amounts of water are still making their way down into the aquifers. Numbers of chalkstream riparian owners who are blessed with chalkstream bank have swelled as 2014 has progressed. The Test is rising several miles north of its usual point of entrance at Ashe and the Dever appears much further up its valley where a blue tractor and yellow combine harvester emporium stands defiantly in the way of the Dever's early progress to the sea. We are several bits of bridge missing and they are probably bobbing about in Southampton water bouncing off the Liners, so a few repairs will have to be made in the coming weeks,

To bridges, and possibly liners, they were big bits of wood.

Recriminations over flooding are already underway, the first of many predicted. A Put and Take Trout fishery is taking issue with the owners and managers of the stretch of chalkstream directly downstream from their bottom boundary. In line with current thinking from on high as to how chalkstreams must be managed, a Fancy Pants Fishery Management Consultant on a flying visit advised the syndicate to alter their channel management practice and allow it to grow in. In recent momths this reduced channel has forced water back up through the fish rearing ponds at the fishery, releasing hundreds of substantial Rainbow Trout out into the river, a “non native” species that either of the aforementioned from on high are too keen on. The fishery is thousands of pounds worth of stock down, and in efforts to appease their neighbour the fishing syndicate now speak of dredging and diggers, actions that could have been avoided had the marginal growth been managed year on year. Old fashioned “Edging in”, a process carried out each autumn with a slasher or scythe and can be done with a sympathetic eye to both marginal growth and flood defence. It featured on a list of actions issued from on high in 2013 that must cease in order to save the chalkstreams. There is the possibility of an over-reaction in the coming months to channel management, but rather than going at ditches and drains with a digger every five years, annual management practice with hand held tools by a chap in green trousers will prove more effective in finding the middle way that must be trod between habitat protection and flood defence.

The Beast of Bransbury and further F******* Puddles

Following late night discussions over the fate of the fallen Field Maple that fell in our garden, and reclined on our roof throughout the night, it was decided that the course of action recommended by those clad in the finest fleece and cutting edge walking shoes, to stand back and record its decomposition from the kitchen window over the coming years, logging any flora and fauna aroused by its broken limbs would be ignored, and the decision was taken to cut the bloody thing up, which I have carried out for much of today, pausing only to mutter

"another chuffing tree down, but at least this one’s on dry land and not laid in another f****** puddle!"

It turns out the tree played host to the “Beast of Bransbury” a Puma, five feet in length that had been sighted on several occasions and photographed by people with keen interests in manual focus and depth of field.

If I had gone at this tree while it was still standing there is no doubt that I would have broken something.

Madams’ shed could have been flattened, the three lines of electricity that cross the garden left flapping, or several windows or walls left battered. The Good Lord laid this tree down with precision and the deftest of touch that broke nothing more than my best plant pot, I may even take in the “God Channel” during a lull in Match of the Day probably when Sir Shearer is on,

Say what you see Alan.

Alan: Well he’s taken it down on his chest and he’s kicked it toward the goal and the goalkeeper hasn’t saved it and it’s gone into the net, so it’s a goal

Gary: Thanks for the insight Alan . In today’s game at the Emirates.............

It’ll take a few days to clear up, and there was a hairy moment in the afternoon when the whole thing slipped eighteen inches down the bank, but the roof is now sheeted over and the tree lies in a million pieces in the garden awaiting storage. On the upside it couldn’t be closer to the log basket so with my time and motion head on it may be stacked in the garden ,as long as we leave space for the “cue ce barb” and a couple of chairs we’ll live with it this summer.

Thanks to all the offers of help in dealing with the busted boughs.

Late in the afternoon I nipped over to the Itchen in order to take in the effect of the weir that Wickes built beneath the M3 motorway.

There’s no direct route to be had around here, with many minor roads and the odd major road closed across the county. Half an hour later, after a distance of nearly twenty miles (please note Mr/Mrs/ Miss Taxman)The three hundred acre lake had yet to materialise but there was flooding in the meadows.

Winchester remains at risk. As a result Wickes, and the Beautiful British Army, have been summomned to make more weirs to stop Alfred’s seat from becoming too soggy; this time using the culverts under the A34.

