January

Magpies hop around the winter lawn - their tiny black eyes looking hither and thither for food or danger. They bully their avian cousins - blackbirds, thrushes, wood-pigeons and sparrows. None are as sharp-witted as those sleek magpies in their distinctive plumage - like dinner jackets or military uniforms.

Despite their intelligence,  they cannot access the little wooden feeding station that hangs from a branch of our ornamental sumac tree. There the hedge sparrows and blue tits rule supreme - busily selecting seeds before fluttering off to consume them. Back and forth they go.

A crow caws from above the columnar fat ball container. Balanced precariously on a thin branch, he seems frustrated that he can't push his gnarled beak further down for another nutritious snack. The blue tits do not share this frustration. With wiry little toes holding on, they peck rapidly at the grey spheres before darting off.

The letter box clatters and something heavy lands on our coir doormat. Perhaps a magazine or a catalogue. Outside in a bitterly cold midday there is a flash of fluorescent orange as the postman continues with his round. A bespectacled fat woman in a grey fur coat strolls down the hill. She is wreathed in misty cigarette smoke.

A black and white cat hurries across our road between parked cars. The air is still. No movement in the leafless trees. A thick layer of cloud conceals the blue firmament and the golden orb above where silver aeroplanes and kaleidoscopic  kites fly. Down here the suburbs shiver in an empty monochrome haze. Like blood, nearly all colour has been leached away.

We are waiting for February to arrive. Fabulous February.

Woodseats

Yesterday morning was bright and shiny but because of my afternoon Oxfam shop shift, there was no time to drive out into the countryside for a nice long ramble. Instead, I decided to have a stroll round one of Sheffield's southern suburbs - Woodseats. It's only a couple of miles from our house.

Mt top picture is in the style of The 2016 Blogger of the Year - namely Steve Reed of Shadows & Light. He often shows us shopfronts with people passing by them.

I passed "The Chantrey Arms" and snapped the pub sign:-

I wandered up the hillside towards another suburb - Norton Woodseats and on the way  I snapped these Edwardian semi-detached houses. Beyond them there is a magnificent view over south Sheffield - looking in the direction of our house:-

In Woodseats there are several streets of brick-built terraced houses. The street below is called Nettleham Road:-

To get to the little back yards and gardens there are covered passageways between the houses. Below there is a random example of what I mean:-

I thought I might treat myself to lunch at The Woodseats Palace. Beforehand, I nipped into a charity shop and bought a book about watercolour painting for fifty pence. I could read it while waiting for my order to arrive - a brunch consisting of two fried eggs, smoked bacon, sausages, baked beans and chips (french fries) with a mug of coffee. Delicious and not too much acrylamide either.

Before heading back to my car, I spotted these two amigos outside "Dos Amigos" - an Italian/Mexican restaurant. They were probably weighing up the merits of burritos as compared with ravioli.

And so back home - car safely parked and  I was off down the hill to another shift at Oxfam. It had been nice to get out in the morning - taking advantage of the weather instead of sitting on my buttocks squandering time on the internet.

Acrylamide

At the start of this week, Britain woke up to the terrible news that dark toast and roasted potatoes can trigger cancer. Apparently, when we overcook starchy foods, a dastardly chemical is released. It is called acrylamide. Government scientists advise us to eat lightly golden toast and less crispy roasted potatoes. We are further advised not to store potatoes in our fridges as this curious habit can also encourage the production of the dreaded acrylamide. See link

I must confess that before the news broke, I had never encountered the word acrylamide before but since I heard it I have not been able to sleep - tossing and turning, my head filled with pictures of slightly burnt toast and roasted potatoes and worries about contracting cancer. In my life I have eaten many loaves worth of burnt toast and a house-sized pile of roasted potatoes. Perhaps it is already too late for me. Even as I write this blogpost the cancer is probably already gnawing away at my insides!

Over the years there have been many health scares connected with foodstuffs. For example, we were once advised to make sure that we always peel carrots as carrot skin can absorb traces of the pesticides used in modern farming. Those pesticides are carcinogenic. 

It's the same with processed meats and sausages. According to The World Health Organisation, each 50g of processed meat a day - the equivalent of one sausage, or less than two slices of bacon - increases the chance of developing bowel cancer by 18 per cent.

There's no hope for the human race. Everywhere we look there's cancer-inducing danger. In fact we might think of a supermarket as the place you go to gather the stuff that will kill you.

