On the origin of faeces

My excitement was quite uncontainable yesterday, and many a small squeal of joy escaped my lips from within the woods and hills of Perthshire. We were out in search of pine marten scats (thats pooh to those of you who aren't already so inclined). And to my utter delight - we found some. Alot even. Sweeter than a fox scat, yet not as fragrant as an otter's, it takes quite a discerning nose to distinguish between carnivore species from their faeces.

Douglas Adams once noted that one of the characteristics that laymen find most odd about zoologists is their insatiable enthusiasm for animal droppings. This enthusiasm is understandable of course, given that droppings yield a great deal of information about the habits and diets of the animals concerned - but still, nothing can ever quite prepare you for the sheer glee that the actual object seems to inspire. I personally don't see how anyone could not be excited by the prospect of holding a real pine marten turd in their hands and then taking a good hearty sniff. Even more excitement then follows as you slowly tease the scat apart to see what clues it will give as to what it is made from. Will it be vole? Perhaps a small passerine bird? Who knows what exciting discoveries await! The anticipation builds as miniture premolars and bone fragments are discovered. Each scat presents a backwards murder mystery detective story in which the culprit, motive and method are already known, but we need to follow the evidence in order to uncover the identity of the victim. Hmm... Maybe I have been watching too much CSI. Nonetheless, I find it fascinating.

Not only did we have the good fortune to find lots of marten scats on our jolly in the woods, there was also an abundance of marten spoors (thats their tracks if you wanted to, but didn't already know). Thanks to a fresh deposit of snow, there were literally dozens of fresh marten tracks leaving yet more clues as to their behaviour. You could even tell where they had been ambling or lolloping along (martens often lollop) as their gait patterns were quite well preserved.

My guide for the day was Rob, a conservation ranger with Forest Enterprise, and an all round forest ecology and mammal expert. Not only did he inform on the wonders of pooh, but when I mentioned to him that I had never seen a crossbill before (a crossbill is a small bird of northern forests whom's bill ..is crossed. It is the Ronseal of birds). Rob stood to one side and started making some rather strange and quite unsettling noises. Not sure if he was having some sort of fit, or had gone loopy from the day's excitement, I stood back and stared at him. Possibly whilst raising one eyebrow quizzically at his bizarre antics. It all became perfectly clear moments later as I looked up into the trees to see that a small gathering of coal tits and bull finches had erm, gathered, in the trees above us. They were obviously as perplexed as I was, as I noted a few raised eyebrows among them too. And then, before my very eyes - a crossbill came into view! A bleedin' crossbill!! Can you believe it?! I couldn't. But it was most definately a crossbill, given away by its bill, which was indeed crossed. To say that I was impressed does not give the facial expression I then pulled justice. Show-off. Rob just chuckled to himself and began recounting to me a story from when he was out walking in the woods with his fair lady wife-to-be.

So there they were, courting away, and all of a sudden, a roe doe (a deer; a female deer; a female roe deer infact) leapt out in front of them. It was off again before Rob's fair lady wife-to-be had even had chance to stare on in bewilderment. Cursing herself that she had not been more observant, Rob's fair lady wife-to-be was upset with her missed opportunity to see a deer at such close quarters. Oh dear. Not wanting to see her so disappointed, Rob did what any other gallant male would do in that situation - he imitated a baby deer by immitting a few sharp, high pitched squeals. Now at this point, I would imagine that Rob's fair lady wife-to-be was starting to give serious consideration to whom she had gotten herself involved with.. But then - wouldn't you just know it - the deer came trotting back in to view! The bleedin' deer! Bless her (the deer that is). She must have been terribly worried and confused that she didn't seem to remember having an infant with her the last time she checked. She was obviously an obsessive compulsive roe deer though, and so had to come back and check. Although I can't condone the act of deer worrying, and find the teasing of OCD sufferers deplorable (if not a little amusing) I have to admit - that's one hell of a party trick! ..Well, it would be, so long as you go to the sorts of parties that allow deer. Although I am starting to think that Rob would.

