A Battered Bonce, Grade 3 Zither and 52

Bang bang Maxwell’s silver hammer came down upon his head.

Well maybe not Maxwell’s sterling persuader but my 25kg fence bumper.

I am not quite sure how it happened. I was working alone bumping a couple of posts into the river bank for a seat on the short stretch we have opened up below the bottom bends. I raised the bumper up above my head in order to deliver the opening blow, I lost my balance and the thing came down on my head sending me flat on my back into six inches of mud and water.

There’s no old man of Arron going round and a round but near a tree by a river there’s a hole in the ground with my hearing aid in it. As I hit the deck one of my hearing aids popped out. Scrabbling around in the mud for the expensive aural piece I was forced to abandon my search as I couldn’t see through my glasses for blood.

I hobbled home and dialled 111 who told me to dial 999. While waiting for the ambulance I climbed the stairs to take off my wet clothes where I went a bit wobbly in the bedroom and had to sit down on the bed. Covered in blood and mud the bedroom soon assumed a “Holby City” air.

The ambulance arrived in ten minutes and I then went into shock. I acquired a stutter, my blood pressure and heart rate shot up and I couldn’t stop shivering. The medicos were brilliant and deliberated between Basingstoke and Winchester as to which was the best place to take the patient.

Winchester it was, and after four hours I was on my way home with a head full of glue and a special dressing. A funny forty eight hours followed, with headaches, fogginess and an inability to sleep after my intense adrenaline high.

It’s all ok now and while some people following a bump on the bonce find they can suddenly speak Spanish or play the Zither to grade 3 level. I have not suddenly acquired any new talents other than a propensity to quote song lyrics in any guff I now chuck up.

Anyway the river.

It just about remains within it’s banks. The opening day of the trout season on this stretch is just under four weeks away and some bits of bank will be out of bounds for a few weeks.

Ranunculus is in fine form and will be cut in April. The river is losing colour and the gravel is sparkling with hardly a grain of silt to be seen, it is plain to even the most addled of eyes what a restorative effect high winter flow has on a chalk river. Ducks are getting fruity, which is always a sign that winter is nearly over. Mallard drakes are a horny beast in March and April and this morning Lord Ludg and myself caught four of the things in pursuit of a duck across a field a long way from the river.

Not seen any Lupine shenanigans in the field behind our house yet this year. It used to be a magnet at this time of year for hares driven mad by lust. There are more hares about here than there have been for a few years so I’ll keep looking. It’s the only place I’ve seen a parliament of the things with nine or ten of them formed up in a circle fifteen feet across. At one time it was common place to draw our bedroom curtains of a morning and see three or four Hartleys bumbling about the bottom corner of the field.

And then there’s the virus.

It is a thing, and the tone in some corners of the media has changed significantly in the last ten days. Less of the fact free, say what ever you like, reporting of the past three or four years, but a tacit acknowledgment that they have a responsibility to provide clear and accurate information to Joe public as opposed to pushing agendas various.
On "Our Great Leader's" advice we have cancelled our plans to visit Porto at Easter and are washing our hands furiously at every opportunity.

In my line of work, the majority of people I mix with are in the “vulnerable” group. We plan to open for fishing as normal. I will be even more socially distant than previous summers and will wash my hands regularly and check my temperature twice a day. I also promise to lock myself in the cupboard under the stairs for many days at the slightest hint of any lurgy.

It’s the sensible thing to do, and I hope will provide reassurance to many of our regulars who may consider themselves at risk. In conversation in the back of the ambulance last week, I raised the issue of self isolation. The Medico came back with “From what I’ve learnt about you in the past hour” (and there were many questions)“ You’ve pretty much been in self isolation for most of your working life”

I don’t know how this has happened (particularly considering recent events) but this week Madam and myself turned 52 years old.

The following has become a bit of a perennial standard for this house,

A google reveals that the number 52 is the natural number following 51 and preceding 53

The wraith of Paul Daniels or possibly Bruce Forsyth insists that a full pack of cards bar jokers numbers 52,

With a nod to the natural world, 52 is the number of Hertz that one particular whale emits when in song. An unusual range, he has been dubbed the Barry White of the whale world.

Numerologists have it that 52 carries a similar level of energy to the number 7, while Angel numbers teach us that the number 52 is a message that you have made the right choices and are on the perfect path for the realisation of your life’s higher purpose.

