Dobbey and his friend Gordon

You may (or may not) recall my sighting of a man taking what appeared to be a pet reindeer for a walk in Crews Hill near Hertford. I seriously thought I'd lost it and doubted my sanity for several days until a friend said he'd also seen them out for a stroll.

Well - I've done some research now and it turns out the reindeer is definitely real and is called Dobbey.

His owner is Gordon Elliott, 65, from Enfield. Not exactly conventional reindeer country. As far as I'm aware, there aren't any Lapps or Innuits in Middlesex.

Dobbey's apparently very tame and enjoys travelling on the train and going down the pub.

I'm watching the Limpics again today and it's great news that Herts boxer Billy Joe Saunders is doing so well. He's a traveller, from a long line of bare knuckle fighters, and lives just a few miles outside Hertford.

Billy Joe Saunders is not to be confused with Billie Joe Spears, who is not a boxer.

I now have a new garden path and I'm inordinately excited by it. The old one was disgusting and full of weeds. Boll's getting used to it now, but she was a bit suspicious of it at first.

Bolly walking nervously on the new surface

Nana, looking well after her ordeal

I was just setting off for London the other afternoon with some friends when I sensed an odd, rustic burning smell near the front door. After inspecting the house, I concluded it was coming from outside and had probably wafted over from a nearby barbecue. So off we went - to a very pleasing dinner party.

But then, at 11pm, my mobile rang. It was my nextdoor neighbour.

'Ian. There's a fire. Smoke all over the garden. We're not sure where it's coming from, so we're going into your house to check. And we've called 999. Is that OK?'

I said yes and then ran around panicking.

Ten minutes later - another call.

'Don't worry. Boll's fine. It's not your house. It's your olive tree pot. We think your friends might have stubbed their cigarettes out in the soil and it must have caught fire and smouldered all afternoon. We've soaked it and put it out. The firemen were very helpful and inspected the pot to check it was out.'

When I got home, the house and garden smelled as if they'd been lightly grilled and Bollinger was wearing a slightly shocked expression. But my olive tree - Nana - seemed very philsophical and is absolutely fine.

The moral of the story - never let your friends stub their cigarettes out in your olive tree pot.

I'm always very impressed by the seasonal window displays at Hudsons Dentist's on Bull Plain. They're highly topical, quirky, perky, and - um - slightly deranged (in a good way).

me in my sombrero, attending a Spanish lesson

Muchos gracias for all the tip-offs about Spanish teachers. I've now finally found one in Hertford via hertsdirect and I'm starting lessons next week. ¡ Viva ! (whatever that means)

I'm trying to find a Spanish tutor in Hertford, but to no avail. In fact, I'm furious (¡furioso!) about the lack of one. But that might just be the paint fumes. And the hayfever. And the abominable hot weather which is wrong in England and must stop.

I did find one on the internet the other day. Penelope Herrera appeared to be real and to live in Knebworth. And she sounded like an Almodovar character. I decided this was a good reason to phone her. But when I did, I got the answerphone of a man called Donald.

I then emailed a tutor called Eduardo who seemed to think Hertford was south of London. Or perhaps he thought 'south' meant 'north'. Anyway - I gave up on him.

I tried Discover Hertford next. Nothing. I was ¡furioso! once again, so off I trotted off to the Library. 'Try Discover Hertford,' they said. 'That's what we use.'

I intend to go back and pour a large bowl of gazpacho into their laminating machine.

Meanwhile, I still can't find a Spanish tutor and am seething.

It's 30 degrees in here tonight by the way. This may explain my seethingness.

I walk across the long bridge over the weir most days and I often witness the inspiring spectacle of this group of ducklings trying to climb up the rapids. I've no idea why they do it.

The path next to the river on Folly Island (Riverside?) is looking very picturesque at the moment, thanks to the residents planting flowers on the bank. An excellent trend. Long may it continue.

Being a peacock, I just had to poke my beak in on Saturday morning to help a swan family who'd wandered onto Bull Plain (a street in the centre of Hertford).

The parents and seven cygnets didn't seem too ruffled and just sat around in the middle of the road, eventually parking on double yellow lines.

Traffic came to a standstill and a small crowd gathered as we tried to tempt them back towards the river with a trail of breadcrumbs. But that didn't work, so I decided to herd them - flapping my arms like wings.

After about ten minutes of extreme flapping, they filed across a zebra crossing back towards the river. They looked like a swan version of The Beatles on the Abbey Road album cover.

