Rugger, bunkers and buzzards

On Monday, my lovely daughter, a living Angel of the North, came home from school with the news that she's going to be in the girls' rugby team, playing in the county schools tournament in 4 weeks' time.  All we need to do now is get her some boots, and teach her a bit about rugby.  Thus far, she's got away with understanding three basic concepts:

1. When they run at you, tackle them - which it seems she enjoys
2. When you have the ball, try to run past/through them - which it seems she enjoys even more
3. Only pass backwards - which she'd rather not do, as she's quite good at concept 2 (above)

The teacher has described her as "Fast with the ball", which backs up concept 2, I suppose?

I found all this out via text message while I was walking the dogs in the ever-approaching gloom on Greenham Common.  It's a strange place, with obvious connotations for anyone born more than 30 years ago.  The US Air Force left on 11th September 1992 (9/11 if you prefer), after 41 years, taking their nuclear arms and cruise missiles with them.  There is still considerable evidence of their time there, with many of the concrete bunkers still remaining behind triple layers of fencing, festooned with warnings of barbed/razor wire and a Thames Valley Police Dog training zone.  Missing from the area though, according to a study a few years ago, is any trace of abnormal radioactive activity.  Phew!

It's very popular with runners, probably due in no small part to the tidily laid paths that stay relatively well-drained.  Hence, I headed off-piste with the dogs into the gorse-ridden centre of the former runway (most of which was broken up and is now under the A34, apparently).  When in use, it was the longest military runway in Europe (over 10,000ft long - 3km), and now it makes a very long, if rather flat, area of common land.

I was gazing upwards, as I often do, and was watching a group of around 20 birds drifting northwards while circling clockwise (as viewed from below)*.   I was just trying to decide what sort of birds they were when they stopped their circling and headed off northwards as one.  I looked for a moment at the dogs, and then back upwards, spotting my new company.  A buzzard was gliding about 30ft above my head, using the brisk wind to keep its ground-speed very low.  I was treated to a good 20 seconds in its company as it twisted and twitched to maintain a more-or-less straight line before it made a 90 degree turn to starboard, using the wind to tear away from me on a broad reach.

A good start to the week, I think.

*Anyone that knows me well will know that I counted them.  There were 19, but "around 20" makes me sound less sad.