Our four-weekly home-haircut. We were joined this time by Yvonne, our great-niece Lotte (3), and our great-nephew, Melle (8 months). Three-year-olds turn out to be exhausting. But after having played ‘knights’ in the garden with Lotte (she with a five-foot-long bamboo sword; me with a one-foot-long bamboo sword), I am officially her new best friend. I shouldn’t let it go to my head: Lotte’s best friend changes with each new encounter, apparently.
Took Pat’s dog Rosie for a walk along the canal in the afternoon. Bitterly cold.
To the Farm for a birthday party in the evening. We forgot the mustard we’d been asked to bring, so I popped back down the hill to fetch it. As I walked back up the hill, from about 250 yards away, I saw a large, white bird circling around the eaves of the Farm’s ‘big mistal’ (Yorkshire for cow-shed). My immediate thought was BARN OWL! But, before I could hurry up the hill to investigate, a van pulled up alongside me, and the passenger asked for directions. By the time I’d managed to fob him off with a (perfectly true) never heard of the place, the bird had disappeared.
Bloody hell, perhaps the barn owl I’ve spotted a couple of times over recent months really is roosting in one of the Farm’s buildings, as I’d hoped!
“…wonderful. Science and history and geography and evolution and culture all tangled up in musings while walking about the moors around Hebden Bridge.”—PZ Myers
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