Barging through Belgium on the Shoe: part 2

When we arrived in Veurne, we made contact with an English couple on a beautiful Dutch tjalk moored at the beginning of the pontoon where we also found our shady spot. They kindly informed us there was plenty of space and helped us locate the harbour master's office where we could pay our dues and get the electricity connected. On our last morning, they came by with their gorgeous old dog, Bilbo, and we discovered we two ladies were both members of the Facebook Women on Barges and had, in fact, 'known' each other for years. Lisa is also a fellow scribe and has written three books about their life and travels in France. You can find them on Amazon here. 

It was really lovely to chat about our common interests and I was sorry we weren't able to spend more time with them, but we had to leave before overstaying our time in the marina. We didn't manage to take a meet up 'selfie' either, but I did take a photo of their lovely barge as we fared past it on our way to the Lo Canal.

In brief, our plan was to do a loop, going south from Veurne to the village of Fintele (pronounced Fintayla) and then heading east on the IJzer river before turning south into the canal to Ieper (Ypres). After that we would reverse our steps (figuratively of course) and go north to Diksmuide. But that's not exactly how it went, as you're about to read.

Lisa and her husband's lovely barge

From Veurne, the Lo Canal extends about 14.5 km to Fintele where a lock takes the boater up into the IJzer river. For such a short distance, it was a surprisingly eventful day and involved another (not so) comedy act. 

We'd not long been through the first of the lifting bridges on the way out of Veurne when, in a moment of distraction, Koos didn't realise the Hennie H was veering to the left of the canal. Unlike me, who tends to steer the way I'm looking, Koos's attention was caught by something on the right bank so he didn't notice our progress towards inexorable disaster.

"Koos, err, keep steering," I reminded him. And then, "Koos! Watch out! There's a .... !"

Too late. 

Seconds later, we were ploughing into the low-hanging branches of a large tree for which our lovely shady umbrella was no match. Snap, it went, and collapsed. Onto me. 

I was instantly enveloped in folds of fabric while trying to hold on to its central pole, which was hanging over the railings around the stern of the boat. Oh dear. After scrambling clear of my shroud, Koos and I succeeded in pulling it in without further mishap. 

"I'm afraid it's a gonner," said Koos, staring sadly at the twisted mounting and cracked umbrella mechanism. "I might be able to fix it, but not now."

This was the third drama we'd had with umbrellas since we began faring, but it was the first time we'd lost one through an argument with a tree; quite surprising really, given the rural waterways we like exploring. It certainly gave a new dimension to our maxim 'Keep steering'. Unfortunately, that's one distinct downside of the Hennie H. We simply can't afford to get distracted, as our fickle old lady will take advantage of any loss of focus to dance off in the wrong direction.

If you see the photos below, the top one still shows the edge of the umbrella on the upper left-hand side of the picture. The next one was taken less than an hour later, when I'd already rigged up some improvised sun protection for Koos with a normal umbrella strapped to his chair on a boat hook. Our poor wrecked parasol was relegated to a recumbent position on the roof.

It wasn't long, however, before the heat was becoming just too much. The temperature was well over 30C and we were roasting on our steel decks. I'd moved Zoe into the only shady area next to the steering wheel, but that didn't help us. Koos had had enough, so when he spotted a bank of reeds in the shadow of some trees, he decided that was where we were going to rest up, come what may.

"But there's nothing to tie up to," I said, a little confused.

"Wait and see," was all I got in reply.

While I watched, Koos gathered two clumps of reeds together, wound some thin rope around them and secured the rope to the handrail on the roof of the Hennie H. On such a quiet canal, this was enough to keep us from floating away and we retreated below to have a break. Clever, eh? Reeds are pretty strong and even more so when bunched together.

Tied to the reeds on the Lo Canal between
Veurne and Fintele

An hour later, the sun had moved round and the shade had all but disappeared. It was time to move on, although not far. Within a few kilometres, we were below the lock at Fintele and moored up to the pontoon for boats waiting to go through to the river. With a maximum time limit of 24 hours, it seemed like the place for us, especially as I knew we'd soon be out of the heat and in the shade cast by the trees on the dyke. Relieved to be somewhere with easy access to land, I hopped off and took Zoe for a walk.

Fintele was evidently a popular place for day trippers, as there were three restaurants, all of which seemed to be busy. Other than that, it boasts a few houses, some good moorings for pleasure craft on the river and not much else. During the evening, Koos and I went for another walk with Zoe and met a couple who told us about the de hooipiete. 

