All Fished Out

Fate has played a cruel trick on us. The day before we were due to travel up north to tour the Isle of Man it became apparent there was a leak in the little pond in the garden and that our resident population of eight fish were at risk. Working at top speed Mrs C and myself bailed it out and retrieved them, using a variety of containers to hold the pond-water and plants. We were amazed to find about a dozen baby fish (not to mention two little newts); there had been very little sign of any breeding activity earlier this year and it has been several years since the last lot of youngsters.

All seemed well with the fish in their emergency accommodation on our return home but, on examination of the pond, everything went horribly wrong. There was a nasty cracking sound under my feet and water began gushing up through a split in the bottom as if we had struck oil. Clearly the water that had been leaking out had not filtered out into the garden but somehow been held under pressure below the plastic pond base. All thought of trying to fix the original leak was gone; the stark choice was to try to rebuild the pond or abandon it and having considered the increasing amount of work needed to keep it going (especially in these dreadful times of heatwave and drought), we plumped for the easy way out.

A brief message on Facebook about the plight of the fish was enough to bring round Kevin (and son), who were happy to add my motley lot to their existing brood, and at a stroke the aquatic population of our garden was reduced to zero (I should add that the newts were nowhere to be found and are regarded as escapees. Good luck to them).

So all the work of cleaning it all out last year and restocking with new plants in the hope of encouraging the fish to breed was simultaneously successful and utterly in vain. Damn and blast! The only good that has come out of it is that I no longer have to worry about endlessly pulling out strings of disgusting slimy algae from the black depths. We shall fill in the pond and plant some suitable damp-loving plants instead.

Sparrow Renaissance

Nearly ten years ago I was bemoaning the virtual disappearance of the sparrow from our gardens. Recently I have noticed a few from time to time. This summer they are back in force; a little gang of them has taken to swarming in our rose bushes and shrubs and chirping their little heads off prior to swooping around the ground pecking away at whatever they can find. I took a quick snap, unfortunately it had to be through the window so it is not quite as sharp as I would like.

When pigeons attack

Quite a good title for a straight-to-dvd horror film. But this morning I very nearly found myself in a bird vs. man situation. I was sitting peacefully at my desk, unaware of the peril that stalked just outside the house. My eye was half caught by the builders who are putting up an extension on my neighbour's house about 50 yards away. Imagine my surprise when out of nowhere a pigeon hurtled straight into my face - or would have done, had it not bounced off the window that separated us.

The window was undamaged. The bird flew away, no doubt sadder and wiser and wishing it had paid more attention to its flight path. When my heart had stopped thumping from the sight of a bird momentarily flattened to the glass not two feet away I penned these few words. All is now quiet in beautiful Ruislip. The birds are outside and we are inside. All except those builders working on the roof. Should I alert them? Are they trained to react to two pounds of daft columba palumbus zooming in out of the sun and whipping the very sandwiches from their cold, trembling fingers? We can only watch, and hope.

Herons over Ruislip

I was enjoying a coffee as a well-earned reward for the efforts expended in my earlier post today when I looked up across the back garden to see an unexpected visitor.

My neighbour's shed seems an unlikely haunt

A zoom shot as it admires itself in the glass roof panel

I would rather these birds kept well away. Fortunately, at this time of year, the goldfish in the little pond are well camouflaged under a thick layer of plants but they will be exposed later on. Now I know what sheep farmers must feel when the wolves are circling...

Fishier still

A year ago I had the pleasure of introducing a batch of incomers to the resident fish population of the little pond in the back garden. Sadly the hot summer proved too much for some of them and three of the newcomers, together with one old-timer, perished. But nature is bountiful. This week I identified three babies, two so black they are only visible in direct light and one with the same light pink markings that mark two of the adults.Very satisfying, and there may more lurking about. The neighbours may think I'm merely idling away the time by staring blankly into the murky waters but there is cutting-edge scientific research of the highest quality to be done and on nice warm afternoons I shall arm myself with a cup of tea and go out there and do it.

Watching the waters

The flooding of significant parts of southern England has continued and in some places is now worse than ever. The West Country and the Severn valley have been in difficulties since early January. In the last couple of weeks the Thames has risen to record levels and some of the most desirable (or they were, up until recently) towns in the country are under water. At first glance the areas affected seem the wrong ones - the upper Thames from its source to Oxford is ok, even though these areas often flood even in reasonable times, and there are no flood warnings of any sort below Richmond. But in between, where the river itself is not particularly wide, the waters have risen sharply and are pushing up groundwater. It is almost as if the Thames is itself acting as a barrier to the water and is protecting central London.

There is no danger in beautiful Ruislip although our own dear River Pinn is overflowing onto its flood plain (if one can call a few soggy strips of open meadow and woodland that) downstream where it meets the Colne at Uxbridge; and there have been warnings where the Colne itself meets the Thames not much farther on. Some back gardens that back on to the rivers are under water. This morning the warnings were removed but there is a lot more rain on the way.

