Well that was a summer, wasn’t it?

Scorching temperatures, wildfires – especially just down the road here from Old Bridge number 38 in Stourbridge.

No need to go to Benidorm, just collapse on the sun lounger alongside the towpath and slap on the factor 50.

Low water levels, so moor up alongside the nearest pub and try to make the best of it.

Job’s a good one – not seen the like since 1976.

But dear reader, I bring a dire warning.

El Nino is hotting up in the Pacific and promising a winter of torrential downpours to top up the reservoirs that the water companies neglect in favour of their shareholders. (Oops! A bit political there. Sorry).

El Nino? I hear you query.

Well, let me try to explain. Say, for example, you boiled a kettle of water and chucked the lot into the turbulent waters of the Grand Union, then in all probability sometime around a week next Thursday we’d have a week’s worth of rain in 24 ½ hours down here on the Staffs and Worcs.

Same principle, only a lot bigger and wetter. El Nino is by all accounts a bit nasty.

And if a butterfly dared to flap its wings somewhere by Botterham Lock around the same time, then we’d probably have gales, hurricanes and tidal waves as well.

How do I know?

Because we’re used to disaster here in the Black Country. In 2002 for example, an almighty earthquake hit Dudley in the early hours of the morning. It measured 4.8 on the ‘slightly wobbly scale.’

How well I remember it. Well actually I don’t, it takes more than the earth moving to wake me from my fitful slumber. But it was extremely serious. I heard that someone’s chimney pot fell off in Upper Gornal.

We’ve had volcanos erupting too. Oh yes indeed. Up there at Barrow Hill next to Russell’s Hall hospital. Or the Pensnett Hilton as we call it.

Okay, it hasn’t gone off for a few million years and they reckon it’s extinct, but you can’t fool me. I know that it’s just lulling us into a false sense of security, just waiting to turn Pensnett into a latter-day Pompeii.

The Severn Bore happens quite a lot too. A tidal wave hurtling up the River Severn. It hasn’t happened yet, but someone only has to leave the lock gates open at Stourport so that it can take a quick right turn up the cut and we’ll be under water here before you can say, ‘Pass the wellies.’

So please believe me when I tell you to batten down the hatches. We’re in for a spell of inclement weather this winter. The sort of winter that will make you regret the words you uttered at the height of the heatwave, ‘Oh I wish it would cool down a bit, my 99 keeps melting all over the dog!’

Enjoy – and don’t forget your brolly.

In my last piece I talked about the strange guests we had on board Art Deco, but I must stress that most guests we had aboard were in fact lovely people and we had some wonderful experiences with them. We enjoyed showing them the local area and relating any bits of information and stories regarding the places we passed and I amassed a great deal of knowledge about the river and its surrounding area. We would plan an itinerary based on where the pick up point was and most of our guests were happy with that, they simply wanted to relax and watch the world go by.

There were a few guests who had a firm idea of where they wanted to go and what they wanted to see and we tried our best to please them if we could.

We had a lovely couple with us for four days. The gentleman was an artist and he just wanted to sketch, so we always made sure we moored each evening in a place where there was some feature or other, be it natural or man made, that would make for a decent subject for him to sketch. When they first arrived on board he surprised us by presenting us with a framed sketch that he’d done. It was from a series of sketches he’d made of Victoria Quays in Sheffield where we’d lived in an apartment before we took to the water and it’s hung in our present apartment now.

The artist and his wife made only one visit but we had a few couples who returned on a regular basis and they became our firm friends. One such couple were on board as we past through Henley on Thames and in the meadow on the Remenham side of the river there was a music festival taking place. After consulting Google we found out it was the Rewind Festival South. There’s a sister festival in Cheshire and another one in Perthshire and they all featured artists who were popular in the eighties and nineties. We decided it would be fun to visit, so we made it a date to get tickets for the following years festival. There were boats moored along both sides of the river and it was my job to get a mooring place for Art Deco.

We booked the festival tickets as soon as they went on sale and I managed to get a mooring for the boat, so we were all set for August next year. We arrived in Henley on the Thursday and found our mooring and we were ready for the first night of music on the Friday. We had a wonderful weekend and saw the likes of: Nick Kershaw, Mark Almond, Paul Carrack, Carol Decker, Chesney Hawks, Jason Donovan, along with a few lesser known artist and a couple of tribute bands. We had a great mooring, right by the festival site and it was reassuring that we could eat and drink whatever we wanted, knowing that our bed was just a short walk away. On all three nights of the festival we stayed to the very end and then carried on partying back on Art Deco into the early hours of the morning. We were pleased that we had the foresight to keep the following week free of guests, we needed the week to recuperate!