Brief Intermission

We appologise for the break in viewing, but we are suffering from technical difficulties. Not content with breaking her own laptop, Sarah then turned her hand to mine. Service will resume again shortly ..once my hard-drive has been reformatted and all my stuff re-installed. Grr.

*wanders off grumbling like a small but very angry hedgehog*

Some facts that you might like to know about a girl called fi

1. I once lived for several months in a tent on the Skeleton Coast of Namibia. In the mornings there would sometimes be footprints of brown hyenas around our camp. I came face to face with one on four occasions. I find that it always refreshes one's senses coming face to face with something that could bite your leg off in one go. Especially first thing in the morning.

2. A few years ago, I nearly drowned when I was learning to scuba dive in a lake near Peterborough. I have been afraid of water ever since. I am currently facing up to my fears and learning how to swim again. I haven't quite gotten the courage yet to go anywhere near Peterborough though.

3. I played openside flanker for UEA women's rugby team. I like running into people at speed. I find it calms me. At this time I also discovered that I actually like getting bruises.

4. I once trapped myself inside a (humane) cage trap that I was setting for a fox conservation project. I was left inside with my nose squished uncomfortably close to the fish guts and dead chicks, that I had been putting inside as bait, for quite some time before a farmer came and rescued me. Later that day, I was chased by a herd of fresian cows as I carried a grey squirrel in a box. To this day I could never work out if it was me they were after, or the squirrel.

5. When I was a small child it was my dream to be the first female fighter pilot in the RAF, when I grew up. I abandoned this dream shortly afterwards when: i.) I discovered the moral high ground of pacifism; ii.) I discovered there already were female fighter pilots and so I wouldn't be the first anyway; iii.) I discovered David Attenborough and decided I wanted to be him instead.

6. I once reversed my car into my friend Ben's house by accident. Well, its not the sort of thing you'd do on purpose is it? Not to a friend anyway.

7. For years I believed that my dad had been attacked by a shark when he worked out at a marine fishery in Zanzibar, as he had a cresent shaped scar on his back to prove it. My entire world crumbled when I later learned that it was infact a scar from a birthmark removal. It was about this time that I also learned the truth about haggis not actually being a real animal. One great step perhaps for my budding career as a zoologist, but a giant leap back in a daughter's faith for her father's tall tales.

8. I get drunk way too easily and yet I am still under the delusion that I can hold my drink.

9. My Grandad had a false leg which he used to leave lying around the house and sometimes would forget where he'd left it. One day, when I was very small, I was angry with him and so I kicked him on the shin. He let me believe for hours afterwards that it was his real one that I'd kicked, and that I'd really hurt him, when all the while it was his fake one. The guilt that I could do such a thing has always remained with me, and since that day I have always made sure to control my anger around one-legged, prosthetically endowed, elderly gentlemen.

10. The first and only lucky draw competition I have ever won was a raffle in which I won an Mel and Kim LP. I consider myself very lucky in every other aspect of my life, just not prize draws.

11. I once sky-dived over the Namib desert. I can whole-heartedly recommend it as a hangover cure.

12. For my PhD I am studying pine martens - a nocturnal, forest dwelling mammal - despite the fact that I am afraid of the dark and I get scared in woods.

13. I vicariously collect snowdome shakers from wherever I go by buying them for my girlfriend. I hope that one day she will start buying them for me too, so that I won't have to keep stealing my gifts back from her. I could just buy them for myself, but that would involve admitting that I had a habit.

14. I am a libertarian. I believe that every individual has a right to civil liberties and to be free from the controlling upper echelons of power. If I had to pigeon-hole my political outlook, I would say that I tend towards Socialism. I abhor Capitalism. I am happy with myself, and my life. I do not need wealth or status to make up for aspects of my life that are lacking - because they are not. I have an independent mind, and my eyes are open.