Will these unheard-of wet conditions favour the amphibian population? In the past couple of years the frogs have ceased to come to our little pond - fifteen years ago we might have had a dozen taking up residence during the mating season - and this is part of a national crisis. We shall know in a few weeks.

Back to work*

*[about as misleading a title as it can be: Ed]
The late spring bank holiday weekend is over.  The weather was simply perfect here in beautiful Ruislip. Other parts of the UK may have had chill and rain but we were treated to blue skies, steady but not overpowering sunshine and temperatures into the high 20s. And to cap it all, as we all go back to work today it has turned damp and colder with blanket grey-white cloud.

Well, okay, when I say "back to work" I am of course speaking generically. I shall not be commuting this week but, you know, I shall be thinking in a kindly and well-disposed sort of way of those who are. I remain on standby, to "take the call" from any of my clients but I am confident that neither the phones nor the interweb will be bearing any communications from them for a while.

I suppose now is the time to record the sad news that, for the first year in memory, not a single frog has been seen in the aquatic centre on my estate [the pond out the back: Ed] and therefore no frogspawn or tadpoles have ensued. There is a nationwide decline of amphibians and it has reached Ruislip. On the other hand birds that seem to be sparrows have been nesting in the thick shrubbery on the garden fence. Sparrows were once so plentiful we took them for granted. In recent years they have been wholly absent from the back garden. It's heartening to see them return.

Fish story

At a stroke, and for the grand sum of £13, I have doubled the fish population on my estate [i.e. the pond out the back: Ed]. There are now ten of the little blighters, a mix of goldfish and shubunkins but it is anyone's guess how many will survive. The most fascinating moment was when the incomers were lowered into the still achingly-cold water, cocooned in their plastic bag fresh from the aquatic centre. They squirmed about as if desperate to plunge into the rather murky waters below. The resident population came up to greet them, clustering around the bag as if encouraging a break-out. When I judged that they should be acclimatized (or rather, after a few minutes, when I was fed up waiting), the bag was cut and the new lot, with a little gentle persuasion of the "lift up the bag and shake it" variety, emerged and quickly vanished to explore the delights of the silt at the bottom with their new found chums.

The next exciting development will be feeding them. They respond to warmth but we haven't had much of that so far this year. And there is still no sign of the frogs. More later (if indeed there is any more).

Nature corner

Round about this time of year I generally write some notes about the weather , the onset of Spring and the amphibian breeding programme on my estate (frogs in the pond, to you). What a strange year we have had. A very wet winter and a bitterly cold March. Today it has snowed lightly in beautiful Ruislip, although the temperature is around 6c, and most of the country is covered in real snow and has been for several days. The snowdrops have come and gone, the crocuses are doing well and the daffs have begun showing but rather intermittently. And no sign of the frogs, of course. Galling because I busted a gut cleaning out the pond a few weeks ago.

Last year it was shirtsleeves weather and the onset of a drought (at least until the unceasing rains started).

So there you are, nature lovers. Don't forget to call in around about this time next year for a further gripping instalment.

Winter's last gasp

To the border country of Shropshire, Brecon and Hereford for a few refreshing days away. The petrol tanker drivers postponed their threatened strike and our motoring was not curtailed, as I been fearing it might have to be, when just a few days earlier 3 out of 4 local petrol stations had run dry. Yet the only petrol station in Ludlow not only had no petrol but mournfully informed me, when I phoned to ask if they had supplies, that they were closing for good. A sign of the times, and modern archaeologists may find deserted forecourts and the foundations of pumps and canopies all over the country; no doubt some future experts will ponder the strange rise and fall of these Gasoline people and their penchant for building their temples near to main roads. But I digress.

The marvellous, albeit dry, weather of the past few weeks went out with a bang as blizzards and strong winds battered the north, and plenty of it reached further south. Here are the Brecon Beacons topped with snow just a couple of days ago.

And now we are home and as is traditional for the Easter bank holiday, it is chilly and has been raining a fair bit, the first decent rain for some weeks.  And just as well because with a hosepipe ban now in force, I am dependent on the rain to fill my water butts from which I can top up the pond. I think it will be a poor year for the frogs, alas - the frogspawn is small and there is not much sign of the life from the little black occupants yet.

The long bank holiday

The royal wedding bank holiday on Friday coupled with the normal one today has given us a two four-day holiday periods back-to-back. The weather has been perfect. Brilliant sunshine, plenty of breeze to keep the air fresh and the right hint of chill in the air to make a sharp contrast to the direct heat of the sun. Everything in our garden is bursting into life. There is so much natural food, larva and the like in our pond, that the fish have begun to disdain the food that I usually give them round about tea-time on warm days.

We are not used to such pleasant bank holidays. The one in May has always seemed to be the signal for icy blasts of cold rain and wind. Staying at home to read about traffic jams, floods and ruined holidays for others used to be our main source of pleasure at this time. Although I wonder where everyone has gone this year. Mrs. Commuter took the coach to Oxford yesterday and reported the M40 deserted. Perhaps people are simply staying at home and enjoying it.

