Tempus Fugit

Well, as of nearly two weeks ago, I am a year older …. again. Is it my imagination or do the 365 days, between each birthday, rush by quicker each year, the older you get? Are the sands of time trying to tell me something perhaps. Is the hole in life’s hourglass getting bigger or are the grains just getting smaller? What is it about time? When I was small those summer holidays almost seemed to drag along – the autumn term always appeared to be such a long way off as I set about writing the obligatory diary of events as instructed by my primary school headmistress. Mrs. Hempstead (and her spotty dog) used to demand (well no - her spotty dog didn't actually demand anything except perchance a pat on the head) a day by day account of her pupils’ activities during those hazy, summer days away from her beady eyes. Ha those endless scribblings of “My mum and I went shopping today”, or “We went to the park today to fly my kite”. I wonder if she really did read all those diaries on her charges’ return to their desks, smartly dressed in their brand new, clean winter uniforms (no, no not the desks - us children)?

I am sure I would never have written about flying my parachutist as I would probably not have a) known the word or b) been able to spell it. Do any of you remember those plastic chaps? Flimsy plastic moulded men, with ill-fitting and – usually- askew facial features where they had been stuck together slightly off centre, with a transparent plastic parachute affair attached to them by cotton. Skywards you threw them, and – with luck, and no interfering branches - they would fall to the ground with plastic stretched, slightly unconvincingly, out above them. Alarmingly, they did seem to fall to the ground at a rate of speed that I would not like to contemplate if undergoing the real thing; on top of which, they did seem to hit the ground with a resounding thud reminiscent of a few broken leg bones at the least. I think a lot of mine ended up being chewed actually – it was that kind of soft plastic that was comforting to gnaw on when a bit bored! Ah those halcyon days of youth.

Anyway, I have gone off on a tangent, as usual.

It was also Jon and my 1st wedding anniversary on Monday (paper I believe – hmm you can’t get many presents made of paper). I see from a website that the modern symbol is a clock – why may I ask? And why is that time thing looming its foreboding head again? Now more interesting - it also says that the gems associated with this anniversary are freshwater pearls. Uh hum – I wonder if ‘you know who’ will read this? Or am I supposed to get him some too? No surely not – can you imagine Jon wearing a freshwater pearl earring? Hmmm no – I don’t think so.

Have you seen this man? If you see him, do not approach him - he will scare the living daylights out of you with strange facial expressions.

Don't panic Mr Mainwaring

Well haven’t I been tardy in updating my blog? No excuses really other than that I have had my head down working away at this and that.

With all the news of the tanker strikes yesterday, came a telephone call from Shosh last night to say that she had not been able to get any petrol due to people panic buying in most of the local garages – some of which had shut due to having run out of stocks. She had driven to Walsall to stay with her fiance’s mum and had, in fact, been using public transport for two weeks to and from the PDSA in Wolverhampton.

She has been on two weeks EMS there and was having to get back to London for college on Monday. According to the news you read and hear, there is not supposed to have been much of this panic buying going on, but last night she told me about one particular garage they had been queuing at where a woman filled her car up and then was, together with a friend of hers, running from pump to pump filling up extra cans with the stuff in a great state of agitation. Why? Who did this woman think she was to actually perform such a selfish act? If that had been me, I would have a) taken her registration number and reported her to the police for carrying such a load of hazardous material in a private vehicle and b) would have confronted her to ask what the f*** she thought she was doing? And why did the garage let her do it in the first place? The only fuel left was the expensive variety and Shosh, being a student (who, with her choice of studying to become a vet, has to have a set of wheels in order to travel around the country to spend weeks at a time on EMS and sometimes get to farms if the vet has already gone on ahead), has to count the pennies, and could not afford to fill up with this choice.

Anyway, eventually Gav and her went out again to try and get to the motorway services to see if they could get some fuel there – only having a quarter of a tank left meant they could not go too far. Happily, they passed one of the ‘out of fuel’ garages they had stopped at before, which actually had a tanker delivering so managed to fill up there instead.

Yes, Gav and her could have got the train back from Walsall to London so that they could both get to work and college on Monday respectively. Shosh is starting three weeks rotation (weeks spent on various different aspects ie a week on surgery, a week on radiology etc etc) on Monday – she is on nights for a week. There are no bus services to and from the College. Therefore, my daughter may well have had to walk down country lanes – perhaps even in the dark – whilst people like the woman aforementioned can use her car once and pop to the supermarket (before the strike ends on Tuesday) whilst her stockpile sits in her garage. Hmmm something wrong there. Stupid, selfish cow. Ah well, I am biased I guess in favour of my daughter – but then I would be.