15. ..Although saying that, I once stepped on a wasp nest and was covered from head to toe with biting and stinging wasps because I wasn't looking where I was going. Everyone I was with ran away from me, except for my dad, who came back to save me despite being allergic to wasp stings himself. Today, I could never bring myself to kill a wasp, they are far too cool for that, infact if there is one indoors I carry them out in my bare hands. This is probably a good example of my lack of common sense, especially considering that I frequently forget to carry my Epi-pen around with me. I also once ran at full speed in to a lamp post and gave myself concussion. No, not on purpose, it jumped out at me and took me by surprise. Damn sneaky lamp posts...

16. I have lived and worked on three continents. Only four to go and then I've got the set.

17. I hate being rushed in the morning, although I do like to get up very early, probably to avoid being rushed.

18. The song of a robin Erithacus rubecula is one of my favourite sounds. For some reason I find its doleful, melancholic wistfulness strangely uplifting.

19. I have Wandering Accent Syndrome. I never did pick up the Carlisle twang despite being born and bred there. It appears my vocal chords are now overcompensating by trying to pick up the local lingo whenever I pause in one location for longer than about 13 minutes.

20. I can't cope being inside a city for any length of time. They are just wrong.

21. I was, and still am, a bit of a geek. I mean, I was in the chess team at school - and yet I have never been the victim of bullying. I think this is the result of an incident whilst at pre-school; I was yanked off the tri-cycle I was merriily riding around on by Matthew, The (pre-)School Bully, despite the fact it was my third birthday. Seeing this as the unjust act which it was, I wasn't going to take this lying down. What followed is all a bit of a blur now, but suffice to say that I got the tri-cycle back, no-one every bullied me since, and that wasn't the first time I made Matthew cry during the 15 years at school together that followed.

22. I am an optimist, and a pragmatist. The glass is always half full. But you know, if you had a Camel-back (or some other water pouch) you can carry a full 2 litres on your back, and still have your hands free to do... erm, stuff!

23. I never get time to read a daily newspaper, but when I do its The Independent or The Observer. Instead, I make sure to catch up with the weeks news and politics by reading The New Statesman. I feel this gives me enough ammunition to be a happily opinionated, pseudo-intellectual.

24. Old people worry me. I don't mean that I get harrassed by gangs of old biddies hanging around on street corners intent on Fi Worrying, more I can't cope with seeing them being ignored, neglected and abused. So I worry about them.

25. For my masters thesis project I spent three months in Banff, Canada, all expenses paid. They even gave me my very own pick-up truck with orange flashing lights on top. And people wonder why I'd want to stay a student in perpetuity.

26. My idea of dressing up "smart" generally involves putting on a clean t-shirt. I wear jeans to interviews - hows that for self confidence?

27. At primary school my teacher, Mrs Haugh, told my parents that I "lacked competitive spirit". The truth was, and still is, very much the opposite. Only last month I won a competition as the quickest female student to row 1000m at my university. I was told I would win a prize, but I have not yet received one. No matter, the glory alone is more than enough reward. And having a gold star next to my name.

28. I got into a mudslinging match (in the literal sense) with an 8 year old girl while I was teaching. I won.

29. I was a finalist in Greenall's National Cocktail Bartender of the Year 1999 competition for my Tom Cruise-esque bottle throwing abilities. I only entered for a dare.

30. I broke my wrist whilst playing basketball at school. On my way to the operating theatre to have it manipulated back into place, my dad grabbed me by the arm to reassure me that everything would be ok. It was. Once I'd gotten over the excruciating pain of my dad grabbing my injured arm.

31. I never really conversed with my mum until my 19th birthday when she came to visit me at university. Before she arrived, I was terrified at the prospect of us shopping, going for coffee, "doing lunch", and *gasp* chatting, you know, the typical mother-daughter stuff. But I found to my complete surprise that not only did I really enjoy these strange new experiences, but that day had to be one of the best of my life, as it opened up floodgates of previously unknown communication. Since then I have considered my mum to be a friend - as well as frustratingly indecisive parental figure - although I have to say, I still really do hate shopping, and no amount of mother-daughter bonding is gonna change that.

