The members gradually seeped into the Buttercross until we reached a grand total of five, Dangerous Dave, Alan B, Jacqueline, Steve and me. After a brief discussion and placing the order for sausage rolls, we set off for Overton Station. It was a cloudy day but fine dry and calm, with a lack of wind we had soon negotiated the Green Wheel, Stanground and after passing the fair on the embankment were rattling along beside the river towards Orton Lock. There was little wildlife about apart from a pair of stoats racing across the path near the railway bridge on the South Bank until we reached the Rowing Lake. The Rowing Lake was bustling with Canada Geese congregating on the grass near the Boat House, there were a few ducks and swans but apart from the geese, it was fairly quiet. There was no sign of Ron the seal.

We knew the trains were running on the Nene Valley as we had heard the whistle, it was just after we had settled around a table outside that the whistle became louder and a small black loco hauled a very long train into the station. A few passengers alighted and a few boarded from the platform, in a few moments after an ear-piercing whistle and with a cloud of smoke and steam it was off again. The loco seemed to be of either, German, Swiss or Austrian heritage judging by the maker’s name plate. many of the carriages were of French or continental origin too. Nobody had pressing afternoon appointments but after a while, we prised ourselves out of the chairs and saddled up for the return journey.

It was at Orton Lock, to be precise the level crossing near Orton Lock where we met Alan E and one of his Peterborough u3a companion’s Stuart I think, it was nice to see Alan again. After taking Fiona’s route back and saying cheerio to Steve at Stanground Lock, Alan, Jacqueline and I returned to Whittlesey, we had lost Dave somewhere on the way back, it turned out later that he had returned along North Bank and was thankfully safe and well. A great ride out with excellent company as always.

Here are a few interesting thoughts from, Readers Digest:

She leaves me with the feeling that when we bury the hatchet she’ll mark the exact spot.

You can’t believe everything you hear—but you can repeat it.

There’s a lot to be said in his favour, but it’s not nearly as interesting.

They’ve been treating me like one of the family, and I’ve put up with it for as long as I can.

Why did the parents not like their son’s biology teacher? He had skeletons in his closet.

More nonsense next week, all being well, take care, everyone.