Echocardiogram image (Photo from https://www.thevesey.co.uk/new-patient-information/echocardiogram)

Dear Readers, as you might remember a few years ago I was diagnosed with a congenital heart condition – the valve in my heart that feeds the aorta should have three ‘leaves’ but instead it only has two (bicuspid aortic valve). So far it’s not really caused me any problems – I’m a little more breathless than I think I should be, but that could just be because I’m not as mobile as I was following my broken leg/peripheral neuropathy diagnosis. Anyhoo, once a year I toddle down to the Whittington Hospital to have an echocardiogram – this is an ultrasound of the heart, and enables all sorts of measurements to be taken, which can then be compared to my previous report.

If you have to have a medical procedure, it’s rather a nice one to have – you lay comfortably in a darkened room while someone pushes a probe gently into your ribs and takes a series of photographs. They also listen to your heart as it swishes away. An extra bonus this time was that the person doing the procedure was left handed, so I could see the screen as she went through the process. It was rather lovely seeing my heart lit up in shades of blue and red – it was as if I had a miniature Aurora Borealis going on in my chest. Sadly, the reason for the colours is rather more prosaic – it shows the operator of the machinery the direction and strength of the sound waves. Sigh.

And on 30th January I’m actually going to meet the cardiologist dealing with my case in real life – I’ve had a chat with him, and received a report, but it will be good to actually see him. I want to find out if there’s been any deterioration in my heart function over the past year – over time, this condition can lead to heart failure and clearly I want to avoid that if possible. I also want to get some clarity on exercise – one of the risks with my condition is that the wall of the aorta becomes thinner, and lifting heavy weights could cause an aortic dissection, where the aorta actually splits. Yikes! I’ve been told that I can lift up to a third of my body weight, but it does mean that my promising career as an Olympic weight-lifter has had to go on hold.

In the end, I might need a replacement heart valve, but even this isn’t as bad as it sounds – in the past it would have meant open-heart surgery, but these days they can do a procedure rather like popping in a stent – they go in through an incision in the groin and manoeuvre the new valve into place. Doesn’t exactly sound like a bundle of laughs, but then neither is heart failure. Anyhow, let’s see what the cardiologist says at the end of the month, and do shout if you have any experience with heart conditions – there are so many of us about that we should definitely form a club!

Olympic weightlifter Kuo Hsing-chun lifting 105 kg at the Paris 24 Olympics. She won’t have to worry about me! (Photo By 教育部體育署, Attribution, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=151473490)

Drunk Raccoon in Virginia (Photo from https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2025/dec/03/drunk-raccoon-virginia-liquor-store)

Dear Readers, it’s that time of year when the late-night tube is full of people who are, shall we say, a little the worst for wear, but this raccoon took things a bit too far when he or she found themselves in a liquor store in Virginia after falling through the ceiling.

The liquor store! (https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2025/dec/03/drunk-raccoon-virginia-liquor-store)

The poor raccoon was scooped up, allowed to recover, and then released back into ‘the wild’. I love what the staff at the rescue agency said:

“After a few hours of sleep and zero signs of injury (other than maybe a hangover and poor life choices), he was safely released back to the wild, hopefully having learned that breaking and entering is not the answer,”

However, this incident is one of many, many raccoon-based felonies (being a regular visitor to Toronto I’ve posted about this before, here and here ), and there is growing evidence that hanging around people is changing the appearance of raccoons. In many animals, domestication is linked to physical changes which are genetically linked to increased friendliness and a reduction in aggression – these include a shorter muzzle, floppy ears and ‘piebald’ (black and white) colouration. It appears that urban raccoons have shorter muzzles than their rural cousins. Foxes show a similar reduction in snout length but, interestingly, cats do not. Then again, I remain to be convinced that cats have ‘really’ been domesticated – I’m sure they’re just taking advantage of their human butlers/servants, and are more than capable of looking after themselves.

For now, though, let’s just be grateful that raccoons haven’t developed opposable thumbs. Yet.

Photo by By Darkone – Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=260394

Dear Readers, I might have mentioned that my Open University course includes a number of projects on ecosystem services this year – an estimation of the amount of money that having trees saves us in terms of carbon captured, flooding ameliorated and air quality improved. So my first task has been to measure some trees. By looking at the circumference of the trunk plus the species, it’s possible to estimate the size of the canopy and the overall bulk of the tree.

