Spider sense

There was a strange claim made on TV today; I don't know if it is true or not, but here it is anyway. To keep spiders away, place conkers in the room.

Why would that be?

And why would I want to do it? Spiders are creepy, true, but flies are worse.

Autumn Sojourn

The past week I have spent down south in Hertfordshire, on a training course for work. It reminded me how lovely other parts of the country are, especially as we were blessed with the kind of lovely late summer weather that so often seems to accompany the children's return to school. We stayed in a conference centre set amid several acres of woodland, inhabited by deer descended from the herds maintained for King Henry VIII. Good old King Hal liked nothing better than hunting deer when he wasn't behaving outrageously with women or picking fights with the religious establishment.

As well as being the home of Tudor princesses (I think both Hal's girls spent some time there), the estate was a favourite haunt of the young princess Victoria before she was called to greatness. There is a tree in the grounds allegedly planted by her, although it didn't look too old to us - perhaps she only planted it later in her life...

The trees across the country have started to turn their colours recently, and most importantly the horse chestnuts have been producing conkers ready for the tournaments due to take place in numerous school playgrounds throughout the land.

Kirby Misperton is lucky to be the home of some pretty substantial specimens, and the pavements are becoming littered with the spiky shells and glossy, glowing fruits dropping from their branches.  The regular reader may recall that I am rather fond of horse chestnuts in general; at this time of year they remind me of that "back-to-school" feeling - new classroom, new teachers, new topics, and time to start endless rehearsals for the end of term Christmas concert and almost unbearable wait for Christmas Day. To me this is a more real new year than the one in January.

The other big signpost of the seasons was the Last Night of the Proms, which indeed happened last night, as rowdy and rambunctious as ever, despite the lack of sea shanties and Hornpipe. We were more than compensated by the fireworks and by Sir David Attenborough playing the floor polisher (Sir Malcolm Arnold's "Grand, Grand Overture") - and the weather was good enough for us to have a barbecue beforehand.

All the old seasonal traditions will soon be kicking in: Harvest Festival, putting back the clock, Hallowe'en, Bonfire Night and then Advent. Somehow the long summer days seemed relatively empty; with the colder, darker nights we need to huddle together with ceremonies and rituals to keep the wolves outside.

So here's to the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, apple crumbles and wellington boots, crisp mornings and bright blue skies, less grass mowing and more bonfire building. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!