Basin and Bath

Day 8, Sandiacre to Langley Mill

This morning we shopped at the Co-op and polished the brass before setting off, as we had a date later with Dave and Izzy, owners of Bath and organisers of the sale of Chertsey. We met them as we approached the penultimate lock on our way up the Erewash, and they came with us all the way up to the Great Northern basin, where we are now tied up, looking very diminutive, to Bath. Dave and Izzy are longstanding stalwarts of the Erewash Canal Preservation and Development Association, and showed us many things that the Association has achieved over the years, including a restored Nottingham Canal Company toll office as well as lots more vital but less visible maintenance. Then they took us for a nice Indian meal, for which their inside knowledge of this town was greatly appreciated.

There was much excitement when Jim read in Nicholsons that the Association produces a plaque for those who have navigated to this point on the canal, and we are hoping that someone will appear in the morning to whom we can apply for one; also a guide - even post hoc, it should be very interesting. I have found this a fascinating and really enjoyable canal - so if you like the sort of things I like, it's highly recommended.

The trip so far has been a good physical workout, and I think I am starting to see results around the waistline; plus a goodly selection of insect bites. I wonder whether we don't have insects at home, or whether we do but they don't bite, or whether they do bite but I've become immune to them. Certainly I only seem to get bitten when I stray to foreign parts. I suppose here I should be reading Lawrence rather than Orwell... although in fact I haven't had much time for reading at all these last few days.

On Dave and Izzy's recommendation, we are going to visit the Chesterfield Canal before proceeding with the rest of our planned expedition. They have lent us a guide. They have also lent us (Jim?) a set of Trent charts. The necessity for this is making me quite nervous....

Soar point

Day 7, Barrow upon Soar to Sandiacre

We stopped at Barrow with the Soar on red, and a red light showing at Barrow deep lock. Naively we had assumed that this was an unbreachable injunction against proceeding further, but were told this morning that it has the same advisory status as the less technologically advanced level marker boards. So we bravely set off, only to pause again at Bishops Mill Lock, simply because lots of other people had. Someone gave us the number of the BW 'flood officer', and Jim rang him, and reported back that we could go, and indeed, so did lots of others. Oh yes, and we stopped in Loughborough for a paper. Then we stopped again at Zouch Lock to take stock, and remove some rather impressive polyester webbing from the prop, before deciding again to proceed (with caution, of course) along with out new companions, intrepid hire boaters. As we sailed towards Zouch, however, we encountered a Waterways chap. At first I thought he must be an impostor, as he wasn't wearing a lifejacket, but apparently not. 'The river's still in flood', he said, somewhat gnomically, I thought. Mmm, I said, are we OK for Zouch? (thinking that the lock might be closed to passage). 'The river's still in flood', he repeated. We rang the flood officer, I said. 'That's me' he replied. Well, I don't know exactly what he said to Jim, but it definitely wasn't 'DON'T'. And yet here he was, semi ticking us off, yet still not prepared to say that we shouldn't. It's all very well taking responsibility for oneself, and I am naturally all in favour of it, but it does depend upon having reliable information and advice from those in the know. I wish they would either come right out and forbid navigation, if it's dangerous, or else not tell people off for trying.

Anyway, we completed our passage of the Soar without any distressing incidents, crashes, sinkings etc, and emerged onto the vast Trent (which isn't in flood) and straight across onto the Erewash Canal. Well, this is my kind of canal. There are disused buildings whose beauty makes me cry. We are tied up tonight in Sandiacre, which is not terribly salubrious, but in front of the most stunningly beautiful vast Victorian lace mill, very nicely converted into flats. A similar building I photographed earlier, frozen at a moment in the process of dereliction (who knows, maybe one day restoration, but less likely now.). Another one in the process of being demolished. If I come back this way again, it won't be here.

A word about the locks, so far. You need a handcuff key for them (haven't used that since the Huddersfield), but frankly I don't know why they bother, because even once you've unlocked them, the ground paddles are utterly, utterly immovable.

Gary Lineker. Orange cheese.

