The it of it was decidedly fristy and moggy this morning, although rather like my savings account, it didn’t take long to clear.
Since the towpath – less than, much less than, two metres in usable width, due to humpery and bumpery and overgrowth of the undergrowth hereabouts – is monopolised by the darling delicious day-long cyclisters and joggerists and dog-emptiers I am keeping generally to my old, pre-pandemic routine. I always used to be out and about before and soon after first light, the only change has been that dawn is now the only time that I can get out of my boat. In still air the snottite trail from these exercise freaks lingers for hours, effectively removing the entire day for me once the first has wheezed and coughed and spat their way past.
How much cycle and jogger and non-boater foot traffic has there been? Well, let me put it this way, even with all of the recent sunshine there is no need whatsoever for the attentions of a lawnmower. There has been quite sufficient traffic to keep the towpath grass under control. Mayhap 5% of it, if that, by boaters. Mind you, it must be noted that I haven’t seen a multi-generation family walk past loaded up for a picnic down at Syke’s Hollow for a couple of days now. Perhaps picnics are going out of fashion?
Can’t complain though – early morning is by far and away the best time to be out and about. Up to the tap for a jug of potable water, gazunders to the marina, that sort of thing. Surfaces, such as taps and Elsans and gates, have had overnight in which to encourage their fomites to die.
The geese had slept overnight up by Cholmondeston Lock, but they were still happy for me to walk by, taking no fright from me and making no sound.
The geese and I are not quite best buds yet but, given that I haven’t so much as been able to even see the home delivery pages of a supermarket for nigh on two months now, this pair will be tame enough for a quick and easy grab and a roast when I run out of hedgerow nettles for soup. Even we vegetarians must when the Devil drives.
My up-and-down-the-towpath is limited because I don’t want to pass moored boats unless asoblutely necessary, so usually in the morning it’s two or three times back and forth, with jobs to do and without.
A train hoofed over the bridge by Venetian marina while I was on the third leg of this morning’s walkies. This is the bridge that is between most of the moorings around here (including mine) and the services… the bridge that is from Monday to be subject to scaffolding and pontoons and workmen…
I can but hope that the default “out of hours” situation with this work is “freely passable by both towpath and canal”. Otherbugger I’m wised.
That’s not the Cardinal moored there in the photograph above. Nor yet the boat behind. I am the one behind the boat behind. This boat oiked up overnight and came as a surprise to me this morning. The boat with no name. Like so many.
Essential travel only, eh? What a jolly idea that would be.
Friday, you say? How times flies under house (under boat) arrest! Time flies like an arrow but fruit flies like a banana. The covers are zipped up again now to front and to towpath side, and that’s me done with outdoors for the day. If the ropes come loose we’ll just drift until tomorrow morning. I’m not wiping jogger and cyclist phlegm off them or anything else until the nocturnal vapours and morning frost have done at least some of the work – and my gloves can do the rest!
I am fortunate, very, very fortunate indeed, to love the inside of my boat, my floating man-cave, my library, my office, my BYO cook-it-yourself-too restaurant, my ooh-aah-oh-god-that’s-ridiculously-comfortable-bed, and my supply cupboard – kept stocked for the moment, thanks be, to some great canal friends. 🙂
I suspect that this afternoon will become a little warm for my tastes. I have a 1°F “comfort” zone, miserable sod-ette that I am, moan moan moan, so mayhap the side-hatch (canalside) will be open and the roof vent fans churning on Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian mode.
Tis noticeable how, the longer these movement restrictions pertain, the more certain folk do seem to be coming to ignore them. The way that they “distance” themselves from strangers you’d think that corvid-19 was passed by fleas, not by aerosols.
You’ve got laugh, haven’t you? I mean, just think of the alternative.
Keep safe, keep happy and don’t forget to feed the goldfish.