Much water has flowed under many bridges since the beginning of this blog in 2006. Then, the blog title was a warcry (albeit pinched from Bruce Robinson)
"We live in a kingdom of rains ... where royalty comes in gangs. Come on, lads. Let's get home. The sky is beginning to bruise. Night must fall, and we shall be forced to camp."
Now, though, we really do live in a kingdom of rains. We're back in Wales and learning to love the wet. Wales, too, has changed. We have a degree of autonomy; a parliament; a civil service. But you don't just pick up a hat and become a cowboy. Our little government has got the big picture alright but the details are very hazy indeed. Two baby blue-tits appeared outside our house today, in the pouring rain. Out of the nest early, they tried hard to fly, but the rain beat them back, so instead they made a lot of noise and their parents scooted to and fro feeding them grubs and watching out for cats. I put out a flowerpot for the fledglings to shelter in, but they preferred to get wet. Silly birds. Eventually, fed up with their ineffectual peep-peep-peeping, I picked them up and hid them in the hedge across the road. I'm sure they are just as noisy over there, but now only their parents have to listen.