And I am thoroughly sick to death of hearing and reading about sanctimonious people spouting on about how THEY go by public transport, bike or walk. Yes I agree you should if you can - I often get the bus to and from Barnstaple for example and quite often used the train (at over-inflated cost) to come to Devon before Jon and I got married. However, what are those to do who DO rely on their car? Say, for example, that yesterday, Shosh was qualified and was on call. Would she have had to tell the hypothetical farmer – “ok, well there isn’t a bus for another two hours, so I will get there when I can – meantime see if you can perform the emergency caesarean yourself. I think I can just about manage to carry all the equipment from the boot of my car and get it on the bus”.

Ah, I know ….. perhaps she would have had to seek out the selfish cow and see if she would relinquish any of her ill-gotten stockpile.

Have wheels, have sat nav, will travel - and will still get lost

Jon and I made our way, on Saturday 19th April, to the Midlands so that we could attend the Entomological Society show on Sunday being held at Kettering. As I wrote before, we were mixing the trip with a visit to my mother, who lives in Rutland – not many miles from the venue – and were taking her along for a day out.

After an exasperating episode with our satellite navigation system, we eventually found the Leisure Centre in Kettering where the show was being held. However, this was not really the sat nav’s fault. Unfortunately, it would seem that from up in the distant sky the route was seen to be a road, but in reality, it didn’t actually exist anymore, having been cut off with a couple of strategically placed bollards. After a couple of ‘round the houses’ tours, with the sat nav constantly insisting that it take us across this ‘no access’ route, we decided to head on back to the main road and see if it adjusted itself.

We were, by now, already quite late (well not late really, but Jon was hoping to be able to speak to some people before the doors opened for the public). Then came the unfortunate mis-timing of a very loud yell from the venerable Mother Nature and we had to divert again to find the station so that Jon could answer, what was becoming, a rather urgent call of the diabetic variety.

We got there eventually, however, and, most importantly before the doors opened. We did not take long to sort out our stall and soon we had all our Exotic Pet magazines on display. We were pleased that several people took out subscriptions and it was nice to come back with considerably less issues that we had left Woolsery with the day before. It was great to meet some of our subscribers too, along with some of those who have submitted articles for the magazine.

The venue was held in a huge sports hall, which facilitated ease of movement around the many stalls inside. We were sharing our stall with Graham and Janice Smith – Metamorphosis – and it would seem that there was a good ‘turn out’ of the public. Sometimes you can feel quite claustrophobic at these events, but this one being held in such a large area meant that there were no large bunch ups of people around the stalls, or through the walkways between.

Jon bought some more stick insects and some silkmoth caterpillars (which are currently chomping their way through the greenery in the garden and getting bigger and fatter by the day it seems), but I was very good and did not purchase anything. I had been sorely tempted by a couple of things, but was very strict with myself. Readers of my blog will remember that I was going to leave my money behind this time and resist all temptation, and I am proud of myself for doing just that.

My mother seemed to enjoy her day out and was fascinated by some of the creatures on sale, but would not entertain buying any – no matter how much Jon tried to persuade her!

It was interesting, and somewhat amusing, to learn, also, that someone else had endured the same frustrations as us with their own sat nav – but from what I understand, their machine did not fare so well in the survival stakes from its frustrating actions!

It's only words

Once upon a time I was always reading – every night before I lay me down to sleep, sometimes drifting into the arms of that bloke Morpheus with the book open in my hands, to be sometimes woken up – in the middle of the night - from the wonderful realms of dreamland with the thud of it falling to floor (anyone who has read the likes of the hefty Lord of the Rings or Les Miserables will know what I mean). However, these days I do not partake in much reading at bedtime. I have tried, and what I have managed to digest has been enjoyable. I have mused over why I don’t enjoy it as much as I used to, however, and yesterday the penny dropped. Over the past year since being at CFZHQ, and in the last couple of months in particular, I have spent most of my day at my computer proofreading: CFZ Yearbooks, Exotic Pet magazine articles, Animals & Men articles and assorted books. After doing that for 8 hours or so each day, the last thing I want to do is read any more! And, besides, I now find myself looking for mistakes in everything I do read, which kind of spoils the so-called relaxation properties of such a pastime.

I am a self-confessed book sniffer and can spend hours in book shops flicking through the pages with the odd surreptitious fan of them close to my nostrils. Am I weird? Probably. And if I get to a secondhand bookshop, well I am lost amongst the shelving for ages, happily caressing the old bound copies of someone's writings of days gone by.

I am the same with material - but that is another story!

Spring seems to have definitely sprung down here in Devon at the moment (famous last words). The sky is blue and the air seems to have that certain scent about it that means warmer weather may be on the way. Woollies, thermals and socks may soon be relegated to the bottom drawer perhaps? Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?

