Page 10 - Issue 67 Online
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     It’s Friday the thirteenth and it’s    No, Lockdown 2 is a distinct improvement on the
     2020. What can possibly go wrong?      original. There’s no horse’s head for one thing.
                                            (The one in Woltz's bed..? No, I have to admit I
     I  shouldn’t  tempt  fate  by  waiting  indoors  so   looked away as well.) Also, we know where it’s
     instead I’m on the bike, one of my favourite rides   going to end: on December 2nd. The word is
     out of the village, to Purls Bridge and Welches   that will be it, at least for 2020. We’ll gather in
     Dam. I’m usually on my own down here; even   groups of six or fewer and however big or small
     the birders have left the place alone during   the turkey is there will still be leftovers. Curry
     lockdown.                              and the rest,  to chomp through  during those

     Lockdown  2,  that  is.                                  dark  days  between
     We didn’t know the   “… those dark days between          Christmas and New
     rules for Lockdown   Christmas and New Year, a           Year, a period a writer
     1, having to make it                                     friend refers to as the
     up as we went along,   period a writer friend refers     Festive Deadzone. The
     unsure how long the   to as the Festive Deadzone.”       description is a little too
     road was or even                                         Stephen King for my
     where it was leading.                                    liking.
     If you’re a film fan you’ll know that Godfather 2   It’s the sight of the banner which literally halts
     was way better than Godfather 1, even though   me; that and the fence to stop me venturing any
     the first was a stupendous achievement for   further while work on the bank continues. Last
     Coppola.                               time, 1990 or thereabouts, I was further up the
                                                      New Bedford in Welney watching
                                                      the  same  lorry  movements
                                                      pummel the same roads, doing
                                                      the  same damage, in  a Canutean
                                                      attempt to keep back the waters
                                                      for a bit longer.

                                                      Francis  Pryor,  fen  watcher  and
                                                      lover, crosses his arms in front
                                                      of him as we talk about it. “They
                                                      won’t have a chance to do it again
                                                      in another 30 years,” he says. “We’ll
                                                      have been inundated by then.”
                                                      Francis is someone I have time for
                                                      and his recent seminal book – The
                                                      Fens – takes a long hard look at
                                                      the land we call home. He puts its

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