|The view north and some quacking companions|
As I go into the shower block I am greeted by the wonderful smell of air freshener with a satisfyingly clean hint of bleach. I pick my shower. There are two to choose from, so this is a particularly difficult decision at this time in the morning.
Appropriately shampooed and shower-gelled I return to the tent for breakfast. Breakfast is always James’ responsibility. However, this morning I find everything just dumped on the table for me to help myself. No kettle boiled, the remains of yesterday’s bread – ‘for toast’ shouts James as I slump down in my chair - and some dregs of cold coffee in the pot. Why is this? James has already got the fishing rods out and baited and in the water. Supposedly one of them is mine. Still can’t work out which. So I resign myself to breakfast alone with my book.As the morning wears on the early mist retreats in deference to the sun’s relentless heat. I move my chair under the nearby tree and gaze at the hillside opposite and listen to the birds. I would return to my book except that I am troubled by an especially knotty conundrum. If fish do not sleep, why do we have to get up so early to catch them?