The mystery of the trees

At the bottom of our back garden is a fence and on the other side of the fence is a strip of land between us and the playing field beyond. At one time there was a railway track there, long since gone, and there is a useful dog-walking path stretching for part of the way but there are also trees, a lot of tall, mature trees which, whilst useful for shade on hot, sunny days  and a perfect environment for birdlife and squirrels, are becoming a little too tall and prominent. Half our small garden is overhung by the branches and that, as well as the clay soil, probably explains why I can never get anything to grow here. Getting someone in to cut them back sufficiently to make a noticeable difference would probably cost an arm and a leg and  anyway, they are not our trees so the task should be someone else's responsibility.
With this in mind, I embarked on a search for the owners - fruitlessly, as it turned out. After much time on the phone and the internet, I discovered that this land does not belong to the local council, Arriva trains or British Rail but eventually I discovered that in 1960, the owner of the land had been one Mr R. Price.
And there the trail ran cold. Price is a very common name, especially in Wales and I couldn't track down a likely address.
So, if Mr R. Price. sometime of our area, is reading this, could I invite him to come and cut his trees back,
please........!

And the weather this winter....?

There was a short clip about this weather forecasting site on the radio this morning. Apparently, this is a forecasting service which gets it right  when all the others get it wrong, which is a bit of a disappointment really, because it seems that we are in for another hard winter, particularly in February, although at least by then we will be able to look forward to spring.
After last winter, I rather thought we might deserve a milder one this year, but I suppose it doesn't really work like that. Mind you, there is a degree of satisfaction in pitting oneself against the challenges of the snow and ice, but it is an occupation which soon palls, especially when the crisp white snow turns to grey sludge and, however much I try to view the winter months positively, I don't easily succeed. I was born in the summer and my favourite time of year is late spring, when there is warmth in the air and a promise of hot, sunny days. Well, that's the theory, anyway.
Still, when all is said and done, we have to deal with whatever comes but, this time, we could do without the snow.
Watch this space...

Seventies fashion for men?

Seventies fashions, if you can call them that, are making a comeback according to this article in the Independent.
My memories of female seventies fashion is of muddy, sludgy browns and greens and  ill-fitting clothes made in cheap, tatty materials. To my mind, it beat the eighties shoulder pads hands down for bad taste and I can't actually think of anything I liked about it. So please tell me, male fashion gurus who are forecasting the return of seventies style for men, that it does not include flat-fronted viscose trousers, skin-tight fitted shirts with large, pointy collars and white, faux leather  moccasins.
Mind you, I probably don't need to worry about Keith. I think this latest trend will almost certainly pass him by, but if he shows any signs of wanting to grow sideburns again, I shall certainly do my best to guide him in another direction.

Go west, young man!

So he did; Keith I mean. And Paddy and I went with him.
Keith had a job to do on a car in Benllech, over on Anglesey and as the day promised to be fine and dry and Benllech is by the sea, I rashly accepted his invitation to go with him, the idea being that the job would not take very long and then we could go for a walk/cycle in the area.
Wrong!

The job took for ever, although thankfully, was eventually completed successfully. Paddy and I took ourselves off for a walk by the sea for an hour, expecting that, when we got back, the job would be finished, but it wasn't and, by the time it was, it was time to head home,
Still, at least it wasn't raining and even today, when it is, it's not as bad as in Newport.