When I was in Oxford a couple of years ago in a noisy pub, someone shouted in my ear if I'd like to have a pint; at least, that's what I thought I'd heard. Feeling thirsty, I readily agreed. Imagine my surprise when I was summarily marched out of the drinking establishment, taken to the river, and put into a wooden raft of death (or so it seemed to me)! Well, perhaps the story didn't unfold in quite this way. Nevertheless, I did find myself being punted down the lazy Cherwell on a grey spring day.
My last post about the geese floating away on calm waters brought to mind my punting excursion. I must admit that I set out with great trepidation but ended up feeling like the Queen of the Nile.