Another day, another walk. I’m rapidly running out of options around these estuary wilds parts in which to go wandering.

It doesn’t help that my bicycles are still behind closed doors. The scaffolding around the side passage is preventing any access. My legs are itching for a decent bike ride.

I made my way down to the river. There was plenty of aquatic traffic, as my walk was timed with another spectacular high tide.

The sailing club had some kind of dinghy race reaching its climax. I wasn’t the only person caught out on the shoreline when the rather loud horn was blasted out.

The weather conditions had taken a slight dip from the previous day. There was still plenty of sun, but the blustery winds made for favourable conditions for the sailors.

Not enjoying the wind so much were the two Wivgigs boats making steady progress back down towards the sailing club hard. I gave them a random wave, but I doubt they had a clue as to who I was in the distance.

I reached the wooded area along by the estuary. The Sunday afternoon walkers had dispersed. I had some bliss with Robert Elms in my airpods and a feature all about Northern Soul.

I reached the creek. I had a moment sitting on Fat Bloke’s bench. I took in my surroundings, and then retraced my steps and headed back to base.

I’m urgently in need of either some new routes or access to the bicycles once again.

To the sailing club! For the second time in two consecutive days!

A combination of bright blue estuary wild skies and also favourable high tide times was the lure that was too good to resist.

But where to paddle to?

Downstream and the great unknown? Upstream and the stinky poo smell of the Hythe? Or perhaps even a rare excursion up the Roman river?

The Roman river, it was.

We were keen to avoid what might have been a bit of a Gig Fest assault. Both boats for the rowing club had made their way earlier in the day over to Brightlingsea for the Gig Fest race downstream and back. The Roman river looked like it would be the quieter option.

It was a gentle paddle, making our way upstream and then cutting across the muddybanks for the Roman river.

We did pass one brave fella who was out wild swimming with his luminous yellow floating device. He was on his back and was actually scrolling away on his phone. Now there’s confidence for you.

We reached the mouth of the Roman River. It took some delicate manoeuvring to make our way around the mysterious brown patches.

That’s shit, etc.

Soon we had the tranquillity of the curves of the Roman river all to ourselves. We were even treated to a fly pass by three swans. You could feel the rush of air as they made their way ten meters or so above us.

Some paddle boarders then approached us from behind. This was a leisurely row for us. We came seriously close to the embarrassment of being overtaken by a couple of paddle boarders.

The Canadian geese could then be spotted sunbathing on the muddy banks. They deserved their rest, having earlier made a rifht old early morning racket, waking up half the town.

We reached the mill that signifies the end of the Roman river that is passable. We had timed the tidal times to perfection. We were carried out on an incoming tide, and we’re now ready to head back to the sailing club, floating along on the outgoing waves.

“Can you take some shit pictures?”

…asked my rowing companion.

“No, I don’t take shit pictures”

…came my reply.

“I’m a semi-pro photographer.”

“No,”

she said.

Can you take some pictures of the shit?"

The dirty dog.

The river traffic picked up as we headed back towards the sailing club. There was plenty of kayak action out around the Estuary wilds. We had the first spotting of the season of the ferry. I’m not sure what the aquatic equivalent of Chapeau is.

To the kayak! On Friday lunchtime. I got my time and tides all wrong. Oh dear. I arrived at the Sailing Club to find the rowing club were packing away after an earlier session.

Something’s not quite right here…

For some reason I had read my tidal times all wrong. I’m not sure why this happened. This is the amateur tide reader who, don’t forget, spent the best part of a month putting together a highly complex spreadsheet that automatically pulled in tide times and then adjusted them. Oh well. Now I’m here I might as well make the most of what remains of the water.

The rowing club weren’t the only water users packing away for the session. Half-term week meant the young cadets were coming in to the Sailing Club hard in their dinghies. I had to wait a few minutes or so before I could launch.

Finally I was out there. There was no one else around on the estuary. Fancy that.

I got a little lost in my own hippie shit aquatic ways. I ended up being carried on an outgoing tide to Whitehouse Beach. I then realised I was running out of water. I didn’t fancy my chances taking it any further.

I hovered around for a short while and heard a little bit of splashing underneath my hull. I had a slight fear of what may be lurking deep down below. This was no time for hanging around. It was probably just more endless shit floaters.

