Bank Holiday break from 19th century nonconformity

Three full days to enjoy the company of my wonderful wife and some glorious weather. Well two actually because Saturday in the summer involves wearing whit(ish) flannels and chasing a little red ball around a field after people hit it with a piece of willow. I'm not very good at cricket, but they let me play and we have rather a good team this season - undefeated so far and this week involved another comprehensive if not slightly embarrassing win.
Sunday dawned bright and sunny, so ignoring our puritanical instincts to attend a place of worship we went to Wicken Fen instead.

 






This is a gorgeous piece of traditional undrained fenland in Cambredgeshire owned by the National Trust and boasting some amazing wildlife as well as relaxing places to walk and eat yet another of Mrs. L's fantastic packed lunches.
There were lots of butterflies (we are both into butterflies - me in quite a big way) but they hadn't read the signs as most of them were to be found elsewhere than on the butterfly walk
 

 This is a Brimstone for the uninitiated - it is designed - or has evolved, depending on your belief system to look like a leaf when at rest, but bright yellow (the males especially) in flight.
We also saw a lot of damselflies but they were all mating so it seemed a bit intrusive to take pictures - not that they seemed to mind being on public display.

 OK - Mrs. L and I have a thing about canals, and no Bank Holiday weekend would be complete without at least a casual visit to see some narrowboats. We've never owned one, used one, taken one through a lock, slept on one or driven one (or whatever it is you do to move the things) but we have a bit of a mutual fascination with the things.

 We thought we'd go and look at the boats moored on the Leicester Branch canal for the Crick Boat Show - being too stingy to pay to go in this year. What better than a walk down the towpath to Crick from the other end of the mile long Crick tunnel. OK we can't walk through the tunnel, but there must surely be a path over the top and into Crick
Frustratingly not - there must have been once because when the canals were cut the barges were all drawn by horses, which had to be led to the other end of the tunnel by land while the owners of boats "legged it" through, i.e. used their feet against the walls of the tunnel to propel the boat through.

 

But wherever it was it isn't there now, so we drove to the other end of the tunnel...

 ... in time to surprise some boat owners who we had already watched enter the tunnel at the other end.

 Duckling season - this mother had an entire cricket or football team of offspring, but as I said to Mrs. L. they will all be off her hands in a few months.

 Just couldn't resist the temptation to keep saying "The only gay in the village."

A wonderful couple of days, topped off by the fantastic news that our youngest son had proposed to his girlfriend who has agreed to marry him. So happy - they are so right for each other.

Now to return to the seemingly anal retentive nonconformists of the 19th century.