Everything Wrong with Hollywood and the Movie Industry of Today.

Everything Wrong with Hollywood and the Movie Industry of Today.

I bought Star Wars – The Last Jedi, on Amazon today. I had a day off and I thought, “Why not?”

Therefore, with great aplomb, I sat down with a couple of bottles of beer and began to watch. The fanfare was the same as the usual Star Wars movies. You know, the words giving a brief introduction of where we are in the Star Wars’ universe. It all looked promising.

The opening sequence was a grand space battle. This was a tempting appetitive. Lots of spaceships going into action. Explosions and supersonic death-defying and sometimes death delivering special effects. Then, when the grand action ended, we got down to the pathetic and weak nitty-gritty of it all. From here on in, it was deplorable.

I do mean bad. It went into a dive, like one of their burning spaceships dropping back to the planet. Or perhaps flatulence at an international trade conference.  This movie really bombed ‘BIG TIME’ for me. It was absolute crap! A universe of wicked white heterosexual males as the bad guys. None were capable of being in charge of the heroic rebel starships. White with a dick! No chance mate – you are a bad dude and that is all there is to it. Eat it and like it, you f~#king white male retards!

You are, as an audience, treated to a catalogue of special effects and artistic looking aliens. It’s like Jurassic Park mixed with Gremlins on Prozac. A pants (as in underpants) script or plausible story. I can just imagine the writers and the producers saying, “Don’t worry - force feed the f~#k wits on special effects. You know, the type they’ve seen a thousand times before.”

The movie industry, of today, is just polished excrement. Perhaps a little glitter too. It is a sad diminishing echo from the old movie industry of yesterday. There is nothing wrong with trying to be multi-cultural or having female champions. But this was overdosed and contemptible. It was virtual signalling going to the extreme. There was nothing subtle in the delivery. It was pathetic.

I am grateful that my nation and some other areas of the world have decent dramas to fall back on. This whole era of Hollywood movie making is dreadful. A movie making Dark Age.

America used to be glamorous because of its wonderful film industry. Today it is nothing more than a tired old theme park. This Star Wars movie is a, been there, seen it, done it, got the T-shirt.

Guess what? The bloody shirt doesn’t fit anymore and I think someone has already wiped their arse with it.

I’m sorry to repeat that this movie, in my humble opinion, is awful! I suppose it will be given an award by some actor/activist. The sort of celebrity with an over inflated opinion of his or herself. The sort who shouts out colourful expletives against the nation’s leaders. Then basks in the applause of such cheaply acquired nobility before giving a shiny trophy to a star-struck wannabe thespian, pretending to be overcome by the emotion of it all.

Sorry about the rant, but this movie robbed me of a couple of hours of my life. I would sooner have spent it in a dentist’s waiting room with a toothache. Honestly, this was multi-million dollar trash! Complete and utter!

WHAT ARE YOUR BEST DALEK EXTERMINATIONS?

The big kid, which still lives inside of my 58-year-old body, loves Doctor Who and his glorious enemies. Especially the Daleks! I can remember, as an infant, being terrified and compelled by the splendid bad guys. I recollect the later William Hartnell stories. Most of all, The Dalek Master Plan. The whole thing about the Daleks was scary yet very necessary to me. I enjoyed being spooked by them. I wanted them to be defeated but never completely destroyed. They always had to come back with another diabolical plan.

At the beginning of a Doctor Who Dalek story, there always seems to be a character that is nicely prepared for the big ghastly finish – a sooner or later reckoning with the Dalek death ray. A laser blast that engulfs its victim in a hideous and deadly aurora. A ball of pulsating energy in which the victim’s photographic negative withers in the final stages of agony before dropping to the floor dead.  Sometimes coupled with an agonising and blood-curdling shriek!

1. Power of the Daleks Lesterson.

As I kid, I remember the first Patrick Troughton story. I knew that the character of Lesterson in The Power of the Daleks would get exterminated. He started off thinking he knew what he was doing – much against the Doctors warnings. Then he was discovered coming out of the production line capsule. I have that vague memory of him trying to pathetically amuse and patronise the Daleks as he nervously tries to talk his way out of his predicament. It was to no avail as he was bathed in the deadly energy glow. His body form went to negative and then he seemed to linger before dropping lifeless to the floor.  

