Notes from a small village

Haven't been any where in particular for a few days - boating that is, apart from Braunston on Blow It'. But I think that I am getting fitter through some of the activities that we undertake. Campanology for example.

Bellring per se is probably exercise enough - especially if you ring at a couple of churches every week and throw in a service or two, but winding the clock at St John's in Brinklow is a definite work-out.

The instrument for winding the mechanism is sort of a cross between a lock paddle windlass and the starting handle for one of those vintage cars that didn't have starter motors (or they did, but the battery was flat). The end of this handle is fitted over the winding spindle, (which is a bit like that on your mantle mantle time piece, only huge), and wound anticlockwise until the respective weights (there are two of them) climb slowly from the floor level of the ringing chamber to the height of the pulleys where they provide the motive power for the clock mechanism over the next seven days before reaching floor level again.

The small one is a doddle and can be wound using one arm - but the heavy one is a beast! I'll say one thing - the clock is pretty accurate for an old timer (enough clock jokes, ed). And hopefully when the mechanism is moved to make way for the new bell installation, the whole thing is going to be fitted with an electric motor to wind up the weights (or will it be given a spring).

Jeeves and Aunt Agatha attended the Pagan festival at Combe Abbey Woods mentioned before and took a couple of photos of the manor house and lake. I am told that the Solstice bit went very well indeed with wholesome food; a breaking of bread and passing of wine (sounds rather fishy to me - geddit? ed).

One of the photographs from the pond of those elusive blue damsel flies actually came out. The image also shows a couple of other dragonflies in the vicinity - Jeeves is pleased, but I should imagine that clicking on the picture on this blog will be necessary for those like me who are occularly challenged.

The mating pair of swans finally turned up with their cygnet, so she hadn't left him after all. I am surprised that there is only one cygnet as this would appear to be fine breeding ground, and I can't think of any predators that would be prowling around the marina.

I have been wanting to jump into bed with a Staffordshire lass for years. . . . . . . . . . . .

But imagine my surprise when a four legged one jumped into bed with me - and proceeded to sit on me!