To the Sailing Club! …early in the evening on Sunday. We had a WivGigs sunset social row to see out the weekend.

We weren’t alone in making the most of the very limited high water. A couple of fishermen were out on the public jetty, casting their long rods in and out of the water.

This was always going to be a very tight turnaround when it came to the row. Tide and time were both against us. There was a limited high water and we had around an hour or so left in the day of sunlight.

I was placed on stroke. We launched successfully and then the cox instructed us that we were about to take some plop training. Oh, I wasn’t prepared for that. I thought I was done with all of this messy business, some 50 or so years ago.

Ah, I see. Plop training is about plopping your oar in the water in synchronicity with the rest of the crew.

I plopped away quite contentedly.

We made steady progress downstream. At one stage we had the sun setting in the east and the moon visible in the opposite direction. It may have been the other way around. Geography has never been my strong point.

We could see, a little further out in the estuary, the cadets with their flashing lights. Apparently they were being treated to a rare sunset sail themselves.

It was all very peaceful and tranquil until the dickhead jet ski riders rocked up. To be fair to them they did slow down ever so slightly as they sped past us. This didn’t stop them breaking the speed limit for the estuary as they powered their way upstream towards the town.

Our cox informed us we were making fairly speedy progress ourselves. It was rumoured that it was all to do with the recent re-waxing of the boat.

I confess that having smelt the wax and thinking at first that it was someone’s bad breath. But nope, apparently it was the bees' wax. Maybe the bees had bad breath.

We were back at the Sailing Club hard with just enough light to recover.

To the William Loveless Hall! …late afternoon on Saturday. The occasion was the annual Wivenhoe Memories exhibition.

This usually takes place over the weekend of the August Bank Holiday. The organisers have realised that footfall can be pretty low, with many families still holidaying. A slight switch to later in the season is being trialled for this year.

Each year the curators try and come up with a new theme. Wivenhoe Memories for 2026 goes back to the 1960s and explores the idea and the impact of the University being built at the top of the town.

To our surprise we weren’t the youngest people looking around the exhibition. Previous years have seen the Loveless Hall become something of a youth club for all the owd boys as they gather and share their memories.

It was fascinating to see some of the original photos of the University being built at Wivenhoe Park. Some of these were new to me.

I remarked that if we were 50-something back in the 1960s whilst the university was being built, then we would no doubt kick up a right fuss about Wivenhoe Park being concreted over. You now take it for granted and actually admire the brutalism on show.

It wasn’t all about the 1960s at Wivenhoe Memories. There was one board dedicated to the opening of a Co-op in 1976. I liked the caption describing the celeb of Yootha Joyce opening it as being “half cut.”

Chin chin.

Elsewhere I realised that although some of the old photos dating back 100 years or so have tremendous historical importance, it is perhaps the more recent snaps from the 1970s and 1980s that hold more appeal to me.

You’re looking at streets which you walk day in, day out, which have changed ever so slightly from when the photos were taken. It’s finer the details, such as old phone boxes that that have now been lost.

As you would expect with Wivenhoe Memories, photos of the pubs and booze in particular feature heavily. Some of the scenes of groups of 10, 15, 20 people sitting around a table drinking and smoking are a world away from what takes place inside these pubs in 2026.

And so another decent Wivenhoe Memories. These gatherings are always very communal and prove to be a great way of drawing out some of the old stories.

We had a little time to spare up at Wivenhoe Park on Friday afternoon. Back in the day and having a little time to spare at Wivenhoe Park meant necking four cans of SPESH down by the lakes and then waking up with all sorts of mysterious and unknown stains down my Forest ‘89 replica kit.

Thankfully my tastes are a little refined these days. The Forest ‘89 replica is still worn with pride 0 and it’s also stain-free. I’ve also learnt my limit in that two cans of SPESH is all I can take these days.

Instead of collapsing around the back of the lakes, we decided to take on the Wivenhoe Park Tree Tour. Who knew such a thing even existed?

A little bit of an online shifty and soon I was able to download a ten page PDF documenting the various trees and the exact walking route.

Blimey, that sounds like bloody hard work. Maybe the best option is just to walk around and look at trees?

We tried to follow the guide as best as possible. I learnt about a Legion Grove, which used to be a cool leafy glade. That’s just the kind of shit you would never do as a student.