Day 6, Friday August 7th, Kilsby Bridge to Barrow upon Soar

Had a fantastic signal last night, only to discover that Google wasn't talking to me. So yesterday's adventures will of necessity be compressed somewhat. Our travels took us through Leicester - well, I can only think of two things it's famous for, and I did rack my brains. After steering all day on Thursday, my legs were killing me. I tried sitting on the roof for a bit, and now I have a bruised bum as well, to add to the standard lock-gate bruised coccyx. Don't waste any sympathy on me, I love it. Never fear, the legs will toughen up; it's just that I don't do standing, as a rule. Anyway, today (i.e. yesterday) I did not-steering, i.e. working locks, making tea and sitting down. Twenty locks were accomplished, at a slow and steady pace, and we found ourselves at some mysterious point on the River Soar, which was of course in flood, as we had as always brought the rain with us. Most of that is for another day (which I will write in a few minutes).

Leicester is actually not all that bad; certainly it didn't seem anything like as rough as we had been led by many to believe. And the sun did finally come out while we were there, and has stayed out since. We tied up in Barrow after a long day, and went looking for a pub to have supper. The first one we came to, the Navigation, had big TVs and a rather uninspiring menu (this is Craig's fault for taking us to gastropubs). So we went on to the Soar Bridge, which is in the Good Beer Guide (a publication the value of which I am beginning to doubt). But they had stopped serving food at eight (on a Friday night! Truly we are in the sticks, or perhaps, being up north, they only have tea). So finally we tried some establishment that appeared to have been built to cater for the local caravan site. Whilst we were waiting forever to be served, a pair of children careened around the bar shrieking at the tops of their voices, so we decided to take our custom elsewhere. Back to the Navigation, in fact, only to discover that they stopped serving food at half past eight. So it was back to Warrior for beans on toast and a pat on the back for ourselves for not spending thirty quid on food we wouldn't have enjoyed anyway.

En route to Wigan Pier

Day 5, Foxton to Kilsby Bridge

Funny day today. We set off early, full of high hopes of putting in the hours and getting to the far side of Leicester, but it wasn't to be. We're not usually ones to heed tales of bandits etc, but had heard quite a few warnings about Leicester (having been there in the past by train on a few occasions, it didn't seem too bad) so were going to aim not to stop there (having been there a few times etc etc, there doesn't seem much to stop for).

So, we set off before eight, nice sunshine. But I have been rather taken aback by the locks. A relentless string of them, not nice and narrow, but big and heavy and hard going. By the time we got to Kilsby Bridge (which one local had told us was the last 'safe' place to stop; it is certainly the first lock you need a BW key for), it had clouded over, and then it started to pour with rain. Normally of course we wouldn't let a little thing like a monsoon put us off, but I was feeling unaccountably knackered (not quite back into the swing of things, clearly), and it was clear that we were not going to make it to the other side of Leicester, particularly as there were at least another thirteen locks in the way, so we allowed ourselves the luxury of stopping because of the rain, and put our feet up. This is supposed to be a holiday after all - the serious boating it yet to come.

In anticipation of our destination, I have been reading The Road to Wigan Pier, in an enormous anthology of Orwell's non-fiction which I, unaccountably, had not previously got round to reading. I've already polished off Down and Out in Paris and London, and Wigan Pier is even better. Whatever he writes about, reading Orwell is always a pleasure. In a way, his two best known novels, being both works of fantasy, to a degree, are to my ming less enjoyable than his lesser known, more mundane fiction. It is the mundanity he captures so well, the grinding hopelessness of poverty, both of money and of aspiration, in A Clergyman's Daughter and Keep the Aspidistra Flying. The same sense is there in the non-fiction; the sordid hopeless lives lived by people who are not inherently sordid, but ground into that state by circumstance. No, thank goodness, things are not so bad today in material terms, but the feeling must be the same, only numbed by daytime TV rather than cheap cinema. Reading about the conditions in which thousands of working people lived in northern towns in the thirties does bring home to one that hard as it was, boating life was not nearly so bad as the conditions endured by factory workers and miners.

No interesting pictures today, but I have uploaded the right one for yesterday.

