I've just been watching some grey squirrels in our wood. Four of them were chasing from tree to tree uttering rather bad-tempered chirping noises all the while. Do squirrels play "he"?

Or perhaps spring is early and they are engaging in some courtship rituals. It's certainly very warm today: enough for lots of midges to be about.

Ah: a quick Google gives the answer: it's all about It rather than he!

Breeding behaviour

Postscript: when I was a kid, we played "he" in the playground or on the streets. Then the game was called "it" - perhaps for PC reasons, and most US readers will probably know the game as "tag". Wikipedia lists lots more names too.

to all my blog friends, and anyone else who drops by. See you in 2007.

Eeek: although it isn't even Christmas yet, the hazel catkins are already full of pollen. The unripe catkins were well-developed while the leaves were green, but I wasn't expecting them to flower so unseasonably early: normally I'd expect them in February. Strange times - I imagine it shouldn't affect the crop of nuts in 2007 too badly, since hazel is wind-pollinated, so doesn't depend on insects.

A friend who lives just down the hill has the first primrose in her garden. Perhaps not quite so surprising: primrose comes from the Latin for "first rose", indicating that they often appear early. The main blooming is traditionally around Mothering Sunday in March, when posies were gathered by children for their Mums.

It’s a bit clichéd to say “this book makes me see things in a new light” – but in this case, it’s really true – and what a wonderful (sky)light it is. As a schoolgirl, I learnt a bit of basic meteorology studying Geography A Level in the early 70s, so I had a vague idea about clouds: I could recognise cumulus, and knew that altostratus making a milky halo round the sun was the sign of approaching rain – but now I’ve read the book, I have started to see all sorts of new patterns and layers in the sky, and even worse, gaze admiringly out of the office window when I should be working. I’m afraid I may well become one of those weirdos who lie on the ground to watch the clouds flow past – as soon as the dry weather comes again!

When the review copy arrived in the post, I read a page or two at lunchtime, and sped through to page 84 by the time I fell asleep at night. I tried to be a bit more moderate after that, as I really didn’t want to get to the end! I have a bit of a magpie mind – so the mixture of different topics was ideal. And I imagine that that the way it’s written, as a series of short (sometimes cliffhanging) episodes, means it would be easy to dip into if you didn’t fancy a protracted read. So, a book for both the anorak and the dilettante.

The book is an engagingly-written and eclectic mix of mythology, gentle science, snippets of history and art, literature and philosophy, personal observations, and of course a comprehensive catalogue of the different types of clouds with spotter’s identification charts. There are moments of high drama – the airman who fell 47000 feet through a thundercloud and lived; and quiet reflection – the joy of a clearing sunset after a day of grey clouds and drizzle.

Physically, the book feels really nice in the hands, and has a rather endearing old-fashioned feel – both in typography, and the attractive woodcuts in the endpapers and facing pages for each chapter. The only things I didn’t like about the design were the rather flat b/w photo reproductions, and the sideheads, which tend to run into the text.

I found one or two small annoyances: the editor missed that oysters aren’t crustaceans (page 159) for instance, and the use of Imperial measures seems distinctly odd to me even in an old-fashioned book (but this was published in America, which is still in the 19th century in that respect!).

A few more diagrams to explain the scientific side would have been welcome: for example, there are some tortuous explanations of phenomena like arcs, haloes and sundogs that I didn’t really follow. And how the author manages to entirely avoid mentioning adiabatic heating and cooling is a mystery to me! Still, I am probably of a more technical turn of mind than most people who will buy this book, and perhaps expecting too much of what is meant to be fun rather then instructional.

So, all in all, a very creditable 9 out of 10, Gavin.

If you know someone who enjoys the natural world and has a lively interest in all sorts of stuff – then I think this would be a jolly good present. You aren’t just giving a book, but also the chance to see commonplace things anew: what more could one ask?

Related link:

The Cloud Appreciation Society

This morning I went for a dawn walk on Pilsdon Pen, a hill that overlooks the Marshwood Vale in West Dorset. A perfect autumn morning: when I arrived, the rising sun was illuminating the bracken-covered crown of the hill in a blaze of russet and brown.

