It was a sad sign of the times that our train journey into London for a couple of days ground to a halt near Romford because of a lineside grass fire. Maybe it is only mass disruption like this that will force people to confront the reality that so many choose to ignore? Anyway, our delay meant we changed plans, and instead of going first to the hotel we went straight to our evening destination, Cody Dock.

We first came upon this place in March while walking along the lower Lee valley to Stratford, and really enjoyed the breakfast, atmosphere and location. So when we discovered their beer and bat evenings, we readily built a short break around one of those!

And we were not disappointed. The project team and volunteers are doing a great job around the dock, including biodiversity enhancement, monitoring and education.  But first a juicy burger and a pint or two of local tap lager, chatting with other early arrivals in the warmth of the evening sun.

The old dock was a lovely sight with patched brickwork detailing the passage of history, Sand Martins nesting in crevices and flittering all around over the show of brownfield beauties, including Red Valerian and Narrow-leaved Ragwort.

Then it was time for bat event: informative talks, a bat-themed pub quiz, and at sunset the walk. The hinterland is unprepossessingly  industrial, but tree-lined dark ways form bat corridors. Almost as soon as we started, but especially in the tiny Memorial Wood, a belt of trees around an open space, the bat detectors echoed with the sound Common Pipistrelles rattling around, more bat activity here in East London we have heard anywhere for many a year.

Fifteen detectors among 60 folks ensured that every good flypast resulted in a gasp of collective thrill. We loved the atmosphere and people (we felt old!) and will be back.

So it was a late arrival at the Travelodge Docklands – where we stayed last time – a very pleasant, modern, quiet and relatively inexpensive base from which to explore London. And although we were only on floor 8 out of 17, a good view when we woke after a late night!

An al fresco breakfast from Tesco came next, around the very pleasant water features which have been extended and improved considerably since we first set foot in that area a decade or more ago heading to the Bow Creek reserve.

The newest water is a very formal water garden, surrounded by Hydrangea paniculata, attracting numerous bumblebees and greenbottles, and stuffed with Pontederia and true Bulrush (aka Common Club-rush) and Blue-tailed Damselflies flittering all around.

The landscaping is needed to offset the impact of all the new developments, but even the most modern buildings, even the forbidding-looking data centres have their artistic appeal…

But sadly, glass and steel do reflect light, and birds can see that as a way to fly. A young Sedge Warbler, perhaps one that had just fledged from the local reedbed, will sadly never make its inaugural flight across the Mediterranean and Sahara…

The elevated East India DLR station has good views of Docklands, and over the Thames to Greenwich…

… and from there an easy run via Bank to our intended exploration of Soho.

Oxford Street on a Saturday was perhaps not the best place to loiter, to look up and see the real buildings behind the façade of shopping.

But perhaps the most magnificent was actually built as a department store. Now called United Kingdom House, it was built as the Waring & Gillow department store in 1906, its design apparently influenced by that of Hampton Court Palace.

Heading off the main artery, next we visited the Photographers’ Gallery to see an excellent, interesting, in part very moving exhibition of the work of female Japanese photographers, a real bonus as we hadn’t investigated previously what might be on there.

Thence into Carnaby Street and the heart of Soho, with street art in the forefront of our sight, rather than the shopping experience.

But also the architecture above street level, a real revelation as neither of us had ever really trodden those streets before. There was the Marshall Street Leisure Centre, originally a public baths, so with essentially the same use for the past century: with Art Deco styling, the present building dates from 1931.

Next door, the City of Westminster Dwellings, a municipal tenement built in 1904, and intended as affordable housing for the working class…. The block is still residential now, but presumably the demographic is rather different!

And then just a few steps further up Marshall Street, a very different building, known as 45 Foubert’s Place, with glazed  turquoise brick facade a complement and contrast to all around it, including Craven Schools & Lecture Hall, an 1874 Victorian Gothic school originally with separate floors for infants, girls and boys.

Then there were the arty details, disappearing vistas, decorative brickwork, and even simple reflections of a clear blue sky, a great excuse to linger in the shade of an increasingly fierce day. Going the full Mondrian?

No wonder that we stayed indoors with good friends from then, eating in the Real Greek, and then heading for a drink (which turned into several!) in the John Snow pub, named after the doctor who traced the London cholera outbreak of 1954.

Our final day again dawned hot and sunny, another day of trying to keep cool at all times. Trying, but failing! It was breakfast once more courtesy of Tesco, before we walked to Blackwell DLR station alongside a very impressive, substantial old brick wall, reminiscent of that we know from around Woolwich Arsenal.

A short bus ride took us to All Saints’ Church, set amidst its desert-like lawn. Impressive from the outside, we didn’t venture inside as there was a service taking place, except to use the classical portico for very welcome shade.

From there it was but a short stroll to the other main reason for this weekend: to get up close to Balfron Tower, a Brutalist edifice we have long admired from a distance. Almost straight off the bus, there it was peeping over the shoulders of the back streets of Poplar.

But first we had to navigate our way past the Ivy elephant (!!) and the rather unassuming St Frideswide’s Mission House. The eponymous saint was a Saxon princess and abbess who died in 727 and became patron saint of Oxford and its University; the Mission House was built in 1892 by Christ Church, Oxford, to support poor dockworker families in Poplar, and apparently served as inspiration for Call the Midwife. Although having never seen a minute of that show, I cannot comment!

The glimpses of the tower do not prepare you for the first full view, as you approach through the wooded garden that surrounds it, a vast, brooding 27-story presence that springs sharply into focus.

An absolute masterpiece of Brutalist architecture, it was designed by Ernő Goldfinger and finished in 1967; Goldfinger liked it so much he reserved one of the upper flats for himself. It is almost a pair with the Trellick Tower that he produced five years later, a place that is on our radar for a visit some time.

Although no longer fulfilling its original purpose as social housing, it was wonderful to walk around and feel so at home among the concrete, as befits someone who spent five years at UEA, Norwich!

And not just the main buildings, the walkways and stairwells as well, plus the occasional artily textured paving slab all added to the picture, as indeed did the Firebugs scurrying around, feeding on fallen Lime seeds.

But soon it was back onto the DLR towards Stratford, with just a final wander around Pudding Mill Lane station. It might have been fun to wander among the ABBA-themed throngs around the ABBA Arena; we had no idea of the lengths that some would go! Collective noun: ABBAriginals? But we turned our back on them, onto the Greenway and back among the London urban flora we know and love, here with Buddleja and Wild Clematis in prominent flower alongside the City Mill River and on top of Bazalgette’s Northern Outfall Sewer.

