"There's such an air of spring about it"

Tuesday 24th February 2026

Amongst numerous recent diary entries I have had a hearing test and been given hearing aids. That stemmed from not being able to assimilate conversations in the environment of a two hundred guest wedding between Christmas and New Year, otherwise I can hear pretty well in normal one to one convesations, and I can hear the birdies sing. But the hearing test, and its science said I was severely deaf in one ear, and well on the way with the other - all very strange.

Although I haven't recently had the good fortune to emulate Ella  -  "I can hear a lark somewhere sing about it" - I have been able to hear more of birdsong in general when I had thought that was at a satisfactory level before. On top of that I can hear the carpet scrunching under my feet and any rustling or crinkly paper emitts an incredibly high pitched kind of crackliness.

So yesterday at last I was able to take a break from my model making ( currently a Red Arrows Hawk trainer) and head off on a long awaited walk.

The appearance of crocus, snowdrops and daffs  is a short lived event that I did not want to miss and I was reasonably well rewarded.

 

All Saints church, Underbarrow

Challenging graveyard terrain?

Leaving the tarmac

Crocus and snowdrops

Zoom to Underbarrow village

I imagined a giant had been employed as a wall builder - Tranthwaite Hall farm

Down to a ford where...

I thought I was going to get wet feet, but...

...saviour.

Lindreth Brow cottage. I was a couple of hundred yards off route but that error serendipitously provided a perfect lunch spot just the other side of the far hedge, see next photo

Anticlockwise from Chapel Bridge

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I saw Ella st St. George's Hall in Bradford in the early sixties perhaps a bit earlier than the time of this recording - a highlight of my lifetime.

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Namby-pamby

 Wednesday 11th February 2026

An accumulation of appointments and bad weather have conspired to prevent me from walking anywhere for weeks, and if I'm honest, advancing old age  imposes a reluctance to face the COLD.

My son W. has oftrn lampooned me with his perception that I am at my happiest when I voluntarily go out into lashing rain and wind to do a walk  at the limits of my endurance, but I reckon those days are over.

On top of all that, blogging seems to have more or less died a death with few posts from bloggers I follow and a sobering absence of comments from those who were previously literarily vocal. Hateful  banal social media  (a hateful term in its own right,)  seems to have taken over. 

Ok, so no walking as I await spring and watch from my window the birds on my feeder compelled to brave the rain for their survival. I think of my past, undertaking my own masochistic enjoyment, which in some ways has helped to keep my "mental health" under control...

 ...yes, everybody has "mental health" these days, so why not me? I'm a bit cynical about the indiscriminate use of that term which every "celebrity" and the rest seem to have something to say about, but I  in no way detract from those who do seriously succumb to  its various medically diagnosed forms.

In some ways the link to an article in today's Guardian encapsulates a namby-pamby approach which these days seems to be prevalent, with excessive health and safety, much of youth expecting everything to be done for them,  and global politics kowtowing to  dictatorial regimes.

After reading the review I felt unable to watch this programme which I had recorded because the tv résumé indicated that it had something to do with mountaineering in the sense that I understand that activity.

I do feel guilty sounding off about this, not having watched it myself, but hopefully I may have saved some readers the waste of time in doing so?

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