Day 118 - Old House up the attic

I spent the weekend in the dark, dank, damp, dimp crab-infested Fens of Norfolk, hence my absence. I had a great time! Eight of us, plus a giant dog, stayed in my Dad's caravan and enjoyed the bracing sea air. Contrary to what the numbers may suggest, nobody was viciously murdered (at least nobody that I'm aware of - we didn't do a head count when leaving).

As the Brachyurian reference above indicates (thanks Wikipedia!) we did indeed go crab fishing. This was clearly doomed from the start when my father, bravely poking a net into the murky waters, slipped on the wet path and nearly joined our prey. Muttering darkly, he declared the river banks totally unsafe for all of us, and said the bridge over the river would offer better chances. Our breathes baited with anticipation, our lines with bacon, we stared down at the water waiting for the bountiful bonanza. After a few minutes, me and Julia tired of this, and took the dog for a walk along the coast.

We returned just as they were leaving, my father darkly muttering something about 'the wrong season'.

On Wednesday, my Script Frenzy begins - I still have no idea what to write about. I placate myself that even thinking about it before April isn't in the spirit of the thing.

My mother pointed out that Wednesday was also April Fool's Day. I am undaunted by such remarks. The script will be completed. (Just you watch - soon it'll capitalise into The Script, and then who knows what else.)