
MUSHROOMS, TOADSTOOLS - or ‘puddockstools’ as some folk used say. But a puddock is a frog (I’ve sometimes seen it spelt ‘paddock’), and you don’t get ‘frogstools’. It must all get a bit confusing if you didn’t grow up in ‘Courier’ country. (…read on »)

THE MYSTERIES of nature continue to confound me. Out with the dogs for their morning walk I found an olive green egg lying in the pathway. It couldn’t have been there long because it’s a busy path and it would soon have been trodden on by man or dog. (…read on »)

FLAGS FLUTTERING and banners blowing in the wind – it looked like it might be a film set for a jousting tournament. But monstrous tractors swarming over the fields suggested other things. (…read on »)

THE DOGS and I made a swift executive decision and took ourselves up Glen Esk to blow away the cobwebs and enjoy a bit of space. Walks have to take account of Inka’s long legs and Macbeth’s sawn-off short ones. I spend my time with one eye on Inka to make sure he’s not bounding out of sight, and turning back to urge Macbeth to get a shift on! (…read on »)