Every bee in Cheshire...

 ...must have been at Tatton Park today for the RHS Flower Show.

It seemed different from previous years. Less bling, more thoughtful, sustainable gardens on show, and especially a huge interest in attracting bees, both in the show gardens and in the plants on sale. It really paid off and there were masses of bees everywhere, and quite a lot of butterflies too. This was the Bees Garden, which won Florian Degroise the Young Designer of the Year award:

 

Bees and butterflies were having a field day all over Tatton Park:

 

And birds weren't forgotten either, as this attractive housing development, with rather wild garden, shows:

  This magnificent heron is part of a garden reflecting on the journey back to robust mental health which the activity of gardening can support. I loved the wild teasels, the bullrushes and the woven willow.

In over my head...

... in bracken, that is. What a difference a monthh or so makes! Back for a run through Oakhanger Moss, whose bracken now almost blocks the path, and is literally a foot above my head. It's not a problem, although I have checked for ticks on my return, mindful of the one I found lurking and blood-sucking behind a child's ear a few years ago. Not in my top ten adorable creatures list. Unlike the lambs, small, sweet and skipping last time I was here, now rather grown up and sedate, lazing in the shade of trees.

Thanks to a fairly early start, some wooded stretches and a cooling breeze, my run wasn't too hot. And thanks (I hope) to the stretches suggested by the physio, my calf problem was hardly evident at all today. I came across the Haslington circular walk and joined it for a mile or so, taking a clear path through nearly-ripe barley rippling in the breeze. Flat though it (mostly) is, Cheshire often surprises me with new and interesting places in areas I thought I knew.

With a week in the Lake District now less than a fortnight away, I'm keen to be as fit as possible to make the most of outdoor nirvana. Wild swimming course booked, new prescription goggles arrived, planning of walks and runs in progress... I can't wait!

Still only scratched the surface at Cannock Chase

It was, needless to say, extremely hot at Cannock Chase today, but there were very few people sharing its beauty. There is such a lot to see, it's hard to know where to start and I feel I've barely begun to get to know the area. Among the multitude of paths and trails, the road less travelled always appeals strongly.



















There were slightly spooky vistas into the conifer forests, full of the sounds of unseen and (for me) unidentifiable birds. I noticed how intrusive the sound of distant planes can be when everything else is so peaceful. The audio equivalent of light pollution.

Barely visible on the horizon, distant chimneys reminds visitors of the industrial heritage of the area's past, and, less so, present.

These bramble flowers make fantastic bee feeding grounds.

For my money, the local authority does a good job here, providing cheap parking, mobility scooters and trails, tree lined car parks, well marked trails of a variety of standards, an attractive playground and places to dispose of disposable barbecues.

Unfortunately, the visitor centre was not well signposted on roads leading from the M6, which meant I went an unnecessarily roundabout route via the centre of Cannock, but it was a minor niggle.

Next time, I want to investigate the relics of the military training camp on the Chase whichh once held 40,000 men including convalescents in a 1000 bed hospital during WW1. I first learnt of this in Clare Balding's Radio 4 programme Ramblings , well worth a listen. These camps were built from scratch in the countryside, and at one time included a church, a post office and a bakery. Imagine the hue and cry now if such a thing was mooted - it's sobering to think that the demands of war might make such a scheme seem reasonable.

The Tour de France - blink and you really will miss it! by guest blogger Dave

On holiday in northern France, we decide to devote half a day to watching one of the world's greatest sporting spectacles passing through not far from where we are staying.

The local tourist board is very helpful with information on where and when to see the race, and we duly pitch up at a country crossroads about 15 kilometres from that day's stage finish in St Malo. We reckon that would be too crowded for our liking.

A recce about three hours before the action shows a sizeable crowd already gathering, but we think there's time for a picnic in a shadier location off the Tour de France route.

 

Returning an hour later we find our vantage point much busier, but not uncomfortably so. A lovely sunny afternoon helps to build a carnival atmosphere at the side of the road.

First up comes the caravan - floats bearing cartoon characters representing the main sponsors, along with police outriders, team cars and race officials. 

Dads enthusiastically take part in competitive stamping on goodies thrown to the crowds from the caravan, excited kids retrieving the freebies from under their feet.

Veteran French spectators explain to us novice Brits that predicting the tour's arrival time is not an exact science, and indeed we wait another couple of hours for the next event.

At last a posse of police motorbikes heralds the headline attraction. A breakaway group of some six riders led by the Cofidis team shoot past and I fire off a couple of pictures.

Alas, I am completely blown away by the air blast preceding the peloton, panic and switch off the camera by mistake. Never mind, standing right next to nearly 200 riders belting along at 55-60 kilometres an hour, just a few centimetres between their wheels keeping them from a mass pile-up, is an amazing experience. Do I spot Chris Froome in the bunch? Hmm, if I do he vanishes in an instant.

Heading back to the car, our family agree it's well worth all the waiting. You can get a better view of the race on television, for sure. But that's nothing like the fun of the real thing.

Wild swimming is actually going to happen!

Some see this as evidence of mental instability, but for the last couple of years  I have looked at lakes and thought wistfully about swimming in them. Three things have got in the way:

1. fear of drowning (people do - apparently the cold water can make your body go into shock and stop breathing) 
2. fear of being run down by a boat I hadn't spotted, being very very short sighted, and not feeling that wearing glasses would really be the thing in the water
3. what they call in these parts 'being totally nesh', meaning absolutely pathetic about getting cold. I have swum in a shortie wetsuit in Tooting Lido, although to be fair I wasn't the only one, but it also didn't seem the right thing to wear in the Lake District. Too beachy somehow, and not, well, long enough.

However I have now sorted all of these obstacles: I've booked an introductory session with people who know how to do this safely and who also hire proper full swimming wet suits, not the same kind as surfing ones apparently, and ordered some prescription goggles. No, this is not a bargain basement experience but my philosophy is that money spent on experiences lasts longer than money spent on 'stuff'. Actually the goggles are 'stuff' but they make the experience possible so they don't count as 'stuff', I reckon.

I am now even more excited about my August trip to the Lakes!

An exciting bid to engage children with nature

Many parents find that their children resist their best efforts to get them to engage with nature. In my experience, the resistance often evaporates once the experience actually starts, but it's still bloody getting to that point.

Project Wild Thing is a film about one man's efforts to change that, both with his own children and kids in general. It's not out yet but there's a trailer at Project Wild Thing which has made me very curious.