Peter Rhodes: A year of worthwhile little things

There is a Yorkshire saying: "Do summat. Do good if you can but do summat." I'm not sure how big, frequent or important the summats are supposed to be.

As I noted a few weeks back, it is important to get satisfaction from the little things in life, if only because the big things tend to be expensive.

For me, this has been a year of small but worthwhile things. In 2016 there was no hang-gliding over Vesuvius or aardvark wrestling in Patagonia and I have put the nose-flute workshop in Bhutan on hold for another year. Instead I focused on the following:

The bird feeder. Our old bird table had turned into an unseemly food-fight arena for raucous pigeons and grey squirrels. The new feeder has pest-proof containers for seeds and fat blocks. Within a few weeks we had an altogether smarter and more colourful clientele of goldfinches, greenfinches, yellowhammers, fieldfares, wagtails, more tits than you can shake a stick at and a pair of great spotted woodpeckers. Never has such a small investment produced so much free entertainment.

The Voyage to Ardlui. Another example of keeping your ambitions modest. My 40-year love affair with Scotland has featured a number of sailing trips on Loch Lomond but until May of this year I had never sailed the full 22 miles of the loch from Balloch in the south to Ardlui in the north. The last attempt a few years ago was washed out by gales. But May 2016 was bright and balmy and the voyage was accomplished. My photo of the year is our boat edging into the shallow water at the north of the loch with Ardlui in sight. Just before we ran aground.

The Kitchen. It is a Great British tradition that every five years or so you rip out a perfectly good kitchen and replace it with something shiny and minimalist that will keep you one step ahead of the Joneses. Instead, we discovered an excellent primer paint for kitchen-cupboard surfaces and repainted the units. They look better than anything we could find in the showrooms, at about a tenth of the price.

Remembrance. My grandfather's brother, Private Alvin Smith, was killed on the Somme on September 17, 1916. Thanks to the old battalion diary we know precisely where and when he died. Exactly 100 years to the hour later, our extended family from Yorkshire, Fife and the Midlands met to lay a floral tribute at the war memorial in his home village of Lothersdale, followed by a meal at the pub his parents once ran. A worthwhile and sobering moment to reflect on all the years we have enjoyed that a million young Tommies were denied.

The Road. We live at the end of a lane which emerged from the winter of 2015-16 riddled with potholes. So we neighbours all chipped in a few quid and did the job ourselves. I defy anyone to tell where the professional bits end and the amateur repairs begin. We got not only an improved road but a rosy glow of communal goodwill.

The Music. I joined a ukulele band specialising in hits from the 1960s onwards. Hearing 40 blokes bashing out the Turtles' hit, Imagine Me and You is a rare treat. For the time being, the Bhutan nose flutes can wait.