So, off we go with a notebook and a tape measure into the wild streets of East Finchley, First up we measure ten trees in the County Roads – these are rows of Victorian terraces, narrow residential streets with a lot of character. The trees are a fine  mixture of species – crab apples and cherries predominate, but there are also hawthorns and rowans, and more recent trees such as crape myrtle, shadberry and hibiscus.  However, these are also small trees, with a maximum circumference of 101 cms. In total, they store about 1500 kgs of carbon dioxide, and remove about 190 grams of particulates from the air every year.

A Rowan tree on the County Roads

But then today my husband and I measured some of the street trees along the High Road, and enormous bruisers they are. Mostly these are London Plane trees, with some large lime trees further north, and a lone ginkgo tree.

Well, some of these trees were so enormous that I couldn’t get my tape measure round them, with a maximum circumference of 332 centimetres. When I plug in the calculations for these ten trees, it turns out that they’ve sequestered a whopping 12,000 kilograms of carbon dioxide so far.

Converted to monetary value, the trees on the County Roads have saved us £94 so far, while the ones on the High Road have saved us £757.

Now, if I had to choose between the trees on the High Road and the trees on the County Roads with my accountant’s hat on, it’s clear that the High Road trees would win – they sequester more carbon, and also alleviate more flooding and improve air quality to a greater degree. However, the calculations don’t include the costs incurred by such large trees – they need to be pollarded regularly, the London Planes are a major cause of hay fever, and their roots may sometimes impinge on buildings and sewers.

What also isn’t taken into account is the biodiversity value of the trees involved. London Plane trees provide nesting and roosting sites for birds, but that is about it. Crab apples, cherries and rowans provide food for a wide range of insects, their fruit and blossom is eaten by birds, and all in all they provide a much wider range of habitats and feeding opportunities than the trees on the High Road.

In the hypothetical scenario that we were presented with, it wasn’t possible to save some High Road trees, and some County Roads trees – it was all or nothing. What a conundrum! I love the way the temperature drops when you walk under the London Plane trees on your way home from the station on a hot summer day. I love the way that the starlings have chosen one of the Plane trees to roost in, and the way that they swirl around it before they settle down. But I also love the audible hum of bees in the cherry blossom, and the way that the parakeets munch on the crab apples. In terms of saving the planet from a climate change point of view, I should probably save the High Road trees, but that can feel as if it’s about just saving ourselves, rather than saving the whole range of living things that we share the planet with.

So, I shall crunch some more numbers and knock up a few graphs and see if there’s any way of coming to an answer that I’m comfortable with. If nothing else, it gives some insight into the difficult decisions that will have to be made going forward, though hopefully not too many of them will actually involve cutting down trees. If this exercise has shown anything, it’s that we need all the trees we can get.

Dear Readers, it was a bit of a shock to come back from Namibia and to discover that Christmas was nearly upon us, but I am getting into the swing of things, and on Thursday I met my friend S in the cafe at the Sunshine Garden Centre. In December most of the place is taken up with Christmas trees (you can see just a few of them in the left and right-hand corners of the photo above). I asked one of the chaps who work there if they actually managed to sell all of the trees.

“Last year we closed on 23rd of December, and we had three trees left” he said.

Wow. The good burghers of Muswell Hill and Bounds Green must have a real liking for Norway Spruce. Anyhow, here is some of the wisdom that I picked up from the very helpful chap.

1. Underfloor heating is a nightmare for Christmas trees (after all, they’re used to the cold and damp outside). If you have such a thing, you need to lay down some tinfoil to the same diameter as the lowest branches, and put a mat on top – this should protect the tree from the heat
2. Cut a bit of the trunk off when you get the tree and stick it in a bucket of warm (not cold!) water so that it has a bit of a drink before it all dries up.

The chap also expressed a preference for branches of Eucalyptus in the house, because of the fresh smell. Who knew?

And then it was off to the cafe, past squadrons of cyclamen and bunches of mistletoe. And because it’s nearly Christmas, a gingerbread latte was essential.

Incidentally, am I the only person in the world who didn’t like the sound of ‘pumpkin-spiced’ drinks because who wants coffee that tastes of pumpkin? Maybe it’s just me.

Oh, and on Wednesday I went to see ‘A Christmas Carol’ at the Old Vic. What a joy it was! There were free mince pies and satsumas, some splendid carols and a bit of hand-bell ringing, all the usual ghosts and Scrooge’s change of heart. At one point there were brussels sprouts on tiny parachutes, and at another point there was a positive snow storm. It was all a bit anarchic and over the top, but when Tiny Tim said ‘God bless us, every one’ there was not a dry eye in the house. And if that doesn’t put you in the mood for Christmas, I don’t know what will.

