The church mouse.

Three o'clock on Sunday afternoon and the governments new emergency alert system has a trial run. Although it had been well advertised the dystopic sound of the siren has both of us leaping to find our i-Phones. I'm left  wondering why the government has decided this is the time to trial its doomsday warning technology.

The strawberry hut down the coast has now closed for the season. We pick up the last three punnets. The farmers two daughters are heading off on holiday before the new term at Oxford starts in mid-October. The eldest is off to Madagascar with her boyfriend. The youngest on a girls trip to Corfu. Both girls exude a bubbly eagerness to get on their respective ways. The farmer is not sure about his eldest daughters 'floppy haired ' boyfriend who shows an aversion to getting up at five to help him clean out the byres.

Peach and pistachio tarts on sale. These are made by a  French lady from Besancon who sets out a Gallic products stall on the market square once a month. 

A group of  village folk are tidying up the war graves in the churchyard. The first week of September marks the anniversary of the declaration of war in 1939 so there's more of the volunteers out than usual . The beds have been mulched and weeded and the edges of the grass trimmed into a straight line. The rose bushes are in bloom and they've decided to put off deadheading them for another four weeks. " They brighten up the place " says a man in an ill fitting Harris Tweed jacket and an unusual duck egg blue padded cap. A middle aged woman is picking up fallen branches and putting them in a wheelbarrow. She chats away to the 'boys' without a hint of embarrassment. Some of the 'boys' have been torpedoed, others sunk by mines, a few killed in crashes at the local Fleet Air Arm airfield. Most are were in their late teens although one is a much decorated 58 year old surgeon with the rank of colonel. He has the same sized tomb as all the others. 

As the group of gardeners move away for a restorative cup of tea in the nave an older woman kisses the tips of her index and middle fingers and runs them lightly across the stone belonging to a far from home New Zealand lieutenant. More than eighty years on and the gratitude is still fresh. Another of those little things about life that are too unimportant for a diary but too important to go unrecognized.

We cut through the back door of the church and head out towards the street via the  porch. A local sheepdog and his master are busy reading the births, weddings and deaths notices. The sheepdog is fixated on a dark corner under a table which may, or may not, be home to a church mouse. 

Rural Scotland moves to a quiet and quite unfashionable tempo all of its own. The same cannot be said for town where the young folk are starting on freshers week. Sunday night has been, from the look of some of the teenagers we pass, a wild first exposure to student life.

They have cormorants in New Jersey. A follow on from yesterdays 'birders' link :https://eu.northjersey.com/picture-gallery/news/2021/04/24/hawthorne-photographer-holly-cowen-finds-perfect-niche-birds/7356122002/

Style in Savannah :https://thedouglas.com/

This guy always looks on the bright side of life :https://newsletter.humanprogress.org/p/half-baked-crisis-we-arent-going

Which country will have the most people ? :https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11113-025-09966-y

A very English YouTube channel of someone who stops at small churches to play  their organs :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FU2B4ebbp8Y&list=RDFU2B4ebbp8Y&start_radio=1