Too hot for many insects (and for us!) except for a lone, tattered, female Hummingbird Hawkmoth assiduously egg-laying on the bedstraws. A thought-inducing finale to our minibreak, perhaps a sign of things to come in our overheated climate future. A future of winners (like the Hummers) but legions of losers too…

Why Stafford? Well, we had never been there, and knew nothing about it, except a vague memory of some Civil War connection (as do many places of course). But we were offered a great deal by Coaching Inn Hotels, one of our chains of choice. And we love a dip into the pot of luck!

To some Stafford, or Staffordshire, might mean terriers or the iconic knot or the hoard of Anglo-Saxon gold and silver. And yes, Staffies were everywhere, a cartoony attempt to rehabilitate the canine reputation, and knots in every conceivable location. Now come to represent heritage, community and the symbolic joining of disparate parts of the county, the knot origin is debated apparently, one theory being it was a devised by a hard-up hangman to hang multiple victims with just one rope… But as for the hoard, well it has decamped to Birmingham Museum, so one for another trip!

So we had no expectations, but the instant impression, stepping out of a pleasant station, safely across the road, into Victoria Park, over the lovely River Sow and straight into the largely pedestrianised town centre was a joy. And the town centre air was breathable even in the (re)building heatwave.

It was soon apparent that the centre was full of interesting buildings, some very remarkable, particularly the area around Greengate Street and Church Lane. Ok, there were also plenty of closed-down shops, vape shops and the like (name a place that isn’t now like that!), but lifting the view above the ground floor proved a journey through time…

Leaving aside the churches for now, the earliest building was the remarkable Ancient High House, built in 1595 as a town house, now the largest timber-framed such house in England. Herein lies a Civil War connection: Charles I stayed there after raising the standard in Nottingham and effectively blowing the starting whistle on the conflict; later on, the town having being taken by Parliamentarians, it was used to house Royalist prisoners.

We felt that inside it was disappointing compared to the exuberant exterior, although perhaps that isn’t so surprising given that it was falling into dereliction in the 1970s, and rescued only after a concerted local campaign involving local boys the Climax Blues Band (a blast from the past for those of a certain age!).

Next in date, and almost next door, the Swan Hotel, built as two houses and a tavern in 1606 but combined into a coaching inn in 1752. Yes, it has wonky floors, but no signs of ghostly activity; being residents we were able to appreciate the original internals at leisure.

Next, Primrose Cottage from 1610, now a funeral parlour, and a lovely set of almshouses, endowed in 1660 by the past MP Sir Martin Noel, from days when some MPs were public-spirited, not seeking to line their own pockets. Guess what is high in the news as I write this!

Moving forward further still we come into the realm of monumental, mostly municipal buildings (many now repurposed), no doubt reflecting the status of Stafford as county town. There is the 1798 Shire Hall, now a ‘business hub’…

… the 1877 Borough Hall, now the Gatehouse Theatre, with a lovely terracotta frieze on the 1888 brick extension…

… the Public Free Library from 1913, funded by the Carnegie Trust, but now seemingly unused…

… and built in the same year, the Picturehouse, now enjoying a second life as a pub with original internal decor.

1937 saw the building of the art deco Stafford College Tenterbanks building, although its first use was as an army hospital …

… and even in the modern era, buildings which to us had their charms, the 1978 borough Civic Centre with splendid clock tower and across the road, the 2010 county council HQ. A real journey through the architectural styles of the centuries, and something we had not expected to become so engaged in.

Then of course in addition to all these there are churches, here the spires of Trinity Church and the Baptist Church with attractive lattice-spire; the latter down by the riverside may have been required perhaps because of the need to keep weight down on sinking soils.

But lording over them all, indeed the whole town centre, was the Collegiate Church of St Mary, cathedralesque in its domination of the skyscape.

Dating from the early 13th century, it is on the site of the Anglo-Saxon church of St Bertelin; the foundations of the latter have been revealed by excavations in the 1980s and feature in the otherwise uninteresting churchyard.

Originally featuring a spire, it collapsed in a storm in 1593, and then by the 1840s the whole building was mouldering. So it was over to George Gilbert Scott to renovate, in a supposed mediaeval style, rebuilding the tower in a striking octagonal form. As for the impressive gargoyles and ornamentation, whether original, faithful copy or flight of fancy, it all adds up to Grade I listing.

On our last day we even got inside, to hear a sublime alto and lute recital.

Chance to explore more deeply, with interesting features including a bizarre Norman font, (accidentally) beheaded effigies, some beautifully understated stations of the cross, as befits an Anglo-Catholic Church, and wall paintings attributed possibly to Gilbert Scott, showing a real Art Nouveau flair.

There is also a modern stained glass window depicting one of the trades upon which the town was founded, shoemaking, and a memorial to Isaak Walton, local lad, ‘piscator’ and author of the 1653 fisherman’s bible The Compleat Angler. But all may not be what it purports to be. Walton was highly devout, and the book is seen by some as a veiled manifesto for Anglicanism (‘The Compleat Anglican’), written at a time when openly worshipping the wrong god or the wrong form of the same god could be terminal…. plus ça change!

But St Chad’s knocked that into a cocked hat for us. Sitting across from our hotel, it looked ornate, enticingly so, but mocked us by being firmly closed at all times. Until just after the St Mary’s recital and a few hours before our train home when it was open for a craft fair.

To walk into the interior was like walking into a menagerie of figures and faces, ornately and crisply carved into the stone: we have never seen anything like it, and the overall effect felt almost like an abstract celebration of the pagan. But then if you are a new religion on the block, why fix things that ain’t broken?

Any religious symbology seemed superfluous, although the early 20th century altar piece, almost Orthodox in appearance, was quite beautiful, as were the modern west windows.

The church itself is the oldest extant building in town, dating from the 11th century. But its fortunes waned, especially after the building of the more imposing St Mary’s, and from the 17th century it fell into severe disrepair, so much so that the interior Norman decoration was plastered up to strengthen the whole structure. Enter once again George Gilbert Scott in the 1870s and his restoration zeal, although here it was restricted to some structural stabilisation and crucially uncovering those wonderful decorative motifs. Even his florid imagination could not improve on what he found!

So what of the wildlife?  Herring and Lesser Black-backed Gulls all over the rooftops brought a whiff of the seaside to this most landlocked of locations, their cries occasionally rising to a frenzy as one of the local Peregrines flew through.

Old walls of course have their own unique plants communities, especially around a steady dribble of water…

… and even their modern counterpart, green roofs on bus stops, add biodiversity, while the pedestrianised streets provided secure basking for a few Painted Ladies. Their early summer invasion has clearly penetrated this far.

And as always pocket-sized brownfields added nature into the townscape. Spear Thistles at full anthesis showed well what the Patchwork Leaf-cutter bees were burying themselves deep into their white counterparts for…

…while a patch of Black Nightshade in a forgotten corner turned up Green Shieldbug nymphs and a remarkable red form of Common Froghopper, both sap-suckers oblivious to the plant’s toxins.

