I was awake at 4.30 a.m. this morning. It was too cold to get up, so I lay in bed, listening to the soft-shoe shuffle of the dozens of wrens who roost above our bedroom window - on the big wide board which forms the ceiling of the window aperture. I have mentioned them before. I counted something like 80 going in to roost there on winter evenings last year.
My husband and I walked up to the junction again yesterday, to check on the roads (it has been impossible to get our car out of the drive, let alone to the junction). Down by the bridge, there were signs that one of the otters had been across the rocks, nosying about. Claw marks, paw marks and tail marks . . .
After lining up a lift for D, G and J in a neighbour's Landrover TO work, I am hoping we can get out later today to pick everyone up (otherwise it disastrous, with them stuck in town and no bed for the night . . .) but the managers seem to think they are "making excuses" when they say they can't get to work.
