Sports day at the lake

I took a dander to the lake after teaching this morning, hoping to find inspiration for a blip.

I did indeed find lots of words floating out over the calm waters but no suitable pictures to illustrate them. This often happens, once you have seen one fornicating duck one struggles to find adequate sentences to illuminate the viewer.

I captured a pigeon berating her mate because he had failed to pack the swimming gear and she looked so wistful that she couldn't lower her nether regions into the cooling waters.

Eventually I chanced upon a balding middle aged man with sunglasses perched high on his pate, in underpants, which he had tucked up around his vitals in the way that high school girls roll over the waistbands of their skirts to hoike up the hems as soon as they are out of sight of the front door. He and his partner, elegantly arrayed in cut off shorts and a blue tee were setting up the lakeside limbo competition ready for the coach loads of elderly French ladies who always arrive on Thursdays for the chance to achieve the lowest score. The referee was nonchalantly clipping his toenails on the edge of the jetty and oblivious to the struggle that his two colleagues were having.

This took place within ten metres of the tourist information kiosk, so conveniently situated to allow the day tourists to Banyoles to participate, no one ever stays overnight, it is as though a whistle is blown at seven pm and all the visitors pile back into their charabancs and head homewards, or to the fleshpots of Besalu down the road six kilometres. Banyoles is strictly a day destination.

They should linger a while one day, I heard a cuckoo tonight, that must be worth lingering for, or the Estunes (volcanic cracks in the earth) which provide minutes of joy , or the sulphur spring ( Font Pudosa), or the ..... well never mind, please yourselves.