Darn the Pab

The Games Maker and I listened in stunned disbelief. Back in the old walled town sentiment of a racist nature is seldom expressed so overtly. Indeed it is generally reserved for the English over the period of the RBS Six Nations Tournament when they are seen as fair game. I am sure others may quote further example but generally I always felt that it was a muted affair at best.
No suppression of thought or voice round here though.

The Bigot is spouting forth....

‘Facking Romanians. They are a bunch of bast..rds as well mind. But ...if you give a facking pair of them a facking shovel and facking barrow and facking tell them to dig a facking hole they will be there at the end of the facking day and you will have a facking hole, even if they facking do have their facking hands out.’

‘Facking Albanians though, don’t get me facking started. Give a facking shovel and a facking barrow to a facking pair of Albainians and at the end of the facking day they will have put the facking shovel in the facking barrow. Facking wheeled them off and facking sold them. ‘

‘Now then what about these facking apples from facking Afghanistan.....’

And so on.

Gentle reader, I could scarcely credit my facking ears.

The photograph bears no relation to the post. How could I illustrate it?
Instead you get a pink thing that I saw on the dockside at Greenwich.

Up A Lazy River

After an initial fruitless foray I have discovered a path that grants access to the Old Father Thames and is just a hop, skip, and cycle ride from my front door.

So, home pleasantly early from work, I first took tea , and then mounted trusty Belerephon for points south.

London's roads are, as far as I am concerned, a dream for cyclists. After a leisured forty minutes wandering down roads where traffic can hardly exceed twenty miles an hour, I crossed leafy parks in dappled shade.

The evening air here this September seems to have a magic quality. The heat of the day is subdued a little, though still the stones bathe you with warmth. The light, a golden blessing, lifting the heart and soul at once.

As I wound my way along the last quarter mile of path I could see that this particular hour was a perfect spell.

I sat amongst the long grass, listening to it whisper in the evening breeze. Watched the sea birds nod each other in cordial acquaintance lined up along the jetty. The sun dipped ever lower over the city towards its rest. The river slid gently between its banks like a lazy grey snake.

As I listened, I tell you friends, I could hear the great Moo Moo humming a gentle tune.

And as the stars began to peek, I turned to home, stopping only to avail myself of some particularly fine fish and chips on the way.