In which Cleo has me sussed

Cleo has me sussed. 'If I keep the stick in my mouth then she can't throw it for me and her cunning plan to wear me out won't work, tee hee!'

On our way back from the woods we cross what I think must once have been an orchard; there are still a few apple trees there that crop heavily. Under one of the non-apple trees we found these mushrooms.

No-one could claim that we live in the countryside but it makes me feel like a real country girl, oh arr, to be able to gather mushrooms on our morning walk. (And I know they're safe to eat as Husband ate some at the weekend.)

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We pass a car on our way home. Its bumper sticker reads, 'Women of the earth reclaiming birth.' I didn't realise anyone was trying to take it away from us. Underneath the main legend it says, 'Hypnobirthing.' Whatever.

It's springtime!

It's a beautiful day.

I sat out in the sunshine lunchtime for the first time this year. Actually I snoozed in the sunshine. (I deserved it! The glory of blood-giving will provide me with excuses for a few days yet.)

It was the sort of day for walking round the cliffs. Unfortunately a) I can't get Harvs in or out of the car, and b) even if we got there, he wouldn't be able to walk any further than the Summer Winers. (Three old men always sit on the same bench, looking out to sea, just a little way round the cliffs. I would love to know what they talk about; I hope it's disrespectful.)

So we went to the edge of the tip instead. It was too early for most of the regular dog-walkers so it was deserted, and there was a summer-like stillness about the place. Just the sound of birds twittering. And Harvey panting.

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Harvey gave Younger Son a scare the night before last.

I'd gone to bed leaving Harvey sleeping in the hall. When Younger Son got in, he needed to persuade Harvs to go to bed in the kitchen so he could put the (burglar) alarm on with no fear of it being set off. But he couldn't wake him. YS kept calling his name but Harvey didn't stir. Then he started twitching (Harvs not YS).

He woke eventually and he's been fine since. He just likes to keep us on our toes.

Walkies today

Everyone is enjoying or hating the snow and this what we get:

The tide goes out a long way in the bay.

If you walk down the road from our house, and past the playing fields, you reach Swansea Bay. I rarely walked Harvey there as he'd get his nose down following a scent and wander for miles with ne'er a thought for me. But Holly's different. If you've got a stick for her to chase, she'll stick with you.

It was fine going; coming back, walking into the wind and rain, didn't half make my nose run. It's a nuisance, isn't it? You have to stop, take off your gloves, find your hankie, blow your nose, put your hankie away, put your gloves back on, walk ten yards, stop, take off your gloves etc.

I can understand someone losing a flip flop in the middle of summer ...

Walking back through the wood, a nasty dog began hassling Holly. I called her and she ran to me although I'm not sure what either of us thought I was going to do.

What puzzles me is the number of people who say to Holly (or said to Harvey), 'My, my, just look at you; you'll be having a bath when you get home!' Just because they're covered in sand or mud? It'll dry and drop off. No worries.

Coal nuggets, remnants of Swansea's industrial heritage, in amongst the shell debris.

Not in our garden but very pretty.

To be added to the list

... of places we can't take Harvey any more: anywhere that is excessively muddy. And in Swansea in January that means most places.

I thought we'd go to the river today. Crossing the field leading to the path down to the river, Harvey slipped and couldn't get up again without help. The river path no longer seemed a sensible option.

We walked back over the tip instead.

The tip, the valley and its hillsides were once our most regular walk place. Until about 22 years ago the tip was still being used to accommodate Swansea's rubbish; now nature has reclaimed its own. As well as wild roses, foxes, tadpoles and woodpeckers, we've even seen a heron there.

Here Harvs is just admiring the scenery.

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The good news is that the baking website owners liked my article and are commissioning me to do more. This very morning I have described how to make the Perfect Carrot Cake (don't tell me, I know it's not as good as yours!) and this afternoon I'm going to be looking at Classic Cakes (whatever they may be). Writing and getting paid for it: heaven!