Goodbye Helyn, hello....

What a long and exciting day it's been today. No sooner had I put the ad up on Apollo Duck yesterday than I got a call about Helyn, from someone who was clearly very interested and knew exactly what they were looking for, and wanted to come today to view the boat. I took at the call while waiting for my train into work, and then immediately rang Jim to let him know the good news. He was not exactly over the moon - there are loads of little things I still have to do, he wailed, not least get the new battery...

Well, between us we had her ready for inspection by lunchtime today, and I must say she looked great. The engine was running and everything working and/or shiny. We were a bit worried when the potential purchasers failed to materialise at the expected time, but this turned out just to be due to traffic. Anyway, the upshot was that they bought the boat there and then, and Helyn is now on the way to a new life in (and around) Watford.

Mid morning, I received the phone call - well, voicemail - that I've been holding my breath for since Tuesday, and the outcome was - jubilation. But it's been such a long and exciting day that I shall have to continue the story tomorrow.

So farewell Helyn... I hope

I am feeling quite pleased with myself. This morning I finally compiled the Apollo Duck advert for Helyn, probably taking a good couple of hours over it, and then continually going back and editing all those bits that you only notice once it's finished and up there for the world to see. Then I dashed off to work, and whilst waiting on the station, got a phone call from someone who wants to come and see her tomorrow. So fingers crossed that they will be pleased with what they see... and then toes crossed that we will have something to spend the money on. I am currently holding my breath, the cause of which will be revealed soon, either with great jubilation, or with wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Have you noticed, if you have a scrolling mouse, that yesterday's rug photo is a rather disconcerting optical illusion? Move it up and down the screen, and it appears to get bigger and smaller.

Tufty drill

I have just completed my third rug. The first sits in Warrior's back cabin, now on the side bed; the second was made as a present for someone else, and this one is, hopefully (my record is not good, viz the two-inch-too-wide seat boxes) made to measure for the other part of the side bed.

The original one, despite hardly ever having been on the floor (and when it was, I stepped over it) is now looking suitably used. Most of this was achieved in one simple procedure of Jim putting a creosote (substitute!) soaked fender down on it.

I am well aware that having rugs on the bed is not 'traditional' - in fact, I learn that there may have not really have been any tradition of having or making them on boats - but they are nice to sit on, and I am very taken with the visual effect of the way the tufts curl. I might try something more ambitious - and even less traditional - next time. It's the cutting up the strips of fabric that's the gutty part; actually making the rug is great fun and very rewarding. Unlike the last two, which were made on rug canvas that I had left over from an earlier project, this one is made on a fairly course hessian - the sort that garden centres sell for wrapping up your yuccas in the winter. I thought that it would be harder, but once I had decided on the spacing, it was no more difficult. The other day Jim was at Travis Perkins and saw a man with a lot of hessian sacks - empty sandbags, at 45p each, so I have asked him to get me some to play with.

Warrior came with a full set of upholstered cushions in the back cabin, plus a full set for the cross bed, all in very firm foam (well, they were built to support John Shotbolt) covered in luxurious royal blue dralon. You've guessed it - I couldn't stand them. They were too hard to sleep on comfortably, the devil to pack away in the cupboard, and the ones on the side bed just got in the way and collected dirt. So now they have all gone. We might be able to use some of them on Helyn (note to self: do Apollo Duck ad soon!). I was impressed when I stayed on Chiswick with how comfortable the softer, thinner foam mattress was, that just rolled up into the bed cupboard, so we might get round to getting one like that made. In the meantime, if we have unexpected overnight guests (well, guest, actually; our cross bed accomodates one person and a calorifier, but they do have warm feet), then they can take the cushions out of the saloon. And they will have a pretty rug to look at.

Nice view

We have been able to leave Warrior on the very desirable linear moorings at Cowroast for a month courtesy of Mike, who contacted me out of the blue via CWF to offer us to tie up to his boat there, and subsequently by Bob, whom we met at Braunston and whose space we're using while he's travelling. Along with Bob at Braunston we met Jim and Sue, who have Owl and Hampton, and moor directly in front of Bob's space. So we have this lovely view out of the front hatches, for the brief time we're there. Hampton is a butty that has been subtly motorised, with a hydraulic drive to a propellor set into the ellum - which is made of steel, but you'd be hard pushed to tell. You can however see the hydraulic hoses, just about, in the photo, but it certainly beats chopping the end off.

Mmm, subtle

Here is the new mop, in its rightful place. You can see by the state of the paintwork on which it's resting that it hasn't yet been deployed at this stage, but it poses nicely. Savour its subtle stripes of black and dark grey. Now when I said it was going to be painted in Warrior's colours I had more in mind the red and cream, with perhaps some black or grey to set it off. Unfortunately, we didn't have any cream - that was all John the signwriter's - and we couldn't find the red. I was sure we'd bought a whole new tin of Craftmaster, but if we did. it's disappeared. Hence the rather understated and inadvertantly tasteful tones of the mop.

However, I am delighted to report that is swabs down really well. It holds a hell of a lot of water, which has to be squeezed out by treading on it, as the one design feature it lacks is the ability to spin; being fixed by just one central screw, the head rotates on the shaft if you try to spin it dry. Perhaps it should have had two nails (no room for two screws) but too late now. Anyway, notwithstanding that, it works really well, and the long shaft really is a boon.

Today I've been out nominally in charge of Tarporley again; it was a lovely day, perfect weather. Sadly the customers this time spent most of their time inside bent over worksheets of various sorts. I enjoyed it though. Didn't even nearly hit anything this time.

Here fishy fishy

This makes a change from feeding the ducks. There is no fishing at Cowroast, apparently, and there are some enormous carp here, who are very partial to a slice of bread. It's wonderful watching them racing the ducks for it, and snatching it from under their beaks.

Socialising at Cowroast

Very late in the day, but we have just said goodbye to Jim and Sue of OwI who joined us along with Alan and Cath, from CWF, whom we met at Braunston, for a lovely evening talking about boats, family history, school trips, coincidences and definitely not toilets.

We arrived last night and immediately went to the pub, which doesn't seem at all bad although the locals tell us that there are others that are better,and spent today mostly reading (me) while Jim fixed the chimney and reattached the fenders and various other jobs. It's time I was in bed, but I didn't want to miss doing today's post. More tomorrow....

What's on my desk?

Far too much stuff it would appear. It may not look like much, but I'm going to tidy it up now and see what's there. What should be there, obviously: monitor, keyboard, printer, mouse mat, mouse.

What's actually there:
On top of printer: case for phone (OK, need that to take to work today); card for Dean who is moving from his temporary flat (or extended holiday) on Battlebridge Basin to a house in Brighton; photo of me steering Chiswick; Birkbeck Stratford pen(very nice pens, our freebies); list of ideas for blog posts (this wasn't on it).