Feeling so inclined

Day 4, Crick to Foxton

After yesterday's exertions we had a lie in this morning, and didn't set off until eleven. The day started damp and miserable again, and we weren't fully able to appreciate the delights of the very green, rather overgrown Leicester Section. Midway through the afternoon, however, the sun finally came out, while we were waiting in the queue for Foxton Locks. What lovely locks they are. I steered - not that much steering was required - and it was a lovely experience. We were last through again, just as we were at Watford, and had to go along to the next bridge to find somewhere to tie up.

Later we made our way back to have a look at the inclined plane - a shame we'll have to give the museum a miss, but it doesn't open until ten. We bypassed the big Foxton Locks pub, and were heading back to the boat when, passing Bridge 61 (another pub) I was struck by how welcoming it was - there was a sign inviting people to bring their own food to barbecue, as long as they bought drinks from the pub - what a contrast to the negative attitude we saw last night and surely better business - so we decided to pop in. It was a lovely, old fashioned place smelling of woodsmoke, the service was nice and friendly and we were able to buy bread and milk there too. We even got chatting to some local people.

I am rueing somewhat the bargain cocoa butter lotion I bought in Tescos and have applied to my person for the first time tonight. I now seem to smell of a combination of cheap chocolate and old dog.

And on the third day it rained

Day 3, Tuesday August 4th, Stoke Bruerne to Crick

Of course. We were lucky to get two days of reasonable weather, and already going to Braunston in June is starting to look like the best holiday move of the year.

Nonetheless, we put in eleven hours yesterday, not counting a stop for lunch, and polished off two tunnels as well as another sixteen locks. We have entered the terra incognita of the Leicester Section, and the high spot of the day for me was probably the Watford locks, where with the assistance of the very pleasant lockkeeper (especially - or perhaps because - we were the last customers of the day) I deployed side ponds for the first time. Ah, the joys of narrow locks after Buckby.

When we arrived in Crick it was raining in earnest, but having promised ourselves a pub dinner with chips we set off down a ghostly road to the Red Lion. Which wass very nice except for one thing - very nice friendly staff, decent food. reasonable choice of beer (don't bother with Adnam's Regatta though, it doesn't taste of anything) - but an incredibly bossy menu. 'We do not allow sharing of main meals'; side orders such as chips 'may not be ordered on their own'. Surely if an individual buys a meal it is up to them whether they wish to share it? I half expected (alongside the numerous 'no mobile phones' notices one saying 'Meals must be eaten all up before you can have dessert' (Perhaps they do; it did say 'the dessert menu will be brought to you after you have finished your main course'). So all in all a very nice pub, but I would be put off going there again by the bossy attitude.

Brickwork and buddleia, rivets and willowherb

Day 2, Leighton Buzzard to Stoke Bruerne

This is the kind of canal scenery I like best. Not nice neat new developments, now pretty countryside (though that's OK) but the inevitably transient scenes of abandonment. This is the former BR carriage works at Wolverton, a vast brick building with a timber and glass roof, decayed, colonised by buddleia, glass broken, timber rotted, but not, at least as far as you can see from the canal, vandalised or graffitied; just taken over by time and nature to create a new thing of beauty.

We did wait for those people at the next lock, in the end, and they were very pleased, but the karma channels were clearly not running very freely, as when we got to the second to top lock here at Stoke Bruerne another boat had appeared from nowhere and was in the lock just as we got to it, and refused to wait. To add insult etc (and give me an excuse for a good swear) they left the top gate open. In the meantime, we had got involved with pulling in and tying up a drifting boat (the second; we had one yesterday at Tring) - which we think the lock hoggers had probably pulled out in passing, and by the time that was done we'd been going for ten hours, the dinner was cooked, so we decided to stay down here, not knowing what the mooring situation would be at the top anyway.

Incommunicado in Leighton Buzzard

Day 1 (Sunday August 2nd), Cowroast to Leighton Buzzard

After all my good intentions, I failerd to post last night, or Saturday night for that matter. On Saturday, at Cowroast, there was an excellent signal, but I discovered I'd left the USB lead at home, and furthermore, couldn't find the charger for the netbook. Number two son being in Venice, I phoned number onhe son, asked him to go round with his cat feeding key and root around in the study. He found the UBS lead easily enough, where I'd left it, plugged into the front of the computer, but he couldn't find the charger at home either. So I'm afraid, as this opportunity had to be grabbed, I sent him upstairs to steal number two son's charger. Sorry Sebastian. Hopefull when he gets back, with more time at his disposal, he will be able to find mine. Having got the bits, he took them round to the house of Alison and David, who spent the day with us yesterday (but I mustn't forget to mention first that we have a lovely evening at Cowroast with the Owls on Saturday before we left).

