Dear Readers, it’s strange, but when I’ve got a trip coming up I always feel neither here nor there, as if I can’t really concentrate on anything. But a good remedy for that is a walk around St Pancras and Islington Cemetery – it’s one of the few places around here where you can really see the sky (which always reminds me of being in Africa, where the sky seems to go on forever). I was also curious to see how the place was holding up following the drought.

Well, the clay soil is cracking open in lots of places, and many of the paths, even the recently-laid tarmac ones, are full of  cracks. I’m guessing that trees will get the blame for much of the subsidence and heave in London, but actually it’s mostly down to the geology. In fact, taking trees out can make the soil rebound as there’s nothing to soak up the rain when it does come. But there we go. The only winners here are the insurance companies.

My favourite swamp cypress is doing very well, and is even producing seeds this year.

And many of the rose bushes also seem to have done very well, especially the native dog roses and many other species too. The hips will be much appreciated by the Redwings and Fieldfares when they get here shortly.

The grass is still looking very sad, but we’ve had a few showers over the last few days, and some patches are already greening up. I’ve noted before how resilient some of the native daisy plants are, and there are lots of examples of plants that, although smaller and more stunted than usual, have managed to produce flowers.

And where there’s been a little  bit of rain, the birds-foot trefoil has sprung into flower.

So, although the plants look a bit tired and sad, there’s still plenty of life here. There were lots of green woodpeckers yaffling too – I imagine digging for ants (their usual food) has been hard, but a bit of rain will loosen everything up. Talking of ants, I’ve had several incursions of the little chaps into the house when the summer was at its hottest, maybe scouting further afield because of the lack of food. But there’s a definite whiff of autumn in the air already, and the prematurely-fallen leaves are scrunching underfoot all through the cemetery. By the time I get back from South Africa, my thoughts will definitely be turning towards the end of the year.

Dear Readers,  I am very excited to tell you about an upcoming adventure that I’m hoping to share with you all. Later this week, I’m off on a group tour of the Western Cape in South Africa – as this is mostly concerned with plants, my husband is staying at home. Our route is above, and I’ll be gone for about 14 days in total, including two long flights.

I am  slightly apprehensive, as this will be my first ‘solo’ holiday since I broke my leg back in 2024. In fact, I was originally planning to go to Svalbard, but the combination of rough seas and slippery icy landings made me think this wasn’t the most sensible plan. On the other hand, walking amongst the flowers of the Cape in spring is a very pleasant alternative, and I will be fascinated by the variety of ecosystems that we explore. I am ready to learn a lot, and to make friends with some other plant fanatics. I have been to South Africa before, but only for work (with one brief expedition to the Kruger many years ago), so I am looking forward to acquainting myself with this magnificent part of the world.

I am hoping that I’ll be able to blog as I go along, but please don’t worry if I miss a day – there’s always the chance of no Wi-Fi, exhaustion or, indeed, too much of the Cape’s delicious food and wine.

In the meantime, there’s packing to do, and last minute ‘things’ to sort out. But here’s a taste of what I hope to see…

Dear Readers, while I was in Austria this year, I was berating myself for knowing enough German to order a ‘black tea with milk’ and not much more. But many of my friends had been extolling the virtues of Duolingo, and so I thought I’d give it a go. Well, Readers, clearly it isn’t designed for exactly my demographic, as I find myself having a ‘video call’ with a bear called Falstaff, and another with a chippy teenager called Lily. But it is rather a lot of fun, and I find I can now say all sorts of useful things in German. I can ask where the airport is, and  say that I’ve lost my passport. I can tell someone that their apartment is bright and empty. Who knew that the German for ‘bright’ is ‘hell’? I can say that my brother is nice and also funny. I can say that I’m hungry, thirsty and have a fever. And a cough.

But what entertains me most is making up unlikely sentences. I could tell you that my sick rabbit is in the bathroom, that your various relatives are cheap but athletic, and that my horse likes to hike and to do yoga. I can tell you that the doctor is small but expensive. I could even tell you that the bakery is in Canada. Whether I’d remember any German at all in the face of a real German or Austrian person, who wasn’t a bear, I have no idea.