And here's the latest horror story - hot off the press. Scientists in the Department of Food Health at Gullible State University in Utah, USA are warning that  too much consumption of fresh water can cause excessive urination. Apparently, drinking three pints of fresh water in an hour can stimulate powerful urination urges. Frequent urination can be injurious to health as each act of urination causes the body to expel vital digestive salts that protect the stomach and bowels from cancer-inducing elements contained within  any  normal diet. 

We are advised to drastically reduce our water intake, replacing water with other liquids such as beer, wine and Coca Cola - a benevolent little American company which  kindly sponsor the Department of Food Health at Gullible State University. By the way, it is even claimed that a litre of Coca Cola a day will counter any of the ill-effects caused by casual acrylamide consumption.

Always...

Earlier today, while walking in the post-industrial environs of Staveley, North East Derbyshire, I spotted this graffiti on a gateway:-

"I Will Always Love You" is not just the title of  Dolly Parton's great song, it is also a line that is communicated by many people at some stage in their life. The words might be written or spoken but in this instance they appear in silver-white writing on a gate that leads to a land reclamation project at Staveley Town Basin - once an important staging post on the old Chesterfield Canal.

Having closely witnessed the handwriting habits and styles of thousands of teenagers, I would say that this particular declaration was made by a teenage girl aged between thirteen and sixteen. Was she with the object of her affections when she scrawled the message or did she expect him/her to see it when walking along that same path?

In Dolly Parton's case, the sentiments contained in "I Will Always Love You" related to her breaking up with her lover and professional partner Porter Wagoner. Singing those five words back in 1973 was a way of saying goodbye. And I think that is rather sad. "I will always love you" should not be goodbye words  but an affirmative declaration filled with hope for the future.

Lazybones

Sunlight on Agden Reservoir

A lazy Sunday morning and a lazy blogpost. All I'm going to do is is share some more pictures from my Friday walk in the parish of Bradfield. It was a brief interlude in the greyness which is back again this morning even though the pesky weather forecasters predicted sunshine.

On the edge of Low Bradfield I came across this disused building. I thought it was an old barn but then I spotted an early nineteenth century plaque above one of the doors. It reads like this "1826/ Rebuilt at the Curate's sole cost./Nemo soli sibi natus". Translated, the Latin phrase means "Nobody is born alone". Why would such a plaque appear on a barn? I have been unable to solve this riddle. (Later - see update below)

 Below, a bridge takes Smallfield Lane over the point where Rocher End Brook  meets the reservoir.

 Above, a bright contrail is reflected on the surface of the reservoir which, because of the wooded hillside to the west is now shrouded in shadow.

 Above, another view of Boot's Folly which dates from 1927. It was built under the instructions of the landowner to keep his men in gainful employment during The Great Depression. Below, a ruined farm building near Low Bradfield - especially for Meike in Ludwigsburg, Germany. In fact, I hereby name it The Meike Building...

UPDATE re. the plaque at Bradfield

I wrote to the secretary of The Bradfield Historical Society and he kindly e-mailed me back...

"The inscription in Latin and it is my understanding that it goes back to the time before there was a Rector at Bradfield St. Nicholas and a Curate would come either from Hathersage or Ecclesfield and was put up for the night or couple of days at Fair House Farm and in recompense for his stay/keep at the farm gave money for the building of the barn at his own expense"

Grey

Up here in Yorkshire, the weather has been pretty dismal most of the week. Occasionally, we get winter weeks like this when our world is blanketed by  a thick, unbroken layer of cloud. Above it aeroplanes will no doubt be flying in bright sunshine but down below we exist in a murky half'-light.

When I pulled back the curtains yesterday morning, it was another grey day. That is what the weather forecasters had predicted so the gloominess was no surprise. I had an idea for a poem and once downstairs with this laptop switched on, I began to compose it. Here it is:-

Have you ever heard of  Sod's Law? As I was honing these lines, an unfamiliar  brightness appeared in the January sky and through our bay window I even spotted a small patch of blue. The meteorological people had got it wrong! The grey days were at last giving way to light.and colour.

Standing in the shower, I contemplated a country walk - not too far away from home. Ten minutes later I was on my way to the parish of Bradfield for a sunny walk round Agden Reservoir and it was quite delightful to be out and about once more... walking in the light.

A view of Boot's Folly

St Nicholas's Church, High Bradfield

Composition

An old wooden clock and a red mug. This was the challenge I faced at my second evening class on Thursday night. It wasn't easy. I had to keep looking. The tutor, John, kept floating around the room distributing positive remarks. In the end, I was fairly happy with the final product but these classes are not about the production of masterpieces, they are about learning, honing techniques and simply getting better.

Before next week's class, I plan to do a little homework - using a photograph I have taken as the basis for a new watercolour. A good way to use a spare couple of hours.