This photograph ought to give you an idea of what today has brought. The dull and grey has been strong in this one, Yoda. One of those days that hardly bothers to get light at all.
To be fair, I am not moored in the most picturesque of spots, the canal running between a small industrial estate and some housing of adventurous but dubious architectural merit. The industrial estate has closed down now for the duration, so the regular pulse of chaps running about and fork-lift trucks passing is gone for the mo. The housing? Well, that never did sport much life from the look of it. Each back garden has a fence that Trumpetty-Trump would be proud of, so I rather gather that the occupants are all nimbys and gain any pleasure that they do from their front gardens. I’ve only seen one occupant so far, I ducked out of her way as she strode past with her dawg, and she positively sniffed at me, as though I were something that had just washed up on a boat in the middle of her private lake!
I muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear, that try as she might, she was no Downton Abbey dowager duchess, and that the only way to distinguish between her phizzog and her dawg‘s backside was to listen until one of them talked some sense, at which point a chap could be certain that the other was madam.
[Father Christmas was kind enough to send me a telegram in September advising me that there was then no way, no matter how well I behaved thence, for my name to migrate from the “Naughty List” to the “Good List”, so I might as well relax and give up worrying. I therefore had nought to lose in re time off for good behaviour.]
I took a stroll along the canal and then back through town this morning. Town was deserted. Town might as well have been the set for the re-make of a certain zombie film (working title: Twenty-Eight Years Later).
This is in stark contrast to the days preceding Baby Jebus’s birthday celebrations, when the place was a bloody bun-fight of epic proportions.
The towpath has been great for people watching both yesterday and today.
Yesterday the Worm d’Anglers were out in force…
Each one with a mountain of equipment on a vast trolley, and sporting at least several 30′ long carbon-fibre rods.
It was quite hilarious watching them “share the space” with the walkers and dog-emptiers and joggers and cyclists (not)! Anglers seem to be almost universally miserable to the core, and this lot certainly couldn’t have raised a chuckle between themselves. In and out across the path went the poles, up and down went the expletives and curses, passed back and forth. The only way to have had more fun from their antics would have been if a boat had come along and moved in to moor up…
Today has been a lumpy procession of lumpy people but without the anglers. Families dressed up for their once a year walk, it being The Christmas Day, kids whining, everyone concentrating on the mobile “Phones”. Early and mid-morning saw a predominance of joggers, also all mostly of the once a year variety, and hoping, methinks, that half a mile up and down the canalside at a drunken totter would pre-burn-away two plates of turkey and a bucket of Christmas pudding with custard followed by a crate of chilled Brown Ale.
Strange to relate, there have been no joggers at all since mid-morning. I wonder if they’ll be out again tomorrow, but this time c/w indigestion and hangovers?
I haven’t seen a single child wobbling about on a new bicycle. Do children still write to Father Christmas begging for shiny new bicycles? They were quite the thing in my day. I suppose that it’s all indoor stuff they want now, such as investment portfolios and Class A drugs.
The dogs have been constant and unchanging. A dog always enjoys a walk, or it always doesn’t enjoy a walk, religious festivals are of no doggy import and make no never-mind. All of today’s dogs were happy, including the poor brute that was being walked after dark and was sporting a new collar of flashing red LED lights and a set of reindeer antlers. Both items presumably xmouse presents given to Bowser or Fang or whatever his name was.
My lunch was, as I had promised myself, yesterday’s surplus cooked veggies, combined into a well-browned hash and served with HP Sauce and the DVD of The Great Escape. I ate three portions and allowed myself a seasonal belch and a lick o’the lips (my lips, I must regretfully say).
A brilliant film, The Great Escape, but a tad depressing, too, as most war films are. I shan’t need to watch it again for some years.
For later this evening, I hear you ask? Well, a good book – ‘The Worst Journey In The Midlands’ by one Sam Llewellyn, some pillock rowing to London on the River Severn and River Avon and several pre-restoration canals in an ancient rowing boat. I shall combine aforesaid book with an early to bed, and with a mug of something hot and wintery.
Mr Stove is behaving himself impeccably, remaining in even if I neglect to get up a couple of times in the night to feed him coal. Long may his good mood last.
Long may my coal last.
That, I think, is the last for this particular watery-weak blog post. I just thought that I ought to let my reader know what today has been like. Doris, it’s been great.
Mind you, I could do with a spot of winter sunshine, and so could my solar panels, poor devils.
I hope that you’ve all had a splendid day, and that no-one got their head stuck in a tin of Quality Street or anything requiring a trip to A&E and/or the local tin-smiths.
Chin-chin for the mo,
Ian H., and Cardinal W.