As we enter the third week of the new year, the snow we were promised (or threatened, depending on your view of the white stuff) barely materialised.
It was a shame really, because a big old moon lit the morning sky, like a 1960s lampshade in the bedroom of a cool teenager. A dusting of thick snow would have really completed the scene. At one point during my morning walk, the moon was caught in the telephone wires.
It tried to hide in the trees as the sky in the east turned pink.
It wasn’t the only strange thing I saw in the sky. Two flights of seagulls flew high overhead in separate V-formations. I know my chiffchaff from my chaffinch, but I didn’t know seagulls ever flew like this.
In days gone by, I’m told the the field here used to be full of lapwings. Now it’s a common haunt of croaking ravens.
Just a few fields away, the hedge became the temporary resting place of a whole pile of junk. Fly-tippers. Don’t you just hate them?
A local farmer discovered among the rubbish an invoice made out to man from Wiltshire. So our rural detective rang the man, whose car was being resprayed in a garage in Weymouth. The garage owner claimed scrap men had taken the rubbish the previous night but he didn’t have any contact details for them.
Then the rubbish disappeared as mysteriously as it had arrived. When the farmer rang the garage again, the owner said he’d offered his mechanics £10 to find and collect the rubbish. They did well in discovering it, bearing in mind the farmer hadn’t said where in the village it was.
Still, the maximum fine for fly-tipping is £50,000 or 12 months imprisonment, so a £10 incentive was money well spent by the garage owner.
Meanwhile, down in the village, the local hunt was welcomed with the stirrup cup and sausage rolls. But not before the horses had to make way for the bus to Yeovil doing its usual U-turn in the Square.