
My next two loos were unremarkable, if you don't count the purple carpet in the Churchdown one or the fact that the Longhope one was visible from the front entrance - a perpetual problem for an open-door policy person like me.

The morning sun shone in here, too, there was a big radiator on the wall as well as a fan heater on a timer, the room was spacious, and it was also a place to linger in comfort; although the large mirror above the vanity unit directly opposite did not always reflect an edifying sight.
My current bathroom has none of these features. I do, though, spend more time than perhaps I should standing at the window gazing out at this much less extensive view, which despite the blot of the trusty Hills Hoist at least has some bush, including a kauri tree, and many birds, some resident, others transient.

And, yesterday, there was a harrier hawk causing panic in the ranks. They're not unusual here: while hanging out the washing, I've several times heard the chickens give their alarm call as they rush for cover, and looked up to see a hawk high above. The hens are eagle-eyed and sharp, by the way: they can distinguish between a hawk and a seagull, even way up in the sky (although the new entrants, ex-barn, had to learn the difference). Yesterday, though, the hawk was hovering below the tops of the trees, clearly deciding whether it was worth a go; and I was thankful that Titch, my only bantam, was nowhere to be seen.
When I lived in England, sometimes down at the washing line I would hear faint cries, the essence of wildness, high, high above, and see a pair of buzzards circling; and once I rushed out of the house when there was a commotion in the paddock, expecting to see a fox and finding instead a rather confused young buzzard struggling to get airborne again after a misguided attempt to nail one of my hens.
But there's one raptor that's enraptured me. The Andean condor I saw at Colca in Peru, lazily spiralling higher and higher out of the canyon as the morning warmed and the thermals got going: wings spread astonishingly wide, primary feathers splayed like fingers, circling up and up until it disappeared into the blue.

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