Another couple who were regular guests were two ex Fleet Street journalists. They spent the winter months in New Zealand and came back to the UK for the summer months and for three years they joined us as guests on Art Deco. They were great fun and certainly knew how to party. We looked forward to their visits. One particular year we picked them up in Reading with a view to cruising down river, with no particular finishing point. Wherever we landed they would get a taxi back to their car which was parked in Reading. We were passing through Boulters lock in Maidenhead when our guests remarked that they had friends who lived by the river in Bray and thought it a good opportunity to pay them a visit. They called them and when they had finished their call I said “There’s good moorings at Bray but they’re on the opposite side of the river from the grand houses” “That won’t be necessary I was told, you can moor at the bottom of their garden, alongside their boat, “You can’t miss it, it’s a very large white cruiser” Once we had passed through the lock we slowly cruised down river and sure enough on the right hand side, there was the said boat. As we drew along side we were helped to tie up by a gentleman aboard the cruiser and we all stepped aboard and followed him up and on to the roof terrace where his wife was waiting with a large jug of Pimm’s. Introductions were made and we were surprised to learn that our host was a surgeon who’d studied at Sheffield University. What a small world it is. When I remarked what a gorgeous house he had he replied “It’s going to be demolished!” The house was a typical Thames riverside property. A two story, bay windowed, double fronted house in the mock Tudor style. It was, he told us, a lovely house to look at but it was damp and draughty and cost a fortune to heat. It had taken him ten years to get planning permission but the latest application had been approved. We had a pleasant evening aboard the cruiser with our new found friends and spent the night moored alongside their boat. In the morning as we left we were given an open invitation to moor alongside their boat if we were struggling to find a mooring. Over the following months we saw the old house demolished and replaced by a modern glass and steel structure, very architecturally stunning, but we thought it didn't fit in with the other properties on the river.

A lovely couple from Chesterfield, a town just a stone's throw away from our home city joined us for four days in the summer of 2018. The were both part of an amateur drama group in their town and were very flamboyant in both their dress and lifestyle. The lady’s default clothing was brightly coloured dresses in vivid colours and the gentleman came dressed as a typical 19th century bargeman, complete with bowler hat, spotted neckerchief, striped collarless shirt and moleskin trousers. When I asked if he fancied a go at skippering Art Deco he jumped at the chance and he was in his element and I have to admit, he certainly looked the part. He skippered the boat for the full four days of their stay, ok, I negotiated all the locks and bridges but he was at the tiller for the rest of the time. He was in heaven he said and thoroughly enjoyed his time with us and his partner was at his side all the time, acting out their obsession with all things Victorian. When they were leaving they presented us with two silver salad servers, Victorian, of course which they had found in an antique shop in Marlow.

Many guests arrived bearing gifts; we had eggs from their own chickens, cheese from their own goats and all sorts of home grown produce. We also had gifts given as couples left, a book on the folklore of the Thames and a coffee table book full of photographs and paintings of the Thames are two such books that spring to mind. A couple who stayed with us a few times presented us with a framed watercolour of a countryside scene around Henley. They’d visited the artist’s studio and bought the painting directly from her. It’s on our wall in our hallway and every time I look at it I’m reminded of our years afloat.

We had an elderly couple as guests for four days and although they were in their seventies it didn’t show, they were up for anything and they were on and off the boat like spring chickens. What singled them out though was the life they’d lived. She was brought up on a farm in Rhodesia and her ambition had been to train as a nurse and she’d secured a place with an English hospital. She had saved the money for the flight but instead of buying an airline ticket she’d bought an old Land Rover and driven across Africa, just for the fun of it she said! She picked up a boat in Tangier and worked her passage to England. He was born in South Africa and became a pilot and had a job flying workers and supplies to to the remote coal and diamond mines. Some places were so remote that they didn't have a proper airstrip as such and he had to be “creative” as he put it to get the plane down safely. They met and married in England and they both wanted to visit Australia and being of an adventurous nature they secured a passage on a container ship. They had a tiny cabin and ate with the crew which consisted of many nationalities and as they put it, the meals could sometimes be challenging but never boring and they thoroughly enjoyed the journey. They were at sea for over a month because the ship had to drop off and pick up cargo as it slowly made its way to Australia.