I heard a distant cuckoo on the opposite shore. This was my homing signal to get back to the Sailing Club. I panicked slightly for the final 10 minutes remaining, fearing I would run out of water. Either side of me I could see mud banks emerging. On more than one occasion my oar churned up thick, dark brown Essex estuary mud.

I managed to recover my kayak with around half a metre or so of water left on the hard. Dick.

I wasn’t the only river user out there who had fucked up. An army of jet ski flotillas were struggling to make it past the barrier. It couldn’t happen to any nicer fellas.

A quick shifty over at the Dulwich Hamlet forum over on Urban, and OH MY DAYS. The Hamlet will have an away fixture at Stanway Rovers next season! Blimey. I can leave the house at 2:30pm, and still have time for a pint over in Stanway ahead of KO.

I had no idea that Stanway Rovers (not to be confused with Pegasus) had reached such lofty heights in the non-league pyramid. It wasn’t that long ago that Wivenhoe Town Vs Stanway Rovers was a key local derby match.

There’s some half decent boozers around Britain’s Oldest Recorded that the Rabble will be able to enjoy, whenever the away day is announced. Early autumn before it gets too bloody cold would be nice.

Likewise for Maldon and Tiptree, another possible Dulwich away day for me. Transport would be a bit tricky here. The Raleigh electric would be the only option. A nice early away day with a bicycle ride thrown in would work.

I couldn’t be arsed to swim. It involved too much activity: a bicycle ride to the pool, the actual swim, and then a bicycle ride back to base. No ta, especially so with rain threatening around the Estuary Wilds. And so a walk instead. Live to walk, walk to live, etc.

I had plenty of podcasts loaded up to keep me company - the usual shit: Forest Focus, Novara, Never Strays Far. Podcasts and putting in the strides is something of a thing around these parts. It’s rare now to notice someone who isn’t wearing a pair of AirPods whilst they are out plodding away.

The route was pretty random, and pretty much made up as I went along. I headed out along the Estuary, always a good start. The water was choppy with the wind blowing down the Muddy Banks. Rowing for earlier in the day had already been cancelled.

Both sides of the sea wall have seen significant overgrowth in recent weeks. Some stretches required a little delicacy when passing through. I wouldn’t fancy running along here with all the thorns poking out to scratch away at my BEAUTIFUL sleeve ink.

I reached the Creek. I headed up towards Alresford. The plan was to walk through the centre of the village and back to Weird Wiv. But this would have meant walking along the road with rush hour approaching. I’ll give that one a miss.

I went a little cross-country, having hung around for a short while inside the burnt out shell of St Peter’s. It was pretty magical with the bright sun illuminating the walls of the old, abandoned building. A decent walk. I’ll swim tomorrow. Yep.

I’m such a TART. Any excuse to get dressed up Jase. And so on Sunday evening, out went the shout of: To the Conga! For Wiv Music Mix! These Sunday monthly Sunday night sessions have been on my radar for sometime. But I’m usually working on Sunday evenings. A little rota tinkering around the edges, and I’ve found some space to enjoy some live music right on my doorstep.

And that’s the whole bloody point. The Congregational Church (stop sniggering) is less than two minutes over the road. Quality live music is scheduled each month, all for around £20. You’d struggle with that over at the Sunny Colch Arts Centre. Plus it’s a right bloody pain for us to get back from late at night.

Steve’s Music Mix - to give the event its correct name - is a broadly jazz based listing of artists playing in a live setting. The Sunday evening slot seems just perfect for live jazz. Elmer’s Jazz Collective rocked up at the Conga this month - an informal gathering of local musicians, put together by local jazz drummer, erm, Elmer.

The Conga actually looked great, and nothing like a Church. Even Song this most certainly wasn’t. The main space was blacked out, with plenty of stage lighting to add to the atmosphere. And blimey, it was bloody busy. I’m no good at head counts, but I’d wager possibly somewhere between 250 - 300 folk had turned out.

I made a beeline for the bar. Blood of Christ, etc. I settled on a bottle of red. Chin chin. We took up our seats, poured a glass of BOOZE and waited for the six piece to take to the stage. This is far better than Antiques Roadshow. Or even Sunday evening work.

