View from the Window

The theme of the day has been wind. A howling, screaming gale that makes bicycle riding difficult and makes your eyes the semblance of an olympic swimming pool that has been jumped in by Dawn French's entire family.

Running today was cancelled due to 1) this inclement weather and 2) Cat sitting neccisitating sitting on the sofa watching TV. While stroking the cat occasionally.

I will go on the exerise bike later, I'm sure.

Anyway, I went to my favourite little museum cafe for a pot of my favourite tea, carefully and obsessively drunk so the first cup is smaller than the second one. This is important.

So, I sat and watched the world, and the clouds, go past the window overlooking the river. Some eastern european fishermen were there, parked on the bank next to the rusting barge and involved in what to me is the quintissential baltic past-time in this town.

Fishing in the river for pike that aren't actually there.

This is normally a pursuit for more summery weather - when the days are long there are usally a few folk out with enormous sliding pike floats the size of nuclear submarines and a sad looking dead fish on the end of the line. I hae never seen any of them catch anything. I have never seen anyone catch a pike in the dyke full stop.

Today's hardy winter anglers were doubly handicapped by the fact that the wind was so strong it was whipping the static dirty dark grey water into a minuture maelstrom of chaos.

It was a beautiful effect, the wind seemed to be acting in curved fronts upon the water, criss crossing it with turbulence like a waffle, bouncing back and forth from the museum wall to the barge. Harmonics on the surface caused the water to leap up into a tower of droplets a few inches high, like a glass of the stuff upon a loudspeaker.

I found it hypnotic and fascinating. The wind patter curved across the surface, an invisible hand caressing the waters this way and that. The fishermen gave up. I sipped my tea. The world continued turning in that wnderful way it has. A small echelon of Canada Geese painted themselves upon it.

It was a pleasant way to spend a morning.