I've still no idea why they decided to go on an outing to Bull Plain, but they seemed to enjoy it, and thankfully there were no traffic wardens around.

The magpies are getting worse. My neighbours saw them swooping on little Jess the cat. They didn't hurt him, but he was apparently a bit ruffled. Thankfully, I reckon Bolly's too big to be a Magpie target.

sweet duck family in Hertford today

It's like a duck theme park in Hertford at the moment. The mallards near me have taken to sitting on rooftops like the seagulls in Hitchcock's The Birds. I bumped into a very friendly one this morning, taking her ducklings for a swim in the sun.
Hertford Ducklings - The Movie (very short so just takes a second or so to access)

I went for a stroll down the river this morning at 730 and observed sunbathing mallards, a moorhen nesting perilously close to a weir and a heron catching fish for breakfast.

I've just read Hertford – A History by Jacqueline Cooper. Very good, if a bit too exhaustive at points. It's available at the excellent Books@Hertford shop.

Here are some snippets from Hertford's history which I found interesting. I've added a few bits of extra information which I've uncovered myself.

The Venerable Bead (or Vulnerable Bede as I mistakenly called him as a child) referred to Hertford as Herutford and the Domesday Book listed the town as Heretforde Burge.

The Vulnerable Bede

The Vikings didn't ransack Hertford. That's a myth. But Sir Henry Chauncy (the famous Hertfordshire historian who lived in Lombard House on Bull Plain, now occupied by The Hertford Club) still insisted that 'the Danes assailed the town, spoiled the inhabitants and burnt their houses to the ground.'

Bircherley Green (now a shopping area with a Waitrose and Starbucks – if you're not from Hertford) was called Butcherly Green until relatively recently and was a notorious slum (a 'low and grimy quarter', a 'foul labyrinth of pestilential filth, squalor and misery') inhabited by paupers. It was originally called La Bocherye. The area's 18th century tenements also had picturesque names such as Angel Barn Yard, Poets' Corner and Paradise Court.

Bircherley Green - before the Waitrose Era

Bengeo used to be called Belingehov and once boasted five slaves. St Leonard's (the Norman village church in Bengeo) had a famous anchorite – a recluse who guarded the altar and lived in a tiny cell which was actually in the church itself. The church font was used as a plant pot in a local garden for many years.

In 1241, there was a jousting event on the King's Meads (the meadows between Hertford and Ware) which got out of hand, leading to the violent death of the Earl of Pembroke.

When King John of France was 'imprisoned' in the castle, he had 70 attendants, a troupe of minstrels and a personal portrait painter with him.

The famous dramatist John Lydgate premiered his new play Lydgate's Disguising at Hertford Castle, in front of King Henry VI who lived there. It was a mimed comedy drama (mummers' play) and featured 'rude upplandisshe people compleyning on hir wyves with the boystous aunswere of hir wyves' (common rustic peasants nagging their wives, followed by their wives' colourful replies).

Elizabeth I was very fond of Hertford and its many 'maskings, sports and mummeries'. In 1561, she had an extravagant 16 day holiday in the castle and spent £1,975 – the equivalent of millions nowadays.

Parliament didn't meet in Hertford during the plague. That's an urban myth. But the Privy Council and Law Courts did decamp here from London.

There were lots of witch trials in town. Spinsters were regularly hanged for their wicked bewitching activities. In 1598, a Hertford spinster allegedly bewitched seven of Ralph Willobye's pigs. Meanwhile, Hertford pensioners had to wear red badges with HP on them. Widow Ulph refused to wear a badge and was told off.

witches being hanged - not in Hertford but in Chelmsford (having been there, I think they might have missed one or two)

The alcoholic drink Stout was named after prominent Hertford Quaker Henry Stout. Hertford boasted a huge number of inns with odd names, such as The Glove and Dolphin and The Cold Bath (which had a theatre, as did The Green Dragon).

The founder of Methodism John Wesley visited the town several times during one of its occasional sloughs of despond and called it 'poor desolate Hertford'. In 1768, he described the people of Hertford as 'dull creatures' – 'a more stupid and senseless mob I have never seen'.

John 'Laugh a Minute' Wesley

The controversial economist Thomas Malthus taught in Hertford. The chattering classes attacked his theories. In their view – the theories suggested that there was no point in helping the poor - the poor would always be poor and prone disaster and early death, usefully keeping the population in check.