2. The Day of the Daleks - The Controller 

I also knew The Controller from Day of the Daleks was going to meet the same type of fate. The Controller was a robust character who led the downtrodden human slaves for the Daleks. He was no more than a superior slave and not really a bad person. Just someone trying to make the best of a bad job. He was untrustworthy material for the Daleks. When the Controller saw an opportunity to defeat the Daleks he secretly joins the conspiracy by aiding the Doctor’s escape but was later discovered. When he stood before the Dalek who made the accusations of treachery, the Controller went bravely before being bathed in the deadly energy glow that briefly turned his body form to a photographic negative. The glow went and he fell to the floor dead.

3. Genesis of the Daleks - Ronson.

Then there was the kindly Ronson from Genesis of the Daleks. A man that we all liked. A Kaled scientist who had genuine concerns about the way the development of the advanced mutations of his people was going. He was concerned about the mutated Kaleds being put into the mark one travel machines and having all their emotions removed except for hatred. Hatred was enhanced. I knew this well-intentioned man would become a victim of the Dalek death ray. As it happened, he was technically the first ever victim of a Dalek. Davros, the creator of the Daleks, accused him of being a Thal spy and orders him exterminated in front of the science committee. 

Ronson, in his final moments, is given space as his fellow scientists back away from him. The man stands there, vainly trying to protest his innocence. The scream comes from Davros, “Exterminate!”

Ronson is pleading, “No Davros…”

The Dalek ray zaps and poor Ronson’s body is bathed in the negative glow as he withers and screams in agony. Then the engulfing glow vanishes as Ronson lies dead across a table. I think Ronson was the most likeable of the characters that I remember getting exterminated. Not that the others, I’ve mentioned, were bad. The others started off a little up themselves but realised the error of their ways before getting exterminated by the Dalek heat ray.

4. Revelation of the Daleks - Vogel.

Vogel and Kara

My next memory, and perhaps my favourite, was the extermination of Vogel in Revelation of the Daleks. To be fair to the character of Vogel, he knew exactly what the Daleks were and was stealthily against them from the start. The character of Vogel is delightfully repulsive to me. He is a Uriah Heep type character. A snide and a complete crawler to his employer Kara. They (Kara and the subservient Vogel) both have delusions of grandeur concerning their cleverness against Davros and his Daleks. They believe they have outwitted the mad creator of the Daleks. During an over presumptuous celebration drink to the obliteration of Davros, they are rudely interrupted by a Dalek delegation. The actor, Hugh Walters, plays Vogel with a superb show of empty bluster as he tries to scold the Daleks for their rude interruption. In the most arrogant and camp voice he reproaches them.

“How dare you.” He blasts in his ladylike voice.

It is wonderful theatrics. We all know what is coming and his character has been nicely fattened up for the kill. I remember gloating and enjoying the scene because this character is a snide who has sent a knight and his squire on a deadly fool’s errand for his and Kara’s gain.

The Daleks delegation has no time for such a man off ill-deserved confidence. The Dalek heat ray engulfs him. The nasty side of me is treated to Vogel screaming and withering in the negative glow. When the deadly glow abates, Vogel has a lingering moment of thespian theatrics. He is still alive for one last pathetic and pitiful look at his mistress and employer Kara. He then falls to the floor dead. I loved this scene. It made me feel so wonderfully wicked and then I felt ashamed of myself. The actor was brilliant in his portrayal of this despicable man who only wanted to destroy the Daleks but is somehow portrayed as bad.

Kara kneels down beside Vogel’s dead body and says. “How inconvenient…” and then goes on to make a reference to how difficult it is to find good accountants these days. This was all smashing and fun stuff. I was 26 by this time and still watching the show with my sons. They were glued to it.

Henpecked—The Dynamics of Chicken Behavior

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Getting Henpecked

Matriarch chickens can be testing even for a cockerel.

Dusty the Bantam Rooster

Keeping Chickens

Chickens are great little creatures to look after in one’s garden. Of course, you will need a garden with a fair amount of space for a chicken coop. I say this because I decided to be all liberal and let the chickens wander about at first. I had made a fenced area with a hutch, but I thought by leaving the coop gate open they could wander about to their heart’s content. The garden is sealed off and they could not gain access to the side of the house or past the gate into the street. When dusk came, the chickens instinctively wandered back to the hutch and settled down, waiting for my wife or me to bolt the door. We do have foxes, stoats and weasels. Our hamlet is very rural and farm fields are on the opposite side of the road. Fortunately, we have not had predatory wildlife trying to get at our chickens. They lay eggs each day and neighbours often call for some too. We also have three ducks and do the same thing. The eggs are regular. Of course, they become a little more haphazard during winter moult as my wife calls it.

