Day three on the twenty-five foot boat and I’m settling in. Too bad I have to go home tomorrow. In the fields the hay is baled, the leeks have been harvested, something tall that looks like corn is still growing. Men are out and about with guns. Maybe women too. I haven’t seen them, just heard them. And last night there were fireworks.
Who needs fireworks when you can listen to owls calling to each other?
I grew up in the country, and although now I consider myself a Londoner, there is something about the country that calls me, resonates with me. I’ve picked blackberries and my finger nails have been rimed with purple. I helped myself to windfall apples someone had left in a wheelbarrow outside their house. If I hadn’t stopped to talk to the cows in the field next to the marina I should have missed this skin shed by a snake.
Meanwhile meals have been enlivened by visiting swans. This one comes with her cygnet, approaches the boat then hisses if I so much as look at her offspring.
The weather has been kinder than the forecast suggested, but it’s not exactly balmy. What a difference a month makes. But it’s warm enough on board; the skies have been intermittently blue;
the night doesn’t fall until after 8pm;
MasterB is happy;
and I was able to watch the first programme in the new series of Gogglebox last night without too many moments where the connection went down.
Jackie and Ian have been about. We have waved at each other and today caught up shortly before they left for home. Jackie gave me a bowl of baked beans. I gave her some Walworth felafels. She asked me for the recipe.
Older Nephew came yesterday armed with pizza and a good New Zealand wine from Marlborough, an area I am hoping to visit in two months time. We cruised to Ely and back. I took a few photos, though not many.
MasterB joined us in the forecabin and spent an impressive amount of the time outside his cushion citadel. I demonstrated how the new window lock and barrier would allow us ventilation while stopping MasterB venturing outside and pushing up my blood pressure to dangerous levels.
Older Nephew was heading to my part of London today to watch the cricket. I was able to tell him Octavia would be there too, so he texted her and they planned to meet up.
I showed him the Bungalow of Temptation on RightMove and he explained it’s in an area that has been an industrial zone now being redeveloped, near the two roads where all the ethnic minority shops are. So my sort of neighbourhood exactly. Just a shame my flat is a) not on the market and b) unlikely to be on the market any time soon, let alone sold.
He said if I were to buy it I should have to name it officially the Bungalow of Temptation. If only I had the opportunity. Maybe a lottery ticket midweek.
As I have had the television set up I have also been able to listen to CDs. Very nice.
Maybe the thought of moving out London at some point is reconnecting me with my country roots, but in recent years I have seldom felt less urban, less metropolitan than I do this weekend