The Lake District was bathed in sunshine. We crossed the field
and through the gate
and entered the wonderland of a carpet of blue.
The bluebells spread out among the green moss-covered trunks and put on a show just for us.
It was so English.
The Bluebell Wood
Oh to walk on a carpet of blue in the green of spring along with you! There WERE paths I assume…
There were indeed paths to take one through the magic!
I like one place so beautiful.
It was indeed very beautiful.
So pretty!!
It was great to walk through a gate into a carpet of blue.
That sounds so lovely!
It was magical Pooj.
Slightly spurious claim of being “so English”. Some readers might believe bluebells are only found in England, where in fact they are found from north-western Spain to northern France to throughout the British Isles.
In UK, a protected species under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 and landowners may not sell them and it is a criminal offence to remove the bulbs of wild bluebells. In 1998 the act was improved to impose a £5,000 fine per bulb.
Don’t mess with the bluebells!
Lovely to look at but it’s extremely bad form to walk through and tread all over them which many ramblers all too often do as they’re oblivious to the laws of the land and too lazy to detour and walk around the floor spread.
We’ve heard every excuse under the sun and had to take tough action on these vandals.
We rig up cameras, take car registrations, name and shame and seek prosecutions on everybody that destroys them.
Well thank you Andrew. I’m not quite sure that you have reflected the delight of walking through a woodland (on a path) festooned with English Bluebells though – a tad authoritarian.
As you know the British Bluebell is under threat from the continent. The Spanish are invading us! I’m not sure that Brexit will fix the problem.
Wrong guy. But you’re now trying to convey your nonsense with someone whose back garden disappears into a bluebell wood and if you want to gps or google it, look up Baldernock Wood, off Baldernock Road, Milngavie, north Glasgow. I live on Balfleurs Street, adjacent to Baldernock Road and the bluebell wood starts at the end of my back garden. My house is the one at the street’s end with the Chinese style Pagoda roof. If one were to drive along Baldernock Rock and take the first right turn, they would eventually arrive at the row of cottages in Balmore village once inhabited by the Incredible String Band in 1967/68 and where the album cover photograph was taken on Christmas Day ’67 for The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter.
I am surrounded by countryside and live on the verge of a country park. We have everything here on our door step. I walk out from my front door and it’s there.
You townies know nothing and it’s a damnable disgrace for you to be tramping all over them. You vandal!
No I don’t think the Spanish or Brexit have anything to do with any threat. The threat if any is all coming from ignorant townies intent on marching all over them.
Please read more carefully Andrew – note the path – no trampling but plenty of respect for nature. While I have spent most of my adult life in towns and cities I was brought up in countryside and am a biologist and naturalist.
Yes – you’ve already told me about your experiences with the Incredible String Band.
I see no path in any photo, nor did you describe any such path earlier. You crossed a field, through the gate (did you close it behind you?) and entered a wonderland of a carpet of blue. Your words, your description, no path evident or mentioned. Just admit it, you wantonly traipsed all over them.
One does not need a qualification from somewhere to enable an appreciation of nature. I grew up in this countryside area, it was my playground and it’s all encompassing for me. I know every nook and cranny for miles. I too should make claim to being a naturalist as I live in it all day every day. Whereas from what I can gather you have to drive some distance somewhere to somewhere.
I can’t speak for south London surburbs and they’re probably chalk and cheese, in fact they will be because the land is very flat and entirely uninteresting down there.
I only mention the ISB because I see you like 60’s music. There’s some 20,000 people living in this town now as opposed to only 5,000 when I was a child and there must be thousands of people who know about the ISB in this area. I can’t be the only one.
Donovan played just two minutes walk down at the bottom of the road just a few weeks ago and even he remembered when they were around here.
‘Well thank you Andrew. I’m not quite sure that you have reflected the delight of walking through a woodland (on a path) festooned with English Bluebells though – a tad authoritarian.’
I don’t trash nature thanks. I have more respect and more knowledge.
I found the land where I grew up very interesting and full of wildlife thanks. But it’s all a question of taste and snobbery.
So beautiful!
It was very beautiful Jennie.
Looks like a very strong case of delusional hysteria, absurdity, suspicion, and deep seated feelings of inadequacy.
Lord MacDonald of MacDonald has requested some urgent clarification for you which should save further anxiety.
Lord MacDonald is his own man and nothing to do with me. He’s a total folkie and has promoted local gigs for years. He owns some land and leaves it to grow wild. It’s not his real name, but neither is yours, Opher, an abbreviation from the full-blown Christian name of Christopher and I can understand why you would want to down play that. He is in fact a MacDonald, but not Lord of. That’s a joke internet name he uses for stuff about Scotland and it’s natural environment. But he’s pretty much Lord of all things folk music and natural heritage stuff in his home town, Milngavie, which coincidentally I also grew up in but no longer live there. I live (for half of any year) just outside central Glasgow, some miles away.
I would also remind you Opher, that Glasgow is the 2nd biggest city in UK, so it would be pretty fool hardy to conclude that if two people from this area ever visit your site, though not necessarily at the same time, that they are indeed the same person.
Your powers of logic are to say the least, questionable.
I do not make any posts on your site and have not done so for quite some time.
Rest in Peace,
Andrew
Thanks for that Andrew. Strange that he displays the same turn of phrase.
That’s because funnily enough, we come from the same place, are the exact same type, talk the same language and never plan out what we’re going to say whilst using a thesaurus to help us. We type “naked”.
The talking manner of the language is what counts but there’ll be a thousand others from the same town that do so too. It’s called middle-class Conservative. No working class chavs that way, I can tell you. Although I’m sure some do the washing of windows, cleaning and gardening stuff.
That’s what comes with a decent Scottish education, where we had the same curriculum with an emphasis on Latin (I’ve completely lost you now, I know, sorry) and very similar social backgrounds. We were both spoiled with the achievements of our parents. We were both taught to speak the Queen’s English, but not to the extent of that 1950’s BBC Received manner.
I’ll have you know that the Lord is a fine fellow of outstanding integrity.
But you cannot handle his scathing cruel humour for even a fleeting second, can you?
He’ll always make a pussy of you, so my advice would be not to argue with him.
His mission statement is to (literally) fuck over every Englishman he comes across on the internet. But he does it with great aplomb and in grand style.
You’re only one of too many. Be lucky.
It’s 2am my end and a hot night. Sleeping open-air on garden roof. Nighty-night.
I see. I don’t know why you think you’ve completely lost me? Have you said anything profound?
You seem to have a strange sense of humour. I hadn’t noticed any scathing cruel humour or degree of intelligence – just crass rudeness, racism and stupidity. You think this has aplomb and grand style?
I was laughing myself silly at the pompous silliness and pseudo ramblings of Scottish Laird – more lard than laird I’d say.
A puffed up nobody assuming a grandiose title that fools nobody.