I wonder if it is possible that my perceptive readers will believe any thing I say in this post. I’ve had beer but this happened.
We drove to a bridge, where we could park and walked down the footpath to a place A) away from the kids and their piss and B) somewhere we could sit and chat as two 50 year olds.
I swam in the river, which is unusual, and theres many things better than clambering out of the shallows with the grey mud ooozing through your toes, and searching for somewhere in the field that sheep haven’t shat on or somewhere where one hasn’t erected a sign.
To cut a long story short, the farmer
Are you the farmer? Of course he’s the fucking farmer”
But the farmer told us off, with his robin hood hat and hooped earrings. He told us we should leave the field and go back to our car, continuing the conversation at the bridge, which we’ed previously avoided due to people being much younger than me. On the bridge we sheepishly packed our shit away whilst he rekindled the riverside chat where he told us it wasn’t right for us to sit on the bank, we’ed have to act like we care about the company we keep, whilst not keeping any of the company he was talking about. He told us a man comes up to the bridge daily, in a little red car to stare at the girls in, well, them Bikinis. Pervert he is, he stands there for hours, but the farmer’s got CCTV or security cameras and the police get all of this, the farmer said. This bridge is the border between two counties, and they bring their drugs here, its a nightmare, cigarettes and paper and canisters all over the place, this bridge. Pervert comes back day in day out, makes you wonder why the farmer didn’t take his number plate and tell the police, Then the farmer told us about the shogun in the water, everything was happening so fast I couldn’t think and assumed something Japanese was in the water, I had no idea what until the conversation continued and turned out its a car, how it got in there? Someone dumped it, not sure which footpath stile they drove the car through, but its there and the kids dont know what they’re diving onto.This place, this bridge is getting too busy with dealers, perverts, kids in bikinis and 50 something wild swimming trespassers, not to mention the perverts, did I mention them.
So quick and as cunning as Zippy, a character from a popular children’s programme of the ’70’s we left, he was always getting into trouble and then swiftly out of it, meaning he had some fun along the way. We did too, but won’t be swimming there again.