Jon and I are off to the Kettering bug show at the weekend. I am leaving my money behind this time – I am not going to purchase anything! “Oh yeah. Pull the other one”, I hear you cry in unison. Anyhow, I have to behave myself as we are taking my mum along with us for a day out! An odd place to take your mother for a day out? Well, I suppose it is, yes. But she expressed an interest in coming along – so there. I will, no doubt, let you know how it all went upon our return.

For now, it is back to apostrophes, commas and hyphens. Hmm I had better check this blog now, to make sure I have not made any such errors myself. Now that would be embarrassing.

At the third stroke it will be...

During last week we spent four days out and about in the Midlands and Hertfordshire. Off we, and Olivia and her boyfriend Robert (following on behind in her car) went up the jolly old M5 on Easter Monday afternoon, via Tropiquaria, to stay in Birmingham for one night - near Shirley so that Jon could look around the aquatic shop there. We were basically on the hunt for creatures to add to the zoo’s collection.

Olivia and Robert went off back to Stamford on Tuesday morning while Jon and I visited the shop, and then it was off across to Rutland to visit my mum in Oakham. We took her out to dinner at Barnsdale Lodge and all of us made a mental note to return there during the summer months so that we can take advantage of the view from the restaurant window. Barnsdale is a complex just outside Oakham that sits on a hill overlooking Rutland Water. It is made up of time-share chalets and boasts an indoor swimming pool and gym amongst other modern-day luxuries if you are inclined to be up to that kind of thing! Originally called Empingham Reservoir, Rutland Water was constructed in the 1970s and was originally intended to supply water to the East Midlands. It now offers many activities – sport, leisure and wildlife conservation (Rutland Water Nature Reserve). It has become a well-known bird watchers’ paradise and since around 1999 it has become a successful breeding site of the osprey. I was lucky enough to espy one through my binoculars on a visit there a few year’s back. http://www.rutlandwater.org.uk/

The necessary flooding of the lower land to create Rutland Water in 1976 caused Nether Hambleton (known as the ‘lost village’) to be deserted and left under the water. It has been shown by excavation to have once been a sizeable medieval settlement. The construction of the reservoir left Upper Hambleton and part of Middle Hambleton – now known together just as Hambleton (meaning ‘the settlement’ (tun) ‘on the crooked hill’ (Hamble)), which is situated on the Hambleton Peninsula surrounded on three sides by Rutland Water. Hambleton has a history pre-dating the Domesday Book and is thought to have once been the capital of the Anglo Saxon Kings of Rutland. According to the 1086 entry in the Domesday Book, it boasted a population of 750 – with 3 priests, 3 churches, a mill and 45 ploughs at work!

But enough of the history lesson, which although it may intrigue me, may well not be everyone’s cup of tea.

So ….we took my mum back to her flat and had intended to move on to our digs in the local Travelodge, but after chatting until gone 3.00 am we thought we may as well stay put and slept on her sofa bed instead.

Wednesday it was off down the A1 to Hatfield to visit Shosh with eggs and presents (it had been her birthday on Easter Sunday) and to look around some more fish and reptile establishments. Ameyzoo is an intriguing little place in the small town of Bovingdon, about half an hour away from Hatfield, run by Mark and Siouxsie Amey. They have some wonderful reptiles and amphibians in there and we reserved a pair of Madagascan painted lizards and a white throated monitor that we would pick up on Thursday on our way back home.

On Thursday we went off to Crews Hill to potter about the various stores there and bought some fish for the aquarium at Tropiquaria – 4 baby whale mormyrids, 2 giraffe cichlids, and 2 African pike. Jon also got himself a pair of gambusia, which he is ‘over the moon’ about, but must be a couple of the most ordinary looking fish I have ever seen. The female is about four times as big as the male (poor sod) and there is nothing very out-of-the-ordinary about them at all. But he likes them – bless.

We had a bit of a rush visit with Shosh, and dragged the poor girl around with us whilst on our shopping trip and all too soon it became time to say goodbye to her and to think about the return journey home across country, via the zoo to drop off their new residents. It was a bit disappointing to learn, on our return to Ameyzoo to collect the aforementioned creatures, that we could not take the white throated monitor after all as we, nor they, had a container suitably strong enough to transport it. Hmmm – what is this creature? A baby Godzilla? With the threat of it bursting from its confines as we sped down the motorway, and launching itself at my jugular, you could say I was glad that we didn’t have a suitable box. So we had to leave that one behind on the promise that we would return in the, not too distant, future with a suitable box (and perhaps with us wearing extremely tough protective clothing – you know …. just in case).

It was a bit nerve-wracking driving back with all those live animals under our care on the back seat of the car, but we, and they, all got back to Tropiquaria in one piece, and apart from one of the whale mormyrids (which died a couple of days later) are all still fit and healthy in their new homes.

We got back to CFZHQ at around 3.15 am, slightly exhausted to say the least! And, since then, I have been trying to catch up on work and Jon has been laid low for a few days with a bad cold. He has, since, all but recovered and has managed to finish the seventh On the Track which is now up on YouTube.