On the desk:
Camera; stapler; list of possible photos for blog post; receipt for additional beer purchased for works outing; list of peoples drink preferences for works outing; CD of photos from which I might be able to select one for the new Tarporley leaflet, which has been at the planning stage since last November (haven't looked at it yet); invitation and poster for the Angel Canal Festival; name badge from when I was ushering at the end of Faculty event; two sheets blank paper; card of man who is supposed to be getting back to me about an article on local councillors; new chequebook; bank statement; empty mug; Thames and Severn Canal book; DVD of waterways archive film (which computer is now refusing to play); address of Sebastian's friend in Orkney, who he might get round to visiting this year; another book - Ben Wilson, What Price Liberty; credit card statement (unpoened); two pencils; yellow highlighter pen; Political Studies Association pen with broken clip; contacts list for Tarporley; envelope containing spare exam papers from the week before last; one copy of the journal Politics; one copy of Political Studies; another yellow highlighter; post-it notes from the University of Portsmouth; HNBOC AGM minutes; letter from Canal Boat returning my subscription cheque because they said I hadn't sent my address - it was on the form they returned with the cheque; two A4 plastic wallets; another freebie pen; freebie coaster; to do list (at the bottom of the pile).

Now all tidied away, so it will be nice and clear when I get back from Cowroast.

Which item isn't in the photo?

Works outing

Yesterday we had an 'awayday' at work; it's because our whole institution is being reorganised, and I'm going to be part of an entirely new department. We mostly already know each other (there are thirteen of us), but there are a few people I didn't know very well. The awayday was about planning the department's priorities and how to make it successful, and wasn't nearly as bad as it might have been - there was some stuff that was a bit cringy, but mostly it was focussed on practicalities and hopefully will have established some concrete plans to get us off to a good start.

Anyway, enough of that - which is what we all thought at the end of the day. Months ago, at one of our earliest meetings, I suggested that a trip on Tarporley might be a good way for us to get to know each other better, and have fun (although obviously for budgetary purposes it was a teambuilding event), and it was decided that after the awayday would be the ideal time, so five o'clock saw us emerging from the tube at Camden Town, me trying to keep the party together like an ineffectual school teacher, and making our way up to where John and Peter were waiting for us above Hampstead Road lock.

I'd been dithering as to which way we should go; the original plan had been to go west, towards Little Venice, although I had thought that we wouldn't have time to get there. The alternative was to go east through Islington tunnel and beyond, but I wasn't sure how far we would get that way either. John said that although we wouldn't have time to stop there, as I was a 'special' customer (!) we could go to Little Venice, turn around and come straight back, so that's what we decided to do.

The supplies that Ben and I had laid in on Monday were, where appropriate, nicely chilled, and we poured, dished up, and distributed. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. The weather could have behaved a bit better, but at least the rain stopped some times, and some people didn't mind it at all. Nearly all the drink was drunk and the washing up was done, as we drew up to Tarporley's Kings Place mooring... and sailed straight past! John had forgotten that we weren't going east as well! This caused some consternation as people had planned what trains they were going to get back from there at around eight o'clock... instead we proceeded to City Road lock, where a number of passengers disembarked, and Peter escorted them to Angel, from where, we hope, they safely found their way home (Jane having joined us earlier).

The remaining interpid souls opened the last bottle of red wine and enjoyed the experience of going down a lock for the first time (we couldn't wind below City Road because of boats moored there), and through the tunnel again, and it was some time after nine when we got back to Kings Place and finally tied up at the end of what had been a very long day. Still, it has been suggested that we make it an annual event, which certainly sounds like a good idea to me!

Interlude

A Royal encounter... And no, they didn't touch.

Additional reading

Having so enjoyed The Thames and Severn Canal, my next bedside book is going to be Mike Clarke's history and guide to the Leeds & Liverpool Canal, which is on our summer itinerary (provided there's enough water in it). The book was a Christmas present from Carl-next-door, who hails from up that way. I shall also be preparing for the journey (on which we also hope to include the Rochdale) by perusing the wonderful Pennine Waterways website.

This weekend we are off to Cowroast to deposit all our luggage, and hoping to meet some of the other moorers there, as they sound such a nice bunch of people, and we will be setting off on August 1st.

Tomorrow I have a work 'awayday' (which necessitates getting up early; my how spoilt I've become), but the reward at the end of it is that we (our new department) are going on a trip on Tarporley. I secured a budget of £75 for refreshments, and yesterday took a keen (and fit) young colleague to Tesco's on the Caledonian Road to purchase a selection of (relatively) fine wines, beer and crisps; I am determined that this should be a cut above usual work catering. So I may not be back in time to post tomorrow, but I will give a full account on Thursday.

New review

Following a rather convoluted process, involving complaining about my subscription on CWF and soliciting some freebies, I ended up agreeing to do a book review for Canal Boat magazine. The book they sent me was a new edition of Humphrey Household's definitive account of the Thames and Severn canal. My heart sank a bit, as I'm far more interested in boats, boat life and carrying companies than in the development of canals, but I'd promised, all enthusiastic, so I thought on Saturday I had better make a start on it.

They only wanted 150 words, which is nothing; by the time I'd got the history of the edition down and a few interesting facts gleaned from the press release and the intro, there was only room for about another forty. So I thought I should glance through it so I could give an idea of the main content, and do you know what, I couldn't put it down! Probably in large part because in contrast to many similar works it's very well written (although the new edition has either introduced or left uncorrected a number of annoying typos); it started life as an MA thesis, which shows in the meticulous and extensive referencing, and also on the enormous range of archive sources consulted, and was shortened (my god, how long did MA theses have to be in 1958?) for book publication, in 1969.

Household makes a really good story of the the development of the canal, from the inadequacies of the river navigations that preceded it, and there isn't too much - but presumably sufficient - of the engineering and financial detail that other accounts often seem to get bogged down in. There are death threats and sabotage too, for added spice, and, what really wins it for me, the individuals concerned and the problems they face really come to life.

There is also one of those lists I like so much, of some of the goods carried in the late eighteenth century: Oil in runlets, hogsheads, puncheons and pipes; puncheons of perry; sugar in lumps, loaves, bags and hogsheads; firkins of butter; bobbins and matts of flax; pockets and bags of hops; casks of purgative squills; sticks of timber; a tierce of alum, and eight serons of barilla.

I haven't finished it yet; three chapters to go. But I certainly shall. And then I shall have the difficult task of cutting my review down to 150 words after all.

I doubt whether CB are planning to pay for this opus; for 150 words it would hardly be worthwhile. Certainly, in academic cirles it is accepted that you do reviews partly because it looks good on your CV (although reviews don't count for much) and because you get a free book. We are absolute suckers for a free book, even if it's one we never wanted in the first place. On this basis the most lucrative review I ever did was my first, 700 words for a journal called History of European Thought, of a new four volume compilation entitled Liberalism: Critical Concepts, which now sits proudly on my office bookshelves, bearing a retail price tag of £475. Yes, four hundred and seventy five pounds. I wasn't even particularly nice about it.