First World War poet Julian Grenfell lived on the Panshanger Estate. He was a controversial figure. ' I adore war,' he wrote in the autumn of 1914. 'It is like a big picnic but without the objectivelessness of a picnic. I have never been more well or more happy.' He was killed a few months later.

July 1914 - Mr and Mrs Almeric Paget's Garden Party at Panshanger

The renowned orientalist Francis Johnson lived and taught in Hertford. He learnt Arabic directly from an Arab when he was touring Italy with his friend Charles Barry (architect of the Houses of Parliament). He was an expert in sanskrit and translated the Mahabbarata among other things. His Persian Dictionary is a classic scholarly work.

In 1944, Montgomery and Eisenhower were spotted arriving at Hertford North station. They were visiting Brickendonbury – known during World War 2 as Station XVII. Notorious spies Burgess and Philby were both based there. Station XVII was used by the 'Special Operations Executive - European Theatre of War' to train secret agents in the art of sabotage.

Hertford has 354 listed buildings – more than any other town in Hertfordshire.

At the turn of the 19th/20th centuries, local shop owner W Graveson wrote 'A Dream of Hertford in the 21st Century' – predicting that Hertford would become a rich and leafy utopia. How very accurate of him.

from Hertford - a History
Christ's Hospital pupils wearing their distinctive blue coats

It was hot today. Tonight, they're predicting ice. Tomorrow - rain. At the weekend, we had random bursts of sunshine, hailstones and thunder. And - as if you need further proof that the weather's gone apocalyptic - this is a photo I took last week from my bedroom window.

It's good to see lots of yellow wagtails in Hertford this year. They're very sweet.

which is which?

According to the Mercury, a 'cannabis factory' (note their inverted commas) has been discovered in Hertford. What next? A crack house in Cuffley?

Anyway - just to put the record straight - the things in my garden are not marijuana plants. This is an evil rumour started by my friend H.

They are in fact baby horse chestnut trees which I've grown from conkers. And as far as I'm aware, you can't get stoned on chestnuts. They do look a bit similar though. Perhaps I should give them ID cards.

the rooftop duck, photographed earlier

I sighted the first duck of spring this morning. Last year, spring was heralded by a duck taking up residence on my garden wall. This year, the duck (it looks like the same one - very similar facial expression) spent the morning on the ridge of my neighbour's roof.

watch exciting action shot of the duck

This is the olive tree yesterday. On Friday, Boll and I were sunbathing next to it. I was just wearing a t-shirt. Boll wasn't wearing anything.

Et in Arcadia ego

The frail fir tree urchin (which Boll and I rescued from the mean streets of Hertford in February) sadly passed away to the Great Pine Forest in the Sky this afternoon.

Ashes to ashes, cones to cones. When I was a sapling, I spake as a sapling. But when I became a tree, I put away sapling things.

We buried the tragic tree in a bosky wheelie bin (a garden waste recycling one). Then we scattered its needles in the pot where it had been happy - in its own understated treeish way.

I'm pleased to announce that plans to convert Hertford Castle into a hotel and bar were ditched yesterday, April 1st, at noon.

I only managed to fool one friend yesterday, telling him that I'd seen two very unlikely acquaintances in London, walking around as a couple. The two people in question don't know eachother. The only connection between them is that one, in our view, is shaped rather like a duck and the other has the appearance and mannerisms of a budgie.

He was totally taken in. My theory is that he seriously wanted to believe it.

I always want to believe bizarre stories, which has caused me a few problems with my reporter hat on. I was once hoaxed by a very convincing chap claiming to be an insurance broker offering a policy for abduction by aliens. He even provided me with a client who claimed he'd been abducted and probed by tentacled creatures from outer space.

The subsequent report went out on Radio 4. My fault. I should have checked with at least three other sources, but I didn't. Anyway – that was long ago and far away and I like to think I'm older and wiser now (aka horribly sceptical).

The wonderful Wikipedia is dangerously prone to hoaxes and – as you may have read – its entry on the veteran BBC theme composer Ronnie Hazlehurst fooled the broadsheets and the BBC itself.

According to Wikipedia's biography, he'd come out of retirement to write S Club 7's hit song Reach! He hadn't. It was just an irresistable idea, and ended up in all of his obituaries.

My favourite musical urban myth is that Bob 'Blockbusters' Holness played the sax solo on Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street. I sooooo wanted to believe that, because it somehow proved that life was interesting and unpredictable. But it was about as true as a court statement by Paul Burrell.