Local farmers, they said, used to erect a wooden bridge over the IJzer river every April to give them easy access to their pastures on the opposite bank where they took their cattle and collected the hay (hooi). Come October, they would take it down again and leave the river free for the boats to pass through. This movable bridge (piete in west Flemish) was built so that sections could be removed if a boat needed passage, but when pleasure boating became so much more popular, it was decided to remove it permanently and it was last taken down in 1990. 

"The old hooipiete is over there," they told us, pointing to the long grass next to the restaurant of the same name. Sure enough, a large rectangular platform made of wooden planks was lying in the grass straddling a small ditch. Sadly, I didn't have a camera with me so I didn't take a photo, so here's an old image I found on the internet of the bridge in place over the IJzer.

The hooipiete

Another happy discovery was that we could turn right out of the lock and follow the river upstream to (almost) the French border. On our waterways map, the upper IJzer was marked as unnavigable and we'd assumed we couldn't explore it. However, the lock keeper at Fintele assured Koos it was no problem; that the authorities had cleaned it up and we should be able to go through as far as Roesbrugge, after which the river into France is only fit for canoes. Anyway, we knew one other couple who'd (possibly) done that stretch and their boat was much shorter than ours, so we needed to be sure we could turn around and come back given that we couldn't go on into France. The reassurance from the lock keeper, added to Koos's research in finding possible turning points convinced us to go; hence our diversion from the original plan. The only remaining uncertainty was whether we could pass under the first wooden footbridge, which was apparently in need of repair and couldn’t be opened for us. We would see.

Moored to the waiting pontoon. Photo taken
in the morning from the bridge over the lock.

We left early so we could be sure of 
mooring up before the promised 35C got to us

It was eight o'clock the next morning when I took the photo above of Koos turning onto the river. I'd taken Zoe for her walk and, knowing there were moorings on the river, I'd asked him to pick me up there after he'd been through the lock. It was a glorious sunrise and the day started well with a delightful French couple helping Koos hold the Hennie H while I climbed on board with Zoe. I should mention she (Zoe) had been a little gem since leaving home, taking everything in her stride and accepting faring life without complaint or question. She genuinely seemed to enjoy all the new walks, sniffs and encounters we had, but this day would be a challenge as we knew the temperatures were going to soar.

The upper IJzer was truly lovely: rural, unspoilt, and with barely a building in sight. We went under the doubtful bridge with room to spare and from there on it was pure joy. I could well imagine the beauty of misty mornings over the land as the scenery has a kind of fenland air to it.

After more than an hour's gentle faring, we arrived at the village of Stavele (pronounce Stavuller) where moorings on both sides of the lifting bridge offered us good spots for a rest break.  Initially, we stopped on the east side (see the photos below), but we soon moved to the shady pontoon on the west. After a short walk in the village, which was in siesta mode despite being mid-morning, we retreated inside and it wasn't long before Koos and Zoe were sending up zzzzzzs in unison

Approaching Stavele

Mooring on the east side of the bridge

Before leaving, we took another walk along the towpath, which was more of a narrow track at this stage. It was interesting to find an information board describing the agricultural and market produce barges that used to frequent Stavele and also the flooding issues they experienced in the area due to the number of water courses that drain into the river there. Unfortunately, commercial barges stopped coming to the village in the 1970s (if I've managed to decipher the text correctly).

By midday, we'd completed the twelve kilometres to Roesbrugge and now it was time to find a spot to sit out the heat; we could both feel the thermometer was climbing steadily. To our huge relief, we found a long pontoon that extended below the bridge to the other side. Just perfect for us. 

"We'll just go beyond the bridge," Koos said. "The turning place I saw on Google Earth is just a little way ahead and we should be able to get round easily there”. As it happened, easy wasn't quite the word I'd have used. There was indeed an opening into the Dode IJzer (a dead arm of the river), but it was both very narrow and shallow. Added to the challenge was our little barge's left turning propellor meaning she always veers to the right in reverse. Not what we wanted at all as we needed to reverse to the left.

This is where Koos's patience is at its supreme best. Inch by inch (or in centimetres) he pushed the Hennie H's nose into the gap and reversing in tiny steps, he succeeded in doing a one-hundred-and-plenty-point turn to get us facing back downstream. My job was to shout warnings about mud, logs and the other debris we churned up in the process. A good twenty minutes later, we were tied up to the pontoon under the bridge where we were at least mostly in the shade, but also with a prevailing pong that we thought was the result of our dredging activities. 