Our guests were more generous than we could ever have expected. We were often taken to a local pub and treated to drinks and a meal. It made all the hard work worthwhile, and it was hard work, not only were we providing breakfast, lunch and evening meal but we had the added problem of finding a mooring for the night. It was difficult in the popular places, especially in July and August but we did have help with that problem. There was a small community of live aboard boaters, who like ourselves had no home mooring, who continually cruise all year and we all helped each other and communicated via our own WhatsApp group. If a guest wanted to spend time in Henley, for instance, we would send out a message asking if anyone’s moored there and to check if there’s any space available. If one of our friends were moored there they would message back telling us where they were moored and if there were no moorings available we would double up wth them. It worked very well and got us out of a few sticky situations.

We encouraged guests to arrive by public transport whenever possible and we found that Reading was the ideal place to pick up anyone who arrived by train. There were plenty of moorings available just a short walk from the station and I spent many hours sitting on a bench outside the station waiting for guests to arrive. Reading station was a very modern one, built in 2014 and our instructions to them were that whatever platform they arrived on they were to go up to the concourse that spanned the full width of the station and acted as a footbridge and follow the signs to the Caversham exit. There is an escalator that leads down from the concourse and can be seen through the large glass wall of the station where I could see the passengers as they descended to the exit. I played a game with myself, trying to guess which of the folks on the escalator were our guests and over time I became quite good at it. It helped pass the time if nothing else.

If guests were coming by car then we had the problem of where to leave their car for the duration of their visit. We became friendly with a couple of boatyard owners and they allowed our guests to leave their car with them when they had the space. When that was not possible, we used a website where households who had a driveway to their property that was not used could register with the website and details of its location and cost would be published online . It worked well and was a win win situation; our guests were able to leave their car in a secure place and the property owner was paid for that privilege.

By 2019 we had been living on Art Deco for seven years and taking on guests for three of those years and we started to talk about giving up our nomadic lifestyle and returning to dry land. A number of situations came together and we decided that fate was intervening, all the planets were in alignment, the time was right for a change. The main reason was that we became grandparents for the first time, our daughter giving birth to a little girl in the June of 2019 and we wanted to spend time with our new granddaughter. We had stopped taking on guests after the summer of 2018 because it wasn’t enjoyable anymore, it was hard and stressful work and we were weren’t getting any younger.

The thing that finally decided it for us though, was the lifestyle itself, the atmosphere on the river had changed, and not for the better. More boats were appearing every year and with the government cutting the funding to the Environment Agency there were fewer lock keepers and the facilities were being neglected, when something needed fixing it wasn’t getting done. There were fewer and fewer free moorings and in many places the moorings were policed by companies who’d honed their skills managing city centre car parks. They required you to register and pay via their app, which was fair enough but in some places there was no internet connection which made it impossible to do so. That was no excuse though and there were tales of boaters being persued through the courts for non payment. Taking all this into account we decided that at the start of 2020 we would look to sell Art Deco but little did we know at the time that something the world was totally unprepared for was about to happen and it nearly scuppered our plans.

After the excitement of the opening weekend I fetched my pair of little orange boxes into the museum basin and took up residence. The museum boats were all moved away from the accessible bank and tied around the island warehouse for safety from vandals. Initially the museum was only open at weekends. I hadn’t really considered what a big voluntary task I’d taken on. There was no fence around the site and it was regarded as a public footpath. Most of the boats leaked and had to be pumped out regularly. I was working full time and had Lilith to finish rebuilding.

I don’t recall how I first met Dave and Al. They had just left school and, like most school leavers in those days in that part of the world, signed on the dole. They both wanted to escape from their respective parental homes, but didn’t have the means. They jumped at the chance of moving into an old boat and helping me to look after the museum. Dave occupied the Yorkshire keel Ethel and Al took up residence on board the Mersey Flat Mossdale.

Meals were taken aboard my floating chicken hutch, Mosquito, and mostly comprised dubious stews cooked on my little paraffin stove.

