Grey skies today, which must be a welcome respite for Mrs. No-ring after days of sitting in her hot moss duvet in the full sun’s glare.

One cool spot over the past week has been the North end of the Lake where the green-shadowed woodland edge of the Ouse River is full of flowers. White whorls of woodruff and garlic ramsons froth down the banks and pushing up through the flotsam and shingle of the shore, brilliant splashes of marsh marigolds gleam like wet gold.

At evening damp weed smells wander up from the water’s edge and the air hisses with the sound of numerous ephemeral insects flirting over the sliding river water until kissed to death by passing fish. So the sound of a distant splash in the twilight comes as no surprise. A human angler, or No-ring himself, must be out catching supper.