Flowing through the heart of the town, the delightful River Sow, a tributary of the Trent, brings Yellow Water-lilies and Banded Demoiselles into everyone’s lives, whether they know it or not.

Plants of the margins and shallows included Purple Loosestrife, Water Forget-me-not, Great Yellow-cress and both of the tricky-to-separate pair, Lesser Water-parsnip and Fool’s Watercress.

Running through Victoria Park it is a little more tamed but no less beautiful:

Other features of the park include a lovely, free hot greenhouse full of tropical plants, a well-kept aviary filling the air with the plaintive coo of Diamond Doves; the old machinery of the historic Town Mill…

… plus ornamental trees, including Silver Maple with the distinctive bladder galls, new to Britain in 2002, of the mite Vasates quadripedes, Izaak Walton again, and a bowling green: the last hour of our visit was spent in the sun, having lunch and watching the strategies play out on the crown green. Genuinely fascinating. We know how to have fun!

Beyond the park, the river passes the long-disused Broad Eye Windmill, tallest mill in the Midlands and now home to a radio station and a fish and chip shop.

Continuing on, under busy roads, we plunged into the wilder side of the Sow. As might be expected here, Himalayan Balsam seems to run amok unchecked except, interestingly perhaps, by infestations of what seemed to be the Asian Balsam Aphid Impatientinum asiaticum.

And a lovely selection of other green wedge wildlife to keep the naturalist in us happy!: Cinnabar caterpillars, Small Skippers and Ringlets, Batman Hoverfly, 2-spotted Ladybird, mating Polydrusus formosus weevils, and the bugs Plagionothus arbustorum (photobombing Poplar Rust), Orthotylus marginalis and tiny Birch Catkin-bug nymphs – only when looking at the photos later did we realise there were even teenier ones, presumably first instar, in shot.

So far, so near, all on foot. But one evening we decided to head to Stafford Castle, walkable but an easy bus-ride away. The knoll on which the castle stands is now shrouded in Beech woodland, rather lovely in low light and full of Nuthatches…

… but from the top the vista is largely obscured by the growth of a past couple of hundred years, masking the strategic prominence of the site whose purpose is to see and be seen. It was all very different in its heyday!

The motte and a timber fortress were in place by about 1100, the stone added around 150 years later, a red sandstone from local sources.

The castle may now be in a ruinous state but it is undoubtedly impressive, and we were well placed to appreciate it, after the castle closed but the paths still open, the fading sun flickering on the red stone, set against blue skies. With nobody there but us! And sadly the interminable drone of the M6…

And of course lichens!

Our one significant diversion away from Stafford was up to the Potteries. We headed there by bus, giving us flexibility to leap on and off. Which on seeing a scary-looking church as we approached Newcastle-under-Lyme bus station, we did. And yes, it was scary, a deeply forbidding monstrosity built of sombre brick, with few positive features outside and seemingly fewer inside, although we didn’t venture in as a funeral was under way.

Little did we know that Pevsner already described the church as a ‘crazy effort in blue brick’! These are strong engineering bricks made of the local red clay, which when fired at high temperature in low oxygen conditions develop a very hard surface with a deep blue colour.

But just a few metres away a roundabout like no other, a sunken garden connected to the outside world by underpasses, full of subtropical planting that evidently thrives in the sheltered microenvironment, its sunken location also insulating visitors from noise on the busy roundabout. And virtually no litter, or evidence of antisocial activities. Other public authorities could and should learn from this: Colchester may have the magnificent Albert Roundabout, planted by the Beth Chatto team and universally loved it seems, but what of the miserable, abused sunken roundabout at the eastern end of Southway. All they can think to do is fell the trees, making bad worse, then filling it in, bringing pedestrians back into traffic, with risk, pollution and delays all round. Perhaps all that is needed is a bit of imagination?

Then on to the Potteries Museum at Hanley, a bit of a disappointment really as it is mostly closed for refurbishment, and only the Spitfire Gallery and café were open.

But all was forgiven when we realised there was one of the iconic bottle-kilns we could get up close to just down the road …

… and on the museum steps, perhaps the most beautiful rove-beetle we had ever thought of seeing, Platydracus stercorarius. Apparently not uncommon in Britain, especially in the Midlands, it seems to like open mosaic habitats and brownfields, so museum steps can fit that category!

So it was another very successful short break, even if impacted a little by illness. Stafford especially was impressive historically, but its fortunes have fluctuated over the past decades. There are signs of at least a couple of waves of town centre investment over the past half century, but it currently feels to be in decline again, the improvements of the past now fading from memory. But we have to say, everyone we spoke to or who approached us was extremely friendly, and we did get an excellent meal one night in the Swan. My smoked duck caesar salad was amazing! And even on big match night (World Cup), the streets, while buzzing, didn’t feel at all intimidating.

June is always a peak month for seeing the delights of a botanic garden, so last week for me it was three in three days, dodging the rain. The chance for some ‘extreme botany’, taking photos of plants from all over the world, including usefully some rare British plants without the need for long treks into the wilds!

First, Chelsea Physic Garden. Only our second visit there, the warm sun was interspersed with a couple of sharp showers, but it was lovely, the blue sky adorned with lenticular clouds:

Lots of interesting plants here, of course, many with a medicinal bent, although not exclusively:

And not just showy flowers: seeds, leaves, stems and fronds were all interesting and photogenic too:

And in the hot, sunny interludes the insects and other invertebrates performed for us, surprisingly abundant given the position of the garden almost surrounded by the metropolis. These included Zebra Jumping-spider, and Mullein and Knot Grass caterpillars, hopefully indicating the garden is managed without recourse to poisons…

… diverse bees, including Colletes daviesanus agg, Osmia leaiana agg, Gwynne’s Mining-bee, Wool Carder-bee and Honeybee….

… Batman Hoverfly and Ferruginous Bee-grabbers (‘Gargoyle Flies’ to us!) mating….

… 10-spot and 2-spot Ladybirds (the latter seems to be resurgent this year)…

…Cinnamon Bug, Hairy Shieldbug and the eggs and nymph of Green Shieldbug…

… and lots of Azure Damselflies busy making more Azure Damselflies.

Perhaps the most interesting finds, none of which are shown from London on the NBN maps were the cloud-winged hoverfly Pipiza lugubris (with recorded sites no closer than Cobham and Grays) and the banded metallic longhorn moth Nemophora fasciella, a scarce East Anglian species that the map shows reaching only as far south and west as Dartford, an apparently significant range extension.

Then it was over to Oxford Botanic Garden, again my second visit.

Here is a treasure trove of botanical riches, with some important conservation collections of endangered endemic plants from places like the Canary Islands and other Atlantic islands gathered in Britain’s oldest botanic garden.

