Being Outside More

  Only six days until the winter solstice , one of those grey drear starts to the day, such an effort to wake up and move. The sky feels oppressive, a solid mass of cloud piled above my head. I feel nostalgic for those few crisp cold days we experienced in late November, a feeling of security in the seasons. Maybe that is why the current mild damp weather unsettles, yet another reminder of our changing climate. All those Christmas cards featuring drifts of snow are so far away from reality. White Christmases have always been rare in my home city of Bristol, but I find myself wondering, have we seen the last one without realising? If we do have snow here it tends to be well after Christmas, into February and sometimes March. Today started with a quotidian disaster - a missed train to school, weary tears, reassurance needed. Whilst waiting for the next train to arrive I sit on a bench in the drizzle, rain seeping into my trousers, I spot a pair of wagtails hopping and darting, sippin...

When she was five years old and in her first year of primary school, my daughter approached me one day with something to show me. I looked down into the plastic box held clutched in her small hands, lined with scraps of greenery from the garden, a few pebbles, and nestling in this tiny habitat, three, no four, glistening bodies. Slugs. Oh. I swallowed down my revulsion, like many gardeners I find slugs difficult to love and appreciate. “It’s a slug sanctuary!” she informs me proudly, and adds that she wants to take it to show Miss F, her beloved reception teacher. Fighting every impulse I agree, because of course I believe in supporting my children’s interests, don’t I? Later in the year I attend my daughter’s first parents evening. As I come into the classroom and fold my long legs onto a too small chair Miss F says with a laugh “Well, what do we say about V? She’s…” she glances at her teaching assistant seated beside her, there is a pause and they both reply in unison “Quirky!”. “She...