I was kind of interested for the first ten minutes or so. The endless commentary from my tree-walking partner did my nut in. She was determined to read the entire ten page PDF and point out trees of interest. I was just in search of my next can of SPESH, to be honest.

The timing was half decent. The students are back at Wivenhoe Park tomorrow morning. I thought we had got away with looking like a couple of nerds staring up at trees with no other fuckers around. I was wrong. A pal from football who works at the University clocked us. Oh dear.

We did get a little lost when my tree partner failed to identify a silver birch. It was staring her right in the face.

The walk then got a little random. It was punctuated with some zigzag movement that took in pretty much the crazy and bonkers frisbee golf course around Wivenhoe Park.

My only observation of note is that I quite love the contrast of the 1960s brutalism of the University against the backdrop of the Mother Nature shit.

It all got a little too much about halfway through for me. We were walking through some pines, which our ten page PDF guide reliably informed us were victims of the Great Storm of 87. They didn’t look too damaged to me.

The walk was cut short at my request. It was starting to do my head in by now.

But if you’re not a fan of trees, then maybe this one is for you. I should send some of the fuckers from the Town Council on the Wivenhoe Park Tree Walk. Yeah that would liven the stiffs up.

SHOUT OUT Helen C for the heads up 👌🏼

To Wivenhoe House Hotel! …on Friday afternoon to celebrate something of a momentous personal moment. Let’s just keep it at that.

On the menu, of course, was afternoon tea. We’ve had a hit and miss experience before at Wivenhoe House. One completely forgettable occasion was a spoiled vegetarian Christmas dinner. You were fine if you were fans of eating thick cardboard with nothing much else in between.

But you can’t go wrong with afternoon tea, right? What’s so tricky about sausage rolls, scones, and cake, as Nick Lowe once almost sang?

I thought I would humour our rather polite waiter when he asked if we have any dietary requirements. My dining partner said:

“I don’t like fish.”

What the chuff? We’re going to tuck into sannies and cake. There’s no fish on the menu, luv.

Mr. Waiter responded by correcting me, saying that there was actually some rather fine salmon sandwiches.

Oh. I see.

We were asked if we wanted to upgrade to the Prosecco option. No ta. Afternoon tea is afternoon tea. I want thick builders' tea and not some poncey Essex fizzy shit to wash it all down with.

I thought I was suitably dressed. It was a dress down Friday after all. I was kind of smart, almost definitely casual. My self-confidence had taken something of a hit earlier in the morning when my Money Man told me I was looking scruffy for our annual catch up.

First out of the traps was a pot of tea. This was far better than any crappy Prosecco shit.

And then came the main dining option. Also out came my phone. It’s all about the Instas innit. Just show us the fucking snap.

The food selection actually was rather quite delightful. The highlights were a rather savoury sausage roll, a very light but filling cheese scone, and, of course, the salmon sarnies. No food allergies here mate.

As well as a very fine waiter, there was also an extremely confident maître d' also doing the rounds. I think he clocked us very early on and picked up on my lack of social skills and refusal to do small talk.

I managed to blank him throughout the entire sitting - or rather he managed to blank me. The Coffee Ponce back in SW8 would have been proud of my lack of small talk vibes I was giving off.

An hour or so later we emerged out of Wivenhoe House Hotel. It wasn’t quite a Mr. Creosote scene from Monty Python, but I was well and truly stuffed.

These rather momentous personal moments come around too often.

To Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club! …on Sunday afternoon we’re kind of getting into this summer Sunday cricket routine. It’s a shame the season is about to come to a close; When an Old Batsman Leaves the Crease, etc.

Part of the routine is to look an absolute dickhead, walking the mean streets of CO7, carrying the contents of the weekly veg waste. The Rectory Road cricket ground is pretty much next door to the allotment. Two birds, one stone, etc.

The food waste bin looks more like a cricket hamper. At least it gives us some cover and camouflage for any disconcerting looks. Not that anyone at Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club gives a shit, to be honest. They’re an incredibly friendly bunch.

The fixture list has been updated online, pretty much to precision over the summer months - except for the final couple of weeks. We’ve no idea if any cricket would be taking place and, if it was, who was playing.

We rocked up at Rectory Road around 3 pm on Sunday and were pleased to see the umpires and players out in the middle. A few conversations later and we clocked on that this was true pub cricket: a Wivenhoe Town team (I’m not exactly sure which team) were playing a team from the New Inn, over in Sunny Colch.

I’ll drink to that. Chin chin.

