Yesterday was a thoroughly undistinguished late afteroon walk...headed down to London Road lake with a spring in my step and joy in my heart despite the cold and the fierce wind that has characterised recent conditions, however 30 seconds after I had turned onto the sustrans 64 cycle path that runs by the lake, I was wishing I was still at home under my duvet watching an entire series of The Tudors or other light viewing.
For, a grey curtain of rain was drawn across the land, one that quickly turned into a cloudburst so hard the great pregnant raindrops bounced a foot back upin the air, and you could see the wind making the raindrops behave like a flock of starlings.
The ducks, which were numerous, seemed unbothered and sailed serenely around in squadrons, mainly mallard but The Tufted Ducks have also arrived back, and were patrolling in a neat little mixed flock of about 10 birds, which along with a gaggle of mallards passing by in line astern, made it look like a quacking, befeathered prelude to the battle of Jutland.
Me, I was watching all this from under a bridge no doubt used to by courting couples at night, shivering, my clothes wet, my feet soaked, my jeans about ten kilos heavier.
At least the ducks are waterproof. There's nothing waterproof about me, I can tell you that.
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