Messing about on the River Frome

One bright April, we hired a rowing boat, and rowed it up the river - it was the weekend of a Royal Wedding - we took to the river with great enthusiasm and lack of skill - I picked up the oars first, my arabic scarf wrapped around my neck - I dipped the blades of the oars deeply into the shining river - the boat lunged from one side of the river to the other - I had to work out how to row evenly with the oars - once I'd done this, I  felt an absurd sense of pride - I was messing about on the river -

Bubbles and ripples of water streamed from the bows of the boat - on each side of the river were tall reeds, densely packed together - willows, alders and oaks leaned out over the water - beyond the reeds were fields, or, nearer the bridge, smooth lawns of riverside villas - ducks circled in the shallows, wary of pike - 

After five minutes or so, Anne took over with the rowing - she rowed like an Amazon, competent and strong - we moved smoothly up the river, away from the bridge - I sat like Saunders of the river - I could hear my bearers, singing my praises - 

We pulled the boat into the river bank, under an alder - the branches and slender leaves formed a tangled screen over the reeds and the shallows - I wished we had an inexhaustible hamper inside the boat, like the water rat in The Wind in the Willows - we made do with Fentimans Victorian Lemonade, back in The Salt Pig -

On the way back, downstream, Anne rowed past boats moored to ramshackle landing stages - most of the boats had a louche, slightly shabby, air - I imagined myself sitting on the bow of one green boat, careless and idle, drinking beer, throwing the empty bottles into the water -

Walking back up Wareham High Street, we saw a picture of the prince - union jacks were hung over his head - I spent some time considering the nature of the prince's expression - what, exactly, did it signify?