It’s a great effort in desperate times, but may be a short term fix for a city, that when the rain recedes,will remain struck by groundwater flooding well into spring.

Strange days indeed (you’ve done that one to death ed)

An out of bank experience

And the Bafta nominee for shakiest camera work and worst soundtrack in the open air is...

“Floods II – broke bank fountain”



Featuring in appearance order:

The ditch that carries water away from the neighbouring village,

The River Dever at Bransbury

And a groundbreaking performance that trod new roads from a portion of The River Test

Strange days indeed, four months ago this river and the aquifers that feed it were at one of the lowest levels recorded, today sages predict that they will soon be at the highest ever recorded; from off the bottom of the gauge at Weston Colley to a substantial out of bank experience. Nothing on the scale of the Thames, Severn and Somerset Levels but this is a chalkstream and this is very unusual behaviour for groundwater fed rivers, strange days indeed (repeated for emphasis ed). After the floodwaters subside on flashier rivers the groundwater flow will mean that fields and roads in chalk valleys will remain flooded far longer.

Two days ago we made the Environment Agency’s excellent live flood map in red, and each evening we have received a recorded message reminding us of the danger of flooding and not to underestimate the power of the water. Here, we are some way off property being affected by flooding from the river channel, but ground water is rising at a remarkable rate. The borehole that supplies water to the Mill house and the house in which we live is bubbling like the Trevi fountain and is at a level almost equal to the level of the lowest room in the Mill House, as a result an extra pump has been fired up that hooks the exuberant ground water away to the river and we have been advised to boil all that we drink, althogh I draw the line at Mulled Wine, makes me liverish. In two to three weeks a bigger pump may be required as the ground water will keep on rising for quite some while yet. A drive up the Bourne, Upper Test and Dever reveals a plethora of private pumps at work shifting groundwater that threatens to cover the entire valley, and I have just returned from spending a few hours moving furniture to higher ground in a basement that has been invaded by groundwater.

Part of the previous two days has been spent chucking sandbags around in the neighbouring village. A series of houses were under threat from a spring ditch that was all but out of control, a sandbag berm was built and a pump put in place to shift water from the side of the houses, but waves from passing traffic breached the barrier and the benefit of fifteen minutes of pumping was cancelled in an instant.

The road was closed but still the traffic came, ignoring the road closed signs, the cars broken down on the side of the road being attended to by the AA and the several people waving their arms and pleading with them not to enter the hundred yard stretch of road that was underwater and rising to smash on through and send wave after wave surging up to stricken houses. It was a fairly depressing episode that also included a school bus driving over a road closed sign to deliver his load, a flatbed truck swerving midstream to put the wind up someone who was asking them to slow down and a white single deck coach from Andover whose driver was asked politely to find another way home with his empty vehicle but instead pressed on regardless, taking his hands from the steering wheel midstream to perform a hilarious mime of someone swimming underwater. His bow wave took the top line of sandbags off the barrier and another fifteen minutes of pumping had been carried out in vain.

He was really funny, it was a great mime of a person swimming and was just what was required at that particular moment and drew rave reviews, the best of which is listed below:

“Prick”

In what may have been a bungled effort to pick a day to bury bad news, all who manned the flood defence had that day received through the post compulsory notice from the water authorities that their properties were to be fitted with water meters to preserve a commodity which was becoming ever more precious.

"Hear hear!" said I

Which instigated a tense stand off between myself and several poised with buckets that were about to be thrown my way.

Over on the Itchen things have taken an unusual twist. In order to save Winchester from aquatic Armageddon, the M3 motorway was closed one evening and over a hundred one tonne sacks of sand and gravel lowered into the main river at the point that it shoots through the substantial culvert below the UK’s highway number 3. It’s the weir that Wickes built and the idea is to flood the land upstream in order to gain Winchester some breathing space particularly in the coming few days when several inches of rain is forecast. Innovative thinking from the folk at flood defence and by accident rather than design, but where we saw a motorway crossing a valley they saw dam potential. Models predict (and Cindy Crawford is rarely wrong in these matters) that three hundred acres of water meadow will be flooded to a depth of four feet, the chap who lives by the main bridge in Easton will have the willies but if it sees Winchester through the next rough week of weather, well done the blokes at the EA.