Another story I just read this morning seemed too good to be false (so to speak).

Einstein's chauffeur, who resembled him quite closely, once convinced the great scientist to let him give one of his lectures on the theory of relativity, with Einstein sitting in the audience. The chauffeur read the lecture very convincingly, having seen it delivered many times. But he was almost caught out in the Q&A when one of the professors in the audience posed a ridiculously complex mathematical problem. Thinking quickly, the chauffeur retorted, 'The answer to your question is simple. In fact it's so easy I'm going to ask my chauffeur, who's in the audience, to come and answer it for you.'

It's so brilliant, you just have to believe it. It's related as a true story by numerous websites, including the BBC's H2G2. And it's even been quoted as gospel in church sermons.

I've heard urban myths myself, quoted as truth in sermons. Last year, I heard a vicar tell the story of a Midwest Christian college, which boasted a sign declaring 'Ten miles from the nearest sin'. Urban myth. He claimed a friend of his had seen it. I'm sure Richard Dawkins would find that interesting.

But some absurd April 1 stories actually turn out to be true. A classic one is the Blue Peacock. Blue Peacock was the real code name for a proposed chicken-powered nuclear bomb at the height of the Cold War. The document suggesting this was declassifed, by an unfortunate coincidence, on April 1 2004, and many people thought it was a spoof.

The same thing happens on Peacockshock. I'm frequently asked whether the stranger stories on here (notably the recent hamster clampdown in Vietnam) are true. They are. Truth is often stranger than fiction, as quantum theory is now seemingly proving.

Good news about the castle anyway. It wouldn't have suited all that neon.

artist's impression

I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling angry that Wetherspoon PLC has put in a bid to convert Hertford Castle into a country house hotel - provisionally called The Knight's Folly.

And I'm not impressed by rumours that the council are planning to sell the property and invest the cash.

Wetherspoons have apparently offered to landscape the grounds, adding statues of the Knights Templar who allegedly lived in Hertford. But they've denied plans to link the hotel to the Six Templars bar via an underground tunnel with a medieval theme.

I for one will be signing the petition against this proposal, which will surely destroy the character of the castle and its grounds.

Thursday is the new Friday here in Hertford.

For a few months, I've noticed that the queues outside The Stonehouse are just as long (and noisy) on Thursday nights, and the town centre has a Fridayish feel.

Then today (Thursday), a Tescos assistant wished me a nice weekend.

I was so shocked, I started to think I'd forgotten what day it was. So I rushed into Hertford Pets to check. They convinced me it was still Thursday and calmed me down.

What next? Will Wednesday become the new Thursday? And what if Sunday becomes the new Monday? Aren't we getting into dangerous territory?

This must stop.

an Emo

Some Emos have started using Cannons gym. There were five yesterday. I've got nothing against them. But surely gyms aren't Emoish places. Emos are supposed to be pale, thin and miserable with dangly limbs and droopy demeanours. I'm worried they'll be rejected by the other Emos in their herd if they start looking like Mens Health cover models.

Which one is which?

I was at Peacock Towers over the weekend visiting my parents, and we were talking about the (alleged) ghost who (allegedly) haunts the end of the driveway - a man in a top hat.

He was first sighted at about 4am by their very down-to-earth milkman, who was completely freaked out and thought the spectral figure was an undertaker. He apparently sped to the end of the road in his milkfloat and turned round to find no-one there. He was so scared, he made a point of calling the next day to ask what was going on.

Mum's convinced it has something to do with the rockery, which contains stones from the old village church.

Anyway - I got back to Hertford last night and stopped off in Threshers on Fore Street for a mobile phone top-up. It was dark outside. Threshers is quite dimly lit. There was only one assistant in the shop, and me. No-one else.

But, just as the assistant was topping up my card, there was an almighty clattering noise behind me. Someone shaking or strumming on the metal blinds over the window. I turned round, thinking it was strange that I hadn't noticed anyone else in the shop and wondering why they were fiddling with the shutters. But there was no-one there whatsoever.

'Oh don't worry,' said the assistant. 'It's only the ghost. We hear strange noises and bangs all the time. We just say hello to it and it goes away.'

I've heard quite a few stories about Threshers and other Fore Street shops being haunted (they're all connected by mysterious underground tunnels), but this was my first direct experience.