Brass band practice

The prototype chimney has performed well in its sea trials, and has been brought home for finishing touches. Particularly pleasing is the fact that it doesn't rattle, and also that if the bolt in the hinge is sufficiently tight, the chimney collapses in a restrained and controlled fashion, rather than with a resounding clatter.

So it will now be taken back to Warrior (we are going up to Cowroast next weekend, to deposit all our luggage for the trip), and the lower part will be sealed onto the stump which Jim tells me is called a spigot. One of the improvements made yesterday was to shorten the bolts that hold it in place so that they don't protrude. A further refinement was the adaptation of a large Brasso tin as an extension to the chimney's height.

The other was the deployment of a small strip of brass that we found on Warrior when we bought the boat. Not quite long/wide enough for a perfect finish, but very satisfactory, and at last (fingers crossed) after all these years we have an engine pipe to be proud of.

Mopping up operation

I have long wanted a proper, 'traditional' mop. Ordinary ones, with their short handles, really aren't very good for dipping in the canal (especially if you're standing on the roof cabin top) and will never look as good sitting on the roof cabin top.

A while ago there was a thread on CWF telling you how to make one, so Jim took note and planned to do so. First we had to get a suitable shaft, which we finally purchased at Braunston. Eight foot of 1 1/4" diameter ash. Then there is the question of what rag to use for the mop head. Some people have suggested old coats ot old blankets, but I always had trouble working out where boatmen would have got these from - surely a new mop would have been needed far more often than an old coat was discarded. Then someone posted on CWF that a popular material was 'Croxley blanket', a kind of absorbant felt used in paper manufacture.

It occurred to me that the synthetic felt that these thick cleaning cloths, from the local market, are made out of might be a reasonable equivalent - and as they are the same stuff that modern mops are made of, would probably be pretty effective. So we settled on using strips of this.

First, Jim made a ferrule out of a piece of copper pipe and fitted it to the end of the shaft. This is to stop it splitting when the screw is put in to hold the strips in place. Then he made two large rubber washers, to go either side of the strips, and finally a metal washer before it is all screwed on. How to stop the screw and washer scratching paintwork etc when in use was a bit of a problem. The instructions talked about putting a leather strip around the whole assembly, but we couldn't see how the screw could be screwed in then (perhaps it should have been a nail). Anyway, we solved that by the simple expedient of getting the last strip and sewing it together over the screw.

The shaft is now primed ready for painting in Warrior's colours. We're not goung to attempt spirals, but will stick to simple bands. It may not be 100% traditional - whatever that might mean - but hopefully it will be an attractive, and more importantly, useful, addition to the boat.

Braunston snapshots

Getting ready for the parade on Saturday. L-R Chiswick, Victoria, Buckden, Corona.

Braunston snapshots

2. Josher in a bridgehole (which one? - the boat, not the bridge, that is).

Braunston snapshots

1. Sunday morning, just about to set off in the parade.

Press Ganging

Could blogganging be the new pressganging?

I suspect Jim and Sarah are wanting to check that their evil plan to corrupt a previously blameless soul and bring him over onto the sweet wet side, has fully taken root.

It's not enough to swear in privy your fealty to the narrow water; to renounce all salty lumpiness; to never say the word sa*l. A truly narrow person must swear out loud; in public; in blogger.

I suspect that their evil plan has indeed taken root.

I keep wondering how I could juggle holidays to get another boat trip in before it turns too cold and wet (but mustn't it be cosy to cruise with fires blazing?). Perhaps I could blog the plans and schemes to get time off work; to persuade the missus to go boating in autumn; and to persuade myself that I can really trust myself with Sarah and Jim's pride and joy.

Aye aye... oi oi?

I was delighted at Braunston when, in recognition of my becoming a Tarporley 'skipper', the crew of Chiswick presented me with my Captain's hat, gold (well, shiny yellow) braid and all. However, Wilhelm decided that it suited him much better....

This time last week (Sunday)

Oh, it seems so long ago now. On our final full day at Braunston we joined the parade again, this time both hitching a lift on Chiswick. It was a one way trip this time, as they were off to Oxford, so we hopped off at the turn. Highlights included passing Victoria just before the turn, snapping away (Sarah, I said sternly to myself, just how many photos of Victoria's fore end do you actually need?), and James and Mike deciding to have an impromptu tug of war - a rope was quickly thrown and attached, and they were off. After a couple of minutes an honourable draw was declared and we went our separate ways. Almost the best bit was watching a woman watching us from one of the modern boats moored on the towpath. She had a glass of wine in her hand, and never took her eyes off us, remaining completely expressionless throughout. No amusement; no anger or disgust; not even any bemusement. Nothing. You have to wonder why people like that bother staying alive, let along going boating.

Have you seen this man?

Dr Duct: Last seen wandering outside Gayton Marina at dawn on Monday June 22nd.

Should I be worried? We said goodbye to Craig a fortnight ago, and heard him getting up and leaving at four in the morning, having ordered a taxi to collect him from Gayton and take him to Stansted, whence Ryanair (hmm) would whisk him to Denmark for a dry ice convention... and that is the last we heard of him.

Craig, if you're reading this, do get in touch. We're all worried about you. You're not in trouble - I didn't mind about the glass, honest. Running away from your blogging duties might seem like the easy way out now, but you can't run away from yourself... Far better to come back and tackle them head on.

Slipping

I cant help noticing that I'm slipping down the charts a bit here. At first I put it down to the lack of posts while I was away, but usually it picks up fairly quickly once I start posting again. So then I thought, perhaps my reader is on holiday... and suddenly realised, of course, Jim is still away. Just how many times was he looking at the blog every day before?

Anyway, we shall see, as he is now back and happily reunited with the laptop and catching up on his 900 emails. I took the car today and picked him up from Cowroast, where Warrior is borrowing a gorgeous mooring for the month. We had a nice lunch at the pub and I was delighted to note that in the ladies there was at least one proper old toilet, plus the lino worn right through on the floor in front of it. A sense of history at last. I wonder for how much longer before they gussy it up with carpet and new low level suites and automatic 'air freshener' dispensers and silk flowers (for which they seem to have a propensity in the rest of the pub) and dado rails.

This time last week (Wednesday)

We bid farewell to Michelle and Bill,

saw boats begin to arrive for the rally,

and thought that the weather would be nice the next day.

This time last week (Tuesday)

It appears that I didn't take any photos on Tuesday - probably because although it was a very pleasant day, spent in the company of Bill and Michelle, nothing very picturesque happened. We moved the boat down from above the top lock to above lock 2, and in fact could have gone further, as there was space in the next pound, but this was a good spot, ten minutes walk from the marina, and within sight of the pub. I think we spent the day sitting around in the sun and comparing notes of the British and US health/education/childcare systems.

