As I write this post I feel that the title of my blog should have been "Cold, wet and murky stuff", rather than HOT stuff, more of which in just a moment. HOT is an acronym for Henley on Thames, hence the blog title, so keep reading for my take on the goings-on in this lovely spot in the Thames valley.
We relocated here recently from Singapore and are still getting used to having everything more or less on our doorstep - a lovely cinema, theatre, Waitrose, Robert Dyas, not to mention numerous restaurants, bars and patisseries and of course, the river Thames. Sadly, there is no M&S, but I cherish the hope that one of the several empty shops (not a good look, BTW, if anyone on the Town Council should read this) might one day re-awaken as one of those mini M&S stores, like the one at Victoria station in London.
Anyway, so there I was, lying in bed and thinking it was time to get up and let the lovely Lola, our mini Schnauzer (and the best dog in the world) out into the garden for her morning pee. As I came down the stairs, I heard a strange noise emanating from the "orangery" as the people we bought the house from called it. Trust me, this is way too grand a title for the small, glassed-in passageway that links the kitchen to the utility room, but it does contain a lovely fish pond, complete with fountain. Well, I say "lovely fish pond complete with fountain" but there was nothing lovely about the sight that met my eyes as I went in search of the cause of what sounded like a large sumo wrestler asphyxiating, having swallowed a big Mac or twelve the wrong way.
The in-pond pump (why does that sound so much more technical than "the pump in the pond?") had fallen over and was no longer re-circulating filtered water back into the fishes' habitat, but spewing it out the back, so the water level had fallen dramatically and the fish were starting to look very concerned indeed. Well, if I could have seen them through the six inches of algae occupying the bottom of the pond, I'm sure they would have been looking a tad worried. Now, keen as I was to just stick the hose on and refill the pond, it did strike me that here was an opportunity to clean out the yukky green stuff once and for all. And so, dear reader, that is precisely what I did. I decanted the fish into the (clean!) recycling bin from the kitchen - not easy, those were some wriggly mothers - and set to with my hands, a scrubbing brush and a peg on my nose. Some two hours later, the pond was de-algaed, and scrubbed clean, I was filthy and smelling like a midden and the fish were back at home looking none the worse for their adventure. However, it appears that trauma can result in an emergency breeding response on the part of pond fish. Well, we had eight when they came out of the water and eight when they went back in. I have not bought any pregnancy tests as yet, still keeping my fingers crossed.
Anyway, so there I was, lying in bed and thinking it was time to get up and let the lovely Lola, our mini Schnauzer (and the best dog in the world) out into the garden for her morning pee. As I came down the stairs, I heard a strange noise emanating from the "orangery" as the people we bought the house from called it. Trust me, this is way too grand a title for the small, glassed-in passageway that links the kitchen to the utility room, but it does contain a lovely fish pond, complete with fountain. Well, I say "lovely fish pond complete with fountain" but there was nothing lovely about the sight that met my eyes as I went in search of the cause of what sounded like a large sumo wrestler asphyxiating, having swallowed a big Mac or twelve the wrong way.
The in-pond pump (why does that sound so much more technical than "the pump in the pond?") had fallen over and was no longer re-circulating filtered water back into the fishes' habitat, but spewing it out the back, so the water level had fallen dramatically and the fish were starting to look very concerned indeed. Well, if I could have seen them through the six inches of algae occupying the bottom of the pond, I'm sure they would have been looking a tad worried. Now, keen as I was to just stick the hose on and refill the pond, it did strike me that here was an opportunity to clean out the yukky green stuff once and for all. And so, dear reader, that is precisely what I did. I decanted the fish into the (clean!) recycling bin from the kitchen - not easy, those were some wriggly mothers - and set to with my hands, a scrubbing brush and a peg on my nose. Some two hours later, the pond was de-algaed, and scrubbed clean, I was filthy and smelling like a midden and the fish were back at home looking none the worse for their adventure. However, it appears that trauma can result in an emergency breeding response on the part of pond fish. Well, we had eight when they came out of the water and eight when they went back in. I have not bought any pregnancy tests as yet, still keeping my fingers crossed.
What a treat to be first to comment on your initial epistle. I'm looking forward to the same sense of otherworldliness that inspired your Singaporean notes. My observations of the denizens of Henley suggest that there is plenty of material... Welcome back to blog world.
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