Long weekends are for slowing down. For simple pleasures. Feeding Cornflakes to friendly ducks and soft, black moor-hens. Learning how to row a skiff. The splash of oar in water, a silent oasis, a bubble of river and bush inside the big city.
Long weekends are for equally-long walks in sunshine. For getting lost somewhere in a highway underpass, but it doesn’t matter because nobody is in a hurry: this is a long weekend.
Long weekends are for cooking and housework, giggles and cuddles, red wine and friends.
I think long weekends may be my favourite. I’d like to order another one, please.
(Photos from this long weekend brought to you by a family visit to the Fairfield Park Boathouse, which was super touristy and even more super fun. Ralph didn’t make it into any pictures because photographing him would have meant having to let go of him, and letting go of him would have meant Ralph fulfilling his heart’s desire of diving head-first into the water, to “pat the ducks”)