Sunday, May 03, 2009
RSPB
Having had a pop at RSPB from time to time, that well known recipient of bequests which would have once found their way to the good old CofE, I thought I ought to record a very pleasant visit last week to their Foulmere reserve. We did not see very many birds - although we did manage one clutch of ducklings which pleased the BH - but we heard a lot and the fen like landscape was both peaceful and interesting. Interesting in that, inter alia, the landscape was managed, perhaps as much as Epsom Common (another subject for popping), but in an unintrusive way. One was not walking through a moonscape. One aspect of this was a very clear chalk stream, perhaps the River Shep, the management of which included lining the banks, below water level that is, with bundles of twigs. The stream also contained the remains of watercress cultivation and quite a lot of pale brown fish, perhaps upto a foot long.
On the CofE point, I should also say that finding the RSPB accounts was entirely straightforward. Just ask the search on the home page for accounts and up they come. It seems that their annual income is of the order of £100m, about of quarter of this being bequests and that their worth is about £120m, with nearly all of this being the value (how calculated one wonders) of their nature reserves. About £25m a year is spent on conservation work on existing reserves and a much smaller sum, perhaps £10m a year is spent on buying new ones. So not quite such a big operation as I had thought. Perhaps most of their reserves are on marginal land, the agricultural value of which is small.
Before we checked out of the Cambridge Holiday Inn this morning (somewhat to the north of Cambridge, just outside a village called Histon, next to my childhood village of Girton), we declined to fill in their happy sheet. But I think I ought to record our thoughts on the subject nonetheless. Item 1, this fairly new, low rise hotel had no lifts. OK, so I did not think to ask, but I had just assumed that lifts were part of the Holiday Inn package - this being a chain which used to replicate from one site to another with an altogether obsessive concern about maintaining the standard. Something I came to see the point of when travelling tired. Quite nice to turn up at a hotel which one had never been to before, but the layout and contents of which one knew in advance. Item 2, bread terrible. The only choice was cheap white bread or croissant. Not a roll in site. I was reduced to bringing in my own. Not that that was all that much better. Although the Barkers of my childhood still existed, to the extent of spreading to neighbouring villages, their bread was no longer up to much. The usual provincial stuff, probably made in too much of a hurry with the wrong sort of flour. Item 3, it was nice to have a large lake to walk around, but a pity about the litter left around by overnighting fishermen, some of whom, at least, sounded Polish (as did some of the chambermans at the hotel). Lots of bottles, tins and plastic of various shapes, purposes and sizes scattered around the remains of camp fires. I was moved to play the litter bore, one bit of plastic being an entire Tesco carrier bag, which I proceeded to fill up with various detritus. Perhaps the fishermen who saw me will be moved to DIY on their next occasion.
And amused to come across a stretch of Cambridge's latest in a long line of transport wheezes, the bus rail. This seems to involved ripping up a stretch of railway and replacing it with a concreteway that ordinary buses can run along. At least what look like ordinary buses. Presumably the point is that the concreteway is both cheaper than a road and inaccessible to unbuses. Maybe I will read all about it at http://www.cambridgeshire.gov.uk/transport/guided/.
The main business of the day was a visit to the BH's natal house, a proceeding which involved driving through London on this busy, but non congestion charging, day. Managed to get to our first flat in Lordship Lane in N22 without too much bother. Flat still there, but a little more shabby that I remember it. And the shops around do not look quite as lively. Butchers and bakers all gone. Then onto Patisserie Valerie in Torrington Place for elevenses, in my case lemon tea and frangipane tarte (almond). This last turned out to be a rather sophisticated, and improved, version of our own Bakewell Tart. Lighter with less icing than the Cheam edition. With the added plus of coming in four flavours. By happy coincidence, we had parked very nearly outside Newman House, the central London Catholic Chaplaincy, the basement of which I used to know quite well, many years ago.
Thus fortified, was able to negociate Trafalgar Square, Stockwell, Brixton and Herne Hill (the last three of which proved a bit hairy) and find our way to Milkwood Road. After getting direction from a middle aged lady with beautiful accents from I know not where, and whose careful direction I failed to follow quite carefully enough, found the house in question, still there and not much altered, beyond a new house having been built in what had been the road next door. Many happy snaps of FIL and BH standing outside. No-one appeared to be at home so we were not able to invite ourselves in for a dekko.