Later, bright sunshine and low mist skimming the fields and hills gave a scene reminiscent of a Chinese ink painting. It was so still I could hear all the sounds of rural life: cows lowing in the yard after milking; sheep bleating, ducks quacking and chickens clucking. Add to that the wilder sounds of crows cawing and buzzards mewing, and you have a perfect soundscape.

The reality was, sadly, not quite as tranquil, because of the inevitable road noise, even in this quiet spot. There are very few places in the southwest you can go without hearing cars these days.

Although we had some cold weather last night, it has been unseasonably warm this October. The trees are looking very scruffy - no autumn colour to speak of this year, just tattered browning - but the herbs that grow in the fields and hedgerows are having an unusually late and sustained flourish.

What is usually a slight greening in September has been almost two months of uninterrupted growth, and as a consequence, the hedgebanks look more like spring than autumn. Lovely fresh growths of purple vetch, cow parsley, dandelions, stitchwort, shining cranesbill, common daisies, yarrow, meadowsweet and lots of others.

More autumnal are the numerous fungi: most spectacularly, a giant puffball I have been watching for several days, which has ballooned to over 30cms across now. But there are also lots of wax-caps, horse mushrooms, ceps, shaggy ink-caps and others around.

This morning, I had to deliver some photos to otterton mill. As it looked like a nice sunny day in prospect, I decided to go for a walk along the front at Budleigh Salterton, a pretty seaside town in East Devon, most famous for being the home town of Giles Wemmbley-Hogg (aka comedian Marcus Brigstocke). He must be 'going off' somewhere else at present, as the beach was full of families on holiday, and the benches with older people dozing in the sun.

In fact, there are so many scores of benches dedicated to dead people who used to holiday there, that it's almost like being in a virtual graveyard! A bit creepy if you ask me: I'd much rather be remembered by a tree (for example) than somewhere to park a stranger's bum.

I managed to go on the day they were dismantling the beach huts for the winter: a bit of a bummer as I have a mild obsession with these glorified sheds.

Jut a few minutes walk from my home is the Undercliff: an almost primeval wilderness of steep land formed by landslips between Lyme regis and Axmouth. This morning was the first sunny day we've had for ages, so I sneaked out for a quick walk before I started work.

The walk takes you over a level field to the top of the cliffs. As I got to the edge, the sound of the sea was suddenly in my ears: a magical experience, as the quiet and birdsong was replaced by the distant roar of the surf.

As I descended the steep path past Pillar Rock, the cool land breeze dropped and I was left in warm sunny air, full of the spicy scent of autumn leaves and wet foliage.

Treats for the eyes as well as the ears and nose: lots of bright berries: sealing-wax red hips, crimson haws, orange gladwyn, and purple sloes; all glittering and gleaming like tiny baubles in the late autumn sunshine.

I enjoyed it while I could: the forecast is for more wind and rain, sadly.

Related link:

http://www.jurassiccoast.com/index.jsp?articleid=157439

Looking out in the garden this morning, I saw a cock pheasant making advances to one of his hens. He fluffed his feathers up so he looked twice as big, and slowly circled her, his head turned in and his inner wing outstretched gracefully towards the ground.

She just carried on pecking for grain - women, eh?

... to paraphrase Robert Browning.

The first in an occasional series of notes about my life in East Devon. Not a stream of (semi)consciousness from the bedroom of a bored teenager, but observations on the natural world: a serene break from my rants against stuff in eye for information!

So: today. One of those perfect Autumn days with warm sunshine and blue skies full of puffy cumulus. It could almost be summer - but...

Blackberries, blue sloes, yellowing leaves, honeysuckle and bryony berries hanging like ruby beads in the hedgerows; and the robin's song in the afternoon sunshine.

And yesterday, a large congregation of swallows over our field, gathering ready for their journey back to Africa. After dark, the practice hooting of young tawny owls, working out how to do it properly ready for the long winter nights.