For The Rain It Raineth

For The Rain It Raineth

When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

The weather forecast hasn’t changed much since Shakespeare’s day. The rain looked set for the day, so we stayed in Chester this morning. Greg and Karen went to the Grovesner Museum, and Paula and I hit the thrift stores. By lunchtime it was down to the familiar soul destroying drizzle which, along with the state of English football, does so much to build the national aura of gloom and despondency. A couple of days ago I complimented another boater on the beautiful geraniums on her boat. Her immediate response was, “Yes, but they don’t last long.”

After lunch we set off through the damp and gloom, up five locks. Greg was the advanced guard, getting the next lock set up while Paula and I finished the previous one, so we made good time. However, by the time we got to the top I was ready to stop for the day. It’s cold as well, so we lit the fire this evening, and are now toasty warm, though the radiators are making strange creaking noises, as if they have arthritis.

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