Above, the view through the rainy windows on the way to Cound. Looking at the River Severn.

Sunday morning. I like to watch fishing programmes, or at least have them in the background. This morning, Bradley comes into the kitchen, and says he like them too, pulls up a chair and watches. Later, I ask what he wants to do today, he says "fishing."

So, we head off to Cound Lake.

The red line is the way we walked, stopping every now and then to look into rabbit holes and throw stones into the lake.

One, looking back the way we've walked.

Two, looking further at the little bulge.

Three, the other lake, where there's a few brick built bird hides.

And, of course after a hard afternoon's fishing, we call into the pub.

We have fun, play tickling, looking down the glass floor at the old water mill, used in the foundry, playing, "look at that!" While we steal each other's crisps.
We leave as some others do also. "See-ya," they say. Bradley, also says, "see-ya." Like he's been going there for years, this is only his second visit, I believe. Everybody laffs. The land-lady, who remembers when I went in there with Esme when Bradley was first born, always makes a fuss of him; she calls out, "Bye Bradley!" "Bye." He says, as we walk out. Ever so naturally, like everybody knows his name. I didn't know she knew his name, anyway. She comes out to the door, as we're walking across the car park. I says to her, I thought she was saying bye to someone else called Bradley... We smile. Bradley does a dance by the car, which make me and the land-lady laugh. I like this pub.

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Other title(s) for this story: The fishing lake and pub with Bradley