This morning was forecast to be froggy but turned out to be merely misty. Still frozen of course, but hardly a London pea-souper.
I noticed in the “news” (such as it is in these veracity-challenged times) that Amsterdam’s Mayor, Miss Primandproper, is endeavouring to remove the city’s alternative-smokeries and the “red light” district – presumably with the intention of then signing the place over to Disney with a “suitable for all ages (up to 10 years, only – no adults)” tagline. I decided this morning as a sign of protest to briefly host my own “red light” and smokery district.
Business in my little Red Light District was slow.
Yes. Mr Stove-Flue is belching forth old pope-fumes like a hard-working steam-engine. This morning’s smoke went straight up to form clouds; the air ‘ereabouts was without movement of any kind.
I wandered along to see if I could get some better, more menacing images of Cholmondeston Lock in the mist, but it didn’t look much different to when seen in daytime.
The horses had changed fields since last I saw them. Our conversation was still rather one-sided.
That’s the trouble with frist and mog. We “see” it as something that restricts vision a few yards away from us, when in fact the moisture is consistent and all about, stealing any and all definition from the camera lens.
Yonder canal remains frozen, with added “eek” thrown up by yesterday’s hire boat ploughing through, enjoying their hired hull blacking.
The view from the side-hatch:
Why did evolution not come up with miniature polar bears, seals and penguins?
There would have been plenty for them to sit on.
Father Nature hasn’t half missed a few tricks along the way.
If I were in charge things would be different.
In place of (ugly) spiders I’d have miniature teddybears that set up home in the corners of the boat.
Bees wouldn’t go about armed to the teeth, belying their purportedly peaceful intentions.
I’m not in charge though, not by a long chalk.
We’re promised a little bit of sunshinery today. I wonder if that will be as solid a promise as Chamberlain’s ‘peace for our time’?
Talking of time, tis time to feed Mr Stove once more. He’s on an all-he-can-eat buffet.