A few puddles

The picture of the day is a puddle.

Once again the forecast was gloomier than the reality although the reality was still pretty gloomy.  However, it didn’t start actually raining until after lunch but this was not much use to me as it was too wet to do anything useful in the garden and my joints were still not up to morning cycling.

I did have a damp wander about.

The roses are proving quite durable

And there is plenty of general growth even if some of the plants are not doing well individually.

The strawberries have been a more or less complete failure and I am fearful that the gooseberries will rot before they ripen.  The raspberries look as though they might have a chance still if we could get a dry week or two but I am not expecting to make much jam from the garden this year.

Once inside, I could admire a fine selection of chubby juveniles through the window.

Some siskins have returned and here we see a chaffinch giving one an old fashioned look.

I tried to do a bit of work on the newspaper database but the internet connection was in a grumpy mood and wouldn’t let me.  I practised my flute playing instead.

Somehow the morning slipped by and just as I was feeling perky enough to go an an expedition, it started to rain heavily.  Mrs Tootlepedal was away working so I passed the time trying and failing to complete the crossword.  And staring at puddles.

When she returned, we had a cup of tea and decided that we needed to get out and about so we got into the Kangoo and went to see if the wild irises beside the Tarras were still out.  Sadly, they were over and so we went back up the hill and stopped for a moment at the moorland bird feeders where a woodpecker pecked away unconcernedly as we parked by the gate.  I shot this picture while sitting in the car.

We were hoping to see the jays but they didn’t oblige so we went on down to the bridge over the Tarras at the distillery.  The river was running high.

We decided to go home by a circular route and went on to Claygate and then down to the Hollows where we stopped and looked at the Esk over the Hollows bridge.  It wasn’t as high as I expected.

On my way back to the car, I paused to read this historic marker.

The hanging of Johnny Armstrong was an act of realpolitik which marked the end of hundreds of years of reiving and introduced more stable times in this area.

The marker stands high on the bank above the river…

…and in the middle of a small but delightful wood.

And that was the excitement for the day.  In the evening, after putting a week of the newspaper into the database,  I was able to enjoy a vicarious bike ride by reading Gerry Patterson’s account of a day in the mountains in France.  If you have time, I can heartily recommend it.  You can find it here.

I took a photograph at some time in the day of the worst put together bird I have ever seen.  The photo is not much good but neither is the bird.

It seems to have been assembled from two different kits.

I also liked this photo of a young greenfinch which rather summed up the day for me.

Tomorrow, we are hoping to see the sun, even if for a short while.

The flying bird of the day is a very delicate siskin.