6.15am. Reasons to be cheerful.
I remembered where my spare pair of specs are. They are in the glove compartment of the Blunder Bus. The gaffa tape on this pair is making me feel like a bit of a knob.
8am The magic bottle tree.
The forecasted rain wasn’t hammering down on Casper’s roof yet, so the Ginger Menace and I thought we’d go out into the countryside and kick about. I’d met an old boy out walking his Jack Russell who suggested (the old boy suggested…not the terrier.) that we might like the walk out to the windmill on the other side of the village. So that’s where we headed. Up the canal…over the little brick bridge…across the huge field with the terrible overused soil….through the soggy meadow and into the woodland that borders the reserve called Cadney Moss. We were pootling down the muddy path minding our ps and qs, me pondering why we don’t see grapefruit juice in the shops anymore and Flash involved in some important sniffing, when from behind a willow tree appeared a large brown hare. The hare stopped still and looked at Flash, and Flash stopped still and looked at the hare….and then we were off!. The hare dived into the woods on the other side of the path with great swiftness…Flash rushed after the fleeing Lepus, and I rushed after Flash. The chase was a short lived affair, it turns out that hares are faster than Vizslas and Vizslas are faster than middle-aged white blokes. I found Flash panting and looking miffed by a newly fallen Silver Birch, it must have gone over in the storm on Tuesday as the shallow roots had come up in a wide ten foot disc, and the ground underneath was free of new growth or fallen leaves. I was about to turn around to find our way back to the path when I realised there was broken glass in the ground uncovered by the tree roots and on closer inspection some old broken bottles. Even entangled in the roots there were bottles, some unbroken. It must have been an old rubbish tip from the mill that was nearby. Now I am not a yoghurt-weaving crystal hippie but when a magic autumn hare brings you to buried treasure it is a time for action. I have been watched over by the Goddess Flora for over a decade and I suspect this is her work. She wanted me to have these bottles….probably some sort of deity recycling program. She could have just delivered them DHL but she has a lot of time on her hands and she loves spinning out a scene. We took eight of the unbroken bottles, Flash says eight is a magic number. Later he suggested that we come back to this village in the summer, put flowers in the bottles and place them on the graves of the Gospel Pool children. He’s very thoughtful for a Vizsla.
Boaty trivia. Fresh water.
At various points along the canal you find water points. I generally never pass one without filling up. Casper is an old design and his water tank is under the prow of the boat (The pointy bit at the front). The hull itself forms the skin of the tank. Lord only knows what condition it’s in. The inspection hatch was painted shut over a decade ago. When I fill up I always turn all the taps on and flush out the old water. Thus far this has saved me from Typhoid, Cholera, Legionnaires disease and a host of other waterbourne diseases that may hang out in there waiting to pounce. A full tank of water will generally last two or three weeks.
Please, please, please…if you can afford it, could you bung a bit of cash into our Just Giving page to raise funds for Shelter UK.
Thank you. :)