Although Dave and Al were long term friends there was constant tension between them. Al was quite tall and good looking. Dave was witty, in a slightly lugubrious and self deprecating way. Much of the bickering was connected to Al’s determination to outdo Giacomo Cassanova in his amorous conquests, and his delight in bragging about it. His dalliances frequently took him away to spend time with various ladies, which left the burden of boat pumping to me and Dave.

One of the odd things is that, though Mossdale and Ethel generally didn’t leak much, as soon as a resident went away, that person’s boat would sink.

I struck a deal with Dave, who had excelled at school woodwork. If he helped me to fit out Lilith I would give him Mosquito. We started gathering old pallets to break up for material.

Animals began to appear, mostly connected to another school leaver called Malcolm. His name was usually abbreviated to Mal, but then often, rather cruelly, extended again. I think it was Mal who brought us a rabbit that ran about in Lilith’s hold for a while. We referred to it as the guard rabbit, until it was stolen. A similar fate befell Butty, a rather plump black and white cat that Mal supplied in order to deal with a rat problem. She had no effect on the rats but had the unfortunate misunderstanding that cabin bilges were put there to act as litter trays.

It was the famously hot summer of 1976. Extremes of weather are not good for wooden boats, and constant heat causes their planks to shrink, potentially opening up leaks. We tested electric bilge pumps to destruction and were constantly charging batteries to run them.

We worked out an alternative method of draining bilges. The only building in use then was the Toll House. In its basement, at a lower level than the basin, was a tap. From somwhere we acquired a long length of alkathene water pipe, which reached all the way from the tap to the bilges of the nearest boats, usually George and Scorpio, the two Leeds & Liverpool boats, notorious leakers. If you put one end of the pipe in the deepest part of the bilge, and the other end on the tap you could fill the pipe with water. Once removed from the tap the water would run back and syphon out the bilgewater.

Just round the corner from the museum there was a night club over a garage. One hot summer’s night I was woken in the early hours by the sounds of shouting and splashing. I went out to investigate and found that the top wide lock was full of drunken revellers, with others on the sides encouraging their antics. They had all gone to cool off after a night of drinking and dancing. This became quite a regular occurrence through the heat wave, especially on Saturday nights. Happily, no-one drowned.

The government appointed Denis Howell as minister of drought. Indians in Leicester performed a rain dance, and achieved just a few spots. The Thames began to be pumped backwards and most of the canal system shut down. Not until October did the rains come, and they came with a vengeance. The cabins on Mossdale and Ethel were underneath planked decks, which had shrunk drastically. The water poured in all over Dave and Al’s bedding and possessions.
Al moved on to pursue further education in Rotherham. Dave completed Lilith’s cabin so I gave him Mosquito. He made a nice job of rebuilding its cabin then took up a woodworking job in the Midlands. He sold the boat to his successor as museum guard, who abandoned it.

Mal left to work on the gravel boats on the River Soar. Decades later, using a slightly different name, he contacted me via Facebook and offered to move to Ashton to volunteer for the WCBS. He’d just retired from a career putting on puppet shows at holiday camps. Unfortunately he then suffered a series of health problems before his Facebook account became inactive.

The last I saw of Mosquito she was sunk in the covered arm. Mossdale is now preserved as a dry exhibit. Ethel was broken up in 1985 as the museum didn’t have the resources to restore her. Lilith is at Portland Basin awaiting attention after over 40 years of further service.

If you’d like to help getting Lilith and other historic boats restored and working for the community contact the Wooden Canal Boat Society or phone 07931 952 037

The motor was running as well as ever, and the Mayfly was again looking her best as Jim and Amanda edged slowly out of the basin, having stayed a few days and were more than happy to be on the move again, despite the rather persistent rain and the ever recurrent cash problems.

Autumn was beginning to take more of a hold, and was most noticeable on clear nights and bright mornings when the thin plywood shell did not do much of a job of keeping the cold out. Their next main destination was to return the pollution monitor they were testing to Clive Prentice. Whilst looking forward to seeing him again, it also meant the end of any income from the device, and no further way planned to earn more. Nothing seemed to bother them, though as they were on the move again and that was what they did best.

“We ought to phone Marie in the corner shop at some time,” Jim suggested, as they passed under a bridge. “See what the state of play is back home.”

“This is home,” Amanda smiled. “But I know what you mean, except not today, let’s have the next twenty four hours just for the two of us. There’s nobody chasing or trying to arrest either you or me, and that’s sort of good I think.”

