May the 8st and Mr Stove has been lit. Not so much for reasons of coolth but to finish off drying yesterday’s laundry, and for the modicum of cheer engendered by the exothermic transmogrification of a couple of logs and some old dinosaur nuggets. The day itself is grim; wet and breezy, determined to rain all day and to mizzle when it can’t actually rain.
Yesterday was a full-on Summer’s day (hence the laudribode).
A holiday boat came past yesterday (among many others) – ten miles from base, and they still hadn’t come to grips with the whole steers-from-the-rear left/right tiller thing. They missed the Cardinal by mayhap half an inch. One of the “Dawn” boats has just come past this morning (possibly the consistently worst behaved fleet on this entire corner of the canal system), sporting some very bedraggled bunting, and two soaked Anoraks on the stern that may or may not contain life advanced or life primitive. It is not uncommon for empty Anoraks to boat past.
The wind is howling nicely through the generosities of the side-hatch, sounding as though there’s a gale blowing when in fact it’s perhaps twenty miles per hour, just blowing directly onto the side of the Cardinal.
I’m not entirely certain that it’s legal (or moral) to blow onto the side of a cardinal, in office or retired, but that’s what Mr Weather is doing. There must be some reward (possibly in Heaven) otherwise people wouldn’t risk doing it. The church moves in mysterious ways.
The views here, unencucumbered by modesty screens, and when not near-monochrome and soaked, have been spectaclibode on occasion, some of the weekend having been that warm, humid, thunderous nonsense (that did actually produce some lovely thunder, although no visible light-er-ning). Mr Farmer mowed one of his lawns, and that pleased the local crow population mightily, there being much commuting back and forth across the canal from their “starter home” nesting copses to feed on the bewildered insect population of the field, stopping en passant only to shit out half-digested bugs onto my solar panels.
The clouds shown were “for real”.
I finally witnessed a spectacle yesterday that I had hitherto heard of but not had personal proof of; aliens whipping out of some other dimension to join a commercial flight (Economy Class, presumably) and/or disappearing to flit back home. They can run, but they can’t hide the condensation trails…
The airline pilot must be new and/or nervous, otherwise he’d have flown much closer to the interdimensional portal.
Remember this next time you’re on a BOAC Douglas DC-7 flying from Scunthorpe Airport to Tristan Da Cunha, and you notice that the passenger numbers change en route and with different “people” returning from the lavatories than went in.
Add to this the patent fact that the food on most airlines is not intended for human consumption and that the seating was not designed to accommodate human legs and I think you’ll have to agree that the evidence is conclusive.
They live among us.
Actually, when I remember that Nanny used to crawl up into a corner of the Nursery ceiling twice a year, build a nest out of spit-soaked old copies of Racing News (she said she bought it for the problem page) and lay eggs, I ought not to be suprised.
What I shall politely term to be “an elderly lady” stopped by yesterday. It was quite obvious that the Cardinal was occupé, what with the bow doors being wide open and sundry items of laundry on the clothes horse on the well deck. Aforesaid biddy beamed and virtually clasped her hands in delight – as she watched her dog take a monumental piss on the doormat (perforated rubber) that I put out to protect the towpath from my repeated step.
She feigned deafness when I offered to follow her home and take a loaded Shih-Tzu to her old coconut-husk “Welcome Mat”.
People never fail to astound me (for all of the wrong reasons).
I checked the Vegetable Holding Pens this morning, with tragic results. The remains of the broccoli had turned yellow overnight. I don’t think they were very brave to begin with. Something in the dark must have startled them. Whatever.
I made them walk the plonk.
“Plonk” being the noise things make when they are flung into the canal as duck/goose/fish/shrimp food.
God (who does not exist) Save The King (whom I do not recognise)!
Take heart – there’s plenty more vegetables around, as evidenced by last weekend’s street parties.
OMG you’ve got me on another rant, as stated in my last comment I’ve moved to Barbridge and upon my arrival I alighted my boat to copious amounts of dog shite! WTF is wrong with these dog owner???
Also why do aforementioned owners let their dog’s piss on your mooring ropes, grrrr it makes my blood boil.
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Tis amazing to see, isn’t it? Non-boaty dog-owners watching on bleary-eyed as Fido takes a dump on your ropes. We’re just part of the infrastructure, like the concrete in the bridges and the water in the canal. No thought of boaters being human or having to actually handle ropes/mooring rings/whatever. I hesitate to suggest more signs but I’d actually recommend and help with installing signs reminding townies/&etc that the towpaths are not (generally) actually fully public free-for-alls, but private permissive rights of way, and they are there on expectation of good behaviour and, dare I say it, even a little bit of deference!
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I yyou don’t recognise Hi Majesty the King, Ian just grab a few newspapers this week, you’ll soon recognise him. Get yourself a recording of a large ferocious dog to play should the little pooch visit again with it’s peeing powers, elderly madam should be scared enough to render apology s she leaves post haste.
Were I Mr. Weather I would be very wary of disturbing a Cardinal’s rochet…..
As to the doormat polluter were we in the country I could lend you Black Tot…could pee for Costa Rica and the U.K. combined and totally immoveable once launched on the effort.
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I don’t suppose that they make new Cardinals they way that they used to. In my day you had to spend fifty years on your knees scrubbing cold stone floors. If you then failed your Cardinal’s Exams the only other career open to a chap was early-morning cleaner for a High Street bank. People are indeed most peculiar.
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An amusing piece, Ian.
But that woman who allowed her dog to do what he did on your mat deserves the attention of a full Afghan hound. They’re bigger than your suggestion!
Someone allowed their hound to empty itself on our drive and just left it.(The emptying, not the dog.) People are disgusting and selfish. Not all, but too many.
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