Nature corner

I promised an update on the amphibian breeding programme on my estate back in mid-February. The keen frog watchers amongst you will be glad to know that they showed up at last about four weeks ago, produced about 1/3 the normal amount of frogspawn and vanished almost at once. There are tadpoles now, still squirming around in what remains of the jelly but they will disperse into the pond soon and that will probably be the last I see of them.

In previous years there have been up to ten frogs splashing about at the height of the mating season - I think the maximum this year was four. Too early to tell if this is a consequence of climate change or some other factor but a little worrying.

A Quirk of the Schedules

Morning departures from Ruislip Manor on the Met are supposed to roughly every 6 minutes, a reasonable gap that nonetheless generates pretty full trains most mornings. I normally aim to catch the 8:30. Recently the 8:24 has been coming in around 8:27, a fraction too early for me to catch it without sprinting down the street and up the stairs at the station [you can't expect it at his time of life. Ed] . But the 8:30 has been coming in on time. This reduced gap has of course cut the number of people on my train with all the early birds crowding onto the earlier departure.
I doubt if this happy state of affairs will last. It is probably down to problems with the new S stock trains. The 8:27s in recent days have been S stock whilst my train is usually the old faithful A stock. Still I shall enjoy it, together with the wonderfully mild weather we have had for the past couple of weeks. The freeze of December is truly behind us and the winds are warm and moist, surely heralding an early spring. The snowdrops are flourishing and the crocuses and daffs are on their way. Oddly, no sign yet of the frogs who make an annual pilgrimage to the little pond in my garden to breed. I’ll keep you posted.

And nul points to the addon for Word that is supposed to make it seamless to publish to blogs. It has started to bleat that it cannot publish my posts but refuses to say why.

Falling leaves

Don't be misled by the title of this piece. Usually at this time the Met comes to a halt with the age-old excuse of "leaves on the line". Autumn is in full swing and the leaves were falling freely in beautiful Ruislip all weekend but no delays appear to have interfered with this morning's service. My normal train is now making a regular stop at Neasden to let a driver off, which it never used to do, but otherwise came in and arrived on time.

So does this mean that the programme of cutting back trees overhanging the lines, and perhaps use of the special train that cleans up the track, has fixed this problem? Good news, if confirmed. Let's have as much greenery as possible but not on the railway please.

A spot of melancholy

January continues its unpleasant way with heavy rain and dull overcast skies in central London. But at least it has warmed up a bit, my pond has thawed and with luck some of our goldfish will have survived a week under the ice. They will have been in almost total darkness, eating nothing, oblivious of the world outside. Lucky them, eh? Tonight London Underground’s web site informs me that there are no Metropolitan trains running between Aldgate and Wembley Park so I must take another route home.
[update 3 hours later]
Yep, I took the Piccadilly home. The week-in, week-out problems on this line were what drove me to start this blog in the first place. Tonight was the first time in over two years that I have dared to venture back. And true to form, the first train was Heathrow, the second Heathrow, the third Northfields and then, after an unexplained gap of several minutes, during which time the electronic indicator at Acton Town (where I changed, having got on the first Heathrow in central London) could do no better than pointlessly display "westbound Piccadilly train" - I mean, duh, we knew that, that's why we were waiting on the platform, - a train to Rayners Lane.(This is a very long sentence and not all your readers will keep up with the tortured syntax: Ed) And therefore a further delay, but fortunately not too long, for a Met. As we waited the station announcer cheerily told people on the other platform that their next train had just left Uxbridge, some 15 minutes away.

So that's the first customer charter claim for 2009 well under way.
And I'm pleased to say that at least two of the goldfish have made it - I ventured into out the pitch black garden tonight, shone a torch into the depths of the pond and found two of them lazing around on the bottom midst the rotting leaves.

The sounds of spring

Commuters on the London Underground are used to the noise of the system, from the rumble and squeal of the trains to the barrage of announcements. How pleasant then to be able to record a different kind of sound, the tweeting and chirruping of the birds in the trees around Ruislip Manor station as they went about their business this morning. The sparrow has all but vanished from many gardens but I think I saw a few today, together with the regular pigeons, magpies, blackbirds and one or two others I cannot identify. The singing was at a high volume, perhaps indicating that the annual competition for nest-space and mates is well under way.

Many trees were cut down when the station was rebuilt a couple of years ago, and others were heavily pruned, forcing both birds and squirrels who had frequented the station borders to move elsewhere. At least some of the birds are back - the squirrels have not yet reappeared.

A hole in the garden

This is a picture of the Acer that used to adorn our back garden. At this time of the year the leaves would be forming as shiny buds at the tips of the branches, ready to burst open all at once on the first warm day. Alas, the tree is no more. We had to take it down to satisfy the requirements of our insurance company, following a subsidence claim.

We have yet to place something to fill the hole - it gives me something to think about during the daily commute