The assistant puts it down to 'energies'. I've no idea what it was, but it was a bit peculiar to say the least.

I've had a few spooky experiences recently. A few weeks ago, I was running a course in an oak-panelled Victorian boardroom on an old cobbled street in Cardiff Bay. During the afternoon break, I went to the loo and turned round because I could sense someone standing behind me. Being me, I was about to apologise for forgetting to lock the door. But there was no-one there.

I decided not to mention it to the nice people on the course as it's bad form to mention one's ghoulies in public and I didn't want to scare them. But then, suddenly, the person to my left shivered and said, 'I felt something really strange go right through me there.' A second later, the next person along the board table shuddered and said they'd felt exactly the same thing.

There's more on my ghostly sightings in the peacockshock shed, and more on local hauntings in the Hertford section.

some swans enjoying the nice weather yesterday

blue skies over Fore Street

The so-called 'Tragic Tree of Hertford' mysteriously disappeared earlier this morning.

Its pot remains, but there is no sign of the tree - described as 'a Norwegian Spruce of no fixed address'.

A suspicious-looking man was sighted in the area around the time of the abduction.

'He looked slightly pensive and very shifty,' said a witness. 'He was 40-something and his jumper was covered in cat hairs. He just muttered something on the lines of "OK - that's it - I'm going to rescue you and give you some plant food", then he grabbed it and scuttled off in the direction of Folly Island."

If you see this person, do not approach him. He is thought to be suffering from Acute Titchmarsh Syndrome and may be dangerous.

It started its sad odyssey in December, outside the Castle Club on Honey Lane - looking almost festive in an understated fashion. Then, in January, looking distinctly forelorn, it moved to Bull Plain near the Stonehouse. Now, in mid-February, the poor old thing is lurking like a bag lady in a doorway on Maidenhead Street. It's still alive, but not at all well, and I fear it may not make it to Christmas 2008.

A Hertford resident tries her first latte

Starbucks are now recruiting for their forthcoming outlet in Hertford. Let's hope the new branch doesn't repeat a recent controversial Starbucks innovation in the USA.

the Roaring Meg river in Stevenage

I visited the Roaring Meg Retail Park in Stevenage the other day and was overcome with curiosity about Meg and her roaring. Was she a resident of Stevenage? Why did she roar?

So I asked a tattooed passer by in a hooded top. 'Roaring Meg's the river mate,' he mumbled. 'That stream thing.' He pointed to a vague dribble disappearing into a pipe. It was quite picturesque, for Stevenage.

When I got home I investigated further.

It turns out that the original Roaring Meg was a wild and loose woman. In fact, all such women were once known as 'Megs'. A particularly notorious one was 'Long Meg of Westminster'. I don't like the sound of her.

I then discovered a Buckinghamshire rock band named after Ms Roaring. Their website claims that she 'crosses the boundary betwixt this world and the afterworld, gate-crashing parties and whipping unsuspecting souls into a riotous frenzy.' This is clearly a veiled reference to Amy Winehouse.

Roaring Meg apparently liked nothing better than straddling a cannon. Several famous cannons and guns were named after her (and her pal Big Bertha). In fact, the word 'gun' itself is derived from a woman's name - Gunhilda.

Roaring Meg is also -

a dam in New Zealand

a boat

a type of beer

a waterfall in Queensland

a make of Cider

and

a pub in Staffordshire

Hello. Happy 2008. Bollinger and I are back from the north, where it obligingly snowed. I note from a visit to my local bottle bank that the good people of Hertford have had a very jolly few weeks.

'I had terrible insommnia last night. I think it's because I brush my teeth before I go to bed and it's too much exercise for that time of night. I'm going to brush them mid-evening from now on.'

This charming wood pigeon pops into the garden most days to eat the white berries on the tree. I've no idea what type of tree it is, but I'm rather fond of it.

I wish to fulminate about a pump. The old blue water pump in Bluecoats (aka Christ's Hospital school) is a disgrace. I pass it most days en route to the gym or Tescos and it outrages me aesthetically every time. As old pumps go - it's phenomenally quaint and picturesque and could be an uplifting feature for passers by. So why - I repeat why - is it in such a decrepit state?

Here are some old photos of the Bull Inn in Hertford, which Bull Plain was probably named after. The Stonehouse of its day, it was roughly on the site of Hertford Cameras and had a resident parrot. It was hit by a German Zeppelin in 1915.

