in Grimpen Mire

Some people - Jane Fonda types - get to be On Golden Pond - but I found myself struggling in Grimpen Mire, with no Sir Arthur Conan Coyle to write me out of it.   We went to a reserve in Lincs on the way back from the wedding - which I shall blog about but not till I get the photos - which should be lovely (a great wedding) - we were looking for the Large Heath (which, counter-intuitively, is not a very large butterfly).

So we were looking for it in a large heath.  Be careful where you tread, said Col casually.   Why?

Its all swamp. 

Yes, it was.  And I found myself with my walking shoes sinking into the Mire, squelching along, while being badgered and bothered by large flies - attracted by the smell of insect repellent.   Oh, and having to watch Col hurl himself over barbed wire fences in pursuit of the Large Heath.  I might ask him for a photo for this blog too, given how much effort we put into it all.   He is watching The Match at the moment - no score as of yet - but the German octopus has apparently said Spain to win.

I wonder if it will agree to be the new England manager?