A birthday hedgehog

 

How lovely birthdays become as old age approaches. No need any more to spend the evening partying, or perched on an uncomfortable bench in a restaurant, before going home to do battle with one's digestive system, armed only with a blister-pack of Gaviscon - no, these days we go out for breakfast, which is a far more civilised time to be out on the town. This year we went to Riverstation. As the name suggests, it occupies part of the original course of the River Avon that is now Bristol's Floating Harbour, and is roomy and dog-friendly. We sat snugly at our table in the window and watched Storm Ashley do its worst for an hour or so.

Can I have some avocado on flatbread, Mam?

Well, maybe not quite its worst. That was reserved for when we stepped outside to hurry the two minutes back to our car, only to get absolutely drenched when the skies opened. 

The final advantage of this arrangment is that it frees up the early evening for birthday cake, this year white chocolate and raspberry, in the company of the 25% of my children who were in Bristol on the day. 

I had some lovely old lady presents too: an Alaskan Husky faux fur warming throw at which Cwtch the Collie actually turned up her nose; a bunch of my favourite anemones from my children; and a plant and books on art and poetry from friends. Even a book I'd treated myself to - 'Powsels and Thrums', a collection of essays by my favourite author, Alan Garner - turned up with perfect timing.

I also went for a couple of walks. On Saturday afternoon my friend of 58 years, Liz, joined me and we had a wander around Three Brooks Nature Reserve at Bradley Stoke, followed on Sunday by a squelch around Charlton Common, once the sun came out. 

On the way to the latter, I slowed at a junction near the local church, only to glance down and see a young and still quite small hedgehog pootling about in the middle of the road, just a few inches from the wheel of my car. It was almost the colour of the fallen leaves around it, and I had a horrible feeling that unless we intervened, it would come to a tragic, if somewhat predictable, end. So I pulled over and the Northerner scooped it up and deposited it in the churchyard, safe from passing cars (for as long as it stays there).

And later we learnt there are other hogs living there, and a hedgehog house installed by the council, so clearly it'll be a good place to hibernate in.

 

And the encounter with the hoglet was, of course, the best present of all. 

Three Crosses and Mumbles

This is the Old Dairy, part of Crwys Farm in Three Crosses, a village in Gower that developed around it in the 19th century, primarily to serve a series of small, shallow collieries in the area. One day when it wasn't raining we glimpsed the sea on the south coast of the peninsula through the patio doors, and the northern coast was visible from open green space just down the road. So, well placed to visit the whole of the area.

Which is what we did, despite the rainy weather, for the six days we were there. 

The current farm buildings were built in the 18th century, and have a pleasing degree of quirk about them. The upstairs bedroom in particular has the sort of floor that makes you feel a bit drunk.

It took our collie, Cwtch, a while to settle in. She tends to become hyper-alert when we go anywhere new, and won't let either of her monkeys out of her sight, despite the holiday home owners trying their hardest to make her feel at home. 

There were three wet days. The third we devoted to Dylan Thomas; more about that in another blog. The first we just stayed local, opting to walk Cwtch in the nearby wood, where we might keep dry - or might have done if the gate had been unlocked. (We later discovered there was another way in, but we didn't have time for a revisit.)

The second damp day we went to Mumbles, which wasn't as lovely as I'd anticipated. First, there was the aforementioned rain. Second, nearly everywhere seemed to be shut, including the pier, which was recently damaged by fire. Third, the whole of the front is being dug up to improve the town's sea defences. 

We'll have to revisit some time when the weather's better and the renovations done, and for all that I'm being critical, we had a good walk, and a pleasant lunch in The George, where drinks were half the price they are in Bristol. Important to keep some perspective here, I think.

Oh, and look at this: a repurposed mine used to collect money for shipwrecked mariners, with a plaque exactly like the ones on mines positioned on top of the Ness at Shaldon and on Teignmouth sea front, that were removed many years ago. A real jolt back to the past.

When in Wales, Cwtch is quite blasé about coming across ice cream shops and cafés named after her, but this is the first time we've seen somewhere that's appropriated one of her nicknames.

Mumbles pier and surrounding buildings were definitely giving off some Clevedon vibes ... 