At the Old Vic for A Christmas Carol

Okonjima at sunset…

Dear Readers, for our last day in Namibia we went out into the reserve at Okonjima, and headed up the local mountain to watch the sun go down. As we bumped up in the jeep, a troop of Chacma baboons ran away from us – the primates here are not habituated to humans, and so they largely avoid us, which is good for them, and for us. They headed towards their favourite tree, which is where they spend the night to avoid the leopards. Leopards can, of course, climb trees, but the monkeys would be able to see them coming from a fair distance.

One young baboon did keep an eye on us though, as crisps and gin-and-tonics were unloaded from the jeep. He seemed to be indifferent, but I suspect he’d have grabbed a few nibbles given half a chance.

The sun goes down so quickly here, and the colours are constantly changing.

By the end, the baboon tree glows crimson, and the baboons are silhouetted against the sky.

I had been a little frightened about coming to Namibia – it was my first ‘big trip’ since I broke my leg and discovered that I had peripheral neuropathy, with only an estimated 20 percent feeling in my feet. And yet, I coped with dunes, rocky paths, clambering in and out of vehicles and all the trip hazards in various lodges and camps. I ended the trip feeling much more confident than I started it, and I’m already thinking about my next trip. Cheers!

Greater Kudu

For our last two nights in Namibia, we were in Okonjima, a private reserve of some 220 square kilometres. It was originally a cattle  farm, but the family who owned it became increasingly concerned by the amount of human/leopard conflict, and in the 1990s they turned the place into a reserve. It is home to 33 leopard who have been extensively studied – some are collared, and are tracked by telemetry. I’m always a bit torn in these situations, but the scientist in me realises that the information obtained can be very useful in trying to understand leopards and to protect them. Plus, the leopards that we found seemed extremely relaxed: one male barely flicked an ear when we drove up.

We also found a female with cub, who was equally indifferent to our presence, at least on the face of it.

But wonderful as it was to see the leopards, they weren’t the highlight for me: the bat-eared foxes were wonderful. I’d never seen them before, and the cubs look like little Yodas. They make their dens in termite mounds, and we saw two families, one with two pups and one with three. As with most foxes, the male and female look after the cubs. In both cases, the male ran off and watched from a safe difference, while the female stayed put and kept an eye on things.

I only wished I’d gotten some video of these little heads popping up and down, but you get the general idea I’m sure. What exquisite little creatures these are! They live mostly on beetles, crickets and other grassland invertebrates.

There were, of course, birds too, and I rather fell in love with these Go-Away birds. They are members of the Turaco family, but are rather more austerely coloured than their rainforest relatives. The name relates to their call, and I suspect that they are the ruination of many a hunt, animal and human, with their habit of alarm-calling at the slightest sign of trouble.

I really loved Okonjima, and in the afternoon there was a chance to relax. It’s the only place I’ve ever been where it’s possible to birdwatch from the bed. This was the view from our window…

And here’s a view at sunset. What an absolute treat, and what a place to spend our last days in Namibia.

Dear Readers, as we came towards the end of our  holiday we had a full day drive across Etosha National Park. What a joy it was! The recent storms meant that everything was greening up, and there was water for anyone who wanted it. I have never seen so many giraffes in one place. At one point we counted twelve, and more were popping up all the time.

We had the chance to sit and watch another bull elephant peacefully munching on the acacia leaves.

And here was Namibia’s National Antelope again, the Gemsbok or Oryx.

Gemsbok/Oryx

But often it’s the drama around the smaller animals that is interesting. This Pale Chanting Goshawk had found something to eat under a ball of elephant dung, maybe a lizard, but whatever it was was hanging on for grim death (as well it might). In the end the bird flew off in frustration, and whatever was under the dung lived for another day.

But then, we saw this….

Vultures were circling, which usually means something has died, and often means there’s a predator about.

A group of vultures were on the ground, their numbers swelling every minute. They were all looking to the right.

It looked as if a cheetah had killed something, probably one of the many Springbok lambs.

Cheetahs have an extremely hard life – they are not big enough to defend their prey from bigger animals, such as leopards or hyenas, and even vultures can drive them off of their kill when there are enough of them. At the moment it was a stand off, but not, I suspect, for long. I just hope that the cheetah had eaten enough for its purposes.

