The not so perambulations of Micra....

Little Micra wasn't happy. It was during travelling back from Burton, struggling through all the deep flood water that he'd started to feel unwell. At first his gears simply felt a bit 'clunky', but then his clutch started being troublesome too. Before long it was just too painful to change gear at all. Whining along stuck in first gear progress was very slow. Unable to de-clutch at all he had to switch his engine off in order to stop and at junctions when it was time to move he had to start up in gear and hope for the best...
After a long and arduous journey it was good to be home. Very worried as to whether he would ever get better it was time to be put up on the jacks. Micra didn't like the jacks, they dug into his bodywork and his master would often be grumpy and swear a lot.
Firstly the wheels had to come off.
Then the brakes, suspension and driveshafts.....Master was very angry and said some very bad words. He even started muttering about "burning the dam thing", and "wish I still had my Rover". He disappeared, and soon it became dark...
Next morning the master was a bit more cheerful. Off came the starter motor, battery, electrics, computer and air ducts. Eventually when you looked up from underneath, where there was once a lot of stuff, now there was daylight.
The troublesome gearbox lay on the lawn while master scratched his head.
Micra was happy when the master smiled and pointed to the clutch release bearing and explained. "The lubrication has been washed off the bearing guide by the flood water and caused it to jam, and the side tag has snapped off the housing". Micra didn't know what that all meant but at least he knew he was going to be better soon.
As well as a new bearing Micra was treated to a brand new drive plate....
....and a thrust plate. He felt very special to have all these shiny new things.
A day later and everything was back to normal. The box of matches was put away for another time and master was happy once more. If master was happy, then Micra was too...

The Mystery of Penguin Island....

At first glance it just looks like any other traffic island, and up until a few days ago it was.
On closer inspection there is an unexpected visitor. Obviously arriving under the cover of darkness and setting up home while no one was watching.
Blame it on global warming or the population explosion of this common species (Sphenicidae Plasticus), but this chap has gone to unusual lengths to secure its own little piece of England.
A cute little chap, 'Percy' as he's been nicknamed seems totally unphased by the rush of traffic just feet from his new home.
His cheery face skyward turned, he was unbothered at my approach and appeared quite tame.
When asked why was he here and where had he come from, the response was...."No comment"
Maybe this explains the sudden appearance. Nestled next to a bright orange foot, an egg. Perhaps there will be more little Percys on 'penguin island' in the coming weeks!

Greenwood is dying.....

Once upon a time (about 10 years ago), there was a beautiful wood...... Greenwood. The nasty ogres from the land of smoke (London), wanted to destroy the woodland and build a dirty 6 lane motorway, a toll motorway for the rich and greedy to travel on.
Many of the local peasants and gentry alike didn't want the new road because it destroyed farms and countryside and served only big business. Something had to be done to try and save Greenwood......






Caring souls and the great unwashed took to the trees, building shelters high up in the branches. Deep beneath the roots tunnels were dug and there they lay in wait for the bailiffs to come.
(The beardy weirdy on the ladder is me!)


A year past by, and the locals lived in the woods come rain or shine. Soon there were so many that the nearby local deserted farmstead was taken over as well. 'Moneymore house' and 'Greenwood' lived in fear of the road and the rough tactics of the Sheriffs men and his hired hands... 'the men in black'.
The helicopter loomed over each night, menacing the woodland inhabitants and counting their number. Then, one day the press were herded into a small enclosure so they might not see anything that would upset them. The roads were closed, the helicopter watched from the skies. Van after van turned up, and the governments men tumbled out.

Greenwood was surrounded, tree dwellers ripped from the branches and whispered away. The chainsaws shouted their war cry as the boughs were removed from the mature trees so that no one would have the audacity to climb them ever again.

The men in black turned their attentions to Moneymore, now castellated and warrened. For days they battled those on the rooves, playing cat and mouse across the tiled heights, lofty branches and ariel rope ways. Once dealt with, it was only the tunnellers left. Deep underground in a maze of burrows they lived their lives in the damp and dark, listening to the scratchings of the Sheriffs men as they slowly dug them out. After over a week underground the last protester was removed after risking losing his arm to infection from being locked to a solid lump of concrete to prevent his removal.

