pumpkinstrokemarrow

And, for the first time in months, two small birds in Manor Green Road. A chaffinch and a greenfinch. Can't remember when I last saw either in our garden.

And, solved the mystery of the balls on the trees. Small balls that is, maybe half an inch across, dark in colour and hanging off the end of twigs of trees in Southfield Park where the new school is. Happened to get a close up of some in the garden of Clandon House (http://www.clandonpark.co.uk/) the other day and it now seems that these balls are the flower buds of ash trees. Buds which, just presently, look a bit like very small bunches of purple grapes. Must keep an eye on them as they develop. Leaf buds still firmly shut.

Met three interesting coves (a rather quaint term which the DT tells me is favoured by the Upper Marquis of Mandelson) in TB the other day. Let's call them A, B & C. A was swarthy, bearded and early twenties. B was twenty. C was teens, a younger brother to B. A, B & C were on the district, the anti-graffiti assault team No. 13, and had finished a touch early. With the result that they had been at TB since around 1300, whereas I had turned up around 1700. I was told afterwards that they had been hitting the sauce big time with the result that while they were not lurching about or slurring their words, their mood had become somewhat unpredictable. Enter A, B & C. B starts on C for not showing 'nuff respect to their mother (not present). C gets a bit fed up with this after a while. Exit C. B starts hanging off the neck of A and going on about how everybody better had show him 'nuff respect or he would sort them out big time. He had seen things and done things and could sort anyone out in the pub. He was the star of the anti-graffiti assault teams. Seemed to have what BH would call a seriously low self-esteem problem, usually the result of a defective childhood environment. And he did know about anger management courses. A tries to calm B down a bit. Then B starts a conversation with me. As it happens we have a perfectly sensible and banal conversation about the organisation of the anti-graffiti assault teams. A listens in for a while. After a bit the conversation turns to a certain depot. Where is that sezzaye, all innocent of any offensive intent. A flips. What do you mean you don't know where the depot is? What kind of a prat are you? B tries to calm A down, an unexpected reversal of the earlier position. Punter has no reason to go to the depot. Why would he know where it is? Eyebrows of B contract and lower. He really is rather upset. Things start to look a bit wobbly. But luckily they suddenly get bored. Exeunt A & B. Some time later the manager, well schooled in the peaceful resolution of these things, talks them out of the establishment. Not altogether clear how they were going to get home. I hope it did not involve driving.