It didn’t rain today. “Bloody Hell!” I hear you shout, and quite right too. It isn’t often it doesn’t rain nowadays. It did, however, blow, in metric tons from the east – from Siberia! And it was damnably cold, because of that.
My flask was frozen. My butties were shivering. I wished I’d gone to the loo before I set off. My glasses steamed up as I made the windswept return from Salwick to Swillbrook, then on through Moons Bridge because I didn’t want the CRT complaining I hadn’t done the required distance.
I saw the plastic flamingo again. There’s something completely pathetic about it – anachronistic and juxtaposed, like Christmas carols in June or Ant without Dec. (Or is that Dec without Ant? I don’t know which one is which because, to be honest, I don’t care.)
The boat roof still needs painting. It’s starting to annoy me a bit now. So’s trying to find a permanent mooring when there’s so many dilapidated ones about going to rack and ruin that we’re not allowed to have.
Anyhow, I reached Bilsborrow just as it was getting dark. One more move before Christmas, because I don’t want to be pratting about on a freezing cold stern when I ought to be drinking eggnog in front of Dr Who with my festive egg and chips.