Friends of Langstone Harbour

Crikey I'm tired. I don't really remember not bring tired since we got back from Greece. My diary is full of comments to the effect of being tired, foggy, exhausted.... 

Today is the first day of 2 weeks leave from work.  I've been too tired (or busy, or distracted by other stuff) to think about planning anything. Mr B is in France again (that's 2 weekends in a row).

Holiday planning should be easier without having to factor in a travel-writer cat, but they won't be happier. Just different.

Whatever I might have considered doing today got hijacked yesterday when I was reminded that Marine Conservation Society annual (national) beach clean is this weekend. When I'm here (as opposed to cleaning beaches on my own in Pireaus) I volunteer with Friends of Langstone Harbour.

0930 to 1130 (make that midday) was spent dragging trash off a mile or so of the shoreline at the head of Langstone Harbour. It is not a delightful place. There is no sand. It is not a shoreline you would go to for a picnic or a day at the beach. It is 'over the fence' from a landfill site on which has been built the region's sewage treatment plant - Budds Farm.

Strange name for sewage treatment works, but I expect it reflects a history.

Langstone however has islands in the harbour which are reserves for nesting birds (some special little terns among others), and has an interesting history of saltings and oyster farms, fishing, and industry.

In truth there was not a lot of trash and the shoreline was largely clear of big rubbish (big like plastc bottles, or polystyrene fast food packaging), but look closely and the small pieces are there...the plastic sticks out of cotton buds, bottle tops, tiny pieces of broken up plastic... and one 22 foot fibreglass sailing boat, washed up in a recent storm and dashed to holes on the rocks. There was no getting that into a rubbish bag.

Friends of Langstone Harbour do this 4 times a year and have done for the last 20 years. Every year they analyse the trash pulled off a defined 100m stretch of the shore and have 20 years of data about the kinds of rubbish found there. They are pleased it is largely clean but candidly admit it is a lot less satisfying to see no real difference for our pass along the strand, even if we did in reality fill a couple of dozen rubbish bags by the time we had dug about in the long grass above the high tide mark.

I have been talked into joining a walk around the whole harbour in 2 weeks time. 13 km, or was it miles? Not a marathon in any event, so I agreed to participate. If nothing else I can write about it.

I met a collie. I met the collie's human. Collie (that is also his name) spent most of his time standing in the sea begging anyone to throw sticks into the water for him. He's a rescue dog, a bit wary of humans close up, but pleased if you chuck some sticks for him.

Collie was an eye dog (stares you in the eyes to make you bend to his will - a type of sheep dog).  He had no sheep to round up so he rounded up his human.

Back home I watched a cat rolling in Tigger's weed, drank lager (it was a hot day. I am on holiday), and decided which job to tackle first. Shred the woody shrub trimmings lying on the lawn since last weekend. Prune the plum tree and tidy up the sweetheart rose that is threatening to engulf the place. Build another terracotta igloo. Prune the old canes out of the blackberry. Make a quince shortcake for MiL. Rake up some hay off the heath for hog houses. Walk into town and buy some allium and tulip bulbs and scour the yarn bins at the charity shop for 4ply wool. (I have been commissioned to knit more of 'those hats' and have used up all my scraps; which had been the original objective of the exercise anyway.)

In the end - all of that (except the shortcake) - AND a visit to the allotment to water and harvest.  On the way back home, a visit to an elderly neighbour to drop off some fresh veg and was reminded by him that I was missing rugby world cup. Wales had just won a game - his Welsh wife was feeling very chipper.

Our TV died last weekend. I don't miss it.

It's dark now. When I'm on my own I don't have to turn any lights on. I can sit in the open doorway enjoying the balmy evening, listening to the hedgehog crunching leaves underfoot as he shuffles down the steps. A huge moth flicked towards the lighted screen of my tablet and flicked away again.

A beautiful butterfly landed on me today while I was beach cleaning. I was reminded of the one that had been resting in Mr T's bed the morning after he died and for a moment I was sad, then told myself to rejoice in its beauty and be pleased it chose me to alight on so for a brief interlude we could enjoy the sunshine together. 

Tomorrow a quince shortcake.....

.... and there is a fence to paint...and....