Where Problems Occurred

We decided to stop the practice of letting them wander the garden because they eat everything. You don’t get any slugs. That was great. However, all my cornflowers vanished and so did many other plants when the spring came. Our garden flower beds looked great in spring and summer before. Then in autumn, we decided it would be fine to let the poultry do a bit of free range wandering. All the flowers die off in the winter. Let the chickens roam.

Red Mite

Chickie the runt of the hens.

Problems I Did Not See Coming

• Eating the plants
• Bumblefoot
• Red Mite
• Feather pecking (matriarch bully)

The First Problems

Well, the next summer was rather Spartan on the flower front. The chickens and the ducks ate almost everything before many of our plants could germinate. The effect looked bad. The surviving plants that did grow looked sparse and scattered. We had to go to the nurseries and buy new perennials to replace those eaten by the chickens and ducks. We also decided to keep them within the confines of the large chicken coop. This worked for a short time. We had one chicken with bumblefoot. This my wife cured with a magnesium compound and foot dressing. We also had Red Mite. We had to douse the chickens with special Red Mite powder. The chicken hutch thoroughly disinfected every week with Jeyes fluid.

The Matriarch (The Final Problem)

Chickens are rather social creatures in a group. But hens are obviously all female. They squabble and bicker among themselves and a dominant hen will always rise to recognition among the others. Our matriarch chicken is called Tippy. She started to call the shots. The others hens would dutifully follow their matriarch’s example. What she disliked, every chicken disliked.

The chickens and the ducks seemed to get by fine. However, with our three ducks was an old drake called Polo. I put him in the past tense because the old lad has passed away since. But at the time I speak of, he still had a couple of years to go. This old drake was not liked by Tippy. After a time her aversion developed to a stage whereby she started to peck the old boy. Of course, all of the hens joined in. I had to create a new coop for the ducks because Polo was getting extremely traumatised. I put a wire fence between the chickens and ducks. This worked and old Polo settled down.

Next Tippy began to take a dislike to one of her hens in the group. This little hen was named Chickie. I had another old chicken hutch in by my garden shed. Therefore I segregated Chickie and put her here on her own. I had three ducks in a section of the coop and five chickens in the other section. Then there was Chickie walking about the garden when we let her out of the spare chicken hutch.

What About a Cockerel?

My wife and I began to ponder the problem. I suggested a cockerel. A cockerel would calm the hens down and he would also put the matriarch in her place. My wife was concerned that the cockerel would do its thing of cockle doodle do in the morning, every morning and much to the annoyance of the neighbours. There is a law in urban areas about keeping cockerels. However, our house is almost rural. Our street has the fenland on the other side of the road and the next town is fifteen plus miles away. There is nothing but fields to the next town. However, we are in a small town, even if my street is the last road in the town.

I wanted a cockerel and was prepared to take a chance with the neighbours. I often heard other cockerels in town too. I work in the next town of Chatteris. I hear a cockerel here every morning too. The Fenlands is, by far rural, and most people in the small English hamlets don’t take much notice of this type of thing. I tried to explain this to my wife. She half agreed but there remained some doubt.

The breed of chickens we keep is called Rhode Island Reds. When I bought them there was a cockerel Rhode Island Red at the farm. He looked absolutely resplendent as he strutted about the place. He was a big old lad. Again, my wife said that he would make too much noise. She knows more than me on the subject. I come from London’s east end. The district of Bow. I don’t know much about this type of thing. My wife came from Burnham-on-Crouch. She has had chickens as a child. She remembers her Grandmother having to use a chair to get the eggs in the coop because the cockerel would get a little aggressive and protective of the hens.

I dropped the idea of a cockerel and Chickie wandered the garden on her own. She did not seem to eat the new flowers and laid her egg in the hutch mostly. Sometimes under a Lilly plant. She did not seem to care about being excommunicated from the other hens. She had more space.

The little cockerel with small man syndrome

Then one day my wife and I decided to pay a visit to an animal sanctuary that is close to our town. It is in Godmanchester, Cambridgeshire. We had seen a man at the supermarket entrance. He was collecting donations for the Sanctuary. We gave him a small donation and he gave us the leaflets and asked us to pay a visit to the place. We did. There were all sorts of rescued animals there and the complex was very big. There was one place for chickens and among the many abodes were cockerels. Some were huge. But there was also a very small Bantam cockerel. He was among Rhode Island Red hens. I asked how this small cockerel was among the large Rhode Island hens. They looked like Amazons next to an underdeveloped and wimpy little man.

