Not the most inspired title I've ever come up with, but it's a hot day and my brain has fried a little bit, beyond the production of dazzling titles. Running to South Muskham today is what I did.
It's a pretty village, but the tun there is less so involving as it does going past the sugar factory whose slurry pits are still emitting a horrendous stench despite the fact that production is not taking place at the moment.
The caravan park is empty, but the grassy stands are still mown immaculately.
Across the Trent next, and a little egret was hunting on a gravel spit in the low lying river.
Then there is the sterile space that is the fishing lake, where on a Saturday many years ago the water would be covered in colourful sailing boats racing round the buoys.
Then the village of South Muskham, where the gardeners have gone to town on the flowers, the church clock is wrong and there is a telephone box stuffed full of DVDs and books for everyone.
And where everything seemed totally normal.
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 30.05.20