And finally, look at this! These plants were starting into bloom all over Etosha and are members of the Amaryllis family – this particular species is known as the Karoo Lily. Ammocharis means ‘delight of the sandy plains’ and so it is. Namibia is full of surprises!

Probably Ammocharis coranica, the Karoo Lily

Welwitschia mirabilis in the Namib Desert

Dear Readers, it would be easy to drive past this unprepossessing plant, growing by the roadside in the Namib Desert. But what a shame that would be, for the Welwitschia is not only one of the longest-lived plants in the world, with some individuals being an estimated two thousand years old, but it also forms an interesting transitional point between flowering plants and gymnosperms (ferns and conifers).

Welwitschia plants have only two leaves, which grow from the centre of the plant and become increasingly long and frayed as it grows. The plants can be male or female, and, where we saw them, they appeared to alternate between male and female plants. The plants produce cones but these are insect-pollinated, usually by flies.

For a while, it was thought that Welwitschia was essentially a seedling that didn’t develop further, because of its two leaves. However, further studies have shown that the plant does, in fact, produce an ‘apical stem’ (the central stem that we see in most plants once they’ve developed their first two leaves), but that this dies back, leaving the two leaves to just get bigger and bigger around a ‘crown’ where the cones are produced. The two leaves can reach a length of up to 4 metres, although the plant never gets above a metre and a half in height. It probably gets all its water from fog, ephemeral lakes and the odd torrential downpour.

Although the plant looks decidedly inedible, the crown is sometimes roasted by the Herero people, who call it ‘the onion of the desert’. And if you look closely at the coat of arms of Namibia, you can see a Welwitschia in the yellow plaque at the bottom….

What a survivor this plant is! It’s found only in the Namib, and although it might not be as impressive to look at as a desert-adapted elephant, it’s every bit as doughty and resilient. Frayed and dusty, it survives and even thrives in conditions that would make toast of most living organisms. What an honour to have met it!

Twyfelfontein

Dear Readers, after spending time at Swakopmund we headed north to Damaraland, to see the rock engravings at Twyfelfontein. The Afrikaans name means ‘uncertain spring’, and indeed this is an area of very low rainfall. The Damara name is ‘ǀUi-ǁAis’, which means ‘jumping waterhole’. You can see just how important water is, and has always been, to this region.

I’d been a bit worried about how my leg and feet would hold out on this trip, and this walk was perhaps the sternest challenge – it was very hot, and the path was rocky, steep and in places precipitous. At one point I wasn’t sure if I could make a particularly tricky section, only to be hoisted up by John and another strong chap from the tour. I was so glad I managed it (with a bit of help), because look….

The rocks are covered in engravings dating between 6,000 and 2,000 years old. In the one above you  an see a giraffe, some ostrich and various antelopes – it’s thought that this might a) have served the practical purpose of letting people know what animals were about, and/or b) have served a shamanic purpose, to encourage success in hunting.

The image of the lion, below, has puzzled scholars for quite a while. The ‘lion’ with the long tail is thought to have human toes, while the long, kinked tail has either a pugmark or a face at the end. You can also see a very fine giraffe, an elephant, a rhino and another ostrich.

Clearer photo of ‘the lion man’ by By Thomas Schoch – own work at http://www.retas.de/thomas/travel/namibia2003/index.html, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=726303

Well, after all that excitement it was time to go and see if we could find the famous desert-adapted elephants who live in the area. These are the same species as other Namibian elephants, but they seem to be able to manage on less water. However, when they find water they enjoy it as much as any other elephant, and one of the local villages has built an enormous water tank so that the elephants can drink.

We caught up with them just before lunch, and were able to spend a wonderful half an hour watching them.

Baby elephant playing with his sibling

Baby elephant playing with his sibling.

It’s always such a pleasure to spend time watching animals going about their business, and the water tank means that the elephants have a reliable source of water when they pass this way, which is only occasionally – we were very lucky indeed. They are a bonus for the villagers too, who benefit from the tourists who pass by to see if the elephants are about, and who will stop to buy from the local shop. It’s a win-win for everyone, and a much better source of regular revenue than that that comes from a big-game hunter – most of the money from hunting goes to the local elites, whereas this money is spread more equally. It’s so important for local people to get benefit from conservation measures: these are some of the poorest people in the world. Here, at least, it feels as if things are working.

A fine row of elephant bottoms!