Amusingly, altering the clocks caught me out at the weekend – I had no idea it was that time of year again! I went downstairs to get a drink and came back up at 1.05 to notice that my computer said 2.05. Hmm, I thought, my computer is playing silly devils again. Then it clicked. D’oh.

Bears, marmalade sandwiches and cheesey chips

Three years ago today, I met a bloke on Paddington Station who would, in no small way, change the course of my life. As I stood next to the statue of Paddington Bear waiting for the train from Exeter to arrive at its platform on March 6th 2005 - Mother’s Day - I had no idea at all that it would lead me down the road that it has.

We had written to each other by email and had shared in lengthy telephone calls, and it was clear by the time of March 6th that we had a lot in common, but there was still the question of whether we would still be suited ‘in the flesh’ so to speak.

However, as we sat sharing a few beers, and a plate of cheesey chips (alas no marmalade sandwiches to hand) it soon became quite obvious that this bloke – with his long hair and leather jacket – was someone who was going to be around in my life for quite a while.

After that day, I undertook what some described then, as a leap of faith into the unknown. I threw in my shorthand notebook and left my job at a place I had worked at since 1996, sold my house, moved to a completely different part of the country and got married again (something I had vowed I would never do after my first marriage ended). However, my intuition served me well (as it usually does) and that leap proved not to be one that saw me crashing to the bottom of some jagged-edged cliff to end in some bloody messed up pulp at its base! No sirree, it was one that has led to me sharing my life with the larger-than-life Jonathan Downes and his anarchical view on life. Three years down the line I can honestly say that I have no regrets at all in stepping off the precipice.

I now live an idyllic life in one of the most beautiful parts of the country, have made new friends, share my home with a motley crew of creatures (and somewhat untidy and oft gibbon-like blokes) and get to meet some interesting folk in my travels with Jon.

He has introduced me to his world of chaos and has encouraged me in many aspects of my life. One of the things he did was encourage me to get my book, Ethna’s Journal, finished and to publish it. I had no intention of ever publishing my scribblings – they had been something I did to get my feelings out of my head down on to paper. There was always a part of me in Ethna and, strangely, I miss her now it is finished. However, I was chuffed when it was published at the beginning of the year and even more chuffed when dear Nick Redfern interviewed me at the end of last week. You can read all about it at http://monsterusa.blogspot.com/ Thanks Nick.

A piece of self-advertising? Well yes, why not? At 51 years of age I think it is about time I blew my own trumpet.

I saw something nasty in the woodshed

Well I did the other week, but (and here is the cue for a trumpet fanfare of gigantic proportions) the area up by the aviary is looking rather nice now that all the piles of unwanted bric-a-brac have been removed and deposited in the local municipal tip. Thanks to Graham’s sterling work the aviary is now complete and, apart from the imminent planting of some suitable greenery, is basically ready for its new occupants. What the new residents of it will be, I am not too sure yet, but I am sure they will enjoy the spacious accommodation and pleasant vista of open pasture next to them.

Arabella surpassed herself today and laid not one, not two, but three eggs! Must be the time of year. Also, one of our mice has had babies. Four tiny bundles of stripey sweetness.

You may notice from my ‘whistle while I work’ section that I have been in somewhat of an Amon Amarth mood this last month or so. I simply can’t get enough of the long-haired fellas from Sweden. Yeah OK they may screech out the lyrics in a - probably to some - incomprehensible way, but I can assure you that the words to the songs are well worth listening to. Most are based on Norse mythology, and are powerful, if not a little bloody in places.

In case any of you may be interested in their background, Wikipedia states thus: Amon Amarth is a Viking-themed melodic death metal band from Tumba, Sweden founded in 1992. It is named after a location in J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle-earth. The name means "Mount Doom" in Sindarin, one of Tolkien's Elvish languages. The band was originally known as Scum, and released a single demo under that name in 1988 before changing their name to Amon Amarth in 1992. And there you have it.

Those of you who may have read my last blog may be wondering whether the absent items have been returned to their respective places. I am happy to report that yes – apart from some mugs – all seem to have made their way back to their cupboards – measuring jug included. I know who the guilty party is and no, I shall not name names – that would be too shameful of me.

This weekend we are off to the Big Cat Conference which is being held this year at Tropiquaria – not too far which is nice - from a driving point of view - and also because it will be in lovely surroundings. It also means that when the need for an occasional rest from our book stall arises, and when there is a lull in the proceedings, I shall be able to seek out the company of Odo (the gibbon), or have a quiet contemplative sit in the Tropical Hall in the company of the sweet roul roul partridge and Stanley the macaw. Heaven.

Sunday would also have been my late father's birthday. That will be a tough one to cope with.