The lady laughed and said, “He stands his ground and the hens seem to respect him.’ The Sanctuary was looking for a decent home for him to stay at. My wife and I began to tell the lady the story of our matriarch hen and how she had caused a few problems. We all agreed that Dusty the cockerel might be the answer to the problem. His "cockle doodle do," was not that loud either. At least I decided it was not. My wife also seemed to think it might work. We agreed to take Dusty the little Bantam cockerel and give him a trial.

I thought he looked great. The black feathers around his feet looked like flash bell-bottom trousers. We did all the paperwork stuff and the people of the sanctuary came out and checked the coop. All was fine. Dusty came to our house and we decided to introduce him to Chickie first. She was the hen that had suffered the matriarch’s bullying. The runt of the batch. I thought it was better to break the lad in slowly. First Chickie and then after an interval of a day or two, into the coop, sort out the matriarch named Tippy. Job done! Chickie can move back in and Dusty would run a fair and proper house. A cockerel with small man syndrome and his harem of hens.

All cockle and no doo.

To say Dusty was a let down would be putting it mildly. I brought him into the garden and put him on the lawn. Chickie was in a flower bed and we watched as Dusty bowled over in his resplendent bell-bottom chaps. I got out my mobile and decided to capture the moment of introduction. I thought, "Today Chickie and then the coop where the matriarch would be put in her place."

Dustry struts his stuff.

Dusty was bashed up by the henpecked Chickie. I had a fair idea of what would happen if he was put in the coop. Tippy might start and all the others would join in. I reasoned that the birds might prefer an alpha male to a pygmy Bantam. I think Dusty would have got more than he bargained for in the coop.

There were other Roosters at the sanctuary. But before Dusty returned we had him for a few days. He liked to cockle doodle doo. I did not think it sounded that bad, but my wife did. When we took him back a few days later, I wanted a bigger one but I gave into my wife's concern. Maybe another time.

A Road Island Red Cockerel.

The Man for the Job

If I can persuade my wife to have a cockerel. It will have to be a Rhode Island Red. I've seen several for sale. These are where I work during the day. I've been thinking about it for a while. Maybe I'll take a chance and bring one back. Then we could acquire a few more hens knowing the cockerel will keep a good house and stop the in-fighting.

The Chicken Quiz

Question 1/3

Roughly how many eggs does a Rhode Island hen lay each year?

• 300
• 200
• 240
• 320

view quiz statistic edit

Taking Darcy on He Dog Walk in the Fenland.

Our little Jack Russel dog, called Darcy, is less than a year old. She is very good and sticks to my wife, Carole, like glue. At such a young age, her temperament is wonderful. She gets along with all the other dogs during her morning walk over the park. She seems to have settled in very well and seems most content.

I got in from work early this afternoon. My wife suggested a walk over an old nature trail out in the Fens. Of course, we had to take the dog. She had never been along this particular walk before. Her little nose seemed to be going crazy with all the excitement of new smells.

As usual, I brought my camera, just in case there was anything of interest. It was very hot and we took cold drinks with us and a small bowl for Darcy. 

I caught sight of a Common Buzzard, circling the fields. Obviously hunting for rodents or something else. I clicked away with my camera, hoping to get one, among the many, as presentable. It was some way off, but the hawk got closer.

Another part of the walk took us along a trail through some marshy fen. There were reeds, dragonflies and butterflies everywhere. All in all, a fine afternoon walk. 

Darcy Enjoyed Herself.

Even though it was far in the sky, I'm sure it knew I was watching.

The Common Buzzard Doing it's Bird of Prey Thing.

We Have Lift Off

Where Do the Muntjac Deer Live?

There a so many of them. Often I have to pick up the dead ones when they have been hit by road vehicles. The whole area is surrounded by fields and I often see them in the distance. Obviously, they live in these fields, but they are exceptionally good at hiding. I'm writing about the Muntjac deer, like the one in the above photo. They are usually very skittish and zoom off at the merest sight of a human being. I suspect they like hedgerows or the ditches between the fields. For they seem quick to go to ground. Sometimes, I hear them outside of my house in the farm fields opposite. My wife has a telescope with night vision. We see them in abundance through the night vision scope because of the green glow of their body heat. They are always running about at night. I often see them very early in a morning, when going to work. But during the day, they go to ground.  