Luckily for us, this was not the case, and our guilty feelings were assuaged. But I'll continue with the story in the next episode, when I'll hopefully get us a bit further and be able to tell you about our visit to Ieper and Diksmuide.

Have a lovely week allemaal, and I hope you enjoy the changing seasons wherever you are.

Barging through Belgium on the Shoe: part 1

Well, we finally did it. We went faring on our Hennie H for just over three weeks last month, which explains my absence from Blogland. I fully intended to write blogs as we went, as I've done in previous years, but things were different this time: first, we had Zoe, whose need for regular walks left me less time for writing, and secondly, we forgot to fix up our folding bicycles, meaning we couldn't go further from the boat than good old Shanks's pony* would carry us. 

On our previous trips, we'd cycle into the nearest town and use the WiFi at cafés or restaurants to post photos and blogs, but this year's circumstances curtailed such activities. As a result I confined myself to writing a journal by hand in the evenings and saving the photos I'd taken as reference for blogging when we returned home. The evenings also found me reading the paperback books I'd accumulated over the year, a habit I adopted when we first started faring south on the Shoe.

Anyway, back to the journey itself. We left our home harbour on Monday, August the 5th, but we didn't get very far that day. There were things we wanted from Vereeniging  and other items we decided to leave behind, so we spent the first night moored up next to her to collect our tiny rowing boat (always useful in case something gets tangled in the propellor), some extra fenders and other sundries, which we swapped with things we didn't need, such as the de-humidifier. The weather was set to be lovely and we took it as a good omen that we saw a hot air balloon drifting over the harbour.

The following days settled into glorious sunshine and blue skies, which remained with us for most of the trip. After topping up with diesel at a garage just outside Sas van Gent, a comedy act in itself as we two old fogeys lugged four 20-litre cans of fuel from the garage, over a busy road and onto the quayside next to the HH, we set off on our way. Zoe also settled into life on board, even managing to launch herself into the water twice in the first twenty-four hours of our travels: once at the rickety pontoon where we'd stopped for a brief rest break (think of the exhausting comedy act above) in the first of the photos above and again in Gent where we stopped for the night on Tuesday. Suitably baptised, she didn't do it again until we were on our way home; the rest of the time it was more of a battle to keep her cool than dry.

We find all sorts of interesting structures on the canals.
This one was on the Gent-Bruges Canal

During that first week, we made our way slowly to Bruges (Brugge in Flemish), first overnighting on an old industrial quay we've used before and then skirting the historic city to avoid the tourist areas. 

At the end of the quay, it became very
overgrown, which made it a 
challenge to get Zoe up the bank. I
had a number of such challenges this
holiday :)

Heading towards Bruges. We were very grateful
for our umbrella, especially to give Zoe some shade

She rather liked sitting on the roof in front of the wheel :)

Passing through Bruges is always lovely, especially if the numerous bridges
are lifted in time with our passage. It doesn't always go so smoothly.

Our third night was at another canal-side mooring. We've been to Bruges several times – it's only about 40 km from our home port – so given the temperature and the season, we decided against staying in the city. A very handy pontoon appeared before Plassendale where we could moor up for a maximum of 12 hours in any one day, meaning we could stay for the night and still be within our 'allowance'. It was a good, if noisy spot. On the other side of the canal, we could see the mainline train to Ostend (a very busy track), as well as two motorways. Despite the continuous soundscape, it was really very peaceful and Zoe experienced her very first sight of cows. We don't have cattle in our area, so she was transfixed.

Total fascination: it took me a while to encourage her away

The following day, we turned down the canal from Plassendale to Nieuwpoort, where we had to arrange what is called a 'blokvaart', meaning you call the bridge keepers and at a designated time, you can start proceeding through all the lifting bridges on the canal. I forget exactly how many there were, but by lunchtime, we'd been through at least six before we reached Nieuwpoort.

We put on our next comedy act when trying to find the tidal locks to take us into the canal to Veurne. There are three locks in Nieuwpoort: one non-tidal one into the river Ijzer and two tidal, the first of which exits into the river leading out to sea. The other one is across the small estuary and either enters or exits the Nieuwpoort-Veurne canal (depending on which way you're travelling). 

The problem is that when you arrive at Nieuwpoort from Plassendale, there are no visible signs to direct the boater as to where the tidal locks are. The only one we could see was the Sint Joris lock, but I felt sure we needed to be in the Gravensluis (Graven lock), so where was it? In our perplexity, we circled like a shark in a pool while the minnows (other cruisers) nipped past us into the lock.