Unexpected interest

Had a lovely chat with a bloke on the train this morning all the way from Newhaven to Victoria. We mostly talked about fishing quotas, but I was also able to share my excitement at the latest issue of NarrowBoat, featuring 'Grand Union Canal Carrying Co: Including 16 different liveries in colour.'

This time last week (Monday)

Hard to believe, but the photos tell me so, it was in fact on Monday evening that we arrived at Braunston, having left Cotton End at lunchtime on Sunday, and spent Sunday night at Gayton. Monday saw us travelling up Buckby locks with Bill and Michelle in Shilling, and by early evening we had met Owl (Jim and Sue) above Braunston top lock, where they advised us to stay. So Jim and I and Bill and Michelle were walking down to the Admiral Nelson, when we had the delightful surprise of meeting Chiswick and Victoria with Mike and James practising their thumblining, which was very impressive.

Live blogging... Postponed

Ah well, here is what I would have posted from Victoria's cabin top if the free wi-fi had worked, rather than making me go through an elaborate registration process and than asking me to pay...

I'm writing this sitting on Victoria's cabin top, stationary in the parade, and hopefully will post it when we get to the marina, taking advantage of the free wi-fi on offer for the weekend. It is marvellous, and at the same time seems completely normal, to be sitting on the top of this wonderfully imposing boat, courtesy of Mike and his dad, not quite watching the world go by, as all movement seems to have ceased since we stopped to empty the toilet... but it is fun watching the bemused non-historic boat in front of us trying vainly to fend off the big beasts from their paint work and wondering just what they've got themselves into... The JP2 is throbbing away underneath me, and just under my nose, Mike's dad is changing the seal on the Porta-Potti... Jim is three boats ahead on Chiswick; they were in front f us but Buckden and the bemused boat have intervened. So far I haven't been able to get on to the wi-fi, but we are now moving closer to the marina. Just been passed by Bristol and Argo, and are now approaching the marina entrance... Past the wonderful row of tugs... And have a connection!Unfortunately something seems to have gone awry with the log in process, and we are now nearly out of the marina again. But I have been brought tea and cake and a lovely sausage roll with mustard in it.

Hello, Goodbye

Our second day in Braunston draws to a close. Yesterday saw us move down from where we were above the top lock to above lock 2, much more handy for the pub. Jim went back to Bill Fen to fetch the car. First he asked the new landlord of the Nelson whether we could keep it in his car park or a week - no problem; then Jim asked about taxis to the station, and the landlord offered to take him himself! So I have nothing but praise so far for this pub - we ate there again last night and again the food (faggots this time; I'm not sure what our American friends must have made of that) was lovely. Jim spoke very highly of his too, which was waiting on the table for him when he got back with the car, a little later than anticipated owing to roundabout rearrangements at Northampton.
Today has been another fantastically sunny one, and I have done very little. We moseyed down into the village this morning for provisions and a look round, and had a long chat with the owner of Vesta. Other boats that have come past include Nuneaton and Brighton, and Pacific, which was rather gorgeous. I guess more will be coming from the other direction.
This afternoon we bade a very fond farewell to Michelle and Bill, finding it hard to believe that we only met them for the first time three days ago, with promises of meeting up again soon. And now we are going to do our duty as users of the patrons' car park and go and patronise the pub again, from where I shall attempt to post this.
(Actually, hunched over the bridge parapet)

Braunston: the fun begins already

Well, it's seven thirty on Tuesday morning, and the sun is streaming through the side hatch as I write this, tied up above Braunston top lock. It looks as is this is here we'll be staying, as we've been told it's already becoming chaotic further down. I haven't been down that far yet, only as far as the pub - the famous Admiral Nelson, recently reopened after a period of being closed.

This is the place where, according to David Blagrove's Bread Upon the Waters, the legendary Leslie Morton used to hold court in the days of Willow Wren. Sadly perhaps, there was little sense of history or atmosphere left, but on the plus side, the food was lovely; nothing flash, but my sausage, bacon and liver casserole was one of the best things I've eaten in a long time, and the chips were excellent.

Still, back to the beginning. Saturday lunchtime, I got a phone call from Jim to say that he and Craig had arrived at Northampton, well ahead of schedule, so I set off on Sunday morning to meet them at Cotton End at lunchtime. The plan had been to stay there until Monday morning, when Craig would leave for Denmark (the world of duct cleaning and dry ice is truly an international one), and Michelle and Bill would walk down to meet us and accompany us up the flight. Craig, however, had other ideas. Having been well and truly bitten by the bug, he was keen to get in some more boating prior to his 4 a.m. departure, so we decided to head off up the flight. I thought Craig deserved a treat after all those Nene locks anyway.

Thus it was that at around tea time, just before Gayton Junction we saw two people on the towpath that we instantly knew were Bill and Michelle. If they were surprised we hadn't waited, they didn't show it (we had been planning to let them know we'd arrived!). We quickly agreed that they would follow us onto the main line and tie up at Gayton, which we did, at bridge 47. We then enjoyed cups of tea and looking at each other's boats, and greatly enjoyed their company.

Then Jim, Craig and I set off to find a pub; slightly haphazardly, as Craig's internet connection was interrupted whilst doing his researches, but we headed away from Gayton and towards Milton Mansor, and the Greyhound, where Craig treated us to a sophisticated repast (I know it was sophisticated because it came on square plates) which was also delicious. Nice as it was, we decided that we should also investigate the village's other pub, the Compass, which was rather strange; a bit like our local at home, totally empty of customers with only the TV blaring out for company, so we drank up quickly and left.

On Monday morning we awoke to find Craig gone, as expected; he had found a taxi to pick him up from outside the marina, and after breakfast set off in convoy with Shilling to tackle the Buckby locks. We worked out a routine whereby littler 31' Shilling went into each lock first and came out last, and overtook us in each pound, and so we didn't need to open both monstrous gates. This worked well and soon we were up the flight and through the tunnel. As we came away from the tunnel, the steerer of a passing boat called out that he liked the blog! So thank you.

On the way down to the pub last night but Victoria and Chiswick, Mike and James proudly demonstrating their newly acquired and extremely impressive thumblining skills, whereby they use a line from the mast to pull the lock gates open, and as they come out, without the tension on it, the line undoes itself without the need for human intervention. We had offered to help them down the locks, but were clearly redundant.

As we approached Braunston locks we saw Owl, who we sort of knew from the forum, and they were very welcoming. As we made to go down the first lock they said we'd be better off staying at the top, so here we are. Braunston, I remembered all to late, has appalling mobile reception, and in order to even try to post this, I will have to go back down to the pub and stand on the bridge... and see what happens.

River and canal

On this 'canal-boat' trip, I've traveled about 200 yards on a canal - the beginning of the Grand Union canal to Cotton End wharf. All the rest was river.



What a difference already: the lock was easy-peasy. It's like taking off your lead boots, and springing about oh-so-lightly.



