Delicious drabness

A fortnight ago the fields were bulging with wheat. It was too hot to be out without a bottle of water and unbearable to lie under even a sheet at night. And now? Drizzle, grey skies, a breeze from the north, stubble in some fields and earth, brown and fresh and smelly and seductive because of its tone and texture, in others if the plough has been. Someone has fast-fowarded outdoors to autumn.

We mooched around the market in St Ives, where Cow and Hare Passage still has its padlocked gate despite all that kerfuffle in the local paper. Found a most attractive building which I had either forgotten or not noticed before - the Paticular Baptist chapel. What the hell are Particular Baptists: the Jesuits of non-conformity, I'm guessing? Anyway, I was so taken aback that I forgot to photograph the sign ("Call yourself a master of reportage, lad? You couldn't scoop bloody ice-cream"). (Picture to follow).

Continuing the religious theme, a trip to Ramsey, a lesser known Fenland town, to see the abbey gatehouse (pic from National Trust). It was closed on account of being part of a school which was itself closed. The main street in Ramsey is called Great Whyte and had a lot of bunting out. It was the only colour to be seen on an other deliciously drab day when the hues of peat, clay, a few weeds, washed out skies and faded, scorched stubble merged. If melancholy had a colour other than blue, this would be it - a sort of dirty dishcloth. Very dirty.

But a surreal moment during a stroll in the evening gloom with L and The B. We were about the cross the town bridge and I thought I could hear the swish of oars. Swans moving fast and shaking their tail feathers on black, still, glassy water. A coxed eight shot by with a bicycle lamp on their bow. They're very keen on rowing around here.