There was once a fishing village called Walkerville.
The tiny fishing village of Walkerville, ooh, hang on.... can't say that.
Fishing Village. Mmm ...
We used to be a fishing village; home to Dena and Brigadoon cray boats, Cadeques, Ab-Normal, Ab-Stractor and Slurp abalone boats among many others.
But sadly that title has gone. It appears to be politically incorrect to like boats at the moment.
The anti-boating discussion seems to be led by people who can’t have had a complete education. After all, how could anyone who was taught this at seven years of age be any different?
“There is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."
[Spoken by Ratty to Mole in Wind in the Willows a children's book by Kenneth Grahame (1859-1932).]
I feel sorry for people who have never gazed lovingly at Walkerville from the Number Two Whiting Spot, and felt that rattatatat of a King George taking a Venus Bay crab.
Some of us think that Walkerville by land is the most spectacular place on earth, only to be trumped by looking at Walkerville, just after sunrise, from half a mile off Gairs.
There must be room at Walkerville for all of us to coexist peacefully … to try to achieve each one’s life ambition. It is important to look far into the future to see how we can accommodate all the groups’ ambitions. We all need to feel winners.
My life ambition is to have a little boat, like the one I saw lying in the soft sand at Gair’s Beach when I was a nipper.
It wasn’t a very grandiose boat. It was a heavy white clinker boat and I think it had a racy red stripe. No trailer, you had to use inflatable rubber rollers and brute strength to go to sea in those days.
But it had the best name of any boat afloat … Slopalong Placidly.
I don’t have a boat anymore, and that bloody tractor going past at six in the morning really annoys me.
But I will defend, to the death, the right of any seven year old kid to be given the chance to watch the rise over Walkerville from the Number Two Whiting Spot off Gairs.
Lucky bastard.
Fishing Village. Mmm ...
We used to be a fishing village; home to Dena and Brigadoon cray boats, Cadeques, Ab-Normal, Ab-Stractor and Slurp abalone boats among many others.
But sadly that title has gone. It appears to be politically incorrect to like boats at the moment.
The anti-boating discussion seems to be led by people who can’t have had a complete education. After all, how could anyone who was taught this at seven years of age be any different?
“There is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."
[Spoken by Ratty to Mole in Wind in the Willows a children's book by Kenneth Grahame (1859-1932).]
I feel sorry for people who have never gazed lovingly at Walkerville from the Number Two Whiting Spot, and felt that rattatatat of a King George taking a Venus Bay crab.
Some of us think that Walkerville by land is the most spectacular place on earth, only to be trumped by looking at Walkerville, just after sunrise, from half a mile off Gairs.
There must be room at Walkerville for all of us to coexist peacefully … to try to achieve each one’s life ambition. It is important to look far into the future to see how we can accommodate all the groups’ ambitions. We all need to feel winners.
My life ambition is to have a little boat, like the one I saw lying in the soft sand at Gair’s Beach when I was a nipper.
It wasn’t a very grandiose boat. It was a heavy white clinker boat and I think it had a racy red stripe. No trailer, you had to use inflatable rubber rollers and brute strength to go to sea in those days.
But it had the best name of any boat afloat … Slopalong Placidly.
I don’t have a boat anymore, and that bloody tractor going past at six in the morning really annoys me.
But I will defend, to the death, the right of any seven year old kid to be given the chance to watch the rise over Walkerville from the Number Two Whiting Spot off Gairs.
Lucky bastard.
posted by James Nixon at 12:05 AM
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