The Blue Meadow

I've had a more productive day today, thank the stars, getting my bike repaired this afternoon at the local bike shop, and then heading out on a long early evening walk out to Farndon and back.

The himalayan balsam is now in rampant flower along the river in the Willow Holt reserve. This invasive plant, that out competes native species thanks to its voracious seeding habits, provides attractive colour - it is the UK's largest annually flowering plant - but at a cost.

I think they look rather like triffids, personally, although without the blinding stinger and habit of feeding off corpses.

A good view of a fox running across a ploughed field was a bonus.

I went to Cottage Lane reserve in search of dragonflies, but found none. What I did find was a meadow that was absolutely blue with tufted vetch. I've never seen so much in flower in one place.

It made it very much worth the visit. And a two hour walk at times like this is very beneficial to mental health.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 22.07.20

Well that was Pain Indeed

I had a wisdom tooth out today, a procedure that I was told would be relatively straightforward as these things go, and could be done under a local anaesthetic.

They were right in that sense. The actual removal of the tooth took barely ten minutes, I didn't even notice it had gone until I was told. Unfortunately it was the 35 minutes of trying to get enough anaesthetic into me to numb the site that was the issue.

You see, the nerve within the tooth had become hypser-sensitised, which was only discovered when after the initial 3 or 4 injections they began work to spilt the tooth to facilitate its removal, and I yelled out loud in pain and nearly ripped the arms off the dental chair.

In order to directly sedate the nerve, they had to dig around to expose it, and then inject it directly with novocaine, or whatever it is they use these days. This meant, they had to keep injecting me to numb a bit more of the pulp around the nerve to enable the exposure process to proceed, each injection producing a split second of incredible, sharp pain.

Finally, there was the final series of injections into the nerve, which again were absolutely blinding.

5 minutes later they were able to begin, with my jaw aching from holding it open, and my body tenser than a springing cat.

Ye gods, that was no fun. All has settled now, although it feels like there's a tangle of fishing line in there from the stitches and I feel like I've been punched in the jaw.

For pictures, well, there was a little sensory garden in Carlton along the road, with some charming little sculptures in it. That's the only nice thing that has happened in the last 24 hours.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 13.12.19

Fantastic Mrs Fox

With a couple of days to go before I have to return to work after my time off, I was leaving an establishment of doubtful virtue long after pumpkin time, when I was confronted by a pair of eyes glowing in the dark near HSBC, attached to a curious yet fearless head, russet body and a bushy tail.

It was of course a fox, and evidently one used to presence of humans. She sat perfectly still, looking up at me, as I took picture after picture of her. Only for me to realise that for some reason related to seer idiocy, I'd have the cameraphone on "film" setting, and had produced noting but a series of short films of dark paving slabs.

As soon as I had got the phone onto the right setting, the fox trotted up towards Bridge Street and disappeared. I stood there cursing myself to the skies for not being able to record such a close vulpine encounter - the fox was barely three metres away from me.

I decided to follow the fox to Bridge Street thinking it would be long gone. But as I turned the corner, there it was, sat munching away on what looked like a Babybel wrapper with an audible crunching sound.

It being a quiet Tuesday, there were fewer people around, but likewise there was a corresponding lack of fast food goodies overflowing from bins for hungry foxes. Barely able to breathe, I crept closer, taking a few pictures with the flash on, and the fox again took itself off. I decided from the state of the brush that it was a vixen, slightly on the thin side but otherwise in good condition.

She was also very peckish, as rather than heading to the churchyard where I presume her den was, she trotted back along the bollards before sidling up alongside the chemists shop before investigating a plastic drinking straw next to another bin.

By this time, she was barely a metre and a half away. Done with crunching on the straw, she found some other litter to nibble at, before slouching off round the corner onto Cartergate. I followed her round, and she decided to trot back into the market square again. I left her at that point to carry on her feeding activities.

In all, I think I must have watched her for around 10 minutes, and felt very privileged to have had the fates grant me this encounter.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature

My Friendly Urban Fox

It had been a while since I'd seen a fox.

There always used to be at least one highly visible one in Newark down the years. The specimen that used to patrol Balderton Gate, running away from your post pub footsteps into the gardens of the sheltered accomodation. The family that used to live on Lime Grove, a vixen and her three cubs I once saw peering at me round a gatepost, heads above each other like a Disney tableau.

Another fox family I saw fleetingly on Middlegate once, feasting off the detritus of a Friday night, and even at work in Nottingham there was a friendly vixen who used to sit outside the canteen and take bits of breakfast cob from your hand.

But I'd not seen one for a while, and had contended myself with hedgehogs, frogs, toads, and the 24.7 tuneful warbling of robins as I transported myself by night.

Until recently.

There is a new fox in town.

I'd say, judging by the brush, it's a male, and it is a very handsome chap. It appears out of the church gardens, and comes to feed off whatever has overflowed from the bins by the...Fox and Crown Pub, where else! I'd love to photograph it, but Fantastic Mr Fox is far too canny for that, although he seems to be quite calm around people.

I love the fact he's busy scoffing away, three feet outside the door of an oblivious pub full of drinkers, and only I can see him!