And much more, including in the glasshouses, providing welcome shelter from the repeated torrential and thunder downpours as well as lots of interest.

The gardens are well laid out, with themed sections. Sadly the parasitic plant bed, of particular interest to me, was well past its best. A May visit might be better some time.

But the Mediterranean rock planting was wonderful, bringing back the memories, sights and smells of many past visits, and without the incessant nibbling pressures of goats disfiguring the plants! This included a section on the specialities of Crete, one of my regular haunts in the past and a place where the endemics often have to be really searched for, and then sometimes in inaccessible spots:

Insects were few and far between because of the rain, but included a Painted Lady and a Footballer hoverfly.

Finally was the Harris Garden at Reading University. This was my first visit, but sadly restricted by a much more organised band of heavy rain which washed out the morning plans.

It had passed through when I reached the Harris Garden at Reading University. But…  was it the gloom, or was it that this was clearly one of the lesser British botanic gardens? More a flowery park with some interesting trees, it made little attempt to engage people in the wonderful world of plants. The labelling was sporadic (and not always accurate) and there seemed to be little effort at interpretation. I was disappointed, although the value of any urban greenspace that is not mown within an inch of its life cannot be overstated, and a school party bug hunting in the meadows was noisily joyous.

While its website suggests it is a valuable teaching and research resource for the University, I felt it was rather limited, especially in comparison with Oxford, and others like Cambridge I know well. Perhaps this is the result of the closure of the Plant Science department, followed by transfer to the responsibility of the Estates Department. I just hope that this apparent dumbing down has not also been reflected in the internationally significant herbarium of preserved specimens.

So, what flowers there were were dripping with recent raindrops, attractive maybe but of little use as an identification resource.

And the only other wildlife a solitary Cucumber Spider waiting in vain for dinner!

Three botanic gardens in three days, not all successful but overall very enjoyable, each a cheap or free day out (for Chelsea, remember to check for ‘2 for 1 by train’ offers) and, for me, the chance to immerse myself fully in plants and what they attract, always a joy, whatever the weather!

Half term, and as often try to do, it was away with Eleanor for a few nights. Little did we realise just how hot it was going to be, a fierce late spring heatwave that certainly restricted some of our planned activities (except ice-cream eating!). We last visited Tunbridge Wells a couple of years ago, and at the time thought she might like it there, especially the Wealden Sandstone outcrops for climbing.

The town itself was a challenge, at least for we lowlives, with hills in every direction, quite an obstacle in the heat. But the tree-lined  streets were model of sanity that all towns should aspire to be like in the global greenhouse…

Straight away it was into Calverley Park, for the first ice-cream and lunch, followed by an hour in the play park. Chance for us to sit in the shade, to keep Eleanor hydrated and take in the gardens, with plants wild and cultivated. Too warm for many insects though apart from a single Closterotomus trivialis bug and a few bumblebees.

‘Mount Ephraim’ may be a bit of hyperbole, but believe me it felt like a full-blown mountain as we slogged up there to find our hotel, a bit of a disappointment this time after an outstanding stay previously. Perhaps a lesson there: don’t look back!

But at least perched on the heights there was a modicum of breeze, and of course panoramic views over the town:

The Common is a lovely area of greenspace, trees full of Long-tailed Tit family parties, calling Nuthatches and singing Blackbirds and Song Thrushes, with Swifts screaming overhead, all set among grassland coming into peak pollen season! And of course the rocks….

It was Wellington Rocks we were headed for, and they provided plenty of opportunity for ‘hard play’ (no safety nets here!) on both afternoons of our stay.

Geologically, the rocks are gently spectacular, water-worn, showing strata of pebbles indicating different depositional environments around 100 million years ago when what is now the High Weald was a warm river delta.

In the cracks and crevasses where moisture can gather, especially on north-facing walls, there were ferns, mosses and liverworts, despite the pounding they have had from the activities of generations of youngsters:

On our second morning, we took the bus out to Eridge Rocks, a lovely nature reserve, the only downside being the complete lack of any provision for pedestrians to cross the very busy road safely on alighting at the bus stop. Seems car is king in East Sussex, as sadly in so many places.

But on reaching the reserve, the modern world is forgotten. Dense woodland around a ravine of those Wealden rocks make for a magical place, abounding in half-imagined wood sprites and goblins:

Some faces, eroded by wind into honeycomb structures, were like we have seen before only in the cliffs of West Bay (Dorset) and north-eastern Menorca…

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And where the cliffs turn to face north, a rich covering of lower plants and lichens, albeit looking less spectacular than on our previous visits probably because of the near-absence of rainfall for the two months preceding.

Then on our final morning, the temperature ameliorating a little, it was out by train to Hastings. Being a sunny Saturday in half term, the crowds were out in force, but it provided the requisite ice creams and funicular to the heights, among begging gulls and screaming Swifts, and views over the town and a by-now-hazy Channel.

Rock-A-Nore beach, as far east at you can get along the prom, provides excellent views of the spectacular cliffs, the rocks looking similar to those on the High Weald but actually about 40 million years older…

Nesting Fulmars kept up their guttural bickering despite the heat of midday, and along the lower cliff slopes, Hottentot Fig, Buck’s-horn Plantain and Tree Mallow provided the botanical interest.

All that was left then was the chance of a wonderful, and reasonably priced, smoked fish platter at Webbe’s fish restaurant, while Jude’s holiday was topped off in fine fashion at the sight of one of Hastings’ notorious residents, the ‘naked cyclist’ speeding home. Must have been getting a bit hot!

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And finally, as is now traditional, the blog ends with a chance to display some of Eleanor’s phone photos, ones that I would have been proud to take. Flowers, wild and cultivated, always seem to stir her creative juices…

… together with those flowers attracting insect visitors …

… and not forgetting the plants that can look interesting after flowering.

And just a final couple: a perfect set-piece of found objects in nature…

… and a flower-head she promptly titled, without prompting, ‘Little Lands’. A fascinating insight into the eyes and mind of an eight-year-old! #ProudPapa, as always!

Our early May short break by public transport (May is too good a month to miss, so we generally have more than one that month!) was an opportunity to visit hitherto little-known parts of East Anglia, and to use our bus-passes to the full…we are getting rather evangelical about them!

So we headed to Norwich by train, but it was then by bus all the way until our return a couple of days later from Diss. Two nights in Beccles gave us a great opportunity to explore, the usual mix of wildlife, wild spaces, architecture and historical townscapes, although sadly not quite in the way we anticipated. Our hotel, Swan House, on booking.com claimed to have its rooms in the disused church tower, a good part of our reason for selecting it, but we arrived to find the tower actually across the road. Yes, we could see it, but not quite the same, and a complaint is in progress!

