duck or grouse?

It has seemed such a short growing season this year: already we are digging the beds and getting out their duvets of compost and muck to keep them cosy overwinter. The last of the sunflowers droops and no longer bothers to find the sun; 'Is that it then?' It mutters as I walk past.

We took all the old rasberry canes out: they were'nt up to much anyway and we'll probably put a strawberry bed there next season.

So clodlet and I took to the moors to cheer ouselves up. Up on the tops the wind was gusting at 30+ mph and you struggled to open the car door against it.


It fanned the burning heather up on the grouse moors; they flapped indignantly around - as you do when someone sets fire to your house. It was a southerly wind, so not at all cold, and in the shelter of the valley quite sunny and warm enough to be without a coat.

I've been teaching clodlet to lead me astray (not difficult) and to navigate with map and compass. He guided us across our chosen route very well. Just basic stuff really: orienting the map with the terrain and getting to grips with the compass and direction finding.

We marked the car on the GPS before setting out and he was most indignant that, on getting back, the GPS said the car was not where it was supposed to be.

'I suppose we'll pass it on the way home,' he sais, getting into the car...

Chip off the old block, I'd say.