The last Saturday of each month is music at the Smugglers.
It is always fun mainly thanks to the natural exuberance of Okinawan women who just love to dance.
I sleep in very cheap hotel and am on the road home at 7:00. I first go to watch birds as one morning last week I stopped by a damn and there were families of Great White Egrets, little ones in dull plumage, and loads of Black Crowned Night Herons. Today nothing.
However I stroll down the stream that exits the damn. It is full of fish. I photograph them and in so doing knock my lens cover into the river.
My immediate instinct was , “Rats, but I will just get another.” Then I thought, “Er, this is a very beautiful little river and chucking bits of plastic in it is probably not good especially as the Olympics have just begun.”
So after a longish trek I find a place where I can get into the stream and start to wade back.
It is quite – I mean quiet, usually shallow but with some fun deeper pools, very hot, fish nibble my coral wounds, turtles flop off stones, kingfishers flash by, bejewelled dragonflies copulate.
I recover my lens cap and go home at last.
Glad you got the cap back – those things cost money. Your rural idyll complemented by my urban one today – paint the windowsill, clean fingernails, lunch with old colleague (shock all round when he admits he will be 70 next year, which is undeniably getting on a bit), help two puzzled tourists here for the Olympics, into National Gallery, look at paintings and it’s free, then home in time to read the Ripple and arrange for Romney to address the Clapham Society. A good day.
Wonderful day. I really enjoy just pottering around. At last something I am good at. N