And I close with a technical moan. These last lines of this posting appear immediately above the first lines of the last posting. Which gives rise to an irritating discontinuity which would be erradicated if the last posting appeared at the bottom of the heap rather than the top, with display starting at the bottom rather than the top. Maybe I shall have to find my way onto some bloggers only forum to make my pitch. There must be one.
On the CofE point, I should also say that finding the RSPB accounts was entirely straightforward. Just ask the search on the home page for accounts and up they come. It seems that their annual income is of the order of £100m, about of quarter of this being bequests and that their worth is about £120m, with nearly all of this being the value (how calculated one wonders) of their nature reserves. About £25m a year is spent on conservation work on existing reserves and a much smaller sum, perhaps £10m a year is spent on buying new ones. So not quite such a big operation as I had thought. Perhaps most of their reserves are on marginal land, the agricultural value of which is small.
Before we checked out of the Cambridge Holiday Inn this morning (somewhat to the north of Cambridge, just outside a village called Histon, next to my childhood village of Girton), we declined to fill in their happy sheet. But I think I ought to record our thoughts on the subject nonetheless. Item 1, this fairly new, low rise hotel had no lifts. OK, so I did not think to ask, but I had just assumed that lifts were part of the Holiday Inn package - this being a chain which used to replicate from one site to another with an altogether obsessive concern about maintaining the standard. Something I came to see the point of when travelling tired. Quite nice to turn up at a hotel which one had never been to before, but the layout and contents of which one knew in advance. Item 2, bread terrible. The only choice was cheap white bread or croissant. Not a roll in site. I was reduced to bringing in my own. Not that that was all that much better. Although the Barkers of my childhood still existed, to the extent of spreading to neighbouring villages, their bread was no longer up to much. The usual provincial stuff, probably made in too much of a hurry with the wrong sort of flour. Item 3, it was nice to have a large lake to walk around, but a pity about the litter left around by overnighting fishermen, some of whom, at least, sounded Polish (as did some of the chambermans at the hotel). Lots of bottles, tins and plastic of various shapes, purposes and sizes scattered around the remains of camp fires. I was moved to play the litter bore, one bit of plastic being an entire Tesco carrier bag, which I proceeded to fill up with various detritus. Perhaps the fishermen who saw me will be moved to DIY on their next occasion.
And amused to come across a stretch of Cambridge's latest in a long line of transport wheezes, the bus rail. This seems to involved ripping up a stretch of railway and replacing it with a concreteway that ordinary buses can run along. At least what look like ordinary buses. Presumably the point is that the concreteway is both cheaper than a road and inaccessible to unbuses. Maybe I will read all about it at http://www.cambridgeshire.gov.uk/transport/guided/.
The main business of the day was a visit to the BH's natal house, a proceeding which involved driving through London on this busy, but non congestion charging, day. Managed to get to our first flat in Lordship Lane in N22 without too much bother. Flat still there, but a little more shabby that I remember it. And the shops around do not look quite as lively. Butchers and bakers all gone. Then onto Patisserie Valerie in Torrington Place for elevenses, in my case lemon tea and frangipane tarte (almond). This last turned out to be a rather sophisticated, and improved, version of our own Bakewell Tart. Lighter with less icing than the Cheam edition. With the added plus of coming in four flavours. By happy coincidence, we had parked very nearly outside Newman House, the central London Catholic Chaplaincy, the basement of which I used to know quite well, many years ago.
Thus fortified, was able to negociate Trafalgar Square, Stockwell, Brixton and Herne Hill (the last three of which proved a bit hairy) and find our way to Milkwood Road. After getting direction from a middle aged lady with beautiful accents from I know not where, and whose careful direction I failed to follow quite carefully enough, found the house in question, still there and not much altered, beyond a new house having been built in what had been the road next door. Many happy snaps of FIL and BH standing outside. No-one appeared to be at home so we were not able to invite ourselves in for a dekko.
And I close with a technical moan. These last lines of this posting appear immediately above the first lines of the last posting. Which gives rise to an irritating discontinuity which would be erradicated if the last posting appeared at the bottom of the heap rather than the top, with display starting at the bottom rather than the top. Maybe I shall have to find my way onto some bloggers only forum to make my pitch. There must be one.
# posted by Jim @ 9:21 AM 
