Today’s guest picture was taken by my brother on the 3rd of March and shows snow in the Lake District then. It snowed here today at the very end of the month. So much for March coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb.
When I woke up at eight o’clock, it was a fine sunny day and it turned out later that Dropscone had had the foresight to get up early and enjoy his 20 mile morning pedal while the going was good. Mind you, it was so windy that when he stood on his pedals and free-wheeled over a cattle grid on the top of a hill, his bike stopped dead.
By half past nine, it was raining. The rest of the day was a mixture of heavy rain, snow, hail and beautiful sunshine. I tried to get the washing hung out at one point but the gaps between the showers were too small and even with a howling wind, it didn’t have a chance to get dry.
Dropscone recovered from his ride well enough to make some particularly tasty scones and bring them round for coffee. We were joined by Scott, the minister so we got nourishment for the body and the soul at the same time.
If I was the sort of person who rudely looked out of the window while his guests were chatting, I might have seen some jackdaws at a suet ball outside. I might even have been ruder still and leapt up and photographed them…
I might have seen the even larger, more severe rooks that followedbehind the jackdaws.
In a dry interval, I discovered that the pulmonarias have started to bloom.
It was noticeable that the wind was strong enough to discourage the goldfinches from their favourite very-top-of-the-twig positions.
I drove up to the golf course and walked up the Kirk Wynd towards Whita and the monument.
As always, I enjoyed the views from the top.
I may possibly have been helped on my way up by a heavy wind at my back. I paid dearly for this help with my woolly hat. This was whipped off my head by a malevolent gust when I was on the very top of the hill. It disappeared so quickly that I never saw it again. If anyone sees a hen harrier flying around with a woolly hat on, it’s mine.
With my ears now flapping in the gale, I headed back down the path and found that the wind once again had a price to exact for its helping hand up the hill. My foot slipped on a patch of greasy grass and in a trice, the wind had blown me flat on the ground, Fortunately it had chosen a comfortably soft spot on which to deposit me and I was able to rise gracefully up and continue my descent with only my pride dented.
During the afternoon, the joiners came and have almost completed the task of replacing the skirting boards in both rooms and putting up some new coving in the front room. (Mrs Tootlepedal was very pleased to have been able to have sourced some polystyrene coving which exactly matched the existing plaster coving in the room.)
There only remains a final visit from the electrician and then the decoration. This last may not be absolutely straightforward as Mrs Tootlepedal has plans which will make Versailles look dowdy but the finishing line edges ever closer.
In the evening, I drove Susan to Carlisle and we had a really good evening of playing with our recorder group. Roy picked a succession of plums out of his big bag of pieces and we were all working hard to do them justice.
Our drive home, with the thermometer at zero and flurries of snow keeping us alert, passed by without incident.
I caught the flying bird of the day during one of the frequent showers and it is a tribute to the Nikon D7000 that it came out as well as it did.