The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft aglay,
An lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy.
Or to put it in simple English, we're still in the marina, all plans for a graceful exit today have been put on hold
by a layer of ice on the cut. It's not too thick here in town but will probably be thicker out in the rural areas and I'm rather fond of the blacking on the hull.
The moorings up the old wharf arm are totally frozen and the frost is decorating the hedgerows.
Couldn't resist the next one:
snowberries covered in
frost. Oh well, please yourselves.
At the end of the wharf arm stands Port House, once the headquarters of the Ashby Canal Co., now a rather good Indian Restaurant. We tried it last night and were impressed, good service and food. The miasma of garlic still pervades the boat this morning.
Thanks to Rabbie Burns for the poetry at the start of this post.
Well it is St. Andrew's day after all.
Watch this space..........
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