But whatever the shortcomings, Beccles as a town didn’t fail to impress. As we approached by bus, the view of the hulk of St Michael’s Church looming over the town atop the only high ground in the vicinity was already impressive, indicative of the wool and trade wealth of the town in former times. Up close it was just as impressive, notwithstanding its lack of an integral high point…

And the aforementioned tower, detached as a campanile because of the structural risks of building such a structure on the edge of the former cliff-line above what used to be the port, and impressive by night as well as by day.

Inside, the awe subsides. Much of it was rather plain, and even the stone heads seem unimpressed. Could this be a result of the great fire of 1586 which destroyed the interior of the church as it was, along with a sizeable part of the town?

From the churchyard the views were lovely, over the Broads National Park, the River Waveney in the foreground, its reed-fringed margins crackling with the songs of Reed Warblers.

The feel of the town was somewhat akin to both Kings Lynn, wearing proudly its trading influences with the Low Countries, and Rye, with its commanding position in an otherwise flat landscape.

And as with both those towns, Beccles was full of historic buildings. The list of 149 of them seemed remarkable, although not out of keeping with the other towns we visited as we subsequently discovered, and includes churches, shops, houses and many others, some timbered, others with decorative brick- and flint-work.

The delightful little museum of local interest is in one such building, Leman House, built around 1570 and restored a couple of centuries later, adding brick and flint facades to the timber frame. For much of its history it served as a free school, the layout of which is partly retained inside.

The rear garden, overlooking the river, contains some wonderful wooden seats, richly clothed in lichens and with many Virgin Bagworms, silken bags clothed with bits of grit and algae from their surroundings which contain either larvae or wingless females: there are no males, so these odd moths spend all their life inside their bags.

Even the modern Tesco store celebrates the history of the town, well known in the past for its printing industry. Established by William Clowes in 1803, the printing works merged with Caxton Press in 1873, and became a major employer, specialising in printing directories and reference books. ‘Caxton’ is of course a significant name in British printing history, William Caxton having introduced the first printing press to England in 1476, going on to publish many significant works, including Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. But the Beccles Caxton Press seems to be unrelated to the original, a fortuitous (or opportunistic?) branding perhaps?

We searched hedges and greenspace for insects in the lovely sunshine of our first afternoon, finding a nymph Toad Bug and lots of Pinalitus cervinus, a variable mirid bug, mostly on Ivy leaves…

… along with basking flies such as the hoverfly Epistrophe eligans, a Helina sp. and and anthomyiid in a buttercup flower (demonstrating well how bees are not the only pollinators in town!), together with Red Mason Bees, Holly Blues and Painted Ladies, part of the recent influx to our shores.

All around the town there were gulls, Herring and Lesser Black-backed, waiting opportunistically on the rooftops, but largely dissuaded from breeding by the widespread deployment of anti-bird spikes. So the Nationwide deserve a big pat on the back for accommodating a nesting Woodpigeon with grace!

All in all, Beccles was a lovely surprise to us. That is apart from the disappointment of our room not being in the bell tower, and the Waveney House Hotel losing our food and drink trade when we turned up, and nobody came to serve us after ten minutes’ wait. The Hotel’s loss was Wetherspoon’s gain, and saved us a pretty packet…

Next day the weather changed, dawning grey, damp and cool with a biting easterly wind. Not perhaps the best of days to head by bus on a white-knuckle double-decker ride, careering along tiny roads to Southwold on the coast, especially with dire forecasts of rain. But remarkably we survived and the serious clouds skirted us, producing no more than a couple of drops all day.

A walk to Gun Hill gave us views of the cold seascape, the decorative beach huts and over the dunes south to Sizewell, as well as a very welcome hot coffee at the kiosk café.

The cliffline along the prom was covered in flowers, including Sand Sedge, Buck’s-horn Plantain and Wild Clary, in places supplemented with showy maritime garden escapes including cultivars of Thrift and Seaside Daisy.

The pier looks historic but, after the slings and arrows (wind, waves and wars) of the 20th century, was substantially rebuilt between 1999 and 2001. It still has the traditional arcades and ice creams one would expect, and yes, even with the cool wind, we indulged ourselves in the first ice cream of the summer!

The pier also provided coastal views, including back to the town, marine-life-themed furniture and a tribute to George Orwell, whose family home was in the town for 9 years of his all-too-short life.

The two most prominent features of the town’s skyline are the lighthouse and church. Set back from the coast, the lighthouse still functions, an essential marker for avoiding the shifting shoals offshore.

Presumably the church tower also serves as a prominent seamark by day. Dedicated to St Edmund, the church is clearly proud of the refuge for nature provided by its churchyard, branded an ‘Eco-church’.

Not overmown, there were a few insects around, including a Small Copper feeding on Mouse-eared Hawkweed flowers, and fresh green Beech leaves in sheltered nooks supported lots of life, here Gooden’s Nomad-bee, a Hawthorn Shieldbug and flittering flocks of Green Longhorn moths, trying hard not to get blown away.

The gravestones and churchyard walls too kept us happily occupied looking at Grimmia pulvinata, mating Fever-flies, hunting Zebra Jumping-spiders…

… and a kaleidoscope of lichens, including sulphur Psilolechia lucida, black Melanalixia fulignosa and pale grey Phlyctis argena.

If Beccles’ church disappointed internally, the opposite was true of Southwold’s: ornate woodwork everywhere, including the beautiful main door, some charming decorative paintwork…

..plus stained glass depicting among many other things the martyrdom of St Edmund, killed by invading Vikings in 869. And then there is the array of saints, their faces erased by iconoclastic fervour, Medieval cancel culture.

Once again, all around the town there was historical and architectural interest, indeed with only five fewer listed buildings than Beccles,

.. including, of course, hostelries. The Swan looked good, but it’s ‘fancy high teas’ vibe wasn’t to our taste, so we had lunch in the Crown. Good choice! What a lunch: for Jude, lovely fish and chips (as traditional as the ice cream) and for me the best (and reasonably priced) fish platter I have had in years.

It is impossible to avoid Adnams in Southwold, so to round off our walk, we had to sample their produce, this time in the Lord Nelson. Given that, by now, grey had given way to blue, we headed into the sheltered garden. There to accompany Southwold’s best, a Turtle Bug Podops inunctus sharing our table, rather a strange choice of habitat for what is normally a ground-hugging insect. And of course gulls, their raucous cries and beady eyes, laced with the sight and sound of tinkling Goldfinches from the rooftops. A lovely end to the day.

Our final day, and the weather changed again. Sun pretty much all the way, although yesterday’s cold easterly airflow persisted. We decided to round off our Beccles experience with breakfast at Twyfords Café, recommended to us by a passing local the day previously. Not our best decision: the porridge was cold, with mushy frozen strawberries, the breakfast bap hard to get through and served with a salad full of peppers (whoever heard of such a thing at 9am?), and all highly overpriced. We live and learn.