What if there were a set of hatches in place under the M3 to carry out this kind of operation and negate the need for a sponsorship deal with Wickes?

Oh yes, impounded streams and all that, best rip the hatches and sluices out then.

While I will readily knock the EA and their cohorts at the planning level, in the field over the past few weeks they deserve more than some of the stick that has been thrown their way. A media savvy bunch with twitter feeds and YouTube posts from each team in the field they are equipped with all the gear and energy to make a difference but have been let down by leadership, planning and budget. Follow a few on the internet to find out what they have had to put up with this past week. The local council have been very good with their sandbank distribution and troop movements up and down the A303 are comforting along with the huge pumps that we saw pass en route from Holland to the Somerset Levels.

Further down the river Romsey’s World of Water (a tropical and freshwater fish emporia) reached nirvana as the nearby river flowed through their premises. Inspired by “Free Willy” several substantial sturgeon have fled into the neighbouring river Test. We have seen sturgeon feed on the surface, swimming upside down to take floating baits with their under slung mouths in a French lake so there could be some fun to be had at Mayfly time on the lower Test.

I was kindly contacted by a chap asking what I thought of Richard Benyon’s suggestion to allow flooding in the headwaters of the Kennet in order to delay its discharge into the Thames. I may be wrong, and could quite possibly have dreamt this one but a hundred years ago didn’t a system of hatches, ditches and carrier streams exist in most chalkstreams to push water around the floodplain, giving man control over a river system which allowed retention or release of water. The meadows would be flooded as a matter of course to encourage an early flush of grass for grazing. Marry that knowledge of how water meadows work with today’s enlightened times on habitat and its management and we may just be walking the right road.

Don’t rip the hatches out but learn how to use them, understand what is and isn’t achievable with each set of sluices and return to some sensible channel management.

Apologies for the garbled nature of this post, fairly frantic times.

Traffic News: Just heard that A303 dual carriage way, the Great Western road to some , the North/South divide to others, has been closed fifteen miles est of here due to flooding. If you were planning on a camping trip to Cornwall this weekend you will need to find another route.

And now this has just happened. The perfect prelude to Valentine's day l'amore

A chuffin tree falling on the back of your home!

Clockwork! the future of domestic power!

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free,
I wish I could break all the chains holding me,
I wish I could say all the things I should say,
say ‘em loud say ‘em clear for the whole wide world to hear.

With Barry Norman unavailable,

Is he still around? Wikipedia seems to think so, but they are never the most reliable source, I saw him at a Test match a few years ago and he looked well enough so fingers crossed. He was quite good on Spitting image as well as the film show,

Anyway,

Audio’s beyond me, so the written lyrics for the theme tune to the BBC’s once famous film review show (there’s no plugs here) will have to serve as an introduction to this latest piece of written rubbish which opens with a three minute film of flooding in these parts, which may or may not be up for a BAFTA, who am I to say?

For those who have fished here or are due to fish here during the coming season I’d leave the suede shoes at home and perhaps pop in a few bids for some fancy waterproof boots on ebay

It feels like half time in the cup tie with Floodsville united. Some rivers will have experienced a hiatus over the past forty eight hours without significant rain or may have even fallen a little but in chalk valleys where replenishment comes via groundwater supply the level has risen insidiously over the past few days. We have a long way yet to go this winter and I confidently predict that the sequel to this BAFTA nominated film due to released next week will feature even higher levels of drama, with ducks playing in places they shouldn’t a particular highlight.

A few days ago while disposing of the weekend’s empties at the bottle bank I bumped into an octogenarian from the next village who used to write on important matters for The Times newspaper. His family have lived in the valley for generations and, an accomplished angler, he commented that his father had always said the” The river Test was too much of lady to flood” Well she is being a bit of a bitch at the moment, switching her mood from the low flows of last autumn to current conditions of high flow. In the last few days two of our wooden bridges have given up and floated away, and snowdrops are flowering despite being under six inches of water. We are yet to be inundated with wading birds that the flood protagonists assured us would make merry in condition such as these.

