Sky of white

Awoke this morning to s sky that was not grey, nor of course blue; it was not black, or that forbidding yellow that presages snow. It was white, colourless. Every bit of life and character leached from it. A good day then for attempting the trip to Dog in A Doublet, where the tidal River Nene begins, and proceeds north via Wisbech to some bleak outfall on the North Sea. We have never taken this right turn out of Stanground Lock before. Apparently the last two people to try it died of boredom. But on the map it only looks like about five miles, of dead straight cut, so surely we can bear it for that long. I always thought Dog in a Doublet held the promise of exoticism, although now I am prepared for disappointment. But I do remember that once before we came across it by road, at night, the giant guillotine gate looming black out of the mist, and it was quite a stirring sight, on the still black water.