"Is this the way to Dunkirk?" I called out to one of the occupants of a passing boat.

"We're not going to Dunkirk," came the reply, as they moved out of earshot. Erm, not quite the answer we needed.

Luckily, Koos received a slightly more sensible answer from the skipper of another yacht.

"This is the lock for Diksmuide and Ieper, not Dunkirk."

Well, at least that was clear, but we still didn't know where the tidal lock was. Koos did a magnificent manoeuvre to extract us from the path of yachts rushing to get into the St Joris lock and as we turned, we saw a sign hidden in the trees showing us we had to go round the corner and follow a parallel canal to the tidal locks. Eureka! Why on earth they couldn't have placed it in a more useful position, we couldn't fathom, but I'm sure we provided some entertainment in our confusion.

From then on, life resumed its serene path. The Gravensluis was small and easy, we crossed the bay quickly and went straight into the Veurnesluis, after which we fared along a beautiful tree-lined waterway into Veurne, which was where we ended our first week.

The canal to Veurne was quite beautiful: tree-lined and
peaceful. We didn't see another boat on our way into
the town

Veurne's marina was absolutely lovely and our mooring was delightfully shady. It seemed like the perfect place to shelter from the heat for a couple of days as the thermometer rose. 

Our mooring in Veurne on the canal to Dunkirk

And because of said heat, we only went into the centre of town in the evening. However, it's a beautiful place with a long history and well worth visiting. Here's a link to its potted history on Wikipedia. 

In the end, we stayed in Veurne until Sunday. It had been our intention to continue to Dunkirk and go Bergues in  France and even on to Calais, but knowing we didn't want to rush things and also that our time was limited, we decided to stay in Belgium and explore the Ijzer river before going to Ypres (Ieper) and Dixmude (Diksmuide), all places neither of us had been by water before. As it happened, our decision was a Godsend, but I'll tell you more about that next time. I think this is enough for one post, don't you?

Enjoy the rest of your week, allemaal, and I promise there'll be more to come about our travels very soon.

*In looking up how to spell Shanks's pony, I discovered shanks isn't a name; it's an old word referring to the section of leg between the knee and the ankle. I guess that's where 'a shank of lamb/beef' etc. comes from!

 

Introducing Shiraz Jones, the heroine of a new mystery series

 I very rarely write posts about books and bookish things here. I have a different blog on Wordpress devoted to reviews, but it's for memoirs only. However, as an exception this week, this is an interim post to introduce you all to the unusual and wonderful world of Shiraz Jones, trainee marine rescue skipper and accidental sleuth.  

To give some background, Shiraz is the main character in a series of what is known as 'cosy mysteries'. Essentially, they are crime fiction novels with a lighthearted tone and no gory stuff (which is why I like them). Cosy mysteries often have an element of romance to them, but it usually amounts to not a great deal and definitely nothing explicit. In fact, they are easy, relaxing reads that give the reader a chance to puzzle out a crime (usually a murder) without getting too dark and sinister. In many ways, they are the successors to Agatha Christie and I am quite a fan of the genre.

Okay, back to Shiraz and her partners in solving crime. The author of this series is also a fellow memoir writing friend of mine, Simon Michael Prior. You can find all his books on his Amazon Author Page here.  When I heard he was planning on branching out into cosy mystery fiction, I jumped at the chance to read early drafts of the books, and, to date, I've now read three of them. The good news is that they are really good: different, fun, well-written and with great characters you know you're going to get to know and enjoy for several books to come.

The first book – A Murderous Clamour at Redcliff Manor – sets the scene and introduces us to all the main protagonists who help Shiraz, a former high society socialite, to solve the mystery of how a young woman ends up at the foot of the cliffs in Redcliff-on-Sea. What makes the series special is that Simon draws on his personal experience as a marine rescue skipper to have Shiraz and her friend, Emily, as trainees in the town's sea rescue service, and this feature of the books adds both a unique setting and material for plenty of future books. As I said in my own review of A Murderous Clamour at Redcliff Manor, as long as Simon keeps writing them, I'll keep reading them. 

So without further ado, here's the cover, blurb and Simon's author information for the first book:

When Shiraz Jones joins Redcliff Marine Rescue, she doesn’t expect murder and mystery in the water.

London socialite Shiraz seeks refuge from her empty city existence and her husband's infidelity in the quaint English resort of Redcliff-upon-Sea. But the job of saving lives at sea is nothing like her carefree childhood beach holidays.

