by Keith Evans
Even the seagulls are fed up with this summer. A couple of them were sheltering under an umbrella on the pontoon. I heard snatches of conversation and the gist of it was as follows: "I blame Jonathan. He did a rain dance with that pink duster and rather over did it." "Have you seen that so-called Bronze Age boat? Actually it's a replica Noah's Ark but noone will admit to it." "Well, you know what happened to the original. It ended up on top of a mountain. I blame Mrs Noah for that. She didn't know port from starboard." "This one is Andy's Ark. It'll probably end up on St Agnes Beacon if the Cornish wreckers have anything to do with it." "Down the coast, of course, that bloke St Piran came ashore on a millstone having sailed from Ireland." "I don't believe a word of it. Millstones have a hole in the middle." "Well, you've heard of the Dutch boy who stuck his finger in a hole. St Piran put his toe in the hole. He was said to be chanting when he came ashore. Actually he was wailing in pain because he got his toe stuck in the hole."
Now enough of this nonsense. Where was I? Oh yes, the seagull on the pontoon. A couple of crabs were celebrating at the other end. "They'll never let the little darlings down here in this weather" one said. "They can keep their rotten bait." Just then the two seagulls took off squawking "Into each life a little rain must fall, but this is ridiculous!"
