a.k.a. ‘The Mighty Drear’.
Or possibly auburn season. Is it open season on Auburn Hepburns? Do people still use the word ‘auburn” or has linguistic down-dumbery reached the point where The Oxford will soon be deleting the word because nobody knows what it means?
Dull it has been and is, Little One.
This photograph makes it seem as though I am moored in the winding hole. I’m not, obviously, being a boat length away. Such is telephoto distortion.
It’s a bit ginger around the winding hole, too.
South is to the left of frame, so the panels get what short feed is available before the day ends at half past one or whatever it is at this time of the northern hemisphere year. On ordinarily luminous days it’s all I need, but these past two or three we’ve fallen short, all of the photonic ergs having been stolen by the cloud cover.
To the rear of camera in the shot above are the official “El Visitor” moorings, and a gaggle of boats, live-aboards and refugees from the marina both. We are all in our own way huddled around the Elsan Point*.
I am sat sitting in today awaiting the visitations of the Fuel Boat, nb BARGUS, whereupon to take delivery of as much coal as may be stashed on the well deck and still allow humanoid ingress and egress. Word was (when last I heard the word) that Jason is starting his day from Church Minshull, so there’s a chance-ette that he may be here in daylight today. The previous bunkering took place in pitch-black darkness which, while adding an air of the canal equivalent of two cigarette boats meeting to swap contraband halfway between Florida and Cuba, does make spotting one another a tad difficile.
We shall see. There are a surprising number of customers strewn along towpath and offside.
Not ‘strewn along’ as in bodies thrown against trees or haphazardly across the path or anything, obviously, but as in waiting in various states of patience (including Clock Patience) in their boats.
We just need coal this time, having engrabinated Elsan Blue and kindling a-plenty on the previous visit. No idea why I keep buying the stuff, I only burn it.
Early-morning perambulations are taken in misty muted colours for the moment (as in the scenery is muted). My wardrobe has always been on the green/brown/dark-blue/black & tweed side of vibrant. I was born in faded tweed flat cap, tweed nappy and monocle.
There is a generous sufficiency of sog on the towpaths.
Even Mr Moon is looking a tad deflated, when hand-held with a pocket compact and a nervous twitch. I can’t help but once in a short while (on a reasonably frequent basis) wonder if the Cardinal and I might not be better off moored up there, on the edge of the Sea of Tranquility or somewhere, looking down at Earth through My Powerful Gestapo Binoculars, Helga.
Or Mars perhaps. I do wish that they’d open up the canals of Mars, and sort out the link.
Some trees lose their leaves, others take this stripping for winter lark to flashy extremes.
The geese are back here today, although quieter than of late. Perhaps they are, in all of this meteorological dullth, suffering from SGD?
Seasonal Goose Disorder.
Don’t be fooled by the low, weak sunshine here below, this is a “stock” photograph wot I dun taked a few days ago.
Still, at least we’re none of us Danish Mink.
I suppose that I ought to brace myself and go and read the interwebnettings, check on today’s lies, damned lies and statistics, dip my feeding spoon into the daily dish of outrageous Establishment manipulation, that sort of thing.
Chin-chin for the mo, Muskies. Keep on keeping on, it riles them to believe that you perceive the web they weave.
Other Bloody Mues references are available, mention here does not imply endorsement. All opinions are those that have been given to me and are not necessarily those of Warner Brothers Inc.
As they say at the end of each “news” broadcast these days, th…th…th…that’s all, folks.
Ian H., &etc.