And when her first outing with the marine rescue volunteers ends in tragedy, she's plunged into an ocean of secrets and lies. Now Shiraz must charm her way into Redcliff Manor and crash a seemingly innocent tea party.

Because one of the guests drinking the Earl Grey and eating the home-made fruit cake is a killer, and they’re about to kill again.

Simon Michael Prior experiences constant adventures, hazards and exciting situations as a marine rescue skipper and a commander of rescue operations.

Although Simon is absolutely nothing like Murph, Redcliff Marine Rescue’s burly, grumpy coxswain, many of the scenes in his stories are inspired by events he encounters during his duties.

Simon has also lived on two boats and sunk one of them; sold houses, street signs, Indian food and paper bags for a living; visited almost fifty countries and lived in three; qualified as a scuba diving instructor; nearly killed himself learning to wakeboard and built his own house without the benefit of an instruction manual.

He now lives in it by the sea with his wife and twin daughters, where he spends his time regurgitating his experiences on paper before he has so many more that he forgets them.

If you're interested, you can buy the ebook of A Murderous Clamour at Redcliff Manor for 99p/c from Amazon by following this universal link. It's also available in paperback. 

I'd recommend the Shiraz Jones books to anyone who enjoys a good cosy mystery. This series is unlike any you've every read before!

It's a heatwave

Summer has arrived at last, we hope. This last week has seen temperatures of 30C for three consecutive days here in our borderland corner of the Netherlands, and before that it was rising for a few days. I don't know why it is but this always happens when Koos goes away. He's been wanting  to take a photo trip for some time, so when he suggested a foray into France last weekend, I encouraged him to go because there were some jobs I wanted to do at the Crumbly Cottage that would be much easier if I were alone. One of these was to re-paint and put new carpet treads on the stairs; the other was to renovate the kitchen floor.

So on Wednesday morning, off Koos went to Maubeuge with gentle promptings from me to take all necessary precautions against the heat. Once he'd disappeared around the bend, I set to work. I'd already prepped the stairs and removed the old, worn carpet. The handrails were also done, so now I just needed to paint the steps and replace the carpeting. The bigger job was scrubbing, scraping and sanding the kitchen floor's old pine planks. It's just as well it was too hot to work outside on Vereeniging, but I have to admit the heat nearly floored me (sorry) inside the cottage as well. I did it, though, and in between, Zoe and I had some lovely early morning walks. Here she is up close and in context (for Rebecca, of course).

And don't you love these gorgeous wildflowers the farmer has planted in a strip along the side of his field. This is a relatively new practice to help encourage nature's pollinators. Isn't it lovely?

Anyway, here are the stairs 'finished and klaar' (ready) as we used to say in South Africa. I am really pleased to have done this at last. I still have to do the uprights, but those I can paint one step at a time..

And this was the kitchen floor after scrubbing and sanding. Phew! I wasn't sure I'd ever get it looking good or the colour even, but I used some teak-coloured stain to cover the really worn areas and then applied a finishing lacquer specially made for wooden floors. It's water-based, so it dried very quickly in the heat but will need treating gently for a week until it's hardened fully. I'm quite pleased with the finished result... for now, anyway!

Before

After

That's another two projects ticked off the list, then. There are still several more to be done, so watch this space in the months to come. As you can see life's never dull in this part of our world; there's always something that needs doing in an old crumbly cottage. For now, have a great week ahead, allemaal, and I'll look forward to catching up with you all. Here are a couple more photos from our lovely home.

Much ado about nothing much

There's not a lot of news to share this week, unfortunately. Our lives have, as usual, been dominated by such mundane topics as the inclement weather, which hasn't been very helpful in our plans to prepare for faring. Despite it being warmer and sunnier, it has rained for at least some part of every day in the last two weeks, which makes painting impossible, however dry the rest of the time has been – more than a little frustrating. In fact, last night we thought we were going to get a humdinger of a weather event. The sky was as threatening as I've ever seen it and all the forecasters promised a severe thunderstorm. In the end, there was a flash and a bang, accompanied by a brief, not particularly heavy shower, and that was it. Definitely a big anti-climax – not that I'm sorry. I'm no fan of dramatic, extreme conditions.

What I don't understand is that we keep being told that each month this year has been the hottest on record. I mean, I just don't get it. I honestly think those doing the recording must be in some secret, protected weather bubble, because no one I know believes it. Most of northern Europe has had below average temperatures the whole of this year. Spring was cold, chronically wet and late in coming and the number of real summer days I can count since the beginning of June would barely fill one hand, let alone two. I've been wearing cardigans and a fleece almost every day.