The Bull Inn on Bull Plain

Bull Inn bar staff. Note the parrot and the sign saying 'French spoken here'. Why? Were there lots of French visitors to Hertford?

I've often wondered where Folly Island in Hertford got its name from, as there's no evidence of a folly there. And now I've found out. It's a corruption of Fore Lea Island - meaning 'Fore Meadow Island' (as in Fore Street). Or it could possibly mean 'island in front of a meadow'.

In the street -
'I want a thing that goes ping on a string.'

In an opticians -
'Have you got any brothers or sisters?'
'Well, I've got a sort of sister, but she's more like a man.'

In a gym -
'She's finally coming round.'
'To your opinion, or your house?'

The latter is a rather fine example of the ancient rhetorical technique of Zeugma - not something you encounter every day in a gym changing room.

Horsechestnut trees are evil

I'm seething with the horsechestnut tree near my house. It hates me and has been bombarding my roof with conkers all night.

I have only one word to say to it, and that word is 'axe'.

I hope it gets the message.

one of the book rooms

I'm a big fan of Hertford's Gillmark Gallery which sells old maps, prints, books and postcards in various quaint and higgledypiggledy rooms. It's at 25 Parliament Square.

And it's good news that we're getting a new independent bookshop in October. Books@Hertford will be on Railway Street and will have a resident border collie.

I had lunch at Café Rouge in Hertford today. And, just as I was tucking into my salmon fishcake, I noticed a parrot at the next table. Not a Norwegian Blue, but a macaw.

It turned out that my fellow diner was called Igor. He lives in Welwyn Garden City. He's only a few months old and he can't even talk yet.

It was his first day trip to Hertford and I have to say he was extremely well-behaved and very friendly.

Apparently, scientists have found a great cosmic nothingness.

It's a big hole - devoid of normality - and they've no idea why it's there.

Good to know that Stevenage is finally on the cosmic map.

A nice, well-meant sign in a pub window on the Ware Road informs passers by that it's 'close for refarbish'.

How sad that local ruffians have chosen to vandalise it with their troglodytic marker pens, changing it to 'ClosED for refurbishMENT'.

'Have you booked?' asked the maître d' at Lussman's last night.

'No,' I replied. 'But we are very important.'

Without further ado, we were whisked to the best table in the restaurant and treated like VIPs for the rest of the evening.

No idea what possessed me to say it, but I'll certainly try it again.

Assistant on phone -

'I'm calling to say the marsupial is definitely OFF.'

I spent this afternoon on a jetty near the house, having a very pleasant picnic with Frank and Henrietta. I wore my preposterous straw hat from Thailand and we fed a passing swan and some cute and fluffy cygnets.

me, looking like a deranged hillbilly

When I first moved to Hertford, I kept seeing a man who looked like Jeremy Clarkson. When I told a friend about this, he said, 'Oh yes. That's the Jeremy Clarkson lookalike.' I've no idea who he is, but he sometimes frequents the White Horse.

Then I started seeing a Jack Nicholson lookalike. He has a bike and some Staffies and can often be seen in and near Tesco.

And then along came Orlando Bloom who works in Oddbins on Bull Plain when he's not making films.

I'm not mad. I've had these sightings verified by friends who agree with me about the uncanny resemblances. But it does slightly freak me out, and I was sore afraid the other night when I was walking past Oddbins and could see Orlando in there fiddling with some Peruvian Shiraz. At this point I happened to look round. And there, approaching each other in opposite directions, were Jeremy and Jack.

I didn't do any peacockshocking last week because my parents were here for a break.

We had some very pleasant walks along the river and went to the castle fete which was very much like a scene from Midsomer Murders.

A highlight of the day was a guided tour of the castle dungeon led by the indefatigable former mayor Peter Ruffles. Very frightening indeed. There was also a brass band, a maypole, and an extraordinary troupe of morris dancers.

Could this be the Hertford Big Cat? It was photographed by Ian Peacock on Friday evening as it casually read the Herts Mercury on his coffee table.

There are no normal birds in the garden of my new house. No chaffinches, sparrows or whatever.

The regulars are - in order of appearance - a duck, a wren, a yellowhammer and ... a bat. I actually thought the bat was the wren, until I noticed it flitted oddly and only appeared at dusk.

I'll keep you posted on further developments.

a pic I took on a nice spring day this week

A frosty Hartham Common is the setting for a moody new video by Bengeo singer-songwriter Tom Braggins. Could Tom be the new Damien Rice?

