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Well the longest day has come and gone without major incident - apart from the police chasing a motorcycle thief into the garden of the marina manager. One of these coppers could have come straight off the centre page of some gay periodical or a fetish mag. Dressed top to toe in black leathers and wearing aviator sun-glasses. How gay is that? The object of their pursuit got away - leaving 'his' motorbike behind him - lying on the towpath with its number-plates thoughtfully removed.

Oh, and talking of gay entendres and stuff, we have joined the marina cruising club. Oh how we love that Carry-On levity. Whilst we were filling up with water yesterday in the company of R, L and A, S came back from the bar (our main reason for joining) with our membership cards. Now the main official reason - one would have thought - of a marina-based 'cruising club' was, er, 'cruising'. Well, the club rules printed on the back of our newly aquired cards bang that notion to rights and are exclusively concerned with marina club bar and drinking policy and processes: Not getting so pissed that you can't stand up, not abusing the volunteer bar staff, not expecting drinks after closing time, running a bar tab (at the bar staff's discretion) and appealing to the cruising club 'Commodore' in cases of contested braking of the aforesaid rules.

Now that's what I call a cruising club. No pretence to anything to do with taking a boat out on the the inland waterways.

I also encountered - courtesy of S's sister a novel supposition. Apparently the bubbles of gas eminating from the river-bed and making their mazy way to the surface (or getting trapped under the hull) could have been the orignal inspiration for that ubiquitous fixture of modern middle class homes; the jacquzzi. Who'd a thought it? Responsible for such an idea. And there was me thinking it was the Romans.