Anyway, whatever the pundits say, I haven't been able to paint the back deck on the Hennie H until this week and even now, I'm having to do it in small sections. Maintenance is merciless and water is the worst weatherer you could imagine. If I could find some way of covering up both barges during the winter, I'd do it. Wouldn't if be great if I could wrap them both in cling film the way the airports wrap our luggage? I'd love that although I'm not sure how our harbour masters would feel about it. A plastic vacuum-packed barge that looks like a huge caterpillar cocoon wouldn't quite fit the image of a historic harbour, would it?

Moaning aside, we still hope to leave in a couple of weeks; there are just a few appointments to get out of the way first and then we can set off on a very slow and gentle meander south.

In the meantime, there's always plenty to do (apart from painting boats, that is), and I'm busy writing the story of Vereeniging's journey to her current mooring. There've also been lots of sporting events, village festivals and final work commitments going on in the background, so life is never dull.

And of course, there's always Zoe, whose little face full of expectations keeps me active. Koos took the first two photos of her below (for Rebecca), and I snapped the other when my daughter and I were out for a walk.

 

Zoe and her best pal, Lucy, looking at my daughter in the hopes
of a treat

These last pictures are a couple you may have already seen elsewhere on social media, but I know some of my friends here are not on Facebook or Twitter, so I hope you like them. 

View from the crumbly cottage as a bout of rain was approaching

Reflections on our nearby creek on one remarkably still day.
It's almost unheard of to have no wind in Zeeland

So that's it allemaal. As the title says, much ado about nothing much, but we're slowly getting there. Enjoy the rest of your week and I'll be back again soon.

The great unread

Unread emails are the bane of my life. Does anyone else have this problem? I've just cleaned up nearly 500 of them from one of my email inboxes and the other one still has 498 (down from 800).

I don't think I'm alone in having several email addresses, although I admit I might have more than many. At the last count it was five that I use regularly, plus the ones that you get automatically when you have a phone contract but only use to find the company's invoices. I used to have more but now I work for fewer organisations I don't need to have a specific email for all of them. But I still have two for my teaching work, one for private and family use, one for internet use and another for my writing. And you know what? I get spammed in all of them; even the university email is full of junk. It's unbelievable. In fact, while I was clearing down my main gmail account, more spam was coming through.

The problem, I find, is that I do most of my shopping and business online, so the moment you provide businesses with your email address, they find reasons to flood you with special offers, newsletters and advertising in general. No matter that I haven't ticked any boxes saying they could do this... or maybe I have, inadvertently. Anyway, what happens is that even if I have accepted their terms, I rarely have time to read or look at the mails, so they just sit there.

I think Amazon is the worst. I'm both a customer and an author, so they send me around a dozen emails every day offering me books I don't want to read, or sending me order confirmations for those I do. Add to that all the author advice and notices, I can't see the wood for the Amazon trees (sorry 😄).

The other culprit is Wordpress, the blogging platform. They seem to be convinced I need to upgrade my account to a paid platform, and I daily receive notifications of discounts, pleas for me to upgrade and newsletters listing reasons for me to do so. I only use Wordpress to post reviews for the memoirs I read (the link is here if anyone's interested), so I keep it very simple, but in truth I find WP very complicated and not user-friendly at all, and I have zero desire to use it for anything else. They're also quite restrictive as to who can comment. You have to have a WP account to interact with other people on their blogs, which is a real downside. At least with Blogger, we have the Anonymous option and if commenters use that and give their name in the comment box, all is well.

Anyway, that's what has been occupying my time this evening while I've been relaxing in the wonderful but unaccustomed heat of the last few days. Summer has arrived at last and has swept in with a flourish leaving us gasping from the contrast with last week's 13C to yesterday's 30C. Sadly, it was a bit too hot to work outside, so I wouldn't mind it being tempered just a tad so I can paint my barge. It's not much to ask, is it? Still, I'm not really complaining and I genuinely hope the coming weeks will give us more of the same. We have these plans to go faring, you see (ref last post).

Here are a few photos to make up (I hope) for such a mundane blog:

Zoe enjoying yesterday's balmy evening

Before the weather change

The wind that blew away the rain

My garden is in bloom at last

A local park; always beautiful
but especially in sunshine

Enjoy the rest of your week allemaal and I'll be back with more real news later... I hope!