Messing around in Boats.

After cutting loose for the weekend and arriving in the Big City - which is getting considerably big these days. Ah the urbanisation and decentralisation of our cities is a wonder to behold. How long before they will become like red-giants and collapse under their own weight?

I digress.

Due to a lack of organisation on the part of Mr Vett, I was travelling alone on this occasion, and hence skipped the otherwise mandatory visit to the Curry Palace and headed east to join a companion of the more musical variety. Upon completing the formalities, my dear friend - henceforth known as Miss K floated the idea of a soujourn on the river. Taking into account the decent weather and Jiblets suggesting that there may be some well mannered rubber ducks for him to converse with, we set off.

When the man in the boat shed denied that he had any knowledge of the nature of a PUNT, we quizzed him on the possibility of borrowing a standard rowing boat. Miss K was delighted by this suggestion - declaring that I was the ideal person to go rowing with as I regularly made the kinds of silly comments one is meant to speak while boating - in true Wilde fashion of course. Well, Mr Wilde (and certainly Mr Moncrieff) was perhaps more fond of going for a Bunbury rather than a Boat, but more on that one later. Our request for the loan of a boat was flatly denied, apparently there was too much water in the river. Hmmm, we are on stage 2 water restrictions in Melbourne (hey, up in the highlands they were stage 9 last year) yet somehow the boating experts deem the conditions suitable for kayaks and canoes only. How awfully unromantic of them.

And so the day passed, making conversation with the odd duck who took a liking to the look (but not the taste as I found out later) of my waffle cone. Twas a day well spent. As poor Jiblets was mistakenly left at home for the day, I took the liberty of photographing some real ducks that are interested in joining the army of the rubber chicken. Whether or not they will get along with the chickens is yet to be seen... they will probably fly away at the first sign of pomme-frites anyhow, so there is little use in worrying.

I bid you all a stress-free day.

When all else fails... squeeze your chicken.