Jim smiled in reply, knowing their easy going routine had returned and both should be savouring it. They stopped for the night early in an area of open country to enjoy the evening, the meal, a long walk under the darkening sky, and the return, lit only by the stars to the warmth of shared closeness in the cabin. The breeze that had blown up since they retired gently rocked the boat until they both drifted off to sleep. They would have slept late into the morning had the noise of the breeze, which had now achieved almost gale force, not woken them at around six o’clock.

“That’s going to be a bummer,” Amanda said, lazily.

“Stuff it,” Jim replied as he stretched out. “We’re going to get more of this as the year goes on so we may as well get acclimatised.”

And more of it they got. Over the next week if it wasn’t raining, it was blowing or, just for a change, doing both.

They started each day damp and finished it soaking, but, fuelled by a hearty breakfast and strong tea, they plugged on forward though progress was sometimes only a third of their normal daily distance. Even with covers fully deployed, the wind blown rain still found its target, and, worse still, the force of the gusts pushed the boat all over the place.

Eventually they put anything that wasn’t waterproof in the cabin, and ran without covers, accepting saturation as a fact of life. By the end of each day they were chapped and sore from handling wet rope and windlasses. By the end of the week, Amanda had a bad cold. The weather continued as wild as it had been.

“Right,” Jim eventually said, “You stay in the cabin today. There’s no way you can work.”

Amanda protested, but knew he was right, despite which, she was pretty sure he was going to catch the wretched cold and then it’d be her turn. Both were correct, In another day Jim’s temperature had risen to what Amanda had decided was probably a dizzying height and she insisted that they both stop until they felt better.

“We weren’t born to this,” she croaked. “And I think even old Lou would let us off for a day or so.”

“I remember,” Jim said. “He didn’t want you roughing your hands up.”

The cough he’d developed stopped him saying more.

The rain, mist and wind made everything on Mayfly seem damp and cold, mainly because it was. They used the paraffin stoves to provide some warmth, but they were noisy, smelly and the instruction booklet that came with one of them warned they shouldn’t be used as space heaters. The daily walk for provisions and water added to the general state of gloom that had settled. They were again running short of money, and each day they did not travel eroded their budget further.

It was the weekend before either of them felt fit to move on and, with slightly improved weather, they edged off towards their planned destination, a canal bridge quite near to Clive Prentice’s business. Taking things easy, thankful that the wind, at least had died down, the covers could stay up sheltering the sporadic rain. With gradually clearing rain and small periods of sunshine, Jim tried hand towing to save petrol claiming that the exercise would do him good.

With the holiday season over, they could go on for over a day without seeing another boat on the move which meant that they avoided daft comments and offers of help, as happened previously, from people thinking they had broken down.

“We’re going to have to think of ways to keep warm once the real cold weather starts,” Amanda pointed out, coughing as she did. “Or we’ll catch something really bad and be found frozen to the marrow in midwinter by one of the lengthmen.”

“Best not buy any marrows then,” Jim quipped, knowing his partner was right.

The eventual solution came from a pile of fly tipped waste.

“If we heat the bricks on a small campfire, we can put them in one of the empty deed boxes," Amanda said. "Kind of like the haybox cooker in reverse. It’ll keep the real chill out of the cabin."

“That one worked,” Jim smiled. “At least I won’t be thinking you’ve gone bonkers whilst we make the thing,” he added with a laugh.

“OK then” Amanda smiled, “Let’s go for it. We can do this Jimbo! Last one to find a bit of wood is a lemon!”

Optimism had returned and the pair set off with a new enthusiasm towards their destination.

(©2026 Michael Nye)

Over the summer I have been drawing and painting in some wonderful places around Preston. Haslam Park and Nature Reserve has been a particular source of inspiration, encouraging me to get outside and create. The Lancaster Canal inspires me too, and I often think how lucky I am to have all this on my doorstep.

I recently became aware of the 'Visions of Preston' art project run by Climate Action Preston. It is an Open Call to artists in Preston with the brief: 'How could we thrive, in harmony with nature and with each other?'

We are encouraged to think about familiar places like the Lancaster Canal - green spaces, old buildings and building sites - and imagine what we would like to see there. What would be fun, beautiful, and helpful to the planet and to wild creatures and plants? We are asked to consider Friends of the Earth’s “Hope Starts Here” poster to help us think about what could change in Preston to make things better: how we get around, grow food, and share things.

