Ext. Day. The Pearly Gates.
St Peter: So, Chris, tell me what happened.
Chris: Well, there was all this wood just lying around, so we thought we ought to fetch it in for firewood for next year.
St Peter: I see. Where was this wood, exactly?
Chris: (Mumbling) By the weir.
St Peter: You say by the weir...
Chris: In the weir.
St Peter: In the weir.
St Peter: So, you were fetching firewood from in the weir....
A glorious Sunday afternoon spent in the spring sunshine in a tiny dinghy with a friend, sawing enormous logs into enormous pieces with a tiny saw. Grubby knees, close shaves, tired hands, cups of tea, and firewood for months and months.