Showing posts from November, 2019

Evidence if it were needed that Fran will never be a naturalist

While we were having breakfast today, I looked out of the window at the garden. 'Quick! Look!' I said to my husband. 'There's a squirrel trying to ram raid the bird feeder.' He ran to the window. 'Which one?' he said. Eh? I said, 'I don't know. How am I  supposed to know all their names?' 'No, which bird  feeder?' he said. Ah. Of course. For a moment there, I thought he'd mistaken me for Francis of Assisi, not Fran of Leamington Spa. We have two bird feeders. They are meant to be squirrel proof but that doesn't stop the rodents from attempting entry. They wrap themselves round the bird feeder, hanging on for grim death, while trying to access the contents. They try every which way: upside-down, downside-up, or suspending themselves from it by their claws, swinging the bird feeder from side to side wildly like someone on a theme park ride. I wouldn't call myself a bird watcher at all but I do like sitting by the w

Reasons why Fran tries to engage sheep in conversation

I think I have a lot to offer sheep. I leaned on the fence of a nearby field recently and gazed at the flock owned by a local farmer. I told them how cute they were, with their woolly coats and soft black noses, and how glad I was to be there, watching them nibble grass. I was sure the farmer didn't have time to pay them such close attention and I knew they'd be grateful. I explained how sheep were my favourite animals and how much I'd like to hug them, telling them about when I cuddled a fat woolly-woolly sheep once at a wildlife centre and would have married it had this been socially acceptable. I told them how sure I was that my visit to them and my obvious admiration would boost their self-esteem and make them feel proud to be part of the ovine community. One sheep wandered nearer the fence and I felt privileged that it had come closer, clearly uplifted by my presence and wanting to hear more. I fished my phone out to take its picture. Here it is, hanging on m

Reasons why there is less of Fran than there used to be

'I have this lump on my face,' I said to the GP on Monday. She peered at me. Do you ever wonder whether doctors have to bite back quips like, 'Yes, that's your nose' or 'Don't say it too loud or everyone will want one' or 'If we're playing Top Trumps, I have a bigger lump either side of my chest'. After all, it was 5pm, the last appointment of her day, and by then she must have been gagging for some light relief. If I were a GP, I'd struggle with this all the time. Which is probably why it's a good thing I'm not. I may not have had a long career. She found a magnifying glass and put it near my cheek where the lump was. I was pleased it was dark outside because if the sun had been shining into the surgery and caught my cheek at the same time as the magnifying glass, it might have set the lump on fire. I've read my Enid Blyton and my Brownie Handbook, thank you. 'How long's it been there?' the doctor said