I'm not that much of a fan of Impressionist paintings, if I'm honest. R, who is, thinks I'm a Philistine, and he's probably right, but I always think they'd be better if everything was a bit more in focus. However. When I processed this image I was pleased to discover that the lens had rendered the water behind the bird in quite an unusual - and I'd venture to say Impressionist - way.
Stratford at 10.30am today resembled one of the Circles of Hell. Traffic was queuing from the bottom of Bordon Hill, which is about a mile out of the centre of town; it was full of day trippers looking for entertainment and yelling at their children; and worst of all, the south side of the river was nigh-on inaccessible due to flooding. But the light was lovely, and as I walked the north side from Old Town through to the Bancroft Gardens I found plenty of birds to photograph. Once I got to the Bancroft Basin though, it was all about the water, and I spent several minutes standing in this spot, happily snapping away as the changing light and ripples created different effects.
This afternoon R and I cleaned the cooker. Because of course you need to do that, three days before you're going to open roast a turkey in the oven, and boil or fry fifteen different kinds of vegetables (and a Christmas pudding) on the hob.