It was lovely on Saturday to meet a couple on the bank a few locks down the river. You could see they weren't just the ordinary gawker.



They explained they were canal people and they were thinking about coming up to the river but wanted to recce it first by car. They were thinking, (just thinking, mind) about going on the river because it was getting so busy on the canal (near Braunston). Chap told me sometimes you had to wait 20 minutes before you could get out (into the traffic, I presume).



As a complete newbie, I don't really have anything much to say on the pro's and con's of river/canal, but I think I said the right thing by enthusing over the nature on the river.



Just a bit worried that I might have said the wrong thing by explaining the bankside tension due to the contretemps with another boat (see below). They might think that we river people are a bunch of uptight, uncouth lunatics.

Shocking

Precious, moi? I hardly think so.

Jim's a fine fellow; his and Sarah's boat is most certainly ship-shape.

But I was shocked, really shocked.

The machine on the roof that stops you hitting other boats, is fixed on with Blu-Tak!!

Is this in any way proper?

Indirect, English and in a bit of a pickle

Now it's no great shakes to mention that narrow boating is pretty properly English, and the River Nene is heart of England, spires and squires etc and so forth.



Yesterday, we had one of the little downsides of Englishness, and got into a bit of a pickle with another boat. Such a disaster for Englishmen is this, that we even have to give it a foreign name: a contretemps.



The end of Friday, and then again the afternoon of Saturday, we'd ended up paired up with another boat going through the locks to mutual advantage. The other boat was skippered by rather a crisp, smart lady and her male companion. They were of a different social class to us. Not massively different, but enough to generate an edge of awkwardness, and just possibly suspicion.



The indirectness and diffidence of English-speak was a bit of a problem in the locks, especially above the sound of the engines. Nobody of course wants to give a direct order to another, nor be thought of as interfering in the other skipper's manouevres. As a result there was actually a good deal of mutual incomprehension - at practically every lock.



As a not-unrelated aside: practically the first thing the other boat's mate told me on the bankside was:- "My friend's the skipper. Erm, we're friends. We're not..., erm, ah... erm". Being the nasty brute that I am, and concerned to avoid misunderstanding (which is so easy to do), I often wonder should I clarify with: "Do you mean you're not sleeping with her?" I suppose you could go on and ask: "Does this mean that she is in fact available?"



Anyway: a little later on on Saturday afternoon, we rather got the impression that they would prefer to travel on their own. Leaving the lock first, Jim and I debated it: are we sure? What did they mean by saying: "You go on ahead" (it was in any event our turn to go out the lock first). Why had the other skipper made so bold as to give some (very good, as it turned out) advice as to how to avoid being knocked about in the lock 'when travelling on your own'?



Well we decided that they did want to be on their own. It cannot be denied that we did want to crack on and get to the pump-out near Northampton, and be ready for an earlier-than-expected rendez-vous with our admiral, Sarah on the Sunday.



We were just about to leave the next lock, when the other boat turned up. A cold chill ran through the blood. If they had wanted to hang back and separate, you'd have thought they'd have stayed out of sight until we'd left. Oh, sh*t.



Feisty skipper came bounding up the bank, I heard the word 'gall'. Stomped up to confront us with our miserable sh***iness. The 'F' word was used.



I suppose anybody can claim a misunderstanding, and it didn't cut any ice. No, siree. Fair enough: from her point-of-view, I'd have gone potty too.



We beat a retreat with that horrible combination of automatic, fight-ready adrenalin, and no small amount of shame.



For the whole passage up to the next lock we debated the rights and wrongs of the case, the handling of the upset, and what to do. The default position was of course: flee, and hope we didn't see each other again at close quarters. Should we try to make up by waiting at the next lock? Would that be giving in to the rather intemperate display? Would both parties feel far too awkward to see one another again?



We drove into the next lock still not really decided. Then: Oh bug*er - it's a mechanical gate. We can't leave them to do the mechanical gate. Can you imagine the fury you'd whip yourself into with each turn of the wheel?



We'd wait for them.



We waited ages. Doubts started to arise: perhaps they'd been so upset, they'd moored up. That fight-adrenalin was still there too. So* them, let's go.



When they turned up, we were most gratified to hear their surprise that we'd waited. They'd pootled along, little thinking we'd keep the gate open for them. Most gratifying, we had regained a little moral credit. Enough to allow us to speak, to express mutual sorrow over the incomprehension and misunderstanding. She and I wheeled the gate up and down together, a little joke was cracked about hands touching.



The genius of the English is that by the next lock, we were almost friends, and certainly more chatty than we had been before the fracas. No Sicilian feud here, and actually speaking more directly, and comprehensibly.



They've just gone past us a Cotton End, Northampton. We waved, chatted merrily and we quite miss our old pals now.

Rush rush, rush rush, rush

It's 10:40 pm, and the day has slowed down, and we're moored up at Irthlingborough. There's good mobile signal, and I've got time to post a blog and tidy up thr previous attempts.



Another great day, and, for me, the fun of learning to drive the boat. 'You can't break it', says Jim. Unfortunately you can break crockery with a bit of a slam into the side of a lock when the paddle comes up. I may have to build a church dedicated to Sarah out of the fragments.



I still can't get over the rush, rush of life on a 6mph boat. This morning I started to put on the sun protection jollop, got the face and arms done, then had to break off for something another. About an hour later managed to do the legs. Went down to get the binoculars, and then a lock came up, then one d*mn thing after another: 3 hours later I got to use them!



It's fabulous: I tried to see if it was possible to get bored. What's the longest period of time you could go without finding something of interest? I managed about 1 minute and 15 seconds (well, about 75 elephants) before something turned up (a dragonfly).

The new chimney

Here are the photo's of Warrior's smart new chimney.

The second photo shows the cool swept-back arrangement -mmm rakish.

Fold-back was nearly done involuntarily at a bridge east of Islip. Would have been an interesting test.

When running with the pipe down, it's like blowing across the neck of a bottle. At least it reminds you to put it back

Still a bit of a movie

Today we're in more open countryside from Elton westwards towards Islip, possibly mooring at Irthlingborough tonight. Now the movie is much more American road movie: big Anglian skies, rolling countryside.


Two red kites performing in front of us, and then being chased off by the adult rooks in a huge, noisy rookery.


Oh and achingly beautiful Fotheringay church. As Jim said: in them good old days when wrong was done, somebody paid a penance. They demolished Fotheringay Castle where Mary, Queen of Scots, had been done down, and built a mini-cathedral, complete with flying butresses to atone.

Bit like a film really

What a marvellous day, the first day was (bit of a blog cock-up yesterday, when uploading from the pub - wonder why?).

For me, the first time proper boating, outside the one previous Little Venice-Limehouse trip.

