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So. Not only did Ron bring in a pigeon on Friday, and (when finally induced to drop it) left it such a state that I had no real choice but to break its neck - not one of my favourite things to do - but, on Friday night as I was drifting into sleep, I heard screaming from downstairs.
It wasn't quite the full high-pitched horror of a trapped frog and, indeed, when I tracked down the source by the front door, it turned out Henry had caught himself a toad. Truly, Spring has come to us with the start of May. The toad I deposited by the pnod in the hope that it escape to croak in life rather than death for a while longer yet.
Yesterday, I finished the initial clearing of the garage. It's by no means finished, but there's a lot more space; specifically for both bikes to be accessible through the main door. Mac has ordered hooks, bikes, for the hanging of: when they arrive they'll be installed, one set on each side, to further improve matters.
Later in the afternoon, I went out for a short bike ride. Well; I intended it to be short, but kind of got carried away in an it's-only-a-bit-further-to sort of way for 32.6 miles. I felt like a bit of hill-climbing practice (look at the elevation profile on that Bikely link), so up Wild Country Lane and Hobbs Lane to the A38, finding I'd forgotten just how steep Hobbs Lane actually was. Having climbed that far, I thought I'd just go a bit higher up to the Airport perimeter, which was High Enough, so straight back downhill-all-the-way to Brockley and the A370, which would be a lovely run if it weren't for the appalling state of the road surface. Thence via Chelvey to Nailsea West End, and having got as far as the Blue Flame, there seemed little point in not going the extra few miles to Clevedon.
This is where things went a bit awry: I thought I might take the coast path to Portishead, something I've wanted to walk for a least a dozen years now. Was fine for the first few miles; a bit narrow, but no problem to cycle along. Later, it got narrower, and rougher, and (occasionally) steeper, culminating in a sense of balance error and investigation of the attributes that gorse bushes share with kittin extremities. I have a lovely collection of scratches along the length of my left arm now, including down-not-across my wrist and a goodly few punctures in my hands. Thereafter I showed greater respect for the lack in capability of my road tyres, and pushed (occasionally carried) the bike where the track was less than flat and clear.
All this, of course, ended up taking several times as long as I had expected. No problems thereafter, though: I stopped to phone Mac with an I-aten't-ded phone call on my way out of Portishead and then via Sheepway, Portbury, Pill, Ham Green and the Avon cycle path to home, with my end point coincident with my start point but (by Bikely's/Google's calculations) 13' lower down. Long Ashton is Sinking: I fear the Belgians down there may be digging again.
Today I am mostly aching.
It wasn't quite the full high-pitched horror of a trapped frog and, indeed, when I tracked down the source by the front door, it turned out Henry had caught himself a toad. Truly, Spring has come to us with the start of May. The toad I deposited by the pnod in the hope that it escape to croak in life rather than death for a while longer yet.
Yesterday, I finished the initial clearing of the garage. It's by no means finished, but there's a lot more space; specifically for both bikes to be accessible through the main door. Mac has ordered hooks, bikes, for the hanging of: when they arrive they'll be installed, one set on each side, to further improve matters.
Later in the afternoon, I went out for a short bike ride. Well; I intended it to be short, but kind of got carried away in an it's-only-a-bit-further-to sort of way for 32.6 miles. I felt like a bit of hill-climbing practice (look at the elevation profile on that Bikely link), so up Wild Country Lane and Hobbs Lane to the A38, finding I'd forgotten just how steep Hobbs Lane actually was. Having climbed that far, I thought I'd just go a bit higher up to the Airport perimeter, which was High Enough, so straight back downhill-all-the-way to Brockley and the A370, which would be a lovely run if it weren't for the appalling state of the road surface. Thence via Chelvey to Nailsea West End, and having got as far as the Blue Flame, there seemed little point in not going the extra few miles to Clevedon.
This is where things went a bit awry: I thought I might take the coast path to Portishead, something I've wanted to walk for a least a dozen years now. Was fine for the first few miles; a bit narrow, but no problem to cycle along. Later, it got narrower, and rougher, and (occasionally) steeper, culminating in a sense of balance error and investigation of the attributes that gorse bushes share with kittin extremities. I have a lovely collection of scratches along the length of my left arm now, including down-not-across my wrist and a goodly few punctures in my hands. Thereafter I showed greater respect for the lack in capability of my road tyres, and pushed (occasionally carried) the bike where the track was less than flat and clear.
All this, of course, ended up taking several times as long as I had expected. No problems thereafter, though: I stopped to phone Mac with an I-aten't-ded phone call on my way out of Portishead and then via Sheepway, Portbury, Pill, Ham Green and the Avon cycle path to home, with my end point coincident with my start point but (by Bikely's/Google's calculations) 13' lower down. Long Ashton is Sinking: I fear the Belgians down there may be digging again.
Today I am mostly aching.