When I was desperately learning French  for my trip to an ape sanctuary in Cameroon, I used Rosetta Stone, an altogether more grown up app, but I supplemented it with real classes, with a real teacher. I had been terrified out of learning any languages at school, where our French teacher, Mr Partridge, was rumoured to have occasional bouts of malaria. He also had a ‘friend’ in Morocco that nobody talked about. The slightest confusion between la and le, and you were toast. As a result, we all spoke French in an indeterminate mumble, in the hope that our transgressions wouldn’t be picked up. Alas, Mr Partridge was like a mistaken-noun-gender-seeking rocket, and we would be humiliated roundly. No wonder we all hated French. At one point we had a rather lovely French teaching assistant, who was  actually French. Instead of making us feel small, she would praise us for what we did get right. On one occasion, she brought in Brie and Camembert for us East End kids to taste, and we loved her so much that we actually tried it. Sadly, she left after only a few months, and we all dropped languages at the first available opportunity. I so hope that language teaching is better now, because I can think of few things more useful than having several languages under our belts.

So, I am rather enjoying Duolingo, even though my conversations are all bear-based. At least the bear listens carefully and corrects gently, so I don’t feel too much of an idiot. Is anybody else out there learning a language, through an app or by any other method? Let’s give one another a pat on the back. After all, in addition to being good for entente cordiale, learning a new language is one of the things that most helps to stave off creeping cognitive decline, according to multiple sources.

Well, Readers, having thought about how some of my reading time has been ambushed by doom-scrolling instead, I have been getting stuck in to both fiction and non-fiction this month. I am really enjoying ‘Homer Haunted’ by Henry Power – in the midst of all the excitement about Christopher Nolan’s film, I was glad to read a book which explains many of the different ways in which Homer’s epics have influenced subsequent writers. It starts with George Chapman, who translated the Odyssey and the Iliad back in the 16th century, and ends with living authors. He shows how the times in which the translators, authors and poets lived influenced what they took from the cornucopia which is Homer’s work, and how Homer continues to influence us to the present day. It’s very readable, and I’ve found myself learning all sorts of things, which is always refreshing. Highly recommended if you have the slightest interest in Homer.

Now, for fiction I’ve been piling through the Booker Longlist, so here’s the verdict so far. First up is Elizabeth Strout’s ‘The Things We Never Say’.

I like Elizabeth Strout’s work – she writes about a small community in Massachusetts, and about the relationships between the people there, but this makes her books sound cosy and domestic. They are domestic, but existential rather than cosy – behind the straightforwardness of the events, there’s a whole world of pain, loneliness and confusion. And yet, there’s always hope, of a sort. I enjoyed this book a lot, but while I’d like to see Strout win, after being short-listed several times, I’m not sure that this book is ‘different’ enough to tip the balance this year.

Next up was ‘The Vivisectors’ by Missouri Williams. I was pleased that it wasn’t about actual animal experimentation, but it is a campus novel, of an extremely strange kind. The protagonist (we don’t learn her name until about half way through the book) is a young woman working for one of the professors at the university. It feels a bit like one of Italo Calvino’s imaginary cities, but here the vegetation is always threatening to take over, and is only held back by The Gardeners, who are an idiosyncratic lot. There are individual scenes in this book that really gave me pause, images that are striking and moving, but I’m not sure that it all adds up to a coherent whole. I admired it, but I’m not sure I was involved with it. Like the protagonist, I felt as if I was watching from the outside, and maybe that’s the point.

I’ve been interested to see that way that science fiction has been becoming more mainstream  over the past couple of decades, following Margaret Atwood’s cry that she didn’t write science fiction, even though she clearly did. ‘The End of Everything’ was my first M.John Harrison, and what a strange, dystopian novel it is. The world has been invaded by aliens known as the I-Ghetti, and they seem to play with everyone’s memories and sense of reality in a way that seems strangely familiar, what with all the gas-lighting and misinformation that’s currently flying around. The coastal towns of Kent and Essex, where much of the action is set, feel both familiar and utterly strange. And then there are the ‘artefacts’, who in some ways seem more human than us. Very disquieting and thought-provoking, with moments of violence described in such a deadpan way that I had to go back and check that what I thought I’d read had actually happened. The reader is wrong-footed and confused, but so are the characters in the book.

Now, I am really enjoying ‘John of John’ by Douglas Stuart. Stuart won the Booker Prize in  2020 with ‘Shuggie Bain’, and  I suspect he could be on to another winner with this book. The story tells of the return of John-Calum Macleod, a down-on-his-luck art student returning to the island of Harris, where his father John is a fierce Presbyterian minister, and his granny Ella, a Glaswegian with plenty of opinions of her own,  lives with his father. The whole sense of island life, the weather, the landscape, is all beautifully evoked, but it’s the characters and the dialogue that really makes this book sing. The sense of both community, and the claustrophobia that comes from everyone knowing everything about you makes this tale feel like a pressure-cooker, just about to explode. What secrets will be exposed, and how will the story resolve?  Well, I won’t spoil it for you when I find out, but just to say that of the books I’ve read so far, this would be my highest recommendation.