32. I once looked up gullible in the dictionary to prove that it was indeed there.

Hanging Around

Desperate not to allow myself to mooch through yet another semester without commiting to any social events, I decided to take drastic action ...and so I have taken up rock climbing. As you do. And, I am happy to say, I am hooked already.

The university mountaineering club is an eclectic mix of characters, but they all share a common goal - to put themselves into as many uncomfortable surroundings as possible. This is generally achieved by either walking up some wind blasted, rain drenched, midge ridden, precipitous mountain side, or alternatively, by dangling perilously from a bit of rope attached to a wind blasted, rain drenched, midge ridden, precipitous mountain side. I felt right at home.

I first tried my hand at rock climbing a couple of years back whilst I was teaching at an outdoor & environmental education centre down on the Norfolk coast. Here I was given responsibility for the safety of school kids left in my hands - quite literally - as instructor I was the one left holding their safety ropes. *coughs* fools! *coughs* Its pretty unnerving stuff going from being a complete novice in charge of my own uncooperative body parts, to suddenly being a complete novice in charge of a bunch of uncooperative little people - especially when they seemed quite determined to do their best to injure themselves by being generally idiotic. I have to admit though, it was very amusing. Especially the part with me being in charge of kids at great heights. And I didn't even injure any of them. Not seriously anyway. But back then I didn't stick with climbing though. I lacked the upper body strength to do alot of the stuff that I thought any self-respecting rock climber ought to be able to do, especially given my Spiderman-esque delusions. Besides, when I didn't have an obnoxious 12 year old to dangle from a 60 foot drop anymore, it somehow just lost some of its appeal.

Anyway, thankfully all of my recent work/life-avoidance-time spent in the gym has finally paid off, and I have now improved quite some way in my dangling-but-not-falling abilities. Indeed, I am almost gecko like. Except without the ability to shed my tail if I am forcibly grabbed.

So this weekend I am off to buy my gear: ..harness ..shoes ..chalk bag ..garishly patterned leggings in sickeningly flourescent colours of the kind not seen since 1984 ..and of course, LOTS and LOTS of gadgets for doing clever things with knots. And rocks. Its all very exciting really. And on Sunday, I am going out with the club to have my first taster session of ice climbing - can you imagine?? Ice axes! Crampons! Ice screws! I mean, that must have at least double the gadget possibilities as normal climbing does. Brilliant!

Apres ski

Last week saw the long awaited "Sarah And Fi Go Skiing In France Adventure". There were initial doubts as to how the holiday would evolve. I think I started checking the resort's snow reports sometime back in November 2004, as I eagerly anticipated freshly powdered slopes. I became increasingly worried as it became clear that it had not snowed since 25 January and didnt show any signs that it intended to do so. I was distraught. Not so much because I'm a snow snob, repulsed by the mere glint of ice patches on the pistes - no, rather I am Incrediable Clumsy and somewhat "enthusiastic" in my snowboarding abilities. This is a round-about way of saying that in the past I have spent more time on my bottom doing my best impression of a snowball, than my preferred vision of me as a super cool freestyling snowboarder. And basically, landing on ice hurts. Alot. So, trying my best to keep my pouting bottom lip wobble under control, I did the next best thing I could think of - and covered every conceivable part of my body with armour. The piece de resistance being armour plated shorts (which gave a whole new meaning to "does my bum look big in this?"). Fantastic! Armour Plated Fi was now ready for whatever the slopes threw at her - I felt like some sort of Winter Sports Action Man figure crossed with Mr Blobby. Brilliant! So naturally, whatever fear and trepidation that I would usually have, when faced with sheer slopes of ice, disappeared completely, leaving me to be even more "enthusiastic" and reckless than usual. This meant that within the week I had mastered the art of jumping - and not only that - jumping AND landing!! ..sometimes even on my feet!!! Not content with mere straight forward jumping and landing combinations, I even attempted some 180s... much to the amusement of just about anyone who passed by.

