Somewhere under there…
Sunday eh? We’ve been promised some brightth today by the Metabiological Office, even some … sunshine. In the name of keeping my lead-acid chums as healthy as may be possible under the circumstances I’ve run Mr Engine this morning, in the hopes that the solar panels will have enough to feed on to do the rest in the brief day that follows. Doubtless the neighbours – moored some hundred yards or more away, their choice, not mine – and if light sleepers and/or late sleepers – were mightily displeased at 0800hrs but them’s the roolz and needs must when dismal weather drives. I notice that they’ve just started their engine (now that mine’s off) so perhaps I did them some small remindednessnous favour? One hopes.
The day began prettily enough. What is needed now is excited photons and dozens of them.
There was rain again overnight, so the towpaths won’t have any less sog than of late, and will be slip-slideable rather than walkable in parts (up alongside the double-barrelled boat moored towards the bridge, a patch beyond the bridge after that).
There’s already been an angler up and down, so the towpaths must be navigable by those of a miserable bent. I’ll take myself out later and test to see whether the insanely cheerful may also pass without disastrous hindrance.
There’s been a tiny little wee small (tautological) bird, possibly a sparroid or something similarly drab brown, hunting inside the Cardinal’s cratch cover in the early mornings of late. Mr Bird has discovered that the inside of a narrowboat’s cratch (as with a camel’s crotch) is a fine source of sluggish spiders and suchlike. I make a point of not disturbing the wee beastie while he feeds.
The heron is around here somewhere today, but betwixt me poking a hopeful camera lens out of the side-hatch and that uber-cheerful, ray of golden social sunshine angler plodding up and down with his worms Mr Heron has been tut-tutting a lot, and proffering the odd avian swear-word as he flaps to a fresh location. There’s nowt so funny as receiving a heartfelt bras d’honneur from a heron.
Thinking about it, I have to go out later anyway, since the “Low Biscuit” light is flashing in the galley. I suspect that consumption of one more HobNob will set off the final warning klaxon. Fresh air eh? It does so get in one’s lungs.
B’ger. As I have been typing this such sunshine as we had has been muted by a blanket of cloud. Damn these small islands in the North Atlantic, just damn them all to bloody weather.
On the Good Gnus front, Messrs ASDA (every LIDL counts) have allowed me to register with them for comestibles. When I looked they were even showing me some delivery slots. I am still stumbling up the Learning Curve of what’s where, and of How To. If it all works then I shall test them at their earliest convenience. Doubtless they are as rotten to the WOKE/Global Reset core as are Ar*sebury’s, but at least – for the nonce – they are not Ar*sebury’s. Colour me lurid green and throw broccoli at me.
Right, I’d best away and begin the day portion of the day, for the evening and darkness (of all kinds) will be with us again soon enough.
Cheerity-Rating Disclaimer: Written in an English late November during the Year of *&%^^$”**, after a long spell of dull and drear days – on a day that, thus far, has only been marginally brighter. Other blogs are available, some of them much more up-beat and ticketty-boo. Sole consumption of Diesel-Electric Elephants may lead to Severe Melancholy.
Or, if in tropical or otherwise foreign climes, Severe Meloncholy.
Hmm… watermelon juice.
Ain’t got any.
Haven’t seen any about for ages. Yes, we probably have no bananas, too.
Question is though, how many bananas don’t we have?