Four books down, nine to go. And two not even published yet! You can see the whole longlist here. But do let me know what your recommendations are! I love a good book….

Well Readers, as I headed off towards Coldfall Wood for a late night spider walk (of which more later this week) I was interrupted by the sound of magpies. I’m used to seeing family groups around, but this was more of a magpie convention.

At one point I counted twelve magpies, all chattering away to one another, and clearly engaged by something in the gardens behind Durham Road.

Now, I’ve seen family groups of magpies gathering in the autumn before, and I’ve seen them trying to force wood pigeons or even pairs of crows to leave their nests, but this was the biggest gathering I’ve ever seen. Or maybe I’ve just not been paying enough attention.

A few thoughts occur to me. One is that there is less imperative to be territorial for birds once breeding is over for the year, and there might be a big advantage in banding together to look for food. A lot of food sources have diminished this year, what with the drought, and this could lead to larger groups of birds – many eyes are better than a few when it comes to spotting an opportunity.

Another theory is that birds spend the ‘off-season’ sizing up one another as potential mates for next year, in which case this gathering is the equivalent of the school discos that I used to go to, though with less crying in the cloakroom and snogging in dark corners.

Birds, especially corvids, will also often band together if there’s a predator around, particularly a bird of prey, a heron or an owl. In fact, locally one of the best ways of spotting a buzzard or a red kite is to watch for lots of crows heading noisily in one direction. This seemed much more like a social gathering, however, and my bet is that some lovely person on Durham Road had either deliberately or inadvertently popped out some food, which the birds had just spotted.

Whatever the reason, it seems that animals that live in large social groups are often more able to solve problems than animals of the same species that live in smaller groups – I imagine that having more complex situations to deal with helps to develop the part of the brain that needs to adapt to and take advantage of what’s going on. There’s some evidence that urban animals, particularly foxes, are also becoming more ‘intelligent’ because they have more challenges to deal with. I am a bit uncomfortable with the whole notion of ‘intelligence’ when applied to animals, because all too often it means that we value animals that seem to think like us more than animals that are more alien. Plus, how on earth do we judge? I remember that tortoises were thought not to be as intelligent as some other animals until the scientists realised that they needed wider mazes with less acute angles, at which point their performance drastically improved. Also, looking at the state of much of the world at the moment it would be difficult to argue that we’re an intelligent species, but there we go.

Harrumph! Rant over.

And over to you, Readers. Have you noticed anything unusual with your local fauna, and if so, what do you think is going on?

‘Creation of Light’ by Gustave Dore, Public Domain

Dear Readers, this is the third and last poem that I remember my Mother reciting for me when I was a child: she knew it as ‘On His Blindness’. There is some debate over whether the ‘talent’ that Milton is talking about is his poetic talent, or his ability to translate documents from foreign languages, which was his job at the Commonwealth Office (and would have been impossible to do without sight I imagine), but clearly blindness is a theme. And the last line has been used so many times, in so many contexts, that it’s almost a shock to find it here. See what you think.

Sonnet 19: When I consider how my light is spent

By John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Buffy-headed marmoset (Callithrix flaviceps) Photo By Peter Schoen – Flickr, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23826246

Dear Readers, there has been a lot of bad and depressing news around lately, so it felt well past time to have a good news story. And here it is! One of the big problems in the Amazon basin is that roads have been built through rainforest habitats. This fragmentation can bring its own problems: seeds that are dispersed by animals, such as many nuts and seeds, don’t travel from one side of the road to the other, and animals that can’t fly are trapped in their forest ‘silos’ and can’t interbreed. But one of the most visible and distressing effects of the roads is that many animals are killed while crossing: nearly nine million mammals are killed every year in Brazil.

Enter the charity Project Reconecta. Their founder, Brazilian biologist Fernanda Alba, has been pioneering the use of low-cost, easy-to-maintain road bridges in the forest canopy. Each bridge has a camera at each end, so that the animals using the bridges can be monitored.

Eight bridges were put in place in Alta Foresta, a small town in the Mato Grosso in Brazil, in 2024. In the eighteen months following their implementation, over 15,000 crossings were recorded, and not a single road kill.