Even just the first mile out of Bill Fen, along the Nene Old Course, was an astonishing treat of nature.For boaters, it's perhaps ordinary, but for the newbie the scene up the straight-and-narrow is so movie. Had the sensation of watching a pianola roll unfold before me. A coot; a (not sure which) duck; a beautiful goose and goslings, a dragonfly of the most iridescent hue, four swans line abreast taking off in front of us, only slighter faster than us, and (my all-time favourite) martins ducking and diving (actually do neither of those things, but you know what I mean).

All this - and it just unfolds (or unrolls) before you.

Fantastic

Oh dear, a poetic thought

I guess I'll have to sort out the file/camera uploading problem and try to video this, but...

Isn't it lovely how the lily pads, and especially the yellow flower heads, bow, scrape and curtsey under the bow wash as you make your rather regal progress in a narrow channel?

Feeling a tad privileged

Rush, rush, rush

Well, I never thought I'd say it but this boating lark is just all rush.

We've made great time, arriving at Elton this evening at 8:00pm, after setting off from Bill Fen at (a bit later than we imagined) at 8:00am.

Jim would like to suppress the fact that he's in gastro-pub, The Crown Inn, Elton, Cambs. By Jimminy, it's nice nosh, and even nicer beer

Would love to upload the photographs of our smiling, happy faces, of the new 'swept-back', retractable engine chimney on NB Warrior, but a bit of a cock-up on the file location front.

So, yes: rush, rush, rush - got a bit side-tracked off that theme.And that, it turns out, is the theme of narrow boating

And they're off

The licence arrived this morning, and this afternoon Jim is picking Craig up in Eastbourne and heading over to Ramsey where they will spend the night before setting off tomorrow morning.

Over to Craig then for the next few days....

K&A Awayday

I had a lovely day out yesterday on the Kennet and Avon - a waterway I have never boated on before - thanks to my friend Mike and his colleague Mark. Mike has been doing some steering on the Kennet Cruises trip boat Lancing - and knowing that I would like to add another big Northwich to my collection, asked if I would like to come along. Of course I didn't need asking twice!

Mike met me at Reading Station, and we walked down to his own boat, below the gaol, and I had my first introduction to this eclectic and challenging waterway, as we travelled through the Oracle shopping centre - a waterside completely and deliberately bereft of boats; a variety of locks and of landscapes, arriving at the Cunning Man pub at Burghfield Bridge.

From there we made the brief walk back to pick up Lancing, where I met Mark of Kennet Cruises, who made me feel very welcome. When I asked for instructions, I was instructed to go down to the bar and get myself a drink! Yes, they have a licenced bar - not that I took advantage of the licence, you understand. I got to have a little steer on the way back to the Cunning Man, where we were to pick up our passengers, and it was a different experience on the rivery Kennet, with its currents and silt banks, than on the Regents Canal, although I only tried on an easy bit.

Having collected the passengers (eighteen of them! Heady stuff - Lancing is licenced for up to 44, compared with the 12 that Tarporley, as a community boat, is permitted) we continued up through the next lock and on to Garston lock, just below which we turned around. This is where I came into my own, persuading all the passengers to crowd into the front of the boat so that the back end could just clear the mud. Amazingly, this works. We reckoned that they probably weighed at least a ton in total. Then back to the Cunning Man for the passengers to disembark, and all had thoroughly enjoyed it. That is one of the nicest things about running boat trips; you really get the chance to make people happy, even if only for a little while.

Looking at the Kennet Cruises website just now, I was particularly impressed with their potted history of Lancing, which is clear, interesting and engaging.

Wildlife

Photo removed until I can obscure the reg no - reaslising I have rather foolhardily just commented on another blog, with a link to this one, on the subject of how I have not sent off my driving licence to notify my change of address 12 years ago, in order, even back then, to avoid being issued with an ID card by the back door. I have a piece of paper that says I've passed my driving test and that's good enough for me.

For the first time this year, we have seagulls nesting on our roof. Clearly they do not want to stray very far from their two delightful (for about three and a half days) balls of fluff. I have invested in a tarpaulin for my beloved Bluebird.

Londoners who think pigeons are a messy menace should try moving to the coast. We had a gull in the kitchen earlier this afternoon, wondered in as bold as brass. Then when the cat flew at it, it tried to escape through the door that wasn't open, and then crapped on the floor before finally exiting. Round here we have herring gulls, and they are big, vicious bastards. And if you look at them closely, they're always dribbling.

Chim-chimenee...

Len the welder came round this afternoon with our new chimney. I hope the design works, because basically it was my idea. The existing roof flange thingy should stick up through the lower section. helping to keep the upper section in place. It's still pretty heavy, so we don't want it falling down too often, especially as it would land on the engine room roof vent, which is wooden, but it should be a lot easier to lower than it currently is to remove. As well as the tall one, we are having a shorter one for tunnels and stretches with lots of low bridges. This is why the hinge is held together with a removable bolt, so the top half can be substituted.

WRG - East Croydon chapter

Those of you who do not live or work in the heaving metropolis may be blissfully unaware that there is currently a tube strike on. However, as a result (and I will resist the temptation to give you all the details of our revised journey) Baz and I found ourselves on the platform at East Croydon last night with eight minutes to wait for our next train. As we sought to position ourselves so as to be right at the bottom of the steps when exiting the train at Lewes, a guard came up to us. Baz was wearing his IWA Festival Volunter T-shirt (that we acquired for him: he wasn't even there). 'Oh', said the guard, 'Which waterway are you saving then?' And then before either of us could get a word in edgeways, he proceeded to tell us in great detail about his plans for the Somerset Coal Canal. He was still talking when we got on the train. It was rather a surreal experience because, of course, I know absolutely nothing about that part of the country, but it was still nice just to encounter such an enthusiast.

Went the day well?

Indeed it did. Not only were my skills clearly (even if just about) up to the mark, the fates smiled upon me as well.

Thunder, heavy showers and wind had been forecast, and indeed the night before was very wet and windy, as I lay awake contemplating the day ahead. When I arrived at Kings Place about nine it was damp and chilly, and spotting with rain. Having explained to the relief security guard ('what boat?' 'That very big one just outside your door there') my business there, I went on board and started preparing for my first trip in charge. The first slight hitch was finding the log book and all the passenger forms in a pool of water where the window had leaked, but small matter.

Very shortly I was joined by Penny and Kelvin, 'my' crew, and between us we got everything ready and had a cup of tea before our passengers arrived at ten - a party of the cutest children you could possibly imagine, little moppets straight out of central casting, that even almost overcame my serious aversion to other people's children - at least until they started shouting 'Hello ev'rybody' in unison and kept it up for about half an hour.

And here's the thing: five minutes before we set off, the sun came out, and shone on us all the way to the entrance to Maida Hill Tunnel (we were going from Kings Place to Little Venice), when it started to spit with rain. Still, we stopped at Little Venice and the children were sent off to work off some energy, while the crew availed themselves of Westminster Council's most acceptable toilet facilities, and then as we set off again for the return journey, the sun came out again. And stayed out until the minute we arrived back at Kings Place.