It was all over, the big business had won. The wood was lost, farms were demolished, wildlife driven out, 15th century 'Boundary Cottage' smashed to the ground without the reverence it deserved.

I went back to my life, an old sign from the woods as my only souvenir.
Greenwood was dissected, never to be whole again. The hillside it occupied was dug out and replaced with the greyness of the motorway, with its unimaginative bridges and toll booths.

I took solice that a small part of the wood survived.....

.... until now. It's become apparent that Greenwood is dying.

High up on the exposed hillside, the more delicate species have lost their 'overcoat' of surrounding Birches leaving them to the mercies of the weather.

Bit by bit, tree by tree, they are falling victim. Leafless and barkless they stand defiantly glaring across the scar on their heritage.

To the west, the land slopes downward and out of the cutting wind. Here, the survivors huddle, the last sanctuary of Greenwood.

The ancient Sweet Chestnuts and Oaks hold on here to their last little corner. The old badger set is still lived in at the foot of the giant Chestnut tree, squirrels in the branches, blackbirds peck in the leaves in the Bluebell patch and the deer still browse through.

Greenwood is dying, piece by piece, but it's not done yet. Let's hope that there will forever be a corner of England called.....Greenwood.

Hoar Cross Downhill Soapbox....

I missed this event last year, but this time I was determined to see it. Professionally filmed and relayed to a huge screen at the bottom of the run, this was the 'Downhill Soapbox' competition.

Organised by MAD (Meynell Arms Drinkers (a local pub)), this charity event raised £56,000 last year!

The karts are run down the steep 1/2 mile course of School hill from Hoar Cross Hall to the Meynell Arms pub....where you WILL need a drink.

There weren't so many crashes ('over the hedges', cos that's where the debris get thrown) this year, but Santa did mangle his sled, causing concerns over 'elf and safety'.

The Flinstones 'rock'eted past, their feet going like the clappers.

'Postman Pat' was there with his 'black and white cat'..... less of a cat and more of a sex kitten, you can't see it in the photo but she had a really cute tail!

Bentley was there, demonstrating their racing heritage with a little class.

The USAF had entered a deceptively simple looking kart, but on closer inspection revealed some precision engineering and alloy welding to die for...... OK, so I like engineering!!

Some of the creations were heavyweights with hydraulic disc brakes to prevent the inevitable......

..... others relied on lightweight and the hay bales at the bottom of the course for 'braking'.

'Monster Kart'!!!!! Over forty foot in length, the Coca Cola lorry with private Reg plate 'P3PSI' (Pepsi), complete with LED marker lights and 'spinners' was the result of a months hard work and might end up as a pile of plywood should the run go wrong....

The notice informs Coca Cola which company it should take to court..... Yes, you could take them to court and cop a load of bad publicity, or just donate £10,000 to a worthwhile charity and reclaim your good name. (Oh, and by the way Mr. Pepsi £20,000 would score some 'browny points as well!!!)

This post continues below in video form.... It took me flipping ages to download all this stuff to Blogger, so you better well watch it..... Sorry, I mean, the following post is offered courteously for your perusal!

Hoar Cross Downhill....moving pictures (whatever next!)

There was a good turn out, many not venturing up the steep hill but instead generating more charitable funds by watching the big screen and drinking from the Meynell Arms and the beer tent (all profits to a good cause).


If your brakes worked, then the plan was to stop and ring the bell, if not then hay bails were provided for 'your comfort'.

The General Lee was able to stop without jumping the bridge which is always 'out'.......Daisy did turn up, but she looked better on TV!

This one was shaped like a coffin... it always pays to be prepared.


It may not appear that fast, but then it's not you that is an inch from the ground about to receive a bout of 'gravel rash'!!


30 to 40 mph in a low slung pram...transport of the future (the oil will run out one day)!