Could that patch of land become a play space or a vegetable plot? Could that empty building be used as a workshop or youth club, or be taken down to create a green space or nature reserve? Could the city centre be full of plants and wildlife? Some streets could become playgrounds. How could we find space for more trees? What could we do with the city rooftops, and how could we encourage people to use cars less, so it’s nicer and safer to walk around? What about the canal and riverbanks - is there a way we can enjoy them more without endangering wildlife or children? What about Preston Dock, the biggest in Europe in its day, which sits empty most of the time now? And the old railway lines?

With this brief in mind, I have been travelling around my favourite places in Preston, wanting to paint the beautiful, exciting and uplifting things I find - plants, creatures, a favourite insect or bird, energy. Our colourful canal and waterways can be shown in so many ways.

I have submitted a piece for the forthcoming exhibition for consideration, my acrylic painting, Bexhill Road Bridge (No. 15) Ingol, on the Lancaster Canal. A favourite place to watch the sunset and reflect.

Details of the exhibition venues will be announced over the summer. Venues being approached include the Harris Museum, Preston City Hall, Preston Bus Station, and local community centres and libraries.

‘Summertime, and the living is easy.

Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high

Oh, your daddy’s rich and…’

Oh, hello.

Nearly missed you there as I lean against the brickwork of old bridge number 38, eyes half closed, strumming on my banjo, in my straw hat and plaid shirt, reflectively chewing on an ear of corn.

Yes – summer is upon us and I’m in the mood to relax through the lazy, crazy, hazy days.
And let my imagination have free reign. (Hence the crazy).

For example – the plaque on the downstream side of the bridge has disappeared.

How?

Why?

Did someone maliciously remove it and weigh it in for scrap? Probably not because the one on the upstream side is still there.

Did it, after all these years simply drop off, perhaps because the straining fixings holding it to the bridge’s crumbling masonry rusted through.

And if it did plummet into the cut and, more importantly, if no one was around to witness the event, did it make a splash?

Perhaps it struck a duck, killing it stone dead, as it struggled vainly to overcome the laws of gravity.

Come to think of it, have you ever seen a dead duck? Floating along on it’s back, little webbed feet pointing at the heavens.

No – nor me. Not in all these years of wandering the towpath down here by the Staffs and Worcs canal. I wonder what happens to them as they shuffle off to the afterlife, perhaps to be reincarnated as a three toed sloth – if you believe that sort of thing.

Perhaps they don’t die at all. Ducks may be immortal for we know. In fact the only dead duck that I’ve heard of lately is Keir Starmer. (Sorry – never write about politics, not even in jest. Some things simply aren’t funny).

And if the plaque is indeed now languishing in the silt, why did it sink?

No, it’s not a silly question at all. After all that great lump of steel that you’ve just driven into the bank, carving out a great wedge of Staffordshire countryside as you attempted to sail past - that floats doesn’t it? Otherwise you’d be rather damp now, let’s face it.

Yes, I’ve heard about displacement and that sort of stuff - frankly I don’t understand the concept - but who came up with that daft idea?

Imagine if you will, the inventor of the steel hull, busily welding bits of iron together and chucking the finished fabrication in the nearest lake to see what happened.

How all the other shipbuilders since the time of Noah, gaily nailing together that famously buoyant material – wood - would have laughed at the disaster befalling the hapless blacksmith as his creation sank to the depths.

But it didn’t. It floated! How I ask you, how?

That rental boat that you’re chugging about in weighs more than the now sadly departed bridge marker. Considerably more, considering that the fridge is stocked full of cans of lager to keep the captain on a less than even keel.

The mystery of it all eh?

What’s that, sorry?

Oh, you’ve got to go.

Well nice to chat.

If you turn around at the next winding hole to make your way back to the marina, why don’t you join me as I muse on the complexities of quantum physics and the ability of socks to seemingly wink in and out of existence. Perhaps they inhabit alternative dimensions?

Yes, summer. The time for quiet reflection and meditation.

You can’t beat it can you?

‘…and your ma is good lookin,

So hush, little baby, don’t you cry.’

Oooh, look – it’s raining now. I wonder why?

By the way – in case you were wondering, this was not written by an AI thingy.

I AM NOT A ROBOT.