After the fire

Here are a few random shots from the past few days, which had to wait until the fires of my dragon frenzy had subsided...

The floral supernova of a Devil's Bit Scabious (I think).

Proof, if it were needed, that you can have just too many colours and textures in a photo. Taken from the Hoy Head ferry en route to Lyness.

A biannual plant from the garden in MK, that we've never been able to name, but which is putting on a show in Orkney.

Flaming reeds.

Summer! It's today!

Today may well have been Summer. It was rather lush.

Before breakfast, we wandered down to the shore, through pastures which were strangely quiet. Many of the waders have begun to leave on migration, so the air was not pierced by the calls of Oystercatcher, Redshank and Curlew.

In fact, I was just remarking upon this to Our Lass, when I looked over the fence into the adjacent field and spotted a Brown Hare, motionless and as hunkered down as possible. I stopped in my tracks and had to call Our Lass back to see it.

After breakfast, we headed down to St Mary's village, parked by the Loch of the Ayre and wandered off in the direction of the Bay of Sandber. Our first surprise was a Green Sandpiper, which flew up from the stream that flows from the loch to the sea. Then we found a Dunlin amongst the waders on the shore. We followed the path around until we were facing Scapa Flow, then sat down to enjoy the scenery and sunny weather.

After a while, the sound of something running across the beach pebbles made us sit up. There was no-one else in sight, no dogs or feral cats, not even a suddenly-hoped-for Otter. What and where was the source of the sound? Then I spotted a Stoat, scampering across the beach and disappearing amongst some seaweed-strewn rocks.

Stoats are an introduced problem on Orkney. They are not native to these isles and the ground-nesting birds and native Orkney Vole are not evolved to cope with such a voracious predator. There is little evidence of action from Scottish Natural Heritage (there may indeed be action, but little concrete evidence of it), which is strange as they have carried out successful relocation/eradication projects of other species where necessary, for instance in the the Western Isles.

A local Facebook group helps to document the scale of the problem, providing data on Stoat sightings and behaviour.

The walk back to the car also produced several Gannets and a lone Sand Martin.

After lunch, a spot of gardening (specifically, mowing the lawn) flushed out a few leafhoppers onto the path. I think these are Evacanthus interruptus, which are quite strikingly-marked.

Following that excitement, we went for a potter along the beach between Barriers 2 and 3, searching for shells and sea glass, and serendipitously encountering a small flock of Sanderling, possibly the cutest wader known to Man. No pictures, I'm afraid, it's been a 'no camera' day.

In which I experience vibrant colours and that soaring feeling after chasing the dragon

Don't worry, I'm just high on life.

As well as our dragon hunting escapade on Sunday morning, we also spent the afternoon wildlife watching, but this time over on the west coast of the mainland.

Top to bottom: Bog Asphodel; a young skua; Scottish Primrose.

Boglan before breakfast

As the last vestiges of pinkness fade from the grey clouds and lethargic turbine blades indicate a reduced wind speed, it is very peaceful here at Tense Towers tonight.

This is generally considered to be a good thing.

For the previous few days, there has been very little in the way of peace and quiet hereabouts.

Part of the reason for this has been the Aberdeen Angus bull featured in my last post. When I say 'part', I mean fifty per cent. The other fifty per cent can be attributed to a Shorthorn bull.

Black Angus (as he shall be known), along with a single cow (name unknown, but she has a fierce stare) are inhabiting the paddock below our home. A mixed herd of about a dozen and a half cattle, mainly Shorthorns, has been occupying the large field over the road from the house.

The upshot of all this is that Black Angus is rather taken with the ladies of the Shorthorn herd and is not backward in coming forward in letting everyone know about it. The Shorthorn bull isn't too impressed with this state of affairs and has been keen to make his displeasure known. Volubly.

So at regular intervals during the day, the closest point between the two fields has been Bovine Central, with much posturing, low frequency rumblings and out-and-out bellowing. In the local dialect, this is known as boglan, from the verb to bogle. Tense Towers is effectively at ground zero for these exchanges, which makes for an interesting period between first light and the time when our alarm clock goes off. It's not quite the spectacle of a Red Deer rut, but what the bulls lack in panache, they make up for in decibels.

This evening, it appears that the Shorthorn herd has been moved again. So we're left with the brooding silence of the heavyweight stare that the single cow is bringing to bear upon Black Angus.

