There are times when the stars align, someone bends a knee and chants Wiccan oaths, because Samhain is drawing near.  Was it Ant Jervis, or were others arrayed in the Pagan circle?  Whatever the reason, the last Sunday in October dawned clearer than expected, the forecasted harsh wind had calmed and the sun shone.  The

August Antics Come Summertime, or what passes for it, our stalwart committee members task the inestimable Mr Jervis with holding the annual scale competition at whichever slope happens to suit the prevailing breeze, wind or howling gale.  This year we had a washout Saturday, wisely cancelled early, with the Sunday left as default for those