![]() ![]() ![]() Tobacco smoke mingled with the watery smell at the roots of the tall reeds. The steersman, wearing a white cap, gazed intently ahead. A moment after we had crawled out, and were drying ourselves on Iris’s waist slip, a big pleasure boat chugged past within a few feet of the bank. A kingfisher flashed past our noses as we lay soundlessly in the dark sluggish current. Crouching in the shelter of the reeds, we tore off our clothes and slipped in like water rats. And with the ardor of comparative youth we wormed our way through the rank grass and sedge until we almost fell into it, or, at least, a branch of it. Nor did we know where the river was, exactly: we just thought it must be somewhere there. ![]() We were on bicycles, and there was little traffic on the unimproved road. I remember the first time we did it, more than forty years ago. Sometimes there are hoots and shouts from cars that have had to brake at speed, but by then we have jolted to a stop on the tussocky grass, locked the car, and crept through a gap in the hedge. We take the car for a mile or two along the bypass road from Oxford, and twist abruptly off onto the verge-quite a tricky feat with fast-moving traffic just behind. For years now, we’ve usually managed a treat for ourselves on really hot days, at home in the summer. ![]()
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