The electric substation remains under siege from all things aqua and the situation is unlikely to improve in the coming weeks. Fortunately the transformers are bunded and have a few inches of protection but at this point shouldn’t we call in to question the decision to throw everything in with Eddison and opt for the electrical route?

Surely “clockwork” was the way forward, proper power with no issues over water.

Intermission:

Following a gentle reminder of commitments made on the first day of this year, determined efforts are being made to avoid criticism of those in higher places during the laying down of this drivel.

Part 2

Snowboarders are great!

I am not riding the crest of a wave of emotion after Bridget Jones clinched a much deserved bronze medal, but am genuinely impressed by the whole bunch. A spectacular sport that held the lady who sleeps on my left and myself rapt for much of the past weekend. A creditable crowd who are quick to laugh at themselves, they are skilled and brave with a genuine respect for their opponent and are an example that other sports would do well to follow.
In the ladies event one competitor flunked a jump landed on her head travelled fifty yards with legs flapping in all manner of unusual directions, but within a minute she was up on her feet, albeit with a smashed helmet, to scoot down the remainder of the course to receive the applause of her contemporaries.
The contrast with football or cricket (sports once close to my heart) is stark. If Chico Flores had bumped his head like the wee dot of a girl pushing for a medal he would have been out for weeks, let alone finishing the game, and if Michael Clarke had been at the bottom of the slope to welcome a brave competitor it would not have been the hugs of fellow snowboarders that welcomed him but a “next time you’ll break your F*****arm”
Tongue tied footballers could also learn a little from the snow-boarding vernacular. Baffling at times and not a little bonkers, it does set the scene and each particular competitor, like the Lusitania at either end of a transatlantic crossing is either “stoked” or “unstoked”
The BBC got itself in a bit of a muddle when one of our pioneering competitors declared himself to be “hucked” for which the BBC issued a swift apology, although no apology was forthcoming for allowing Austrian Ski jumper Andreas Wank to run twice through his repertoire well before the watershed.
The traditional ski jumping that followed seemed a little tame, and both the lady who sleeps on my left and myself were urging all who competed to chuck in a few spins or flips in order to up the style marks.
A wise old manager currently on a lengthy secondment in the North East, attempted to divert the spotlight that had shone fully on the 2012 Olympics back to football, and he sagely pointed out that football too is a beautiful and noble game, played in a terrific spirit by fair minded players with the utmost respect for each other, before being sent to the stands seventy minutes into the first game of the season for abusing the fourth official and the opposing manager.

Phew made it, without making mention of the Generalissimo, the EA, NA, WTT, RSPB, H&IOWWT or anything else in capital letters, I even refrained from compiling my top five most ridiculous people in football.

Oh, Ok then

But in the spirit of all things “Pointless” I will leave a few letters out or jumble the odd word up to avoid litigation.

1. Lana Padrew
2. S_m _ll_rdy_e
3. Joes Minorhio
4. A_l_ S_e_r_r
5. Any manager of Stoke City, it just isn’t football.

PS: I have just spent the afternoon dishing out sandbags to several houses in the village where water laps at the door, the Dever and the Upper Test are now writ red on the excellent EA live flood warning map.

In Generalissimo Smith we trust

More rain and further rivers rising but thank goodness we have a white knight to see us through these damp times. Enter Lord Smith leader of the Environment Agency who cut straight to the nub of the current predicament by informing us that it is a straight choice between towns flooding and countryside flooding. At which point I would like to employ the modern method of using lots of punctuation in a row to emphasise a point:

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

Sorry, that should read

???????????????????????????????????????????

Six figures a year for three days work a week, gosh the EA were lucky to get him!

In many respects it is about time the EA “grew a pair” It would serve them well in the future when faced with burly frackers, and also in the argument between flood defence and conservation over the way in which our river channels are managed. For far too long they have pandered to the demands of Natural England and the many conservation and wildlife trusts who have come up with some of the daftest diktat in recent times. They must resist the demands of flood defence to dredge deep and wide and ignore the call from voluble conservation groups to do nothing but stand back and watch, and find a compromise that will go some way to meeting the demands of both flood defence and conservation.

