The Fat Bloke Diaries
Episode Fifty-
Autumn is my favourite season by far.
I love the sudden dramatic change from almost summer to almost winter. I love the
way that the fallen leaves rustle around my feet; I’d start singing of autumn’s golden
gown if I were an old hippy. And I absolutely adore the crisp, clear nights, when
it’s chilly enough to bring my big coat out of the wardrobe but not yet cold enough
for ice.
Country walks on autumnal evenings are a long-
Everything seems more vital and alive in the third quarter of the year,
especially when illuminated by a full harvest moon. The corn and the badger, the
tiny field mouse and the mighty oak; they all have their part to play in the rural
Britain of the Green Man. Spring is always talked of as the season of new life. Autumn
is the time when that life comes into adulthood, every creature in peak condition
preparing to survive the tough winter ahead. It’s like the old gods have been granted
a reprieve, just for a few weeks, to press through into our reality in this run-
The cloudless nights are still pleasantly
nippy, and if you can get away from the glow of modern cities the skies light up.
In autumn the heavens seem so much clearer. Stars, planets, satellites and aeroplanes
all shine with a renewed brilliance, and every so often there’s a shuttle or orbiting
space station passing overhead if you know where – and when – to look. Mind you,
these technological wonders can bring dangers of their own. More than once I’ve watched
a man-
Every time this happens I’m so mesmerised and
stupid that I forget to turn around. I lean back, trying to follow the bright speck
in the firmament and always lean just that little too far. I’ve yet to fall over,
but I certainly get a little four-
There’s so much happening closer to
home too, as our nocturnal wildlife comes out to play. The other night we were startled
by a tawny owl calling just a few feet away as we walked beside a little grove of
trees. Whether it was a warning that we had approached a little too close I don’t
know, but we certainly took the hint and moved a little distance away. That wouldn’t
have looked so good on my work sickness report form: ‘Shaun can’t come in today,
he’s been mauled by an owl’. And even the blindest of birds would have to be pretty
stupid to mistake me for a gigantic but tasty vole.
And then there was the little
frog, hopping along the pavement. Where he’d come from or was going to I have no
idea. I hope he made it to soggy safety, but somehow I have my doubts. The only water
for miles around is the Jet Wash at the local garage.
My fieldcraft skills definitely
need work though. I always keep an eye out for critters of the night when I’m out
walking after dark, and was recently rewarded by the sight of a beautiful fox trotting
across the village green. It was a gorgeous animal, but probably not one that I should
have pointed out to my drinking buddies in quite such an excited and somewhat tipsy
manner.
Admittedly it was a small fox and it had a very thin tail, which it held
very erect as it proceeded with the world’s fasted nonchalant walk towards the churchyard.
On closer inspection its markings were slightly more tabby than copper, and its eyes
looked strangely like reflective road markers. And I’ve never heard a fox meow and
purr while rubbing against my leg, but it was still a beautiful example of urban
wildlife.
It’s going to take a while to live that one down
© Shaun Finnie 2009