We took our position at the pavilion end of the ground. It was a little strange viewing, with the middle positioned very much over to the Rectory Road side. New Inn were batting. They were on 115 for 5 in - I think - the 30th over when we arrived.

That can’t be right as I think it was only a 30-over match. Scoreboards are overrated anyway.

Wivenhoe looked keen to wrap things up with the away team innings. There were endless appeals. There was also a rather pleasant warm wind blowing across the old ground.

I missed a few more wickets. I was messing around taking photos, natch.

I then rotated 90° and there it was, right in my face: some fella with his trousers pulled down, showing off his jock strap and a rather large cricket box bedded away inside.

POW, right in the kisser, etc.

Runs were clearly needed by New Inn. Some not-so-friendly advice came from the away team players sitting back in the hutch.

“Get a bloody move on. It’s not a Test match.”

There, that’s told them.

Play was interrupted slightly as a motorbike was carefully ridden behind the wicket on route to the car park.

An unfortunate drop then took place by one of the Wivenhoe players at square leg. It looked to have been easier to have caught it - so says the dude whose own proud cricket career scorecard reads: no runs, not out.

Wivenhoe had some pretty lethal pace bowlers. One fella in particular was able to deliver a ball at speed, which then died and kept low throughout. He clean bowled the tail end of the new innings.

A run chase of 191 was set from 30 overs. I’m still not actually sure if I trust the scoreboard or not.

The tea interval came and went. Some pretty spectacular Sunday afternoon spreads were laid out in the pavilion.

TUCK IN.

The Wivenhoe openers wasted no time. Fifty was soon up on the scoreboard after only 5 overs.

What I’m finding fascinating watching village cricket at this level is the variety of different bowling actions on show. You don’t get too much change in styles when watching County cricket. Step down 10 rungs or so in the cricket pyramid and blimey, you see some pretty odd bowling actions.

More runs were made, more wickets were taken. This looked like it could be something of a tense close to the afternoon. Sadly - and possibly for one final time - bloody work got in the way of me seeing the end of the game.

I’ve no idea who won, but that’s not really the point, is it?

An interesting row. We started off with what looked like we were disturbing a high-society dinner party taking place on a yacht that was moored up. Don’t mind us. I was placed on stroke. It was my first time with the new leathers. SEXY. I came close to breaking a tholpin in all the excitement.

We stopped to pick up a come-and-tryer. That didn’t last long. Soon we were heading out downstream. A trio of jet skiers behaved nicely for once. There was also a trio of kids out in their kayaks making the most of the late summer sun.

Some weirdo dude in one of those hydro things was poncing around. I wasn’t alone in hoping that he would come a cropper and get his hair wet. He got his hair wet.

We had a bit of a hippie shit moment observing some jellyfish. An absurd conversation took place regarding the relative intelligence of jellyfish compared to other aquatic sea creatures.

The water was very still downstream. I got to cox for a short while, back towards the sailing club.

To the Kayaks! …on bank holiday Monday afternoon. Recent days have seen some spectacularly high spring tides out along the estuary. The bright blue skies and wind were too much of a good opportunity to resist an afternoon of paddling.

The dinghies had already launched and were out racing. It was the perfect weather if you wanted some wind in your sail, not so if you were battling against the elements with only a single oar.

We took the strategic decision to make the most of the incoming tide and head upstream. It felt more like we were battling an outgoing tide to be honest, such was the ferocity of the wind blowing the waves back at us. Splashes ahoy!

Once we were past the barrier it was surprising to see the Bank Holiday river traffic pretty much non-existent. We saw C. He was out doing his usual daily swim. A few brief polite words were exchanged before we pressed on.

Rowhedge was reached. There was another couple swimming close to the public hard. I say swimming, it looked more like they were simply treading water.

Both pubs on the other side of the river were busy with Bank Holiday boozers. The Essex Harbour Patrol boat was moored up and ready to pounce on any speeding jet ski dickheads.

Windy Corner was reached. It was an absolute bastard. I tried to head for the channel but was blown off course.

We came within touching distance of the University but decided to cut our losses as the waves continued. We drifted back downstream with the tide now turning.

Just as we were recovering the kayaks, some scouse fella came up to me and asked me about high tides. He wanted to know the precise science behind what governs high and low water.

Fuck me, you’re asking the wrong dude fella.