... with a hint of Birnbeck pier at Weston in the location of the old lifeboat station. In fact, there are several buildings in the locality that seem to have accommodated lifeboats in their time. Here are two stone plaques adorning the 1883 Mumbles lifeboat boathouse, which is firmly on dry land. 

And the Mumbles themselves ... 

... complete with gulls and a shag pretending to be batman.

The great thing about this part of Wales is that it's close enough to Bristol to be daytrippable ... so one fine day, we'll be back to revisit Mumbles. 

Indigo Dreaming on Dartmoor

Time to squeeze in a visit to Dartmoor before the days start drawing in ... 

... and here's Windy Post Cross on the Grimstone and Sortridge Leat, a favourite spot not that far from Cox Tor car park.

Though this isn't our collie, Cwtch, who rarely enters the water willingly.

No, it's Mist of Indigo Dreams Publishing ...

... and here's Ronnie, the poet for the silent. (And border collies.)

And in the distance, Dawn (Ronnie's partner in poetry), the Northerner and me, with Mist and Cwtch.

Staunch little Mist is the leat-lover, straight out of 'The Names of the Hare Border Collie', translated by Seamus Heaney.

'Won't catch me doing that!' says Cwtch, who's far more likely to be found photo-bombing, from the safety of the bank. 

Then, just as it started to rain, we were back at the cars and it was off to the Plume of Feathers in Princetown for some lunch. 

Can I help you with the leftovers?

Much fun was had. This event will be repeated. 

... like the shoreline and the sea

Every year I aim to get down to Devon for a day with my two Bristol-based offspring. We holidayed there for decades, back when we had a caravan, and still miss how easy it was to spend time there. 

This year it was particularly hard to herd us all, even with the assistance of the family border collie, but at last we managed to find a day when we were all free and set off down the M5. 

Smugglers Lane, Holcombe

fleabane and hemp-agrimony

Having parked in Windward Lane, we negotiated the ferocious traffic on the A379 Teignmouth Road - which Cwtch the Collie, on her first visit, really didn't like - and headed down Smugglers Lane to Holcombe beach. 

I'd seen photos posted by a friend who lives locally on Facebook last autumn, after Storm Babet, noting how high the sand was at Holcombe, but it was a bit of a shock to see it for myself. 

Sprey Point

The sand was still high the Teignmouth side of Sprey Point too. I don't remember seeing it like this in all my life. 

After lunch at the Ship Inn, we caught the ferry over to Shaldon. Remembering how our old collie, Ted, loved these trips, and always affected a salty sea dog pose ... 

... I was interested to see how Cwtch, who'd only ever been on a stationary narrowboat before, would cope ...
 

... and whilst she lacked her predecessor's flamboyant stance, she still seemed to enjoy it. 

In Shaldon we made straight for dog-friendly Ness Beach, down through Smugglers' tunnel. 

Looking north-east towards the Ness and, in the distance, Exmouth

Looking south-west towards St Marychurch and Babbacombe

There were a lot of crystal jellyfish washed up on the beach. We found a patch that was relatively free of them and had a sit-down. 

Time to go!

From the far end of the beach, we wandered back up the tunnel and around the top of the Ness - always one of my favourite walks, though I prefer to do it back-to-front these days, so that the longer, steeper section is a descent. 

Artist's conk

I'd watched videos of the tide surging right over the Point at Teignmouth during Storm Babet last October, and from the top of the Ness, it was clear how much sand has been lost from this end of Teignmouth beach (this photo taken at low tide).  It does make you wonder how the town will fare during this year's autumn and winter storms.

Then it was back across the ferry, and ice cream with clotted cream at what used to be called Amanda's but is now something else, and back along the sea wall to Holcombe. I used the excuse that Cwtch didn't like the traffic to wait at the foot of notoriously steep Smugglers' Lane for Son the Younger to bring the car down to us. Nicely played, if I say so myself.

Not a lot of sea glass, largely because of the extra sand on the parts of the beach accessible to us with a dog, but Son the Younger did find an interestingly-shaped miniature stopper, now on the mantlepiece. 

I think she likes it ... !