So back on the bus we headed to Bungay, the neighbouring town up the Waveney valley. Here we were treated once again to a feast of historical interest and listed buildings, this time 190 of them, although some in the town centre were in a sad state of disrepair.

One semi-derelict hulk drew us to it, having all the appearance of a former workhouse, although we have not been able to find any reference to such online. The old brickwork did however have a couple of ferns, Maidenhair Spleenwort and Wall Rue, not a common feature in the dry heart of East Anglia, and Danish Scurvy-grass formed a band at the base of the wall, looking very different to the squat, salt-sprayed plants on our major road-verges.

Situated on high ground within a large meander of the river, almost every road heads downhill. With plenty of trees on the slopes and low-lying pastoral marshes it would be idyllic, if not for the curse of the infernal combustion engine. Cars everywhere, and few provisions for pedestrians to cross the roads; at least the vast majority of political signs (it was election day) were for the Green Party, so perhaps there is potential for change…

Three churches form a flock in the middle of town, and in each of those, the green message seems to be getting through: no holy mowers eradicating every scrap of life from God’s (three) Acres! Some of the invertebrates taking advantage were a soldier-beetle Cantharis rustica, harvestman Phalangium opilio and spider Philodromus sp.

Of the churches, the most externally ornate was St Edmunds, most visually pleasing was Holy Trinity, with its distinctive flint, brick and stone round tower…

… while largest and most interesting was St Mary’s, with the priory ruins tucked behind. When the church was struck by lightning in 1577, there appeared a ‘black Hell Hound’ which has led to Bungay becoming associated with the legend of Black Shuck, tales of whom haunt the whole coastline of East Anglia.

Bigod Castle, a tumbledown Norman edifice, forms the other centrepiece of the town, although currently under repair it is both closed to the public and clad in scaffolding, making it rather difficult to photograph attractively.

The greenspace around the twin towers is partly enclosed by what is left of the castle wall, and it was here in warming sunlight that we saw the most insects of our entire trip, including Tree Bumblebee, Painted Lady, Snout Hoverfly and Brown-tail Moth caterpillars, the latter apparently feeding upon Plane leaves.

But what was most remarkable was the sheer number of aquatic insects, here on the highest, driest part of town. Banded Demoiselles and Large Red Damselflies are, like many of their group, prone to wandering to feed but much more surprising were the shimmering clouds of Ephemera vulgata mayflies bouncing up and down over the mown grass. These don’t feed as adults, and given they live in that stage for only a day or so, it all seems very risky to move so far from the waters in which they breed.

All that was left to do was sip a welcome pint in The Fleece; their menu looked very enticing, but we ran out of time, before it was back onto the bus, this time to our rail interchange at Diss. Just a couple of hours to see our fourth town, and that was quite probably enough, notwithstanding it apparently being John Betjeman’s favourite Norfolk town…

We started at Diss Mere, a natural glacial ice-melt lake. Some 3ha in extent, and reportedly 6m deep, with a further 20m of mud below that (pretty much ‘bottomless’ as per its reputation through history), it is a significant landscape feature although at least on our visit supporting only a few motley Mallards and gulls.

Part flanked by the old part of Diss, the remainder is an extensive recreational park, unimaginatively close-mown. And given the number of kids in the playback, and that we needed the loo, we felt that the firmly closed toilet block, with no information on where there might be facilities, was a big fail by Diss Town Council.

So after al fresco relief, we walked the Heritage Triangle, a town centre regeneration initiative based around its historic commercial heart, and many of the town’s 157 listed buildings.

We could see the potential, but for busy through roads, incomplete pedestrianisation and the proliferation of vape shops and the like… it all just felt a bit unloved. But there remains an undercurrent of history, with St Mary’s Church perched impressively above the Market Place, once again rather simple inside, although the 18th century Decalogue Board on the west wall was impressive.

A hint of urban green was provided by the churchyard and other wayside corners, including another Philodromus spider inhibiting the Yews, again the unfamiliar statuesque variety of Danish Scurvy-grass, and what may be the rarely recorded parasitic wasp Otoblastus luteomarginatus. ‘Rarely recorded’ rather than ‘rare’ because there are few people recording them so the grand total of 13 records in the UK on the National Biodiversity Network map is very likely an under-representation.

In fact a couple of hours was more than enough time for our needs to explore Diss, and the final half hour was relaxing, looking over the Mere from the garden of the Waterfront Inn, with one final stop on our trek to the station being at the town sign, featuring the 1213 (alleged) murder of Matilda, daughter of the Lord of the Manor and reputedly the inspiration for the character Maid Marian, by a messenger from King John bearing a bad egg. And all because the big bad king’s advances to her were spurned.

And so ended our three-day break that felt more like a week. We certainly walked the miles, taking in the sights of each place, and everywhere finding wildlife to accompany the history, food and drink. And every bus was on time – we love our bus-passes even more, and they are sure to feature more in our trips from now on!

Sadly it was a bit of a return to winter for our March short break in St Ives (the Cambridgeshire one!), staying at the very comfortable and warm coaching inn, the Golden Lion. Very comfortably priced as well: taking advantage of a Black Friday deal last November, we got two nights’ for the two of us B&B for the princely sum of just £107.50! We do like the Coaching Inn group of hotels, and especially when you can get deals like that…

The wind may have been spearing like darts of ice across the Fens, but the trip got off to a good start with our first experience of the Cambridge Guided Busway. Yes it’s a bus, which means it is free for us, but it runs to time on dedicated routes, including a former railway line that runs through the wetland complex of Fen Drayton Lakes.

A pretty small settlement, St Ives felt very different to what we had expected, more affluent than the insular caricature of so many places in the Fens. Flowing round the town is the Great Ouse, a river we last saw at King’s Lynn, some 80km downstream, in December 2025. And the similarities between the two towns were marked, in terms of the riverfront architecture influenced by that of the near-continent. Although now above the tidal limit, St Ives was also an important port in historic times.

A centrepiece feature is the ancient stone bridge, dating to about 1420, with a chapel incorporated mid-span. The chapel now seems a bit bare and forlorn, especially given some of its other former uses as a private dwelling and a hostelry.

The bridge and the adjacent wharfside are made of lovely honey-coloured oolitic limestone, just about as local a building stone as is possible here in the Fens: it was quarried from Barnack, just north of Peterborough, about 40km away and presumably transported overland as the Middle Level Navigation that links the Nene and Great Ouse had not then been created.

The bridge was partially destroyed for defensive reasons during the Civil War by Parliamentary forces under Cromwell (someone who will feature throughout this blog), the two southern arches replaced by drawbridges. When repaired several decades later, bridge-building techniques had evolved such the the new arches were round, rather than the gently pointed original Gothic ones. Nowadays, the bridge is traffic-free and a delight to potter over, and on to the 19th century causeway on a viaduct with 55 low arches across the water meadows.