I did not hit anything. I did not make a spectacular mess of anything; I even did one or two things quite neatly; I stopped in all the right places and for long enough for the little darlings to get on and off and help with the locks (and never was I so glad to be the one left on the boat, although I did do some lock 'n' child duties on the way back, which was probably the most stressful part, especially as apparently you aren't allowed to tie them together to stop them wandering off. Still, their innocent little questions... 'is it all full of wee and poo?'; 'How can it [lifejacket] help me float when it's additional weight?' (from a six year old)).

And when I got home, I was so exhausted I could barely stay awake for the European election results.

Jim's other boat

Ah, once again it's the time of year for the Newhaven Fish Festival. This event appears to go from strength to strength, being, in this, its third year, now provisioned with the dodgy funfair without which no festival is apparently complete.

Sadly, I was far to busy arguing on Canalworld to go and look at the fish this morning (still, when you've seen one...) but when Jim came back he suggested we take a stroll down the quay to take advantage of the lifeboat open day.

Jim has recently got involved with the lifeboat; not going off rescuing people, nor raising money, but participating in a scheme they run in which they check people's safety equipment. So he now feels quite proprietorial about the lifeboat.

The one based at Newhaven covers quite a stretch of coast apparently. Rather disappointingly, though, the vessel we went to see today is not the regular Newhaven one, but a stand in. It was pretty brand spanking new though, and even though we arrived just after closing time, we got to have a look over it.

They know not what they do...

Look what arrived yesterday.

And on Sunday I am let loose in charge of the boat for the first time. It is quite a nerve wracking prospect, but I think I shall just go very slowly....

Unfortunately I have just heard that rain and - worse by far - wind are forecast. Oh joy.

Duck!

I was at Kings Place yesterday afternoon, meeting a potential Tarporley customer, when there was a sharp bang followed by a thud. Looking round I saw a duck lying on its back on the quayside, frantically waving its legs. It had flown straight into the glass side of Kings Place. Oh no, I thought, it's in its death throes, how can I pretend this isn't happening... But a woman who was doing some sort of photo shoot rushed over, picked the duck up and turned it over, and it sat there looking a little bemused but very definitely alive and upright. I didn't see whether they took it away or if it eventually waddled off though.

One of the nicer features, to the human eye, about Kings Place is the way the wavy glass cladding reflects the sky and so doesn't obtrude as much on the skyline as more solid looking buildings, but it must play havoc with birds' visual navigation systems and small brains.

Outdoor Type

I caught sight of myself this morning, on the train, on the way to Tarporley; in my stout boots and hi-tech walking shorts, with my brown legs and increasingly muscular arms, and I realised that after all these years of sitting palely and flabbily in the corner reading a book, completely against the odds, I have somehow metamorphosed into an Outdoor Type. Wonders will never cease.

Dr Who?

I just noticed that there is a new contributor listed for this blog - hmmm, one 'Dr Duct'. You will be wondering what kind of company I keep. But never fear, it is none other but new crew member Craig. It is not his fault that he makes a living in the somewhat arcane field of duct cleaning. Next time you don't get Legionnaires' Disease, it's someone like Craig you have to thank.

So, the next step is to see whether this actually works.... so Craig, if you're reading this (and if you're not, I want to know why), how about tomorrow you introduce yourself... and a picture would be nice, got to test the upload function...

Well, they've gone and done it now

Thank you to Sarah and Jim, who've offered me, a newbie, the chance to sail the Nene from Peterborough-ish (don't need to know - the hospitable Jim has offered to drive) to Cotton End, Northampton 18-21 June.



What's more: I've been let loose on the Warrior blog! Surely they will rue the day.

Things I have learnt so far:

1. Maps and planning are very important (even though most canals only allow travel in one of two directions, intersections are rare, and most of the water stays put)


2. The Nene is said to be bereft of good toddling-distance pubs (I hope to prove this wrong, and will diligently heed all advice from readers)


3. The ability of crew to make tea is apparently as well valued by freshwater skippers, as it is by their salty cousins

The photograph here was taken on a brilliant day's sail we had with Sarah and Jim from Regent's Park to Limehouse, last September. I'm afraid it's the sort of uninformative, pretentious twaddle you can expect from me.

It's in the post

The boating season must be truly upon us, for we have posted off the licence application this morning. Last year we had a month's worth of BW plus various carefully selected rivers for our meticulously planned journey. This year... six months, for a very vague 'mmmm, think we'll head north... Rochdale... hmm... Leeds Liverpool...' As we get more boating experience under our belts it seems less important to plan every move, more possible to just wait and see; to consider leaving the boat somewhere for a week or two, or going to work from various parts of the country.

First stop though, Braunston, where (or just prior to where) we will hopefully finally meet up with Bill and Michelle from North Carolina, who were thinking of buying Andante, which is how we first 'met', and who went on to buy a lovely sounding little boat called Shilling.

I've relapsed

I'm not quite sure how it happened. A while before Christmas I gave up Canal World Discussion Forums, exasperated by a few trolls and an off-colour joke (no surprise that someone made the joke, but I reported it and the mods did nothing about it). So I just gave it up, cold turkey. For a while it was gloriously liberating. Suddenly there were more hours in the day as I sat at my desk. Suddenly I was no longer deliberately allowing myself to be irritated by total strangers' attitudes to the European Union/earth bonding/bridge hopping.

And yet somehow it has sucked me back in. I can't recall what it was that first made me take that first, fatal, little peek again. And suddenly, over this bank holiday weekend, I'm in it up to my neck again, worse than ever I think. Posting and commenting here there and everywhere; getting cross and exasperated and in turn annoying others all over again.

But there is more to it than that. Over the last few days I have sent a total stranger a Leo McNeir book that I no longer wanted, asked and received advice about licencing (as well as my mental state), been complimented on pictures of the boat, and found as many friends as enemies. The online world and the discussions in the Virtual Pub are a strange world, inhabited by oddly-named characters who may or may not bear any resemblance to actual people (or elephants), but they are none the less real for that. Solid, human friends like Bones, Baldock (I think he's human) and Moominpapa were met for the first time in cyberspace and might not otherwise have been met at all.

And of course if you don't like it, you can walk away. But you'll be back.

Welcome aboard....

Last night we went to Eastbourne to see Vicky and Craig, the latter of whom is accompanying Jim on the first leg of our next trip, from Ramsey to Northampton, so I don't have to. And in order that neither I, nor you, dear reader, should miss out on the fascinating details of the journey, Craig - who has identified at least four previously unknown pubs en route - will be blogging it right here.

After dinner we went for a healthy constitutional along the promenade and I saw for the first time the gorgeous bandstand which is the centrepiece of what is effectively an amphitheatre filled with stripy chairs, where the denizens and citizens of Eastbourne regularly gather in traditional fashion to watch tribute bands. Actually, I really like Eastbourne, and I could hardly tear myself away from here. As a bonus, the sunset had turned the sea a most unearthly glimmering pink, with little turquoise waves.

