I'd love to believe that this was the solution to the mystery . . .
A Fairy sled? ;)
Well, we felt like a couple of pillocks when I read out Wendy's comment
We have one of those creatures here too, it lives several feet up and runs from my office to the gate..... took me ages to work out what it was.
It's very friendly though, and brings in my phone calls.... dropping its straight track all at once when the ice thaws.
Do you mean like this, Wendy? . . .
The scientifically trained enquiring mind of Silverpebble was on the case too . . .
Is it drips or rods of ice from telegraph wires? There are no footprints so that's all I can think of - unless it's a beaver, whose tail is obscuring his footprints but that's pretty unlikely!
I think Wendy and Silverpebble deserve a little prize for revealing what dunces we are! And Karen also deserves recognition because from now on I'm referring to the trails left from ice dripping off wires into snow as 'fairy sledge tracks'. E-mail me to studio at celiahart dot co dot uk with your addresses and I'll see what's in the lucky dip basket.
Before I go to make our supper, I'd like to pass on a tip to any of you who live in a small village: Unless to want a job for life, pretend you are totally and utterly incompetent at everything.
A few years ago, after attending a Christmas service in the village church where there was no musical accompaniment to the carols; I somehow let slip that I could sight read simple tunes and play them on the piano. Which somehow led to me sitting in front of this . . .
. . . and doing this . . .
Which is all very well when it's a nice warm summer's day and you've got time on your hands and feel like playing a nice tune just for your own amusement. It's a whole other story on a cold damp February afternoon, when the temperature inside the church is about 5 degrees below the temperature outside and there is no heating near the organ! From experience I know this calls for thick knitted socks, sturdy thick soled boots, a fleece jacket under my overcoat, hat and wrist warmers and those nifty little pocket warmer sachet thingies to defrost my fingers during the prayers and sermon – none of these improve my performance but they do hide my identity. To paraphrase the lovely Eric Morcambe: I might not play all of the notes, but those I do I try to get in the right order!
River Diary by Ronald Blythe
3 hours ago