Yesterday (i.e. Sunday; day 1) was a lovely sunny day, and we polished off eighteen locks, and ate a nice lunch brought along by our guests, who drove up to Tring station, with the intention (fulfilled as far as I know) of getting the train back to there from Leighton. I now have a very red nose again. Oh well. We stopped for an afternoon drink at Grove lock, and arrived at Leighton, by the Tescos, at about six. And then discovered from the locals that there was no Vodafone signal whatsoever owing to some mishap befalling the aeriel.

We spent the night in a not very salubrious spot by an overflowing litter bin and benck frequented by people who drink Special Brew for breakfast, but I was only disturbed in the night by a ferocious cat fight. Jim on the other hand was disturbed by the cats, some Liverpool fans, and the ducks, both quacking and pecking. We come all this way to get away from the bloody seagulls, only to be kept awake by nocturnal ducks instead. When we got up they were all sound asleep.

We dashed round Tescos (I'm afraid I like big Tescos. I know that makes me a bad person, but I still get excited by all the housewares) and left Leighton Buzzard at nine. We hope to get to Stoke Bruerne by tonight but are now in a dilemma. At the first lock, an elderly couple waited for us, to the extent of stopping and refilling the lock when they saw us coming. We are now honour bound to wait for them - or are we? They are very, very slow...

Pop star-porley

Got an email from one of the Tarporley guys yesterday with a couple of photos of Little Boots (yes, I had even heard of her!) recording a video on Tarporley. Apparently it will be released on pockettvshow on YouTube in a couple of weeks, for all you fans out there. Woo, down with the young people.

And now we are off to Berkhamsted.

Full circle?

This morning I put the money we got for Helyn in the bank, and this afternoon I posted off a cheque for the deposit on Chertsey.

And in one of those lovely neat little circles, I realised the other day - where did we buy Helyn and begin our boating? Penton Hook Marina. On the Thames at Chertsey.

Tanks on the drive

Well, I did it; I rang up Estates first thing this morning and the guy in charge seemed only too pleased for us to take away the two water tanks from my office building.

So we set off with the 240 estate and the roof rack, having been online and paid the congestion charge so that we could go up through London rather than round the M25 - at £8 it might be a useful deterrent to people driving in every day, but for an occasional visit it seems like good value for the convenience - and, I must say, TfL's websites generally seem to work very well.

As a result we were able to go the 'old fashioned' way; the way I remember going as a child before the M25 was built. Up the A23, Purley Way, Streatham High Road and Brixton Hill. I love this route with its plethora of magnificent thirties architecture, from the heyday of the motor car as a racy and glamorous means of transport, and the parades of shops; the only place that local independent shops now seem to have enough custon to survive. Although the butchers are now Halal and the haberdashers sell saris, in essence the scene hasn't changed for generations.

Without a hitch we found our way to Tavistock Square and loaded up the two 100 gallon tanks - one in the back (I shall be devastated when the last 240 disappears) and one on the roof. I had also taken the opportunity to pack up large amounts of books to take into the office, and to bring back two boxes of Tarporley photos.

It was a bonus to discover that one of the tanks still had its lids, and both were pretty clean; they seem almost new. Probably one at least will become a clean water tank for Chertsey rather than just being used for ballast.

Spreading the word

Today at work I've been showing my photos of Chertsey to anyone who'll look. Mostly they think I'm mad. Are you going to live on it, they say. Well, no, probably not, though I'd like to spend lots of time on it. When I tell them that no, I won't be putting a cabin on it, they look at me uncomprehendingly. What can I possibly want it for? To make it beautiful, more beautiful than it already is, and then get together and compare rivets with lots of like-minded people ('lots' is a relative concept, of course). Sounds perfectly sane.