Tall tales

Back to the boring bits with a bump. As you may recall, Warrior's engine chimney has not been the same since its encounter with Osney Bridge last summer (moral: the time to take the chimney off is when you first think of it*).

In all the time we have had the boat, Warrior has never had a flash engine pipe. Initially it was a standard sort of chimney, but at some point cut in two and joined together with a cocoa tin. That took a few hammerings and I think eventually gave way at the join, so we only had half a chimney. Last summer we were running with the stove chimney over the top to give a bit more height, and as the stove chimney is a pretty solid bit of pipe, this was the source of our problems at Osney; unlike the old one with its cocoa tin fail-safe, or indeed a standard thin one, it acted as a lever and actually dented the roof. This isn't (we hope) visible, but it does leave the what's its name that the chimney fits over at a slight angle which is of course magnified if a pipe is put on it.

So, we need to overcome that, plus we want some sort of arrangement to stop that sort of thing happening again. On his new boat, John Shotbolt has quite a complex arrangement of a hinged chimney with a spring to return it to the upright and a wire so that this can all be done without letting go of the tiller. A bit OTT for us, plus since we fitted the engine room vent, running the wire would be very complex. But we have also seen, on Warbler and on Chiswick a simple hinged arrangement that can be lowered manually (but without the need to wrestle it off and worry about where to put it) and in an emergency will lower itself, albeit with a bit of a bang. I can't remember exactly what Warbler's was like, but Chiswick's was simply an intermediate section onto which a standard chimney fitted. They are produced by Tony Redshaw, and are quite expensive.

With all this in mind, Jim has gone down the quay to see Len the Welder who has some suitable pipe. The idea is to make a short lower section that will fit over, or possibly ultimately replace, the current what-do-you-call-it, and in doing so compensate for the angle. Attached to this will be a hinged tall section, with a lip inside to seal it and keep it stable. But - and this is my little refinement - the hinge will have a removable pin or bolt, so that if required the tall section can be replaced with a short one, rather than sitting a normal pipe on top of the hinged section. We even have some strips of brass we can decorate it with, if I could only remember where they were.

*Adapted from a sailing maxim found in a Libby Purvis novel, to give credit where it's due in case anyone recognises it, but applicable to a whole range of situations.

Gratuitous fore end picture

Ricky

With hindsight it would have been better to go by car, but we didn't, we went by train and sampled the delights of the outer reaches of the Metropolitan Railway - today they were running a vintage train, but not yesterday, when we went, and anyway, it was £20 a ticket, but as Jim says, they have to pay for its upkeep somehow.

I was pleasantly surprised to see what a turnout of old boats there was; we met up with Chiswick again, and Mike on Victoria, and saw many others. Stafford was there, the josher famously restored (if that's the right word for a full length cabin conversion) in Poland and currently up for sale for £150,000, and I have to say it didn't look all that impressive.

James does something fiendish to the engine

We were cheering Chiswick on in the first round of the tug of war, when John and Mary on Lincoln, a Hawkins boat with a RN DM3 running on waste oil, whom we met at the Uxbridge banter, invited us to contribute to their ballast in the next heat. From there we had an excellent view of proceedings. When that heat was over, Jim jumped ship to Victoria but I stayed to have a bottle of beer and enjoy the spectacle.

A couple of rounds later Chiswick was comprehensively overhauled by one of the Bantam tugs present, and followed that immediately by taking on another one - I think the second one was Wigan. Chiswick seemed to hold its own a lot better this time, but a select few were able to observe that it had in fact been tied to Callisto, which was tied to Victoria, which was tied to the bank... I'm pretty sure that the crew of Chiswick remained blissfully unaware of this favour.

After a few more rounds, and once Jim got back to the right side of the cut, it was definitely time for something to eat so we set off for the beer tent and food. The food was a bit of a diasppointment, lots of commercial outlets - where oh where were the KESCRG with their lovely veggy curry? But we had some Indian kebabs and followed them up with a couple of Cornish pasties (yes, well, it was tea time by now). There was also a very commercial funfair, and all this part was much busier and more crowded than the towpath. I was however able to indulge my compulsion to purchase hippy festival clothing, this time adding a pair of silk 'Afghan trousers' to my collection. Very fashionable this year, I'm given to understand. All the stars are lining up with great swathes of fabric hanging between their legs. Very practical though, silk, when boating. Screws up very small without creasing to be brought out for that one occasion when you need to look vaguely smart/clean/festive/female.

Then we strolled back up the towpath and following years of mutual blog-commenting finally met Jo and Keith on Hadar, who were lovely. We chatted for ages and I got shown over the boat, which is a masterpiece of simple design.

By then it was half past six and we decided to make a move for home. The uncharming ticket collector at Rickmansworth station insisted on relieving us of another £3.20 each on top of our All Zones Travelcard (you may wish to note for future reference that 'all zones' does not include zones 7 and 8), despite his charming colleague when we arrived assuring us that we would be 'very unlucky' if this were to occur.

Nonetheless, it was a lovely day, and I'm very glad that we went.

War

Today we went to the Rickmansworth Festival. These sorts of events have always been enjoyable, but it is miles more fun now that there are people we know to meet up with. We got to know some more new people today too, and I'll write more about it all tomorrow. In the meantime, here is Victoria and Lupin in the tug of war - the former being assisted by Jim, but I don't think his weight could make up for all Lupin's human ballast.

Throwing Bones to the dogs

Canal Boat have published a letter criticising one of their contributors - my attention was drawn to it by Granny Buttons this morning. My copy hasn't arrived yet, so this is based entirely on the section Andrew quotes, but it does raise wider issues.

For some reason (envy, it must be, mustn't it?), academics are seen to be fair game by anyone who can't string a sentence together but who comfort themselves with the thought that being able to wield a power tool somehow makes them superior. Actually, the reason might well be that in many cases a reputation for absentmindedness and utter, unbelievable, impracticality is, in some cases - I speak from personal experience - very well deserved. (Exhibit one: the historian who called in an electrician to change a plug. Exhibit two: the philosopher who came to work in odd shoes. Not socks; shoes. Exhibit three: the sociologist whose kitchen table was balanced precariously on its base for twenty years.)

Which is what makes the attack on Bones unfair. She is - and her column clearly shows this - actually very competent. Sure, she writes about what goes wrong along the way, but she always gets there in the end - and the things she attempts are more ambitious than many of her critics would dare try.

The column is primarily intended to be amusing - and there's nothing more amusing than things going wrong, so obviously this is the aspect that gets played up. But it fulfils a second function too - giving encouragement to people who might lack the confidence to try something new, by telling them that if things go wrong it's not the end of the world. It happens to everyone, and can be recovered from and learnt from.

So long live Bones I say. Academics of the world unite - you have nothing to lose but your glasses/coats/pens/bicycle ...