Then, the other afternoon, I parked the council van under a tree and on a bridle path just outside the town of Chatteris in the Fenland of England. I decided to have a few minutes break and a cup of tea. Then out of the hedge jumped the muntjac in the photo above. I was gobsmacked. The creature could not have realised I was so close and in the van because it would be off like lightning at the mere sight of me. Carefully, I pulled out my mobile and put it on the camera setting. I managed to get a few quick shots as the Muntjac walked along the verge. Then it sensed me and shot off into the thickets. Still, it was a little moment of delight during a minor working pit stop.

Old War Planes in the Market Place - Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, England, UK.

There she stood. A World War One Bristol Scout. It was Sunday morning in the Market square at Wisbech. Everything was closed but there was a group of people making preparations for a daily county fair of some sort. 

As I looked around this old aeroplane, I realised how flimsy everything was. Imagine going up into the sky in such a contraption. Knowing that a few bullets could tear the machine apart and you, the pilot, would be plunging down to the ground in such a thing.  

I walked around the Bristol scout for a few moments and took a few photo shots on my mobile phone. The more I looked the more I shuddered at the thought for the men who flew such machines during the Great War. 

On the other side of the square, I was surprised to see a Spitfire World War II plane. Like those from the Battle of Britain. This looked a little more sturdy than the Bristol Scout of WWI. However, not much more robust. It still had a look of vulnerability if hit by a few well-placed bullets. And when one imagines a short burst of machine gun fire letting off several at a time, the mind begins to shake at the dreadful prospect of air to air combat.

I got back to emptying the town squares litter bins. And was rather glad of it. 

Aliens from Mars - Would You Believe Such Things?

1. Did you enjoy the dreadful thought of the War of the Worlds Tripod Fighting Machines from Mars?

2. What About the War of the Worlds 1953 Radio Broadcast?

3. Or the Jeff Wayne War of the Worlds Musical?

Science Fiction Lovers Indulge This Thought.

Imagine, if you will, how it would have been to be a Victorian sailor from retro British times of 1898. You are on board HMS Thunder Child and the ship is picking up strange semaphore messages from the shore stations. Invaders from Mars are striding about and destroying the entire fabric of our nation. Would you believe such outrages things? The entire ship would be alive with speculation and disbelief. These sailors were destined to see three Martian fighting machines and confront the colossal edifices in battle.

Aboard H.M.S. Thunder Child, the crew are blissfully unaware of the savage terror. Only the new Captain knows and only upon the journey, at sea, do the crew begin to learn the unbelievable news from semaphore stations.

1. What would you think of such news?

2. Would you believe such things as aliens from Mars?

War of the Worlds pastiche

Britain in 1898.

The Martians really came and this is the alternative history of that dreadful event. Join the crew of HMS Thunder Child as she prepares to embark upon her doomed voyage, before her demise and courageous battle with three Martian tripod fighting machines at the River Blackwater in the county of Essex, England, UK.

Captain McIntosh and his brave crew can hardly believe the semaphore messages sent from the shore stations. The news is so uncanny and fantastic that none can accept the stories of Martians falling from space. All hands of HMS Thunder Child must keep a dreadful appointment with destiny as they cruise towards the dire outcome awaiting them.

The War of the Worlds first terrified audiences in book form in 1898, as the first-person narrative tells us the adventures of an unnamed protagonist and his brother as Martians invade Earth. But there were other characters with stories to tell.

See the retro science fiction story from a whole new perspective and read: 

THE LAST DAYS OF THUNDER CHILD 

By 

C.A. POWELL.

THE MARTIAN FREE ZONE! AS THE ANGRY SHIP'S GUNS BLAZE AWAY! #WarOfTheWorlds #adaptation #scifi #adaptation #paperback #Kindle #KindleUnlimited THE LAST DAYS OF THUNDER CHILD https://buff.ly/2t3kQTH  https://amzn.to/2MpcRJl 

Moyra Melons Roger Me Earrings!

Moyra Melons was not pleased with her husband, Roger. She had got a small minicab firm up and running rather well. Roger was helping her, but his knowledge of radio use was poor. This had been leading to confusion. Moyra decided to call him into the office and have a few words.