Whatever, we've both just turned 52.

Free Brie, Flybe and a Threeway Light Affair

Still here,

I've an expensive ear trumpet to pay for and the car didn't fare too well in the MOT so been busy bunging stuff on ebay.

With a two week period of isolation on the cards for most of the populace of planet earth, the potential for online auction sales has opened up immensely.





And at this point can we all remember the covert mantra of the mainstream media over the past few years – “If we’re not scared, they’re not doing their job”.

We had a brace of dry days at the beginning of the week and the water levels on the fields and in the river fell for a forty eight hour period.

Ditches are full and flowing and in some spots water is running down the road. On a visit to the stretch of the upper Itchen that I fall in out of, I came across a three way traffic light affair at Headbourne Worthy.

The springs had broken (the clue is there in the name of the village should anybody think this an unusual event) and water was running across the road.

The three way traffic light set up seemed a tad excessive and was further complicated by access to what all civilised people agree is the best farm shop in Britain (thanks in advance for the sample of free brie)


The Itchen was still behaving itself, but back in the Dever valley there is water running down the road that has yet to draw the eye of the traffic light wallahs.

Here is the road at Cocum, between Barton Stacey and the A30.

The water is flowing down the road before exiting stage right into the fields that lead down to Spring Bottom.







It’s groundwater flooding that isn’t going away anytime soon, and is a tremendous thing that bodes well for the impending trout season. We’ve a few dry days on the way before further rain is forecast.

In the quest to lengthen life via the medium of left foot, right foot. Weekend perambulations saw us push deep into the Anton valley before crossing the river to climb over the hill and down to the Test.

The Anton valley was relatively free of flooding

and the Test was bank high but reasonably prim and proper and behaving herself.




There was some standing water on Chilbolton Common, and for a hundred yards I had cause to bear Madam on my back, as yes, it was I who insisted that wellies were not necessary and walking shoes would suffice.

Oh yes, this

We draw a few fly tippers in the Dever valley.

In previous years our own parish has received the gift of sofas, carpets, fruit and veg, builder’s rubble, sump oil and much more besides.

The fly tippers currently seem to be concentrating their efforts on the outskirts of Winchester.

Has something happened to cause this antisocial behaviour?

We now have to register with our local council to use the local town tip, else we incur a five pound charge for each visit, is this the case in Winchester and if so,

could there be a link?




With water all through the wood and any movement with the tractor on the riverbank likely to create more work, we have moved to other areas of work. A bridge has been built from wood grown, felled and processed on site. A rustic affair, it breaks new ground in bridge design, although the requirement to break step when crossing cannot be emphasised enough. With a nod to sustainability we have planted forty odd golden willows through the wood. Now that the ash trees cashing in their chips at a remarkable rate there is a need for a fast growing tree to fill a few gaps. I’ve also another homespun bridge with a folksy feel to build when the water level drops a few inches.

The trout season seems to be rushing towards us and there is still much to be done. The river is rammed with fish, trout mostly, that will be super fit having overwintered in rapid flow. Tarka’s been about this week and either end of a double figure pike pitched up on the bank one morning. Graculus has also upped his presence in the area. Faster flow and deeper water may provide some succour for brer brown trout from Tarka, but it increases Graculus’s prospects of filling his boots. With an extra foot of water in depth of the flight pond the silver fish have taken a bit of a hammering.

Wither poor Flybe.

We had some tremendous times in their care pitching out from the world’s best airport at Southampton.

Ok, Ok the carbon footprint of flying,

but I plant a lot of trees (see somewhere above) and have done many things to promote biodiversity in my workplace and clean up as much air as possible. I also recycle like a fiend and would never dream of introducing a log to the burner with a moisture content higher than 20%, and anyway, most of Flybe’s planes have propellers and I was always led to believe that they didn't burn aviation fuel but are instead propelled by big rubber bands.

So forgive us a few flights from the world's best airport that is Southampton.

Fingers crossed another airline comes forward to maintain the routes from what is, and I'll say it again, the world's best airport.

Oh yes,

Only fifty days ago "Our Great Leader" declared:

“Be in no doubt that we see the importance of Flybe in delivering connectivity across the whole United Kingdom”

Funding was promised,

It didn’t come.

How many other tales have been told this past few years?

