A break in the weather

The forecast for Boxing Day at Burnham-on-Sea was cloudy and sunny weather in the morning, turning to rain in the afternoon, so I decided we'd best get out promptly if Cwtch was going to have a midwinter run on the beach.

Three-quarters of the way down the M5 it started to tip down, the sort of rain you need your windscreen wipers on full speed for. We pressed on, and by the time we parked in on a side-street off Berrow Road, it had (mostly) gone off, for which we were grateful.

Although it doesn't look it from the photos, the beach, especially near the front, was pretty crowded with people and dogs, but we fancied stopping (possibly) (I mean, let's err on the side of optimism) on the sea front for a coffee (perhaps) if there was a cafe open.  

Cwtch had a run, and a good play-with-a-stick, but after a while, she started to show signs of being a bit overwhelmed - I don't think the hockey players on the beach clashing their sticks were helping - so we abandoned the coffee plan and retraced our steps to Burnham low lighthouse. I blame lockdown in part for this - I think a lot of people (re)discovered the joy of getting out for a walk when all the malls and bowling alleys and cinemas were closed, and they aren't about to stop. 

We walked some way beyond the lighthouse towards Berrow and climbed onto the dunes, but we were still too far away for the wreck of the Nornen to be visible. 

Looking south it was still sunny ... 

... but as we looked northwards, we could see the weather was closing back in.

Back by the low lighthouse it started to rain. A horse and pony passed by and we turned down the lane that led back to where we'd parked the car, with the 100 foot tall high lighthouse ahead of us, securing our seat belts just as it became torrential. A lucky break in the weather, then.

A Bristol Newfoundland

Another sub-zero morning on Friday, in which the bedroom window was frozen shut and could only be opened with a mighty heave. 

I was lucky enough to be teaching a poetry group in town, which meant I got to see Bristol's floating harbour in this winter's freeze. (I've seen it float on a raft of mist before, but never ice.)

 A frosty John Cabot ... 

... surveying this new found land, with the replica of Matthew in ice

Pero's bridge

St Augustine's Reach, looking north ...

... and south

 College Green

I wondered whether there might have been a bit of a thaw by the early afternoon, as I retraced my route to car park, but there was little sign of one.

Sunlight spotlights on a tree ... 

... and stained glass in the cathedral

The leadworks chimney and Bristol wheel

Stranded ferries on Narrow Quay

Prince Street bridge from Mud Dock

Looking over to Redcliff Wharf

'What's colder than ice? Death, evidently. Pass, pigeon.'

A frozen sunset to end the day at Cribbs Causeway Asda

Fly-By to Brighton

A quick dash to Brighton to swap Christmas presents today, and more importantly, see my lovely girl. Well, the visit went quickly; the drive - six and a half hours of it - maybe not so much.

Not that the outward journey wasn't memorable, and for the right reasons. The snow that had prevented me driving there on Sunday, as originally planned, was still in evidence most of the way from Bristol to the Sussex coast, and where it had melted, there was frost; it just wasn't all over the motorways, which was a beautiful and useful state of affairs. 

And I saw ten red kites (as well as a few buzzards) which surprised me given the weather. (I'd imagined them fossicking in the bins behind Waitrose in Berkhamstead, rather than scanning the M4 for deep-frozen road-kill.)

Once arrived, I made for the beach, which was lovely to behold, though rather bracing.

A photo for the Northerner to tell him I'd arrived safely

Then there was time for the gift-swap and a cup of tea before we went for lunch at Brighton Marina.

And then, alack, it was time to leave, with an hour's daylight to spare to get me as far as the M25 before night-fall. 

Back home, a photo of my shadow, who follows me everywhere (literally) whenever I get home, to let my girl know I'd arrived back safely. 

 'I understand you has been to Brighton and back today. You must never do that again.'

Winter Fall

 A fortnight ago it was still looking pretty autumnal.

The temperatures were mild, and the trees and brambles were still hanging onto the last of their brilliant leaves. 

As for the field maples, they were largely magnificent. 

Until the recent dip in temperature, there were also a few flowers and fungi about.

slimy slug and meadow waxcap; dandelion clock weary of dew; dog vomit slime mould; greater burnet saxifrage in flower; an escapee nasturtium sending up a desperate last flare; another waxcap hiding in a hidey-hole; red dead nettle in flower; parrot waxcaps

The days being (almost) at their shortest, some walks - particularly on Fridays, when I have fixed work/commitments - have been getting very dusky, and in fact on Mondays and Tuesdays, they're solely undertaken by the Northerner, as I spend every daylight hour in a dark little office. Even in the middle of the day I don't feel quite as safe walking on my own with Cwtch as I used to with Ted, who wouldn't have let anyone come within half a mile of me, and I'm very much looking forward to Solstice and the gradual return of the light. 

The construction of Brabazon is continuing, though we haven't been to the fields on the far side of Fishpool Hill lately to take a look. We don't need to - things are happening at the end of Charlton Road too.

It was the first day of December, and therefore winter, before autumn remembered some of its more seasonal characteristics and laid on some fog ... 

... followed by four beautiful days of frost. 

From the golden path of fallen ash leaves to the silver path of frost

The plume of steam is from Seabank Power Station at Hallen Marsh.

Cwtch feeling the drunkenness of things being various

Looking over to the railway cutting

Skyscrapers of ice

And then, this morning, winter came into its own and we awoke early to snow, I postponed my drive to Brighton to deliver presents till rather warmer weather and went for a walk instead, first around the field.  

 

And then, as no one would be playing golf in the snow, we decided to go off piste over the golf course, and for a while we had it to ourselves, all apart from a fox who's in this photo but to  tiny to make out. 

By about quarter to nine other people with the same idea started arriving, and it felt like it did during lockdown: a vague camaraderie as we re-took possession of Fairyland.

A bramble filching from the Northerner his bonnet