A random selection

Three things to blog about today. All three are completely unconnected.

Firstly, the red-winged starlings have discovered the loquats on the loquat tree. The upshot of this is that the garden is now constantly filled with the noise of red-winged starlings, actual red-winged starlings, and half eaten fruit all over the floor. A rough estimate suggests that possibly slightly less than 5% of the crop is ripe, and that’s what’s attracted them so far. Thus, things are likely to get at least 20x as noisy and messy before the loquat season is done.

Oh joy.

I still want to go to the Faroe Islands (yes, this is the second thing, no direct link from the loquat situation above). I think I actually want to go there more than I want to go to Iceland now. And not just for the natural beauty, but for the engineering prowess of that country.
Yes, including the world’s first undersea roundabout (that looks like a jellyfish):

The amount of money they are spending on tunnels is huge, and it gets even huger when you consider how few people will benefit from those tunnels because of how few people actually live there. The pro-capita spend is utterly ridiculous and almost – almost – obscene.

Thirdly: I’m off to the physio again tomorrow morning and hoping for discharge. Not in a gungy fluid way, more the administrative kind, please. Last week’s exercise was wiped out by sickness, but I’ve been working hard since then and I’m hoping that I’ve done enough catching up to warrant freedom from all the restrictions that have been in place since I tore my calf.

Hold thumbs. Cross fingers.
Thank you.


The calf has been tested by walking a lot. And that includes Forest Drive (the posh one in Bishopscourt, not the crappy one in Pinelands) which is 100m of going upwards in 650m of going forwards (mainly upwards and forwards).

So today a gentle jog around the neighbourhood seemed in order. And off I went.
Bit of uphill – lovely. Bit of flat stuff – lovely. Bit of downhill – lovely. Finally!

But still taking things slowly because I’m older and wiser than I used to be.

And then I jogged down Oak Avenue (the one with the dead cat) and just as I got to the bottom there was a twangy poppy snappy ping and some pretty nasty pain from my left leg, and now I had a couple of kilometres and the best part of 100m to climb before I was home – with a mashed calf.

It probably didn’t help.

And so ice packs and drugs have been the order for the afternoon (plus some Deep Heat, because who doesn’t want to smell like a Frenchman’s groin?).

I think I need to chat to my physio next week.


I’m at the physio. But not for me, for my dad. Yes, my dad lives in Sheffield in the UK, and indeed, he is heading back there tonight via Hamsterjam and Manchester. It was while he was packing his case that he twisted his knee and now he’s rather sore. Not great when you’ve got a long haul flight this evening and a big foreign airport to rush through tomorrow morning.

So, an emergency visit here:

…to see what they can do, and probably a quick trip to the pharmacy on the way home too, I’d imagine.

It’s not a great situation, but he did do it while moving several bottles of Groot Constantia Chardonnay from the cupboard to his suitcase, and I suppose that if you’re going to damage ligaments in your left knee (which would seem to be the likely diagnosis), at least do it by jarring it while doing something worthwhile.

Full marks for that, then.