A Beached Digger, Floods and Lanes

Okay, okay, we could do with a break from this rain.

Storm Dennis dumped several inches of the stuff on us last weekend and later in the week the river rose several inches, a lag in time typical of rapidly rising aquifers.

Water now lies in the four fields higher up the shallow valley from the field known as “Spring Bottom.

I have only seen this happen on three previous occasions, the last in 2014.

The ditch through the village that caused so much trouble in 2014 has been studiously cleared each Autumn and currently it reasonable well behaved although we’ve a long way to go this winter with groundwater levels likely to rise for many weeks yet.

At Bransbury some water is taking short cuts across some of the meanders and bridges are in danger of becoming submerged.

The river is quite quick to clear following rain. Another indicator that groundwater is making a significant contribution to the total discharge.



There should be some super fit fish about for the first few months of the season.

The water meadow upstream from here is holding water, which is what it should be doing at this time of the year, and plays host to many duck and geese.

Trees remain vulnerable in saturated ground and a few days back a substantial Aspen wobbled over on the far banks of the bottom bends. It seems quite bizarre that almost a year ago to the day the ground was so dry that a large part of fen caught fire and an old fishing hut went up in flames (it’s on here somewhere) I don’t expect to be burning any reed beds in what remains of this winter.

We’ve a digger on hire for a few weeks. There are a few well worn stretches of bank that need patching up and the stream that flows from the ford in the Mill Stream to the main river opposite the flight pond needs a bit of a clear out, particularly as it is currently carrying quite a lot of water.

There are other spring ditches in the parish that are also having an “out of bank experience” and spring water runs along several of the roads in this area as it makes its way to the main river.

My allotment that will feed this house in the coming year has assumed pond status and, with a nod to our friends in the east,

plans are afoot to branch out into polyculture and stock it with carp and rear chickens on rafts.

It’s far too wet for carrots, because yes we are experiencing flooding.

Not in the manner of the Wye, Severn and Ouse.

They are different types of river that respond in a different way to heavy rain than the Test and Itchen. The sage of Longparish the one time cricket correspondent for The Thunderer always insists that the Test is too much of a lady to flood. Which has some truth in it, but when she does flood she tends to sulk for quite a period and is reluctant to return to what the sage would have as “mid season form”

The Wye, Severn and Ouse rise very quickly and can fall at an equally rapid rate. I have fished the Wye, Dee (a similar river) and Severn in rising conditions and have had to move my fishing basket back up the bank throughout the day. A true chalk river creeps up and any flooding comes from rising groundwater which takes quite a while to go away.

A venerable and newly retired keeper on the middle river (he put me forward for my current position when he was in his prime) always insisted that you knew you’d had enough winter rain for the impending summer if you had to think twice about taking your 4x4 into the meadows for fear of getting stuck.

Here’s one of the digger beached in the woods.

I’d tried to stick to route that kept me as close to tree trunks and their associated tangle of roots by way of finding firmer ground. In conditions such as this, once you go through the top crust and there is no root system to provide support you just keep going down into the sodden peat. I’ve taken to putting sheets of tin down to drive and dig on, which seems to work.

Today we received word that the proposal for an enormous incinerator on a site two fields away from this stretch of the Dever has been withdrawn. The announcement came quite out of the blue and was taken in order for the once American based now Antipodean based company to concentrate on other projects, which all sounds a bit woolly but well done all the same and I doubt we’ll ever find out the real reasons why they suddenly pulled out and went away. Thanks to everyone who made representation during the consultation process.

Half term this week. No foreign trip but a couple of days in Brighton. We haven’t visited for around twenty years and we travelled by train. It was slightly disturbing to see the construction of a large tranche of houses somewhere around the M25 halted by flooding, clearly not the right site for houses.

We arrived in time for lunch, a fine repast of chips, curry sauce and beer on the beach before heading out into the lanes,

or possibly laines,

not sure which, there were signs to both.

It’s tremendously trendy and hip, not how I remembered it,

When the heavens opened we headed for the Pavilion which I had not visited before. Madam had frequented the place several times as a child. Mostly on school trips to draw palm trees. It’s completely crackers with all manner of stylistic influences.

More walking the following day and some spectacular Italian food somewhere in the Lanes/Laines before catching the choo choo home.

Storm Kia-ora, Tree Fail and Avenue 5

Well what a windy weekend that was.

