Being a fully paid-up soft southerner canals remain a relatively new treat to me. Little Venice and the Kennet and Avon are the only ones that spring to mind from my earlier lives.
However, up north* you can barely cross a field without falling in one. We spent a lovely day yesterday at Ellesmere walking along the Llangollen canal - sundry highlights including 16 buzzards soaring together, a record for us - and an obligatory boat pun -"Larkin Aboat".
The collective noun is apparently a "wake" of buzzards.
*For those of you pedantic about where the North begins I can resolve that for you once and for all...
Camden.
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About Me
- Gary
- In my twenties I was a failed poet. In my thirties I wrote a book on gambling which was very nearly published. In my forties I wrote a small book about moving from London to Shropshire, which remains unpublished. Into my fifties and the quest continues...
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