Nights are drawing in, the leaves are turning to golden autumnal hues and pumpkins are popping up around the neighbourhood for Hallowe'en. The houseboat is presently shrouded spookily in her all over dust jacket, a weather proof cover to protect the superstructure, while two punts flanking Heather, are eerily lit after dusk.
Some have seen strange grisly spirits traversing between Wroxham Broad up bridge reach on the choppy river tide. Who can tell what shadows shift between the uncanny jumble of new and old buildings, on the waters edge?
Yet, the redoubtable spectre of Broadland culture lingers... A waterman has left his tweed cap and black gum boats in the well of the punt... his pewter tankard is empty, perhaps awaiting a top up from one of the nearby taverns... the former Castle Inn, Wroxham, was a favourite haunt of river folk.