One house next to the bridge is particularly fine and caught our attention, Jacobean in style with a Dutch gable, and polychrome brick and ‘diapering’ (I have learned something!), decorative brickwork with repeated geometric patterns. But its listing makes no reference to any use than as a domestic dwelling: perhaps it  was built by a brickmaker (there were many in these parts, given the lack of local building stone) as a permanent advertising hoarding?

As soon as we disembarked the bus at the bus station, my eyes alit on interesting plants, Rue-leaved Saxifrage and Common Whitlow-grass in the paving cracks. Although common enough nationally, I was surprised to see them given what I assumed would be a marshland town.

But as we walked around we came across examples of genuine old stonework, where one would expect to find such plants, particularly around the remains of the Priory founded in 1017 when the settlement was known as Slepe. These walls are made of the same limestone as the bridge, but rubble rather than dressed blocks.

Then an amble around the rest of the old town proved that St Ives has much to offer, including a statue commemorating Oliver Cromwell:

Next day we turned our attention to Huntingdon, birthplace of Cromwell, but surprisingly seeming to lack the statuary of St Ives. It does have an interesting little museum that focuses upon his life and times, its exhibits including the recently acquired Cromwell’s watch.

When I asked the question ‘Cromwell – hero or villain?’ the helpful museum attendant said very appositely ‘It depends whether or not you are Irish!’. Cromwell is clearly a Marmite-man, hence the fact that Huntingdon it seems didn’t want a celebratory statue, so St Ives stepped into the breach. Our monarchy has provided many reasons to justify its abolition – in more recent times one just has to consider the Royals’ flirting with fascism in the ’30s and young girls in the noughties – but only Oliver Cromwell achieved it, in response to the attempted power-grab of Charles 1, seeking a return to absolute monarchy.

But history judges those in power by their failures, not successes: just ask Tony Blair… And Cromwell’s way of dealing with the ‘Irish problem’ was nothing short of Puritanical genocide: his purported religious tolerance extended only to the tolerance of other forms of Protestantism!

And in a classic demonstration of the fact that ‘Power Corrupts’ (nothing changes!), Cromwell’s end came about in no small part from a rebellion in his own ranks, the Levellers’ concerns that the democracy they had been promised was not coming. It is a sad indictment of the hold that those who ‘have’ on society that the rebels’ demands in 1646 were pretty similar to the demands of those massacred at Peterloo in 1819, the Chartists around 1850 and those of the Suffragettes at the start of the 20th century.

But I digress! Museums should make you think (as we found at Manchester [Peterloo] and Newport [Chartists] respectively), and this one certainly did. But it also provided us with welcome shelter as the day was turning into one of very sharp showers, including some heavy hailstorms:

With the weather changing rapidly throughout the day as the showers sped over, it was clearly one of those days to stay within easy reach of places of shelter: museums, churches and pubs! The two churches were St Mary’s, closed, but with Rue-leaved Saxifrage on the older graves…

… and All Saints’, very much open to all and providing a vital town centre community function for those in need. Both churches were low-rise, at least compared with the numerous besteepled ones we saw elsewhere, but why? It may come from a residual puritanical streak, or something as prosaic as the underlying ground conditions being insufficiently stable to support a tall steeple.

And so onto the pubs, again two in particular. We do like a galleried coaching inn (see the George in London and the New Inn in Gloucester from our previous trips), and the George in Huntingdon was in similarly pretty good condition, albeit not with an atmosphere that encouraged us to stay…

The pub we did decide to stay and enjoy was Sandford House, a fine Wetherspoons conversion of a former chapel, post office and private residence of Charles Sandford Windover, a major Victorian carriage-builder in the area. Given that Huntingdon lies on the old Great North Road, midway between York and London, it seems a very appropriate place to have both carriage builders’ and coaching inns.

And in Sandford House, Jude was thrilled to find the luxurious opulence of the ladies’ loos!

Other historic buildings abounded in the heart of the town….

… but one in particular attracted our attention, while we were waiting at a bus stop. Thanks to the magic of Google Lens, it was identified as the home of William Cowper, which sent us down another investigative rabbit-hole over a glass or two the following evening!

William Cowper was a troubled and, ultimately, tragic poet, hymn writer and Abolitionist in the 18th century, who was repeatedly institutionalised for ‘insanity’ through his life. Being what some might mockingly refer to as a ‘confirmed bachelor’, his rejection of both heteronormative and homonormative traits clearly created (or maybe derived from?) internal emotional tension. And his most famous legacy, the words ‘God moves in mysterious ways’ assume a tragic role as his attempt to rationalise these conflicts.

Huntingdon also has a fine stone bridge over the River Great Ouse, this one dating back to 1332, a century or so older than that at St Ives, reflecting the convergence of several historic roads and trading routes on this stretch of river.

Down by the river, the sun came out warmly, illuminating some early-flowering Greater Celandine, and banks of White Comfrey, the latter being visited by an avidly feeding female Hairy-footed Flower-bee being closely attended by a couple of hopeful suitors.

Unfortunately this bridge is not car-free, but it is bypassed by a footbridge. So across we went and found ourselves in Godmanchester (apparently still ‘Gumster’ to some older residents); on that side of the bridge lies an impressive (converted) mill building, and a small group of listed cottages around Bridge Place.

We took a bus into the town centre but walked back, accompanied by Red Kites overhead, when we realised how close the two towns are! Another church, St Mary the Virgin, this one with a spire, albeit one that is hollow and letting light through, no doubt to keep weight down. And lacking almost any trace of interior ornament, although the exterior gargoyles are fearsome!

The riverside was a timeless view of middle England, complete with ‘Chinese Bridge’…

… and an eel-pass to provide Eels with a chance to surmount human obstacles in the tamed river on their return from the Sargasso Sea. The lock walls formed a natural damp garden with both Hemlock Water-dropwort and Hart’s-tongue Fern.

Our third and final day dawned with another about-face weatherwise. Crystal blue skies, and the wind while still with a northern chill had dropped to a gentle breeze, such that in the slightest shelter the burgeoning spring warmth made for a very pleasant day. Even Oliver seemed very pleased with himself, as the Free Church spire speared into the blue:

First we walked upriver, along the Waits, another former wharfage. The Norris Museum was well worth a look, and just across the road there was a very handsome building, the Methodist Hall. In sunlight, the ferruginous rocks from which it is built were particularly beautiful. These are carrstone, another fairly local stone, quarried from the King’s Lynn area; these very rocks reputedly constitute the last bargeload of rock brought to this wharf at the very start of the 20th century.

