One never really knows, does one?
Not showing any obvious ID, systematically – and patently inartistically – photographing the boats moored along here, both occupied and unoccupied.
For what purpose, one wonders?
The prowler – for given his behaviour and with his being unidentified and unannounced I may only assume that he is such – and his obviously casing the joints hereabouts – has been reported to Her Majesty’s Messrs Fuzz & Co.
Also reported to the Canal Company.
The Police have been helpful. [That there was what is known as a “Pointed Remark”…]
We shall see. I’ve set the burglar alarm to “heavy stun” rather than just “stun”.
The transformer stepping up the “welcome voltage” is humming a slightly different tone to hithertofore aforehand.
So – dead fish, eh? Only the wooden bones of this one left, thrown up onto the towpath by whatever predator enjoyed its flesh. There’s never an angler about when you need one, and always an angler about whenever you’re coming alongside a lock landing or mooring.
That’ll boil down into a nice fish stew later in the week.
Since the part-formed un-trained human grubs went back to
secure institutions run for the protection of unrelated innocent adults school this past week or so – dare I say it – the canals have seemed less insane and frantic. There are still holiday-makers about of course, but generally just ill-behaved adults rather than ill-behaved adults with added ill-behaved spawn-of-the-devil’s-loins.
The moorings hereabouts fill up in the evenings, but during the day there are far fewer fisticuffs and wrestling matches over prime spaces.
There was a screeching match at the lock yesterday, when with a queue of mayhap three boats in either direction someone accused someone else of doing something nefarious with a paddle or with speed and a paddle or some such, but in the end no hair was pulled and all kicking was restricted to ankle-level and below only.
Am I on the restricted moorings? Am I hell as like.
Miles off, and on the towpath unhindered.
One of my favourite trees in these parts still stands, but it’s well-dead.
The marina’s where I left it. Haven’t been in this neighbourhood for a couple of months.
The railway bridge has moved a little, but not enough for the human eye to notice.
The human eye’s hardly moved at all, except perhaps to swivel slightly more wildly.
Talking of swivelling eyes on stalks, if anyone out there spots any sanity in the world then please do let me know.
The sooner we know about instances of human-life-as-it-was the sooner we can get a clean-up team out there to rub it away.
Ye gods, its not as though we any of us want a pleasant, human-shaped world to live in, is it?