I never get tired of Brownsea Island. Let me rephrase that – I never get bored of Brownsea Island. It’s only a mile and a half long, and half a mile wide, and I’ve walked around it many times now, but I never get bored of it. I do tire, yes – a week of the Sixties hill at Charnwood in combat boots has done a cracking job of removing the skin from the top of my big toe, and even in more comfortable walking boots, my feet are singing at the end of the day.
I’ve had various conversations today, some more interesting than others. One was with an elderly gent about gymnastics, my only contribution to which was “No, I didn’t watch it”. I would have offered more, but I suspected he’d only engaged me in conversation to usurp my place in the café queue. The second was rather more engaging – with a couple outside a pub in Poole. We chatted about Scouting (of course), how they’d never really got into it, but their sons had all gone through Scouts and been the better for it.
I had what I thought was a fantastic idea for a photo, which I think has somewhat failed in the execution. I wanted to photograph the statue of BP from the side, looking out towards Brownsea. After around twenty minutes of waiting, the shot was finally clear of both ferries and tourists. But I was only to discover that Brownsea was somewhat indistinct in the distance, missing the point of the shot entirely. Hey ho.
Today’s title song is from the House of Pain.
Follow me
