A scarlet band of sky with streaks of amber decorated the eastern sky. The first snow of the winter had fallen. Alf donned a few fleece layers and walking boots. He quietly locked the front door and silently ghosted into the new white world outside. No human being had set foot on this new earth surface . He would be the first.His breath went before him in grey clouds. The chill of the cold still air was already making him feel more alive. There was a great sense of freedom being the first person up and about in these conditions. He soon found his way to the old wooden gate and the white ribbon of path between fields of snow-laden corn stubble that led to the canal. He could see the white hills of Derbyshire many miles away .The light was clear, sharp and true and walking in this new peopleless landscape gave him a great sense of pleasure, possession and privacy.Perhaps three or four inches of snow had fallen but it was fluffy,light and easy to walk on making that neat crunch underfoot.The branches of the oak and birch had been perfectly white-traced by the artist in the sky. A disturbed pheasant took to the air with clumsy flight and sore-throated cry. Then two more birds followed suit. Something or someone had frightened them.

Restless was the word that perfectly described the state of Alf Snagg’s sleep.He slept and awoke.Slept again and awoke.It was sub zero outside while he snored occasionally and loudly sub duvet. He listened to the silence and was aware of a lighter darkness than usual on bedroom curtains. Why was it unusually light in the amplified silence of this December night? It seemed he rarely slept the sleep of angels these days.Anxiety had become a regular feature of his disturbed reverie.There was always something rooting around in the depths of his subconscious. Things that never made sense but just made a nuisance of themselves by denying a man in later years the peace and pleasure of perfect rest. Most nights he suffered the intrusion of Sleepbugs and Dreamgerms.Snagg looked at his watch but couldn’t see the time. In yawning grumpiness he reached out for the light switch. It was 3.30a.m.Small scratching sounds came from the bungalow ceiling area.Some bird or beast had obviously got into the loft space. Or was it birds/ beasts plural?Alf Snagg tried desparately to relax and go back to sleep. This was not easy. The thought that while he slept rats might be scurrying overhead was not an easy thought to dispel.

Snagg slid back into Dreamgerms like some Freeview channel over which he had no wand to control, magic or otherwise;

A huge pig looked at him,belched and lit up a cigar.A railway bridge spanned a dried-up river and a man with a beard and a striped deckchair said “you’ve got to vote next week or you will have to buy a knitting machine for your father. Then SHE turned up again and gave him the full-lipstick smile – he always knew she would come back. And then he awoke again . Again ! There was still light in the darkness and silence once more. That nightime held the silence of snowfall.

Alf Snagg parted the curtains just fractionally. He didn’t really want any invasion of the world outside just yet but needed an escape from dreams that threatened his happiness, however much that was. Snowflakes fluttered down in streetlight, singular, separate and free. Descending to become an insignificant molecule in a ground-covering blanket that hushed the breathing earth , clothed its fields and scarved the leafless hedges. Now a small part of the awakening winter morning, Alf decided to embrace the snowy world with his indecision on what he would do next. Read the bible? Go fishing? Do some yoga? Phone the Samaritans? Hoover the carpet? or just switch the radio on and listen to early morning BBC Radio 4 and play his regular silly game of seeing how many seconds it would be before the word Brexit was uttered. But the word Absolutely invariably won out in a competition between the two words.Why was our language now so heavily concentrated in adopted Americanisms? In this age of abbreviations Alf couldn’t work out how ‘absolutely’ with its 10 letters was constantly used in preference to ‘yes’ which had 3. Everything is ‘amazing’ he thought (possibly the most overused adjective in contemporary English ? language). Alf questioned himself on how he was feeling following sleep deprivation. ‘Not too bad’ was now replaced with ‘I’m good’. After an early breakfast he would do something ‘cool’ and go for a walk in the virgin snow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As a first blog I will plunge into that stream of consciousness and we will go with the flow.My name is ALF SNAGG – nice to meet you all whoever you are and wherever you may be.This is my random diary that will hopefully be entertaining and on occasions even thought provoking.

I have just arrived home and in the dark it appeared there was something on the doorstep. Perhaps someone has left me a present I thought with optimism or had I dropped something on my way out ? Walking up the path I realised it was my old prickly friend – Acton Leggitt. Acton often turns up on ‘Slugsearch’. I tried to open the front door without disturbing him. He didn’t move and seemed undeterred both my presence and the unlocking of the front door. Maybe I should give him some food? I had some leftover chicken in the fridge. Do hedgehogs like garlic chicken ? I don’t suppose its part of their staple diet. I put together a small plateful of it chopped into pieces and stealthily re-opened the front door. Acton’s blob of black dewy nose seemed to twitch in the light of the porch. I thought he was about to run off but then in an instant changed his mind and didn’t move or ‘ball up’.I placed the plate down in front of him and quietly retreated closing the door.

I wondered if I could use this little incident as a story in The Waterways of Taffy Satchell which I will introduce in future posts.WOTS as I have abbreviated it to is a book I am writing involving many species of animals and birds affected by our radically changing environment.It is anthropomorphic and humorous throughout. My family of hegehogs in it are called ‘The Joggs’. They are Irish and the father is Harold Declan Jogg who in Summer months is employed by local allotment owners on salad plots. He is an SAS hedgehog( Security against Slugs). More to follow on this. His daughter is rebellious, untidy and at a difficult age. Her name is Fleezy Jogg.

After half an hour curiosity got the better of me and I went on chicken check. Acton it appeared had consumed the lot. All that was left was the plate and next to it a neat fresh pile of hedgehog faeces. I don’t know if this was Acton’s way of saying ‘thankyou’ but garlic does exactly the same to me.        Goodnight

 

IN THIS WORLD OF DARKNESS WE MUST SHINE  

Tonight I shall introduce myself to the world with all its future contacts awaiting. I will begin my stories tomorrow and hopefully you will share my laughter and maybe just on the odd occasion my tears.We will share GUESS WHAT LITTLE ALF, THE WATERWAYS OF TAFFY SATCHELL and perhaps leave you with a little bit of joy.

I will send poems to you also and who knows where all this creativity will lead.So tonight is just this brief introduction and tomorrow I write:

WATERS

In the songs of spirit and the waves of love

In the paths of glory and the gardens of light

In the wings of flight and the calm of night

Rich waters run deep with affection