Saturday, 11 July 2015
Ducks and a poem, including notes on Old English.
The stretch of G.U./Oxford between Wigrams and Braunston Turn must be the busiest on the system, a continual stream of boats all weekend.
On Monday we managed, by dint of standing on the roof, to raise enough signal to contact the local dentist, both of us being in need of dental sorting, and fix up an appointment. So we moved down to Wigram's Turn Marina, expecting to stay for a few days. It turns out that the course of treatment is going to last for several weeks, usual routine, a succession of appointments. So it looks like we will be here for a while.
Yesterday, whilst shopping in Southam we purchased some eggs, described on the carton as "Happy Eggs", which gave me pause for thought and, from some deep recess of the mind, there sprang a poem, possibly written by Chaucer.
"How sad ye life of ye new laid egg,
His fate is dark and dire.
For he cometh out of the frying pan
And goeth into ye fryer."
It should be noted that "y" is not a Y but actually "Thorn" an Old English character pronounced as "th".
Watch this space...