It can be done and, wise old owl that he is, I am sure the Generalissimo has made preparations,

But then again,

Groundwater is on the rise in these environs and two of the four roads out of the village resemble rivers as the groundwater makes its way along the carriageway to the river, the other two roads that leave the village border the river which, if it floods, will leave the ancient drove that takes the high route over the hill the only dry track out of town, which may be why it exists in the first place because water levels such as these would have been more common hundreds of years ago when there was less demand on groundwater supply and water was generally more plentiful. It may be tough on some but for a chalkstream the market is booming, dividends are high, interests are on the up and growth is groovy,

I think that’s right, I’m not a money man but I am sure I have heard these words said in financial circles.

The recent rain will act as a tremendous fillip to beleaguered chalkstreams that only four months ago were down on their knees with depleted aquifers and a stale water flow.

Peter the Pollution man from the EA made a great job of clearing up, after what is now known in these parts as the “Castrol Catastrophe that could have been” Four visits and a succession of magic mats soaked up much of what lay in the ditch, which is just as well as two days later the water rose and what oil remained flowed out into the spring hole and on into the river. This week the parish has received the gift of a white two seater sofa, which has been ripped apart, possibly by bears according to some enlightened neighbours who spend very little time in the countryside living as they do for much of the time in SW6,

Where there may or may not be bears, I couldn't say, it's not my patch.

I don’t like to call Peter out again, he is probably very busy and the sofa is unlikely to enter the aquatic environment but I may give Marwell Zoo a call to check if they have their full quota of bears.

Trees continue to tumble and all that is felled in the wood will remain until next winter as much of the wood is under six inches of water. A small hawthorn fell a third of the way across the top shallows and within an hour the river upstream had lifted an inch and was making its way across the water meadows . Swiftly moving into action, and yes I am capable of brief periods of swiftness even in this battered condition, I jumped in the river chainsaw in hand and charged with excitement the offending hawthorn bristling with spikey forms. My first charge was repelled by the steely wood so I retired to the bank to sharpen my sword/chainsaw and resumed battle with renewed vigour (yes yes, I can do vigour, if only occasionally), using the flow to slay the beast with a swift cut from beneath before diving off downstream to drag it out to the side. Within an hour the river had refrained from flowing across the fields (which remained flooded but with standing water) and the flow returned to its swollen channel.

Woody Debris anyone?

A carrier stream off the main river Test has, in line with Natural England, Wild Trout Trust, Wildlife Trust and RSPB thinking been left alone for some years, I pass it most days and sigh. This past week has seen the sigh shift to profuse profanity and here’s why:

Left to grow in, with woody debris very much to the fore along with a series of fences across its main channel, the water had nowhere to go. Subsequently it quickly burst its banks and surrounded the electricity substation that supplies amps and ohms to this village and the next,

It has then made its way across four fields of pasture

before taking out a chalk wall that is quite old and probably never expected the river to come this way.

It then flows a hundred yards down the road,

before joining the Dever just below our bottom boundary.

In effect, a portion of the River Test is now flowing down our road, and its planned confluence with the Dever has shifted a mile upstream.

With the price of a yard of chalkstream bank at an all time high, you would think this is a good thing for the local community, some municipal fishing albeit it at the cost of an old chalk wall, possible powercut/outages, four fields of pasture and the village’s main thoroughfare.

In the next few weeks our new river’s discharge will undoubtedly increase and the road become unpassable, we may even lose power if the substation becomes flooded and it could all so easily be avoided if the carrier in question had been managed in a different way. The fields would still have flooded, but not to the extent that they are now.
Natural England et al would have us all retreat into a hide to conduct a watching brief, but when will the penny drop that river systems that have been managed by man for hundreds of years must continue to be managed in a sympathetic way to both habitat and water level if they are not to have significant impact.

Standing back and watching with clipboard in hand doesn’t work,

(at which point I will switch to vernacular from across the pond)

End Of!

Period!

Getgo! (that one may be wrong)

Well that's the "keep calm and trust in the authorities" new year resolution gone for a burton

As ever, we remain increasingly led by loons