No sooner was I back at work last week, than I became aware of the new perspective ownership of a boat like this brings. The building housing my office used to have a resident caretaker, but since he retired, his flat on the top floor is being converted to more offices. All sorts of ancient kitchen appliances, sanitary ware and general rubbish has appeared in the area in front of my basement office window, stayed a while, and then been spirited away. But what did I see there on Thursday? Two 100-gallon water tanks. Fate or what? Having had no success in locating, let along negotiating with the builders, tomorrow I plan to ring up the Estates department and see if I can effect their salvage.

Had a meeting this evening of all the people involved in teaching a particularly broad course I was involved in this year. One of the other people present taught history, specialising in London in the 30s. One of his classes was a walk around Docklands, but I wasted no time in accosting him in the tea break and persuading him that what his students really needed was a trip on Tarporley. This was received with some enthusiasm, and it was also suggested that I might like to give a talk to some of his other students about boats and carrying on the GU and stuff. I thought at first I probably don't know enough about it, but I bet I could crib sufficient material to fill half an hour or so, and think of all the lovely slides I could show.

What I did today

Ah dear, that title reminds me of the first extended bit of writing Sebastian ever did, following a trip to Beachy Head aged about four. I was just starting to encourage him to write a diary, and with a lot of help he wrote (and I remember this verbatim to this day):
Today we went to Beachy Head and I saw a dead badger and I enjoyed myself except for the dead badger

Anyway, today I was on Tarporley doing short trips from Kings Place (through Islington tunnel, down City Road lock, wind, up City Road lock and back through the tunnel. Six times) and on the last trip I met a man who used to work on timber barges on the Lee in the 1960s. And I enjoyed myself except for getting caught by the wind just as I was about to make a perfect entrance into the lock and taking about ten minutes to get lined up again.

Birthday wishes

Today has been my birthday, and of course, I effectively got my most wonderful present yesterday (see below), and was planning to spend today recovering from the excitement, but it has been a nice day in itself. We went to see Sebastian perform with the East Sussex Youth Orchestra at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill (you may recall this is an annual pre-holiday occurrence) and after wards hade a lovely impromptu Italian meal with Vicky and Craig (aka Dr Duct).

And anyway, as one does, I started thinking profound thoughts about what I have learnt over the years, and in particular what I have realised in recent years, which is this: it isn't any good at all just sitting around waiting and hoping for things to happen, and then getting bitter if they don't. If you want something, don't let fear of failure hold you back from trying to make it happen. You're no worse off if you fail - and you might well succeed far more often than you expect.

Chertsey

Yesterday was a truly momentous day. Not only did we sell Helyn, but I also learnt, after two and a half nail biting days of waiting, that my offer had been accepted for Chertsey. Yes, I have my big Woolwich at last. And it is an absolute stunner.

This all happened very quickly. I've been looking out for one for a while, as you might have guessed, and since January, looking seriously. I had my eye on one (that I'm still fond of) for a long time, but the price was too high for a restoration project, especially as it needed a lot of work. Nonetheless, I decided, driving back from Braunston, that I would arrange the finance so that I could make an offer - it would have been a rather low one, but whether or not it was accepted would have decided the matter for me.

Meanwhile, on the way to Braunston, Jim had got chatting with the owner of Petrel - who wasn't actually going to the rally - and mentioned in passing, like you do, oooh, my missus, she's so mad she wants a big Woolwich..... And he said he knew of one for sale. Jim gave him our number, and to be honest I didn't expect to hear anything, but a couple of weeks later, I took a phone call from the man who was handling the sale of Chertsey on behalf of the executors. On the phone, it didn't sound a great proposition - abandoned for eight years, no gunnels, full of rainwater, engine seized - but we arranged to go and view it, thinking it would be more for research purposes than anything.

Well, as soon as we saw it, we could see it was a brilliant boat; very straight, very original, and very sound. Not trusting our own judgement, we had taken an expert along with us, and he was in agreement. So we offered the asking price there and then, but still had to wait for a bit of backwards-and-forwards-ing with the executors before it was accepted.

And now it has been, and the fun begins. It should be exciting, but I'm almost still in shock, as it all happened so fast.

There are some more photos here, and a little bit of info about the boat in this CWF thread.

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....