The musicians were superb. The setlist was an exploration of some jazz standards, as well as a left field approach for finding inspiration. Solos featured heavily, allowing the trumpet, saxophone, keys, jazz guitar and double bass to showcase their individual skills. Elmer held it all together with his sticks.

This felt like a local approach to a professional performance. SHOUT OUT to the various local hands who were volunteering and helping out with the desk, front of house and bar etc.

I found myself head nodding as the evening - and the BOOZE - continued. The set became very funky in the second half. Two and a half hours later and the house lights came on. That was bloody brilliant. I’ve really missed live music. Now it’s back, and right on my doorstep. Nice.

To the Sailing Club! …on Saturday afternoon for a WivGigs Sunshine Social row. I’m thinking back to those bloody miserable February and March months. My enthusiasm for getting out on the water was at an all time low. It was cold, damp and bloody miserable. Not so in recent weeks. Have rays of sunshine, will row, etc.

We had limited water however - which is something of a concern when you are out rowing. The tide and time thing led to a narrow window of opportunity in which to launch, and then recover Varuna. Now was not a time to arse around, chatting, and taking snaps every five minutes or.

The estuary was also bloody busy. Joining Varuna was our sister boar Audacity, as well as our friendly rival club Corsairs, putting in some serious strokes in Defiance. Plus don’t forget the Sailing Club Cadets. We had to play a game of dodge as we tried to second guess when they would be tacking from left to right.

K was on stroke. K is VERY strong. She set a fair pace at the front of the boat. It may have been a social row, but it felt more like race training for the first fifteen minutes or so. GOOD EFFORT, Madam. We slowed down slightly when the seal was spotted off bow.

With the plug having been well and truly pulled from the estuary, the water was disappearing fast. We had the tide with us as we headed back to the Sailing Club hard. The sunlight on the WAD boats along the trots made them look super cute. A decent row.

I had the need to get out of the house. wfh with a friendly plasterer plastering around the house is no fun. I decided on an Estuary Wilds circuit walk. Nothing too radical, the usual waddle up towards the Creek, around through Alresford and then back to base. BONUS that I had the Olympus PEN-F with me to snap, snap, snap away.

The colours around the Muddy Banks were transitional. They weren’t sure if we are in late spring or entering early summer. The chill in the air suggested caution before you start wishing your days away.

The tide was stuck, also unsure which direction to shift. No one else was out there. A lone cuckoo on the other side of the Muddy Banks attempted to strike up a conversation with me. I put on a Forest podcast. SUCK IT UP, Woody.

A decent 10km-ish circuit.

I was up towards the top end of the town with a little time to spare. And when I say the top end of the town, woh - I mean the very top. We’re talking Wivenhoe Park basically. It would be rude not to have a bit of a shifty and a wander around my old haunt, right?

Our University time these days is restricted to more or less basketball watching. Straight in, straight out. I took the time today to walk around the sports pitches, down to the lakes, through the North Towers wind tunnel, and then back up again towards the Sports Arena. Back in the day and that would have been my exercise for the entire term.

Campus was relatively quiet. Exam season, innit. I kinda blended in, and just about got awy with it. I’d wager in ten years time then my young-ish Boy About Town looks won’t be quite so forgiving.

TWO boats were out along the Estuary Wilds as part of WivGigs Social Sunday. We’re weren’t alone. There was plenty of other river traffic, bobbing and weaving along the Muddy Banks. I was on second stroke in Varuna. We managed to outpace the WADS and the Cadets, and then powered on towards Buoy 18.

The weather became changeable as we reached the mouth of the estuary. This was a day for pondering the dilemma of shorts or trackies, T-shirts or long sleeves? I decided to mix ‘n’ match my sartorial look, with bare legs, long sleeves.

There was plenty of water for us to explore, with another whopper of a high tide. The waves became a little choppy as we attempted our turn around Buoy 18. The conversation in the boat was football based, along with running injuries. I have a foot in both camps right now, so to speak.

I volunteered to jump out of Varuna as we approached the Sailing Club to secure her. It’s always a little hit and miss, dangling over the side, and waiting to reach the hard as the boat floats up towards the Sailing Club. TOUCHDOWN was achieved.

There was a BBQ breaking out by the Sailing Club. Sadly work commitments kept me away.