These Canada geese are a pain in the fundament. When I venture off the boat – as I did this morning, for coffee/cooking water – the little buggers honk and honk and honk as soon as they see me, and they don’t stop. There’s me trying to be quiet and giving moored boats all the room available and the geese are waking up the neighbourhood.
That said, if it comes to it they won’t be difficult to catch… catch them on a cold morning when they’ve already been disturbed once and they just can’t be bothered to move far or fast. One throw of a net and I’d be up to my nipples in goose-burgers before they knew what had happened to them.
What’s a “git gap” I hear you cry. Well, in the ordinary course of things boats – polite and well-mannered boats – give one another all of the room that they can. However, in towns and busy areas, it is not the done thing to leave too large a gap or, sometimes, even any gap between boats, so that more folk may moor there. That though, has been reversed by the current Interestingness of Times. Nobody, myself included – and, being crabby, cantankerous and Hectoratious, myself especially – wants other boats bow to stern. We’re all reasonably spaced out (no, sadly not that way, not until later this evening) down here, but are we making use of all of the room? Are we buggery.
The view to our stern…
The view forward, past the one boat in front of us…
I’m sayin’ nuthin, except that I moored here first! I attract other boats like flies around a turd. 😉
Similar to Git gaps, except that this family didn’t bother with one. Daddy with baby in sling on back, mummy with stick and bobble-hat, Grandma holding toddler’s hand. They wandered past which I thought was odd enough – drive to a marina, park, walk over the road, over and around a lock and a mile or two along past moored boats. But no, oh no, they weren’t just walking. Reliable sources advise me that they had a chuffing picnic, sitting on the nearby public picnic benches…
Perhaps Grandma is worth a bob or two, and this is the best way that Tarquin and Belinda can think of to collect early on the in-herry-tunce.
The schools & wotnots have only been closed for a week, so we can be fairly sure that little toddlerykins hasn’t been isolated for even the minimum fourteen days.
Shut up, Hector.
Fine, I’ll say no more.
I ought to have added Decimated Daffodils to the title of this post. The poor things have not enjoyed the recent attentions of Jack Frost. They’re usually more hardy than this, but perhaps these ones have been suffering from depression too.
It is cloudy now but for the past few days the skies have been clear and blue – and, as never seen before in recent decades – generally clear of aeroplane condensation trails. There have been just one or two flights a day passing overhead.
There are trains running, even at the quarter of Sparrowfart o’clock when I am out and about.
The marina is beyond that railway bridge, before the lock and bridge you can just see as white(ish) concrete.
The Cardinal’s chimney flue doesn’t usually smoke visibly, only when I’ve just stoked him up from cold with fresh fuel. Gretal Thunderburg can kiss my stern.
As regular long-term readers will know from the many, many only-slightly-varied photographs of the Cardinal moored in this spot, it’s one of my favourite moorings! Usually much quieter than it is (fewer boats, less towpath foot and cycle and doomed grandma traffic), and it’s in one of the propagation waves of the local mobile mast, so while I can’t get telephone, my rinky dinky MiFi aerial on the roof can and does get me decent interwebnettings.
Talking of which, an email has just arrived – the proper cover artwork for Narrowboat Winter 2020 – Three Named Storms and a Pandemic. 🙂
Looks rather splendid, eh?
Kindle buy and also Kindle Unlimited.
Buy buy buy.
Bye bye bye.
Ian H., and Cardinal Wolsey.