This is the big sycamore - a "notable" tree according to the Woodland Trust - and would be splendid for a tree house.
A bridge could be built to it from the high ground by the compost heaps ending at the level of the main fork - but it is extremely unlikely to happen - but one can dream.
One snag of this tree is the mountain of leaves which rain down in autumn and sycamore are not the best for making leaf mould - not that that will stop me. Time can do many things given enough.
Why does everything occur at once - operations, leaking bath/shower and floor tiles being ripped up with underfloor heating and so on and so on.
It was foggy and dead calm this morning - mystical - even the birds seem to twitter quietly, the rooks mumble.
There is still leaf colour as the mild autumn weather finally looks to
turn colder and wilder.
It is so mild there are caterpillars chewing away at the brassicas and the grass is growing - unchecked, unmown. There are Small Tortoiseshell chrysalis under the eaves and some in the shed but I have not seen a butterfly for a week.
I am now going to lie on my front and peer under the bath with a torch.
Perhaps this is a new door into Narnia - push past the leaking pipes and . . . .
Update - new knee in place - home and asleep.