Sunday, 23 December 2018

a shared enthusiasm for Hardy's Dorset

I was rapidly running out of clean clothes, and yesterday's weather forecast suggested that it would be the driest day for a while, so I did the dhobi. As usual, this meant the usual routine of filling the two 25l jerry cans with water (I did that earlier in the week, when I filled up my main water tank at Avoncliff); putting my biggest pan full of water on top of the stove first thing in the morning (which in the case of yesterday, was 0300; this early to bed, early to rise malarkey is really getting out of hand round here); then, as 0800 approached (the time before which it is rude to run engines and generators) I had a shower, baled the water from the bathtub into the twin tub washing machine, topped it up with the piping hot water from the stovetop, and got on with it.

Other Usefuls included taking the rubbish to the bins, which also meant I got to see Bradford on Avon's Morning Jackulation, which is like a murmuration, but with jackdaws.

And then tidying up. Which is a never ending task on nb Eve. This is a normal scene for my desk, two days ago during a frenzy of printing.

Down at the post office counter in the Co-Op, I was queue jumped by a Very Middle Class woman, who held things up for ages while they fetched 300 euros for her. I was alarmed to hear that the pound/euro rate is pretty much 1:1; last time I went to mainland Europe the pound was worth better than €1.40. We exchanged long cold stares, and I quietly wished that she might get held up for several days at Gatwick by a rogue drone. 

Cycling back to the boat, I considered popping into the church to think more elevated thoughts, because life's too short. But then I thought that life right then was too short for tht, and dashed home to set out my pictures on the side of the towpath. Which meant I got to meet a few nice folk who stopped and bought things. I pointed out the Hardy poem The Oxen on the back of this card, to the chap who'd just bought it, and he told me that he'd spent some time walking round Hardy locations in Dorset. I used to do the same, when I was based in Weymouth on the Channel Island ferry, only I did it on my motorbike.

This is a picture I did in St Mary's, Puddletown, where the Hardys were in the quire; and very chilly it was too.

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