Nature in aspic...

Scrobs was wandering about his local churchyard with Little Big Dog the other day.

The small walk, (the afternoon one, after the prandials and a couple of tilts at the Elderberry), often takes me through this delightful area of tranquility, reverence and death...

But this year, the Vicar has lost his mowing man, who'd do the whole lot in a day, and moan, grumble  and curse all the time he was doing it, and also the lady who deals with the newer graves for burnt people has retired, so the whole shebang is a riot of beautiful wild flowers and grasses!

The picture above shows the proliference of the Virgin's Daisies - a common flower from Victorian times - and maybe not so prevalent now!

One can spot - with some difficulty no less, the Nargwort, which protudes from the cracks in the several grave chests, and creates a rather unpleasant, musty smell when touched, or weed on by said dog, which causes a long leg-cocking and a small woof.

If one looks closely, the casual observer can spot a rare specimen of the Bishop's Fingernail, an insignificant purple flower, prone to decay within minutes of a BBC 'naturewatch' broadcast, and nearby, there will certainly be a Shepherdess Cornwallage - which was a flower associated with the  girls in the fields during the mating season, and is a pretty sight, as long as one doesn't look at the teeth of the iridescent blooms!

One must, however, avoid the spectacle of the Blackened Scumblinge! This hovers around the shady areas of the plague-pit in the corner of the churchyard. It's recognised that anyone who even touches these leaves will contract the bubonics, and die before reaching the Ford Kuga parked outside!

Once one has negotiated the slippery brick paths, and avoided the lawyers gasping for compensation on account of your fall, you'll emerge from the churchyard, refreshed, but seemingly afloat from the smell coming from the compost heap, where everyone chucks the poo bags from previous doggy elements of canine bodily extraction...

Other than that, the walk is exquisite, and on meeting other visitors, one can easily discuss the weather, Leeds United, The Common Market and why the Daily Mail publishes eighty-seven articles about two lost and rather boring ex-royals in every edition of their rag!