Some species take to them straight away:

Black-faced Black Spider Monkey (Ateles chamek) Photo from https://wildexpedition.com/animals/black-faced-black-spider-monkey/ )

Purus Red Howler Monkey (Alouatta puruensis) Photo By D. Gordon E. Robertson – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17566490

Schneider’s Marmoset (Photo By Diego Silva – Costa-Araújo, R., Silva-Jr., J.S., Boubli, J.P. et al. An integrative analysis uncovers a new, pseudo-cryptic species of Amazonian marmoset (Primates: Callitrichidae: Mico) from the arc of deforestation. Sci Rep 11, 15665 (2021). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-021-93943-w, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=108190797)

Alta Foresta Titi Monkey (Plectourocebus grovesii) Photo By Reuber Brandão – https://www.inaturalist.org/photos/466559914, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=194054982

The Alta Foresta Titi monkey in the last photo was only discovered by Western science in 2019, and is critically endangered, so it was a real joy to see them using the bridges.

Back  in 2021, Project Reconecta put 21 bridges into the area between the Brazilian states of Amazonas and Roriama, with the help of the indigenous Waimiri-Atroari people, who advised on the best places to put the bridges. This enabled the project team to note which animals used which bridges: the best used were the longest ones, possibly because the primates could jump across any shorter junctions. Some animals took a long time to feel happy about using the bridges: the Tufted Capuchins (Sapajus apella) took up to seven months before they felt confident about crossing, showing that the benefit of the bridges may reveal itself gradually over time.

Tufted Capuchin (Photo By Basile Morin – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=74555820)

It wasn’t just primates who used the bridges either: sloths, opossums and mouse opossums have also been seen using them.

Project Reconecta has big plans, and has received a number of awards for its innovative bridge designs: these are now the recommended standard for highway crossings, and Alba is working on projects in the Pantanal (where the ‘highway of death, the BR-262, kills 2,000 animals a year) and Suriname, as well as other regions in the Brazilian Amazon. The success of these projects is largely down to the involvement of everyone locally: as Alba says:

“When everyone is involved, everyone values the initiative and works harder to make it succeed.”

Let’s hope that this initiative continues to help bring animal communities together, and reduces the number of deaths of animals on the road.

Dear Readers, on Saturday we went on a Bat Walk in Coldfall Wood, with Cindy Blaney, bat expert and ecologist. As Friends of Coldfall Wood, we’ve been organising this walk every year for about a decade. We usually run two events, one for families with small children, and one for adults and older children, and they are always well-attended – there’s something about walking around the woods at night that gives one a whole new perspective, and it’s always good to see the bats. Coldfall is home to Pipistrelles and some Noctule bats. We normally see them above the wet woodland, where they flitter around catching mosquitoes, and even if we don’t see them, we can hear them using the Bat Detectors that Cindy provides.

Common noctule (Nyctalus noctula ) Photo By Mnolf – Photo taken in Rum, Austria, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=872955

Common Pipistrelle (Pipistrellus pipistrellus) Photo By Drahkrub – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8802172)

At this point, I should say that we have never not seen bats in the wood. As we wander around, trying to avoid tripping over logs or falling into ditches, we start to hear the distinctive clicks of the Pipistrelles on our bat detectors. If we’re very lucky, we might even hear the deeper, slower sounds of a Noctule on the playing fields behind the wood.

This short film shows a bat detector picking up the calls of a Pipistrelle…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swFxJOcV5h0

…and this is a Noctule feeding over water.

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1413233189327497

Now, we did pick up some Pipistrelles, but we didn’t see a single bat, and as it got darker even those  bat sounds disappeared. Cindy speculated that because it has been so hot and dry, there are fewer insects in the wood – many places in the wet woodland are pretty much dry. When the bats emerge in the evening, therefore, they head out as quickly as possible to see if they can find food over more guaranteed sources of food, where there is still water – some bats can travel as far as 25 kilometres in an evening. I’d be interested to know if there’s been more success in places such as Alexandra Palace, where there’s a lake, or some of the other local water sources.

It was a disappointment not to see the bats, but it does remind me that when you spot a wild animal, it’s a privilege, not a right. And I’m off to see if I can find some bat boxes for the garden. There’s a small water source here, so it should provide at least some food. It feels as if our wildlife has never needed us more.

So, Readers, how are the bats doing where you are?