Boy, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes.

Landscape, not portrait

It was a schoolboy error, akin to an epic Microsoft Word fail.

Remember this from a few weeks ago?

My attempt at marking out where the raised beds for our veg patch should go?

Aligned with Tense Towers and giving a view from the kitchen window (to distract eyes from the aesthetically-challenged oil tank.

Our Lass was having no truck with it, as it was wrong on just about every level.

So this evening (having allowed the grass to grow under my feet for a few weeks), I tried the re-orientated, aligned with our neighbours' track, landscape version.

And here's a shot from the track, which isn't into the light.

Keen-eyed readers may also notice the bull at the other end of the garden, leaning over the fence (despite two strands of barbed wire!) and munching on our grass, and possibly the willows. Ah, it's always greener, eh?

Sheep rustling?

Things have been a bit quiet on the old blog of late. But thanks to a small, dedicated band of trusty followers (and countless, less welcome, spa**ers), the hit count has trundled through 100,000, which is something of a milestone, I guess. It's definitely not a millstone, although the whole concept does feel rather aged on some level. However, the lack of output has been more to do with mundane matters, rather than any 'end of blog life' - I've had less free time recently, due to extra work commitments and a visit by relatives.

For the past three Fridays, I have been covering the business recycling shift for a colleague, slowly morphing into Captain Cardboard as I visit local businesses to uplift their recyclable waste and transfer it to the Council's processing centre at Chinglebraes.

Chinglebraes - the name conveys something of a green and verdant setting for a children's tv programme, but it's not that sort of 'green'. Less Tellytubbies or Trumpton, more Clangers on acid, as loud metallic crashes mingle with dayglo clothing and flashing warning lights. Plastic, paper, cardboard and tins are bundled up to be shipped south for further processing, whilst glass is crushed and used within the isles as an aggregate for road surfaces (yes, really)  and the large concrete blocks that form the Churchill Barriers.

I normally start the recycling run with a workout as, at the first collection, it's not possible to park the vehicle near the waste container. This results in sprints* back and forth to the van, taking in a change in altitude and, usually, a convenient crosswind. It doesn't take long to reach 'working temperature'! There's usually a bit of contamination to deal with, too. I don't mean in a radioactive or sewage way, but somehow there'll be a single glass bottle in a bag of plastic ones, or a stray drinks can in with the paper. Education about recycling is part of the remit, I reckon, so the struggle goes on.

A few pickups are more difficult than others, perhaps due to limited public parking adjacent to 'high street' businesses or the obstacle course of machinery that is the daily life of an industrial estate. But it is heartening to be welcomed by a cheery face and a helpful hand, such that there is a palpable feeling of business community involvement in the war against waste.

Several of our business customers also contribute loose items of scrap to either our Bruckstore project (for creative play in schools) or to SteptOZe Yard (for reuse or upcycling sales). These are always much appreciated.

On a personal level, Plastic Free July continues with a definite lack of 500ml drinks bottles and sandwich bags (which is good) and one plastic cup cap (which is bad), inadvertently bought for me by a work colleague. That was a bruising brew :o(

* factually inaccurate, as 'sprints' would be a Health and Safety no-no, as well as an exaggerated description of my ambulatory speed.

Single use? Singly useless

During June, I participated in 30 Days Wild, a month long challenge, where the Wildlife Trusts asked folk to make nature part of their lives and carry out a random act of wildlife each day. Some of the daily highlights were featured on Imperfect & Tense, but I mainly posted to the 30 Days Wild Facebook page, as time was often limited.

For the current month, I have signed up to a very different challenge, Plastic Free July, in an attempt to wean myself off single use plastic items. Opting to forgo the Top 4 offenders (coffee cups, carrier bags, drinking straws and water bottles) seemed the best choice for me, as I can't imagine trying to shop in a supermarket and avoiding plastic altogether. Whilst I don't use drinking straws (25% of the way there already!), I do occasionally opt for one of those waxed cups with a throwaway plastic lid, we still have the odd plastic bag lying around and, to my eternal shame, I'm a bit of a 500ml water bottle fiend.

So the way ahead is clear... no more sly coffees on the go, bags for life at all times and no more single use 500ml plastic bottles.

Meet my new best friend...

And... no more sandwich bags in my lunch box, either.

Mind you, I have a colleague who doesn't even have clingfilm or paper towels in her kitchen. That is proper hardcore.