Webster J. Seagull

On the canal at Bridgend, near Stonehouse, some mallard ducks were splashing around, and diving, tails up. By the time I'd organised my camera, some seagulls had flown in and taken over the space. The water was sparkling in a beguiling sort of way, but we did not linger, for we were off to visit the town of Stonehouse, having taken a very scenic route through Paganhill and the villages of Selseley, Middleyard, Kings Stanley, Leonard Stanley, Stanley Downton, and all the other Stanleys in the world, apart from Flat Stanley.

Stonehouse is not the most exciting place in the world, though attractive in parts, but it has some good charity shops which we did not visit today, and a thriving High Street, plus the Bay Tree cafe restaurant where we had lunch. Buildings and trees were autumnal and illuminated, though the cafe was quit dimly lit and still seemed to be celebrating the Diamond Jubilee, with a wartime theme. Luckily they did not serve us reconstituted egg -and -suet pudding.

After taking the bus back via the same scenic route, and another bus back home, I had to rush into massage mode; then carve a chicken for supper, then whizz out to the Cotswold Playhouse to see an amateur play on its post-Edinburgh fringe tour. There were seven of us in our party, and we all enjoyed the production, apart from my friend's granddaughter from New Zealand, who did not understand the humour, or so I was told. Humour is not universal, though laughter is. I cannot imagine living in a country without laughter.

My sister TMLHereandThere is leaving tomorrow morning. She says I can reveal to you that her name is Tanya, because the blip name is too long for convenience. It is a pity that I had to squeeze in so many bits and pieces of work during her visit, but her daughter's New Zealand school holidays are at odds with the Uk terms and half-terms. And we will meet again, most likely in the autumn next year; that seems to be the pattern. It's been fun with the very local exploring we've done together.

As for the title of this blip: today I had to read a story during the break and the physiotherapy session to some children at the special school where I work. It was called Webster J. Duck, though the second story I read, a Horrid Henry one, attracted a larger audience. So, for once finding myself short of imagination, this bird of the day is Webster J. Seagull. Definitively.

Thanks for all the comments; I've barely caught up with what I'm supposed to be doing this week, let alone replying and commenting on others' journals. I do apologise.