No. Kate's not been discovered running along someone's ridge tiles, though it wouldn't surprise me one bit. I'm referring to a roof near my house, on an old 17th century building, which has pleasing clumps of moss on it.

Spring arrived in Hertford today. Here's a pic I took this afternoon of the river near the house.

The February edition of Hertfordshire magazine 'Axis' celebrates Valentine's Day, with a photo of a romantic couple on the front cover.

On the back cover - a full-page advert:

'Curwens Solicitors. Divorce and Separation. When a relationship breaks down, you need an experienced and friendly lawyer...'

Hertford's on the map. Finally.

After years of explaining to people where it is ('Hertford - a nice old town 20 miles north of London ... no ... it's not Hatfield or Harlow ... yes ... it's in Hertfordshire...') BBC London have now put it on their weather map. This is a wondrous marvel.

There's a job ad in this week's Herts Mercury for an 'Insect Rearing Technician' (01992 815181 if you want to apply).

I like the idea of this. Presumably you dress the insects in the morning, make sure they brush their mandibles and wash behind their antennae, then take them off to the Montessori.

And I guess you have to teach them values. No picking on amoebas. No racist taunting of molluscs. No getting into cars with strange beetles.

I went for a walk this morning and took these pix.

My solicitor - Jade - now has a note in her diary to try for an exchange of contracts on Monday. Hurrah.

I was supposed to be moving today - into a nice little house near the river. But it's been delayed thanks to a chain involving an old lady called - unless I'm mistaken - Mrs Happenstance (did I mishear?) who has an aversion to moving before Christmas.

Peter Andre and Jordan

Oh my goodness. According to my sources, Peter Andre and Jordan are moving to Watton-at-Stone near Hertford. We already have the Beckhams. It's just getting too classy around here.

Hertford is full of geese and my house is on the goose flightpath. I like seeing them fly over. But why do they talk to each other non-stop while they're flying? What are they actually talking about?

Oops. The Hertford House has closed due to 'operational problems.' My sources tell me it was a bit chaotic at the weekend and they've sacked the manager. But it is re-opening soon. Perhaps I should stop wishing people well.

The rampant chichification of Hertford continues apace. I now live within walking distance of a multi-million-pound boutique hotel. Hertford House opened on 1 November. Just as well it wasn't 31 October. Rumour has it the building's haunted.

I've not been there yet, but it does look very good. It's run by people who've worked with Anton Edelman and Heston Blumenthal. There are 22 rooms, with rates between £85 and £125 a night. The restaurant does afternoon teas and English-style tapas among other things. And its owners are from Hertford - the people behind Elbert Wurlings - which is excellent news.

Peacockshock wishes it well.

The excellent Pocket Gods from St Albans are playing The Marquee in Hertford (Railway Street) on Thursday November 9. John Peel was a fan and they've had lots of airtime on Radio 1 and XFM. You can hear them via their website and myspace profile. Their influences include The Ramones, The Fall, The Pixies and absinthe. Their track titles include 'Devastation Duvet' and 'Ballad of the Peshwari Nan'.

Thank you to Jane for informing me that Richard Hale School in Hertford has produced four bishops (almost five). David Smith (former bishop of Bradford), John Gladwin (Guildford), John Flack (Huntingdon) and Richard Chartres (John Peel lookalike and bishop of London).

Perhaps they should be invited to bless the new pub when it opens. I may suggest this to Wetherspoons.

I note that the forthcoming JD Wetherspoons pub on Parliament Square will be called The Five Bishops and I approve of the name.

In 678, Hertford Castle, which is nearby, was the venue for the first General Synod of England. And it was attended by no less than five bishops - Bisi, Putta, Eleutherius, Winfred and Wilfred.

It would be nice if the clientele of the pub were somehow made aware of this. It would also be amusing if Wetherspoons introduced a competition to pronounce 'Eleutherius' every night at 11.30 pm.

Outside the art shop on St Andrew Street -

Sorry. We're now selling Christmas cards.

The Hertford Owl

I was walking down Fore Street at the weekend and noticed a large owl on a chimney. I watched it for a while, then had to go. It was very still, very statuesque.

It was still there on Sunday. And Monday too. Sitting in the same position. So I went into a nearby restaurant to ask about it. Perhaps it was unwell or something.

"Oh, the owl," they said. "It's a stone owl. They put it there to stop small birds perching on the roof. They're not very bright. Easily fooled."

