England is back to more usual, civilised temperatures. The past week of the Fahrengezundheits climbing into the nineties (something on the order of thirty-three of the Celsiumoids) – all with humidity levels ordinarily only found in an all-in-wrestling camel’s crotch – were not to the tastes of Hutson minor. Not to his tastes at all….
Nostalgia about England’s canals isn’t what it’s going to be – Guest Post by Ian Hutson…
Originally posted on Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog:
There’s probably a few years in the old horse yet, but… Living full-time on a boat on England’s canals will, sometime relatively soon, go the way of policemen who would tell you the time, the way of doorstep milk deliveries, of corner-shop grocers, of politicians…
The time has come, the Walrus said, to move the ruddy boat… #narrowboat #england
So there I was, the other evening, sat sitting sittingly on my inoffensive wee mooring at the towpath when all of a sudden a boat whizzed past, missing the Cardinal by mere Molybdenum molecules, and it edged in so close to the Cardinal’s bow that one could actually hear the squeezing and squelching of time and…
Ducks in hot water, and madding crowds being instrumental in #narrowboat #england
Someone in procurement at the Meteorological Office is off their medication. Instead of a nice, orderly menu of breezes and sunshine and cumulo-stratus-bigfluffius they have, this past week, published a selection of gibberish. Yesterday, for example, it never even bothered to get properly light. I spent the day wandering around with an electric torch and…
I fear that I am lost to camouflage pants, to dreadlocks and to the name “Swampy”
It all began so innocently. Watching a few old ducks here, spying on the odd (flock of) sheep there. I suppose that the rot set in when I identified my first lapwing. We never imagine the depths to which we shall sink, do we? Look at me now, up at sparrowfart o’clock, gallumphing up and…