Carrstone is the basal layer of the cliffs at Hunstanton, an iron-rich sandstone dating from just before the Cretaceous chalk seas, and particularly suited for building given that its surface hardens considerably on weathering.

In the river at this point lies Holt Island nature reserve, although we were unable to access it due to flooding. But the song of a myriad Chiffchaffs drifted across the Backwater, over the heads of Mallards, Coots and Moorhens all in various stages of friskiness, and a melanic Grey Squirrel fed unconcernedly on the boardwalk.

On the riverbank, All Saints Church with its imposing steeple made for very attractive views:

But the best sighting of our trip came from looking down into the still waters: a shoal of fishes like no other, thousands upon thousands of Roach, up to about 15cm long, weaving around like a forest of waterweed. And then erupting in huge murmurations, spooked by a couple of Mallards swimming harmlessly over, creating an audible swish and stirring up a protective shroud of bottom-silt.

Finally it was back to see the old bridge in good light. Walking over, there were lots of swans and ducks…

… but then walking back twenty minutes later the Sand Martins had arrived. Half-a-dozen or more, presumably just in from Africa, and within another ten minutes they were busy investigating the drainage pipes coming out of the bridge as potential nest sites.

The wind had dropped, the sun was hot, and all was well with Spring!

Early March saw us heading to London for a gig in Docklands, but as always we tried to maximise our fun by building a short break around it. So when we arrived at Stratford it was a right turn, out by bus to Hackney and London Fields, inspired and intrigued by a recent London Inheritance blog.

The walk from the bus stop took us past some impressive buildings, including 5 King Edward’s Road, a 1920s clothing factory now converted to residential in a very pleasing style. And just across the road, the first of many welcome places of refreshment, this a coffee stop in the Mare Street Market.

The day (indeed the whole of our trip) was unremittingly dull, but the Flower Sellers sculpture/installation in London Fields certainly cheered things up. Joyful, with allusions to the former use of the area as a ‘staging post’ for livestock heading for their final destination of Smithfield Market, that dates back only to the 1980s, but now feels as timeless as the large Plane trees in the Fields themselves.

The London Planes harboured numerous Rose-ringed Parakeets (of course!), some trunks surrounded by a halo of flowering Sweet Violets, and throngs of happy people revelling in the Spring, even in the grey gloom of the day.

The larger trees showed clearly the unreliability of bark as an identification feature, that on the primary trunk being grey and deeply fissured, here with a spider’s nest, but on the younger stems, the more expected flaking mosaic of colour.

And those trees that had reached the end of their life were being recycled naturally by fungi of several sorts, interspersed with the orange tufts of a terrestrial alga, Trentepohlia.

Approaching lunchtime with darkening skies, a pub was in order. The Pub on the Park was functional, albeit rather soulless while delivering the necessary refreshment. But close by, the Cat & Mutton was altogether more welcoming, a genuinely historic hostelry (established 1729) which made us want to linger, especially as the skies had by now opened! Good surroundings, good beer, and very good food. We even discovered the reason for its apparently odd name: originally the ‘Cattle and Shoulder of Mutton’ it clearly had a function serving the meat market traders.

By the time lunch was over, it was really quite unpleasant weatherwise, so we headed by bus to Docklands, and our hotel, a very pleasant (and extremely reasonably priced) high-rise Travelodge right next to Bow Creek. Up we went to floor 13, and we were thrilled to see the view over Poplar to the City, with the beautiful Brutalist edifice of Balfron Tower, one of the Goldfinger-prints on the London landscape, taking centre stage!

From there it was an easy ride into Canary Wharf by DLR, for our evening’s entertainment on the Theatreship (Trappist Afterland, The Gentle Good and Henry Parker).

Next morning, it was at least dry although no less gloomy than previously. Down at the Bow Creek nature reserve, a Grey Heron and several Shelducks were feeding happily in the shadow of looming hi-rise, as the song of Cetti’s Warblers echoed around the concrete canyons.

Being low tide, muddy margins were exposed and were frequented by Oystercatchers, while Teals dabbled in the shallows.

Heading up the tidal River Lee/Lea, our first destination was Cody Dock, a redevelopment of a disused dock space, with sustainability at its heart. We felt very much at home, especially with the very fine coffee and breakfast inside us, in one of the vital edgelands of the river.

One of the features of the site is the Rolling Bridge, a novel, unique design that will ultimately allow the water access once again to and from the Dock. Cleverly counterweighted, it runs on a wavy track and can easily be operated single-handedly (apparently)!

Approaching the entrance, Elaeagnus x submacrophylla was in full fruit, while some of its leaves were galled and distorted, probably attacked by the Elaeagnus Sucker psyllid Cacopsylla fulguralis, originally from Japan but now spreading widely in the south of England.

The vegetation in the planters harboured several different-looking, but ultimately unidentifiable flies…

… along with Sage Planthoppers, and a couple of interesting  snails, Kentish Snail and Girdled Snail, both native in more southerly parts of Europe and now spreading here, especially in urban habitats.

As we continued upriver, we saw or heard a couple of fly-by Kingfishers, together with more non-native, spreading molluscs: the terrestrial Wrinkled Snail and huge numbers of Asiatic Clams deposited on the path presumably by gulls trying the break open the shells. This species arrived as recently as 1997; it is now well-established in the Thames, the Norfolk Broads and the Great Ouse system, and still spreading.

Planted Hazel bushes alongside the path were in flower, but noticeable mainly by the abundance of Big Bud galls, caused by a microscopic mite.

As we approached Stratford, there were some interesting sculptures forming The Line public art trail, including a double-helix of shopping trolleys, and several trees with abundant lichens on their trunks, including Flavoparmelia caperata and (rather green) Sunburst Lichen, together with orange patches of the parasitic lichenicolous fungus Erythricium aurantiacum.

Looking back downstream, the Balfron Tower loomed large in the landscape, while in the other direction appeared the equally remarkable sculptural skeletons of the old gasometers of the Bromley-by-Bow Gas Works:

From this point the river becomes more braided and corralled into locks and mill pools of Three Mills Island, a beautifully preserved series of 18th century tide-mills, with Cormorants roosting atop the turrets.

And across the sewage works, tantalising glimpses of the ornate Byzantine-styled tower of Abbey Mills Pumping Station, a key part of Bazalgette’s mid-19th century grand plan to clean up the River Thames.

And so onto the Greenway, a raised walkway on the embankment formed by the Northern Outfall Sewer. Here there was Green Alkanet in good flower, its blooming brought forward no doubt by the urban heat-island effect, fruiting Old Man’s Beard, the Pumping Station from a different angle (we really must try and visit on one of its open days!), and the remarkable row of listed cottages built for the workforce in 1865.

All that was left was to wander into Stratford, for food and drink in the Abbey Tap, our final pub of the trip, as we waited for our train home!