Snowboarding successes aside, the general holiday got an all round Thumbs Up from us. The resort of Risoul was unpretentious and accessible, something which other French resorts don't seem to value, in favour of affluence and arrogance. This was my kind of place. Cheap and cheerful. There was a very continental feel to the whole place - possibly given that we were indeed on the continent and surrounded by continentals. Without wanting to come across as an over-generalising xenophobe (indeed, I think Britain should just stop with all the procrastinating and go ahead and fully embrace EU membership, and currency, and, with any luck, licencing hours), I made some generalisations of a xenophobic nature whilst I was there. These are as follows:

The Belgians: of which there were many, more so than you could shake a waffle at. Far from being the fence-straddling bores of Europe, they were actually the culprits responsible for our being kept awake late into the night (well, I use the word "late" in the loosest possible sense seeing as we were generally in bed by 9pm), with the singing and drinking, drinking and singing. Those crazy Belgians. They were indeed a jolly bunch of drunks. But very friendly. And ever the diplomats - being the first and only people to pity and befriend me in my mostly French speaking snowboard classes. The Belgians - friendly, loud drunks, and mediators to the end.

The English: and by "English" I mean anyone who originates from inside The British Isles, which, apparently, according to everyone outside of The British Isles, is one and the same thing. We didn't meet too many of these actually. The ones we did meet were school trips of spotty adolescents who all seemed more impressed by their new found ability to buy Stella legally, than with the whole ski experience ..and their fatigued teachers, who also seemed more taken with their ability to buy Stella, and so I presume absolve any responsibility for afore mentioned kids. Who could blame them really?

The French: now everyone has a go at the French, and I don't want to be obvious and follow suit, but I must say they do make it difficult by being so darn ...French! But you can excuse them their aloof nature really. Us Brits should make more of an effort to speak the language and not assume that they should speak English just because everyone else in the whole world does. I am a very lazy linguist. I took French classes until I was 16, and I like to think I was very good and could hold my own. But that was 9 years ago now, and there has been no incentive to keep up these skills. Instead I find that by looking like you are struggling enough, smiling innocently, and being obviously confused, sooner or later someone would cave in or come to the rescue. I am not proud of this laziness, but it doesnt help me the fact I have my own pocket sized personal translator in the form of my Belgian girlfriend, Sarah, who can be whipped out at a moments notice, quicker than you can say "je ne comprend pas, je suis englais". Why have a dog and bark yourself right? ..Not that I would ever refer to Sarah as anything even remotely canine-like of course ;)

Performance anxiety

This is only Day Two of my blog and already I am feeling trapped and pressured by its mere existence. Maybe I am not suited to having a blogspot afterall. Frankly, I am already starting to find the whole idea rather unnerving - this Thing that I have created, lurks ominously in cyber-space, expectantly awaiting my input. What if I'm not in the mood to write creative, witty anecdotes about recent or past events? Its only when you start to put your thoughts down on paper (computer screen, whatever, work with me here people), that you realise just how little you have to say. Especially as today's highlights have included, amongst other fascinating events, shopping at Tesco (other overpriced supermarkets are available), watching Scotland being cheated by the effing French in the opening 6 Nations match, and a confusing episode involving sellotape, a towel and a snowboard - but the less said about that the better...

In a blogspot far far away

Not content with merely browsing the web and using chat forums to idly pass the time (mostly as a means of avoiding writing my lit review), I took the possibly-not-such-a-bright idea of creating a blogspot.

voila.

I had intended to use this space for the noble purposes of self-reflection and examination. However, I have a sneaky suspicion that in reality, I will neglect to update it with anything even approaching regularity, and will then only use it as a forum for venting my rants about the idiosyncrasies of everyday life. Should be fun then eh?