Fortunately, two quite separate issues.
Farmer G decided a couple of days ago that the portents were good for a spot of blanket fertilisation. Happily, it is a dairy farm, so the aroma is of cow, not pig. Couldn’t describe it as pleasant, but it’s a damned sight better than the acrid slops from pigs.
The weather here has been mixed (from -2°C some nights to +26°C the following daytime) and today is blue sky, sunny and far over the H.C.I.*
*Hutson Comfort Index.
As ever, because of yonder cute and cuddly The Public swanning up and down like – well, I’d best not say what – the towpath side is zipped up and windows closed. Canal – and sunshine – side is generally open, side-hatch open and fans a-sucking (out), blinds down. There’s a bit of a butterfly-flatulence breeze, which is helping.
The mornings are very civilised (in meteorological terms).
The daytimes perhaps not so.
Baked cow, anyone?
It’s so fresh it’s still moving, and should you feel constrained to sprinkle coffee grounds over the fields (instead of moo-cow poo-poo) you might obtain hot frothy milky cappuccino or latté from the udders.
Messrs Halsall, the fuel boat, called a couple of days ago. Ordinarily in peace-time I’d judge things so that the well deck was clear for summer, but this being alert-time I have left stocks out there, j.i.c.
It’s messy. I can’t be bothered at the moment to make it look prettier.
Can’t be bothered with much at all, truth be told.
There’s coal there should we slip straight from Pandemic Spring into Second Wave Autumn, logs for that occasional stove, or which is better, for the occasional butch-camp-fire, and there’s kindling and firelighters in the cellar.
Many thanks to Halsall for delivering even though twas such a small order. It all arrived in the new distance-normal, they hoving alongside and Roberta drop-kicking the necessaries over the gunwale through the open cratch cover. You haven’t seen drop-kicking until you’ve seen 20kg sacks of coal launched ballistically from the baseplate of a working boat. Payment by BACS. 🙂
This morning, what with folk now officially able to make short, essential boat trips (although not to stay overnight) it’s looking once more like a Calcutta slum in parts.
Calcutta’s been cleaned up a lot since I was there in, oh, it must have been ’43 or ’44.
That does look to have been a nasty accident though with that bicycle. One can only hope that the lycra-lout got the medical attention s/he deserved.
Gosh, I’m a little ray of sunshine and love all wrapped up in a smile, aren’t I?
The towpath-dwelling anglers appear to have gone back to their Old Anglers Home or wherever it is that they live, for the moment. Doubtless back again at the weekend, once they’ve adjusted their sabre-toothed loin-cloths and re-sharpened their spears.
The Mayflies appear to have – confusingly – done their living and dying in the month of May. The Cow-Parsely is now just about free of the squelchy little things.
So, life eh?
Let the utterly farcical tragedy continue.
Ian H., and Cardinal W.