How cold can it get?

It was bitter at Cley today, so cold that even now some 5 hours after I said goodbye to the bleak winter-washed marshes I am struggling to get warm. Caught in Bishop's Hide when an evil looking cobalt-coloured curtain swept in from the west, I could do nothing but try and shore up the viewing hatches in a vain effort to prevent the horizontal squall soaking me and everything therein. I failed.

To cap it all I somehow managed to lose my footing whilst stepping over one of the logs in the car park after lunch. Whack! Down I went hard onto my left knee. Muddy trousers, now with a lovely tear in them lent an air of mild desparation to my rapidly deteriorating deameanour. After all a man has to have dress standards. To my complete surprise there was no pain, not even after I'd tramped around the reserve perimeter muttering various curses under my least not until I got home when the pain was literally crippling.

So here I sit, watching the footy and nursing my tender patella. I've even managed a chuckle over the exploits of the day which, despite all, did produce some wildlife, and good company from the reserve staff, and much optimism about the imminent completion of the Simon Aspinall Education Centre and the wonderful programme of events planned for the coming year. Surely next week will be warmer? Please let it be warmer.