Nothing to do with the high pulse count that we currently maintain in order to keep our bowels spick and span, but a storm with a name that I have seen spelt at least three different ways in a matter of days. Fortunately the next storm to sweep in from the west has been assigned the moniker “Dennis” which may be a little less confusing for the spelling departments.

For fifteen minutes on Sunday the rain was reminiscent of Niagara. A wall of water so intense we lost sight of the mill house across the road and many trees fell over,

all thanks to Rita's sis - Storm Kia-ora

The wind blew all day and five o’clock in the evening found me attending to a sycamore in fading light with wine on board, that had toppled into the lane.


Around a dozen other trees joined in this arboreal Hari Kari, or "Tree Fail" as our Antipodean friends would have it

Two ash trees fell into the mill stream,

a large Field Maple fell out of the wood at the bottom of the Andyke,

four firs assumed an angle of forty five degrees

and three large ash trees infected with die back broke off at the base.

With my tree triage hat on, the sycamore on the road is a priority followed by the two ash trees in the mill stream and the field maple across the track at the bottom of the Andyke.

A length of the field maple has made passage from the Andyke to the plank processing pile, where it will season for some time before assuming another guise via the medium of chainsaw mill.

The Christmas trees and ash in the woods may have to wait for attention as the start of the trout fishing season is racing towards us and there are many tasks still to be completed. I also anticipate having to cut weed in April for the first time in a long time.

The luxuriant ranunculus is entirely due to a reasonable rate of flow. The Dever remains principally between its banks and it has been higher, but my goodness the rain we have received this winter has had a tremendously rejuvenating effect on the river. Ranunculus is stimulated by flow, gravel is scoured and cleaned by increased discharge, nutrient levels are diluted in the extra water. Rain is everything to this river and its aquifers, the contrast between the low levels of the last six or so years is stark. With a decent recharge of the aquifers summer fishing should be a very different experience this year with wellies the footwear of first choice.

There may even be fish caught from the mill stream for the first time in many years. It’s one of the few places I have seen redds this winter and there should be water flowing throughout its length for much of the summer.

It has been as still as a pond for the last six summers and was built to drive the wheel at the mill. Bread would be plentiful this summer if the wheel were still turning and grinding grain.

Before storm Kia-ora arrived Madam, myself and the dogs headed for the upper Itchen to undertake some left foot, right foot in further efforts to extend life.



It’s a walk we’ve completed several times and it crosses the valley floor on numerous occasions.

There wasn't much water lying in the meadows and the main river was impeccably behaved and squeezed snugly between her banks.

On the short stretch of the Itchen that I fall in and out of, the gravel bank at the back end of the pool that has been proud of the water for much of last year is now submerged. I’ve been laying waste to some bramble and thorn and I bear substantial scars on any flesh that became exposed. The ranunculus in this stretch of the Itchen is a little behind the Dever and may not need cutting in April, the ribbon weed however will need attending to once a month throughout the summer.

A brace of great egret have rocked up on the water meadow above here.

Little egret are numerous in number in this valley, but great egret are a reasonably rare visitor.

The few times that I have seen great egret here, there have been heron nearby trying to run them out of town. The two species don’t seem to get on and this pair were being watched carefully by three of Jack Ern’s best.

I don’t know if referring to a heron as “Jack Ern” is a Hampshire thing.

Mary Gunn who lived downstream next door always called them that, although it may have been a Mary Gunn thing. She was a one off was Mary.

Great Egret by the way, couldn’t be anything else, even to these failing eyes. Twice the size of Little Egret and a little bit more between the ears.

While we’re on ears, I am now trialling a brace of solid gold trumpets that speak to each other through the centre of my head.




Decibels harvested in the bad ear are transported by sound pixies across my bonce to the good ear which then assesses them on the bad ear’s behalf – I think that’s what she said. Reading between the lines my good ear is now bionic, or possibly functioning as a super ear.

I've been on to Marvel comics to pitch a new feature "The addled adventures of Super Ear Man" and a pattern has been commissioned for the costume.

I await their reply.

Anyway, I’ve bought cars for less than the purchase price, and it’s a bit odd when you scratch one ear and you hear it in the other, but it seems to help.

Oh yes, Avenue 5

A Dickens of a show and a parody of our times.

Top TV, well done Armando Iannuucci.