We had something of Boy’s Own outing for the WivGigs Sunday Social. Four male rowers and a male cox. This is most unusual. I prefer mixed rowing. Having five blokes in a boat can often lead to disaster.

It was all very lively down at the Sailing Club, hard around midday. An exceptionally high Bank Holiday weekend tide meant there was plenty of aquatic action out on the water.

Some dinghy racing was in full flow. The Time Keeper’s hut bleated out the incredibly LOUD horn each time some form of watercraft passed the finishing line. This always makes me want to shout out RAVE!!!! and put my hands in the air.

This was a maiden voyage for Audacity, our returning gig boat. She has been out at some repair yard for the past month or so, undertaking some pretty heavy duty patch ups as well as being tarted up with paint.

The aroma coming from the new coating was still fresh and rather lush. It was actually quite exciting rowing in a boat that was now looking and feeling as good as new.

The Boy’s Own crew headed out downstream along the estuary. We had plenty of water to enjoy, with time and tide on our side.

Past Alresford Creek and the waters became slightly choppy. A couple of crew from one of the racing dinghies were now neck deep in water, having capsized, and were being picked up by the safety boat.

The Brightlingsea Ferry passed us in the opposite direction on a riverside cruise from one town to the other. The passengers on board were most friendly and seemed pleased to see us.

We turned around at what I think was Buoy 22 and then made our way back with the tide still incoming down to the Sailing Club. Some bank holiday campers had pitched up on White House Beach.

The return journey involved a little bit of stop-start action. Some of the Sailing Club racers had decided to tack left to right in front of our path. Thankfully the Boy’s Own crew remained sensible and decided not to take them on.

Back at base and Audacity was given a decent scrub. Whoever said that males can’t carry out a half-decent cleaning routine?

A decent row.

I was met with distinctive Constable skies as I strolled out and made my way around the 10 km Estuary Wilds walk on Friday morning. I often find it hard to define Big Essex Skies. It’s sometimes just best to look above and marvel at the emptiness of the landscape, and then how the clouds clutter up the brilliant blueness from the estuary and beyond.

Shit. I’m turning into a bloody hippie.

The ground underfoot was slightly soft in terms of race conditions. We’ve had a couple of downpours but everything else is absolutely bone dry. If I ever get myself match fit again then the only bonus from the recent heat waves is that my summer estuary running route may be extended well into the autumn muddy months.

I wasn’t alone in strolling out towards Alresford. I must have passed half a dozen or so other mid-life crisis single all males doing the exact same thing. We’re all living the best years of our lives; we’ve all given up on work. Back of the fucking net.

I made slow progress but not as slow as the old boy I saw rowing single-handedly heading out into the greater reaches of the estuary beyond Fat Bloke’s Bench. I was a little fearful as to how he would fare once he entered the more choppier waters past the Creek.

Looking slightly lost was a swan in an adjacent field who seemed to have taken over on where the cows normally go about munching their way through what remains of the grass. I approached with caution. This didn’t stop the swan having a hissy fit at me.

Ford Lane and the road towards Alresford was reached. A couple of geezers were out trimming the overgrown hedge. The homegrown peppers on the balcony overlooking the Creek look ripe for picking.

Another day, another plod.

Plod to live, live to plod.

The annual Bank Holiday Art Exhibition at The Nottage was defo worth a visit this year. Each year four local artists exhibit in the rather antiquated, yet still very scenic surrounds of The Nottage down at the Quayside.

Local artist Colin Smith always seems to anchor the event with his brilliant and bright acrylic scenes capturing familiar surrounds. The radiance coming out of the colours was quite stunning, both for daytime and sunset compositions.

He is joined this year by a Kristin Handley. Her artwork displays a lighter touch. Some of the local scenes, such as the Trail, were almost fairy-like, with a magical illusion as the daylight collided with the green scenery.

This artwork contrasted well alongside work being exhibited by Vicky Rosenthal. Her style was a lot more harsh, almost industrial. This also suits parts of the town, with regular head nods to the fishing heritage and history.

Completing the quartet of artists at The Nottage this weekend is Julie Bowes. Her work was more animal-themed, alongside some portraits which showed human form morphing into images that wouldn’t look out of place in fairy tale books.

We were encouraged to see a couple of the artists at The Nottage performing their art and carrying out some live painting sessions.

This almost inspired me to dig out the canvas I have somewhere and make the most of my CSE Grade 3 in art to capture the local cricket club this weekend.

Can you tell what it is yet?"