As he came through the door, she asked him to lock it.

“I don’t think anyone will be coming back yet, but I would prefer to talk about this without unexpected interruption,” Moyra added.

“Oh,” replied Roger. Her husband raised an eyebrow wondering what it was all about. He sat down in the chair before her desk and radio equipment.

He cleared his throat and then looked at his wife, Moyra. “What’s this all about then?”

Moyra stared straight back at him and asked. “Why can’t you roger me?”

Roger coughed and was taken by surprise. He quickly looked out of the window and noted the emptiness of the streets. He came over in a hot flush and replied. “Well I do,” he replied. “But surely you don’t mean here?

Moyra looked astonished and then got cross. “I mean it here at all times. All the other blokes do. Why can’t you? Am I wearing the wrong earrings? Tell me? Give me a clue?" She added sarcastically. 

“What!” retorted Roger? He was quite flabbergasted.

Moyra continued. “When you use the blooming radio and you have finished what you are saying, you say ‘roger.’ It means over to me. Have you not heard me saying, “Is that a rog, Roger?”

“Oh,” replied Roger feeling a little relieved with this new knowledge. He had definitely got crossed wires for a moment. “I can assure you it is nothing to do with your wonderful earrings.”

Moyra went on. “I don’t want to keep saying the same old thing.”

“The same old thing?” muttered Roger who was only just beginning to recover from his initial shock.

“Yes,” replied Moyra as she burst into a little chant.

“No more:

Is that a rog - Roger?

Do the rog – Roger,

Do the rog.”

He looked confused and raised an eyebrow again. “Oh well, yes. What have you been saying then?” He grinned. “Can you run that one passed me again please?”

Moyra repeated:

“Is that a rog – Roger?

Do the rog – Roger

Do the rog.”

A great weight seemed to fall from Roger. “Oh well, I’m sure I can remember to roger you, Moyra. I was a little confused at first. But I get the picture now.”

“How could you get confused about making sure you roger me?” asked Moyra. “You are no good if you can’t roger me.”

Her husband stood up and dropped the office blinds. The door was locked and he decided he might need a little more privacy to show Moyra the substance of his confusion. About making sure he would roger her. There was an interlude in which the reader must adhere to the married couple’s privacy, but I would imagine one might get the idea. Moyra certainly did.

Afterwards, the lady and her sparkling earrings understood. Moyra had a windswept look and she suspected her husband might be back the next day for a further telling off. I think under the same circumstances, I might pretend to be a slow learner. On the radio front and saying 'Roger' all the time, that is. How about you?

England in the Summer Along the Bird Hides of the Fenland.

It was a very hot day indeed today. We decided to go to the bird hides of Manea, just passed the rickety old cottage between the rivers Delph and Bedford. These rivers are separated by a bridle path and a huge dyke that runs between both rivers.

In previous blogs, I have shown pictures of the flooded fen when the Delph burst her banks in the autumn. Today, and as expected, the lake effect upon the fields was gone. The river Delph was in clear view as was the lush green pastures stretching towards Ely. It was 31c but the heat was helped by a cooling breeze along the bridal path.

We were concerned about the heat for our little dog Darcy. However, this was unfounded. She seemed to love the freedom of running along the bridal path. In some ways it was sad. This time last year, our late dog Dotty would have been charging along the hides. Sadly, she passed away in November after a short illness. Cancer that claimed her very suddenly.

Darcy enjoyed herself.

Darcy is the new little companion. We lasted two days without Dotty. She left a void in the house. Darcy, in many ways, is just like Dotty.

We stopped at several bird hides and looked out towards the old cathedral in the distance. The spires looking distant and grey in the shimmering haze - far away on the other side of the fens. The sky was full of Terns. Seagull type birds twisting and turning in the clear blue. The sky was theirs on this occasion. Back at the bridge by the rickety old cottage was the bridge where an abundance of swifts was seen darting here, there and everywhere by the reeds and lilies as they swooped and chased each other. Also the dragonflies and butterflies by the reeds.

At one moment we heard a commotion. The sound of 'Kleep, kleep - Kleep kleep.' coming from over the dyke. The sound went on and on and got closer. I readied my camera as three birds flew over. They were Oystercatchers. They made for a wonderful sight.

The Oystercatchers made a complete racket in the clear blue sky.

All in all, it was a kind excursion that passed the late morning into the early afternoon. I took my camera and clicked away at various things.