Tomorrow, our little international fleet of transients has been directed to move a hundred metres or so, just around the corner. This is apparently so that the National Day celebrations can explode above the port without impeding the view of the crowds.
The forecast though suggests rain. Lots of it.
Perhaps the event will be cancelled, but in that event we certainly won't miss our splash of colour.
I'm not actually sure if we've actually been ordered to move out of the port because of the planned fireworks, or if someone has tumbled to the reason for the tow path being denuded of wildflowers for several kilometres leading into the village.
While I've been busy ensuring that I don't get busy, the good Captain has been so efficient with her scissors that I'm surprised that she hasn't been offered a full time job controlling the growth beside the waterway.
Perhaps if I surreptitiously post a photograph of her handiwork I won't even have to begrudgingly admit that just maybe, in their place, sometimes, just possibly for a short period of time, they do give the place a bit of a lift, although I hasten to add this is only in certain light conditions and only fleetingly.