The Hertford East train to London is usually swarming with toxic chavs who shout and wear horrid clothes.

One might think the Hertford North line would be a touch less irritating on the child front. But - no - it's increasingly awash with posh brats from Bengeo.

Tonight, there was a small boy singing at the top of his voice: "I'm going back to school! I'm going to Oundle!"

Street in Ware - early 20th century ... note the Telegraph advert (is there a sinister connection between the town and the newspaper?)

Ware, the town next to Hertford, has been declared by The Telegraph to be one of the top five towns to live in near the M25. Harpenden, where my friends and godson live, is also in the top five. Fine. But WARE??? When Hertford's not even in the Top 20? It's like voting Calais top town in France and leaving Paris off the list.

The Hertfordshire Mercury covers the story with admirable neutrality. But I'm on the verge of pouring raw sewage into the River Lea so it flows into Ware and ruffles the smug popinjays who live in this jumped-up, godforsaken shanty town.

The people of Hertford did apparently do the sewage thing once upon a time, as the two towns haven't always got on very well.

I'm not 100% sure how it started, but I've been told it originated with the Vikings, who managed to get as far south as Ware, but not as far as Hertford. Please correct me if I'm wrong. There were certainly battles between Alfred the Great and the Vikings in these parts. And the remains of Viking boats have been found in the river near Ware and Stanstead Abbotts.

Oddly, the only person I've knowingly met from Ware now works in Scandinavia - for Radio Sweden. And the inhabitants of Ware do, if you look closely, resemble Vikings and are prone to marauding and pillaging.

Then it all went a bit berserk in the times of William the Conquerer. Wills had a bailiff in Hertford, who decided to divert traffic from Ware to his own town by blocking off Ware bridge with a padlocked iron gate. Good for him. This meant that Hertford got all the toll money.

But Ware's Lord of the Manor, Saier de Quincey, later destroyed the gate (vandal) and restored Ware's toll income.

King John also got involved and banned Ware from having a Saturday market, as it was only 6½ horse-riding miles from Hertford and therefore bad for business. Quite right too.

The rivalry went on for centuries. In 1788, when Hertford won a cricket match against Ware, a local man, 'in a paroxysm of rage and vexation, went home and burnt his breeches.'

I'm not biased or anything, but I'd say that was pretty typical Ware behaviour.

I've always liked quickfire rock band The Subways so I was agreeably surprised to learn that they're from Welwyn Garden City - about five miles from Hertford. WGC isn't exactly the kickingest, grungiest, yoofiest place on earth. So its odd to think of it as the home of a band who were first aired on Radio 1 by John Peel and have played Glastonbury and Reading. Their music has also been used in Rimmel ads and on US TV show The OC.

The band's name was inspired by Welwyn Garden City too. Their lead singer said in an interview: "One of the few places where I could find refuge and peace in Welwyn Garden City was in a subway. I would haunt there in between breaks at college."

I've always felt that the subways are especially fine in Welwyn Garden City - one of WGC's most exciting features in fact. It's good to see them celebrated in this splendid way. It's an inspiration to us all.

A narrow boat on the River Lea in Hertford

Summer has arrived in Hertford. And I've discovered a secret garden - thousands of wild flowers on some derelict land near Hartham Common.

Rooks Nest

I've always been vaguely aware that EM Forster's Howards End was based on a house in Hertfordshire. But I've only just discovered that Rooks Nest (aka Rooksnest, Rooks Nest House, Rooks Nest Farm) still exists and is on the outskirts of Stevenage. I must admit I find this rather sad, as Stevenage seems to me to be the antithesis of the rustic idyll represented by the house in the novel.

After Forster, the house was occupied by Elizabeth Poston, who composed the carol 'Jesus Christ The Apple Tree'. Poston knew Forster, worked with Vaughan Williams, and was one of the founders of The Third Programme - now BBC Radio 3. She also sent codes to the Allies during the Second World War, using gramophone records which had to be played in full before the secret was revealed.

It's her centenary year and there's a new book about her time at Rooks Nest by Hertfordshire author Margaret Ashby.

The Friends of the Forster Country

Thank you to Hertfordshire Life magazine for informing us all that Wiggintons, round the corner from my house, is in fact a pub. The 'Wigginton & Son public house' appears on page 57 of the June issue. I ought to be more observant. I always thought it was a shop.

Wiggintons