40 ++++ foot of downhill go-kart...the stuff of childhood dreams.


NASA funding cutbacks cause a complete re-think on launching techniques.


The 'Harry Potter' bus is a little unstable even in its scaled down form...... Double decker buses four times the height of this drive past my house every day, what the hell were we thinking of when we invented these!!!!!

The 'bath tub' chassis design has been embraced by Formula One designers as the ultimate in safety....Oh , crap let's hope so!......

Summer's on it's way....

It's the shortest day of the year here in the northern hemisphere. My ever faithful GPS informs me sunrise was at 8.15am....well you don't think I was going to get up to see for myself did you? Horrible time of day morning, all cold and full of grumpy people.

Sunset is at 3.53 pm. That's a mere 7 hours and 38 minutes of daylight!

Of course it's so overcast and foggy here that the daylight is further curtailed. Realistically it doesn't get properly light until after 9.30 (so I've been told), and nightfall creeps in from as early as 3.20pm.

The blazing sunshine sometimes doesn't warm things up at all!

The decrease in natural light has a marked effect on our psychology. Melatonin increases disturbing our sleep patterns and serotonin is reduced causing lethargy, despondency and generally making us very bad tempered. Well, this the excuse I'm using for the behaviour of a certain cat....Max. He was sitting peacefully on the windowsill, so I bent down to say hello. Normally this would be greeted with a touch of noses and a purr, but today he decided to swipe me around the eye with razor sharp claws! With an angry cat now attached to my face, I grabbed his paw so he couldn't pull it free causing more damage and managed to carefully unhook it from my lower eyelid. We then had a scrap on the lawn which I made a point of winning. Later we made up over a saucer of milk (Max had one too). Winter is getting to us both.

Now I have a swollen eye that makes me look like a Rembrandt portrait.

By midday the sun was quite high, I assume (it was still obscured), and the temperature soared to nearly 1 degree.

It is traditional to light a fire to chase away the darkness. It is meant to be the largest log you can find as to last through the longest night. I was a bit short on massive logs so I instead celebrated, and marked the passing of 'Mr. Stick'.....Mr. Stick is made of stout pine and helps me explain things to those not willing to learn. He has been to hand when I had that run in with car thieves (See previous post 'Men in Black' gone bad...5th April) After years of faithful service in the role of home defence, Mr. Stick met an untimely end after a bizarre fly swatting accident!

Thank you Mr. Stick, you'll be sorely missed.

Nightfall was premature in the town tonight, but better longer lighter days are a coming, here's a boot up the arse of winter!.......

Not much done, in the winter sun....

There's not much been going on lately. Hardly enough daylight to have any adventures, but the sun being so low in the sky does have its bonuses..... beautiful sunsets. Although this scene appears idyllic with the oak and hay stack on a lonely hill, it was in fact masked by the roar of cars hurtling past on the M6 motorway.... a picture tells a thousand words but not necessarily the truth!

Competing with the noise of the road, this passenger jet rumbled as it streaked across the sky, its vapour trail illuminating in the sunlight like a comets tail.

The birds flew West, heading to the sanctuary of the local lakes.

They always seem to head out East in the morning and return to the West come evening. I don't know the reason for this, maybe having the sun in front makes navigation simpler, or perhaps they appreciate the sun rise/ set too.

You really feel the temperature plummet as the sun retreats this time of year....roll on spring.

Personally I'd be tucking those feet into my feathers!

When it's cold and crisp like this, the vapour trails from the airliners linger for hours.

I'm hoping it's going to be clear the next few nights as there is a meteor shower due. Eyes to the skies, especially on Friday.

I've noticed an awful lot of military jets lately. These were unusually coming from the direction of the local city civilian airport.

Normally they stay well away from passenger jet flight paths. They were in an almighty hurry and I had next to no time to snatch a quick photo. Makes you wonder what they're up to.

The day came to an end as the ribs of multi coloured cloud painted their fading scene in the dimming sky....