Really nothing exciting

Had to take David and the boys to see the eyrie (from a good distance!) and couldn't resist adding a few pretty pictures here.The Gut
My boys and part of a dolphin skeleton

Bee on the rhododendron
Mum, Dad and babies
Osprey!
Proud parents.

Wait a tick

Hmm, yesterdays excitement over the osprey was tempered last night when I found a stow away. I was a bit miffed 'cos I had checked carefully, or so I thought. I whipped off what I thought was a small scab, hanging by a thread, on my leg, as I thought "Odd, I don't remember nipping myself there...?" and on closer inspection, realised the scab had legs. Classic, what a muppet! However, it seemed to be intact, (until I mutilated it before flushing it!) and I couldn't see any remnants in my leg. It came off so easily I don't think it could have attached itself, so I was blooming lucky! Might never have found it, euw. Doesn't bear thinking about!

Anyway, I needed cheering up after a long, restless night dreaming about giant ticks, so I've indulged in a little retail therapy. It's something I've heard and read about, but not through outdoor sites or magazines, so I shall try it out in private before I report back as to how successful it's been. Fingers crossed.

Another Angela special

I have a weekly walk with Angela and we are often joined by Lyn, Alison, Alfie the retriever and Judith. We have two regular routes, one of about 5 miles, the other just over 6.5 miles, which I suppose could be thought of as being a little dull, but the walks are really pretty and we are chatting whilst walking briskly, so it's just a pleasant, weekly trundle.

Of late, Angela has been taking us on little adventures. These tend to be longer, very pretty and at a very brisk pace because Angela has to be at work at 11.30am. It sometimes involves a little nettle bashing, (thoroughly tick checked today, I can tell you!) we did 7.5 miles today, but today we had an added delight. Osprey!

We came by a ruined church that Angela, Lyn and I visited during the winter, (less undergrowth, two barbed wire fences.) I hadn't realised today's route would take us by the same ruin, so whilst they explored the inside, I gazed at the sky.

I heard alarm calls. They were not buzzard like, mournful and plaintive. Could it really be? No, surely not, but yes! A pair of osprey! I felt so bad, we'd obviously stumbled too close for comfort for them and whilst the girls were oohhing and ahhhing, I was urging them to move on. It was only for a minute or two and we stumbled off again through the undergrowth, skirting the barbed wire this time, but the undergrowth was over everything. We made it back to the main path (we were following a path marked on the map which is obviously not often used...) which is metalled and sped away. We eventually came to a clearing where we could look back towards the osprey eyrie. One of the birds was perched high in a neighbouring tree, once again looking happy and relaxed.

Now that was a good walk.

PS. The Brashers with the merino socks and zinc oxide tape performed well again, I'm gaining confidence!

Training section one complete

I'll have to add one pair Marigolds to my kit list.

Did it though.

Now, where did I stash that Talisker...

More training

I tried many puns before I settled on a straightforward title for this post. The subject is just too unfunny for words.

It is widely known that ticks are becoming more common. Rife, in fact. We have regularly visited areas such as Glen Affric, the Cairngorms and more recently Wester Ross over the past fifteen years (as we live up here, it's not too tricky) and until relatively recently, had never had a tick problem. Ciara managed to pick one up on a school trip to Glen Affric, but in all fairness, most have been collected locally, in and around our own garden, not to mention the tricky little sucker that must have crawled up my arm to my cleavage from the ridiculously huge Christmas tree we had in December. (My husband peering at my chest with magnifying glass in one hand and fine nosed tweezers in the other caused much amusement. To some...)

It had become a topic of conversation that I'll be ok if (when) I pick up a tick as we wend our (hopefully very!) merry little way across Scotland, but it could be a little tricky for David. The sensible solution appeared to be that we would purchase a tick removing device and I would practice on the next critter.

Pah!

Imagine my dismay when, ten minutes after David has left the building destined for Manchester for a fortnight, Ciara presents herself as I'm eating my breakfast, proffers me her foot and states, "I've got a tick on my foot!"

Not just on her foot I might add, between her big toe and the next one in the tiniest crease there is a tiny tick.

I think I can cope with the tick, I shall have to manage (carefully) with magnifying glass and tweezers.

But I_hate_feet.

I think this counts as rigourous training, after which I shall need a lie down, a cold flannel and I might have to sneak a dram from the Talisker I've secreted away for the holiday.

Someone round here has a particularly sick sense of humour.