Tuesday 21st to Sunday 26th August 2007

This week we are mostly being a hotel boat. Kathryn and Maisy have joined us for a fortnight, touring the Macclesfield Canal, through Stoke on Trent, past Robbie Williams’ old house, finishing at Bugsworth Basin on the Peak Forest Canal.

Robbie gets a mention because he was the subject of someone’s conversation for at least one whole day. I’m sure if he’d been there and not up the shops or in L.A. sticking pins in TakeThat pictures we’d have had to stop and wait until the obligatory pilgrimage was over.

Anyway, we are here at the end of Bugsworth Basin searching for the elusive tippler.

We’ve done the tour and been bowled over by the enthusiasm of the volunteers that got this place back on its feet between the 1970s and 2005 when most of it re opened.

By next weekend we should be heading south past Robbie Williams’ old house again to the safety of Stone. More stories of Kass and Maisy the cat and spot the spider to follow.

Message for Sue and Vic, now we can see why you went for a longer boat.

Our next boat will have two bathrooms, not one, with a giant size flip-top bin for cotton wool and a storeroom for cases, shoes, make-up bags, things hanging from hooks, cool weather gear, slightly warm weather gear, very warm weather gear, a lounge with several chairs for putting handbags and woollies on and a room down the far end to house two old fogies with ear plugs.

It’s lovely having family to stay, the time just flies past which is why there’s no time for the Blog. There might be more later.

Monday 20th August 2007

The Trent & Mersey was closed for a while this morning when a body was discovered inside a burnt out boat at Stone.

The boater, in his fifties, who was part way through a self fit-out was discovered when neighbours outside the Stone Boatbuilding Company’s chandlery raised the alarm.

The cause of death is believed to have been inhalation of fumes from a chip pan fire. It is thought that Geoff (or Jeff) had returned to his boat on Saturday and fallen asleep, leaving the stove alight.

The fire, which had self extinguished, had been so well contained within the boat that there were no obvious signs outside of the devastation within.

Police, fire engines and white suited investigation specialists were in attendance as we passed the boat this morning at 10.30am.

We, like others, had stopped for diesel at this spot on Sunday, knowing nothing of the tragedy two boats away just waiting to be discovered.

The tow path is expected to remain closed to walkers for a while.

Sunday 12th August 2007 Leek Branch of Caldon Canal
Spent two lovely days here at the end of the Leek Branch of the Caldon Canal but it’s turning cloudy signalling our time to leave. We are one of the last to quit the moorings and within minutes we meet the new arrivals eager to fill one of the eight or so spaces.
Hugging the offside bank and running from tree to tree we avoid a soaking from the tap in the sky and arrive back at the aqueduct in time to squeeze into our little lay-by, now full of strangers. Setting off on foot we explored the Caldon below us and its three locks and found another quiet spot nearer the junction. Racing back to the boat we slipped away and staked our claim on the empty steel piling only to find it was shallow. Molehills next to the towpath more than made up for the inconvenience of shallow water and the lack of boat services in these parts (some might puzzle over this).

Yes, we were taken in by the reports of spectacular meteor showers after dusk, and no, we didn’t see more than four shooting stars.

Mon 13th
We didn’t need to leave early this morning, it’s quiet up here, but we were gone by nine anyway. Must have seen the same dozen boats over and over again during our cruise up the Caldon and we were in danger of getting to know everyone by name. As we started through the first three locks on the remaining unexplored length of the Caldon we bumped into “Langley” again and exchanged news. Take it nice and slow and you’ll get through alright, they said. We took that to mean there were going to be problems and it wasn’t long before we were leaving green paint at the bridge holes. The river section was a dream, not counting the trees lying across the water, and there were no end of walkers shouting advice on how not to proceed when the river is in flood.
Taking water near the Consall lime kilns, closed in 1848, we had endless fun with the water pressure.

Shouldn’t moan because it’s a rare thing to get decent water pressure but this was just like wrestling with a fireman’s hose with no tap on the end. Both of us got soaked, to the amusement of another boater busy touching up his paintwork after squeezing through the station’s bridge hole.

There’s a handy plastic tunnel profile hanging from the last lock before Froghall tunnel which made it very clear that we were too high to pass through into the Caldon’s terminus. There’s another hanging profile at the tunnel itself just in case we missed the first one.

With a quick spin and a reverse into moorings at the approaches we walked the last couple of hundred yards to check out the tunnel and explore the canal’s end with its first lock onto the now flattened Uttoxeter Canal.

No one could tell me why the tunnel was so low, was it subsidence or was it really built like that?

There are lovely facilities on the other side, it’s a pity we can’t reach them by boat and a pity the visitor’s centre is locked on week days. There’s another lime kiln to explore and it is said that there are attractive walks after climbing the steep steps over the kilns.

Moorings below the lock are completely deserted, most boats like ours can’t get here to enjoy them. I can think of better ways to spend the millions (alleged) they put into this restoration project. It is quite pretty down here but apart from a trip boat or two it is deserted.

Anticipating a scramble for the return journey we were first away and enjoying the tight turns and narrow holes with the inevitable ‘boing’ ‘thud’ or screech of tortured metal. There are places where the nettles grow thick over both banks under bridges where one has to take a guess at where the stonework lies. Approaching the station one has to steer through the bushes in order to miss the hard stuff and, as usual at these events, there’s no shortage of gongoozlers to catch the moment.

Though sad to leave this very interesting section of canal we were back on a schedule and set our sights on the BW base at Park Lane. Darn it, all services closed, the lavender truck hadn’t been and their ground tanks were full. We stopped overnight anyway, the wet stuff was falling again and the tanker would be sure to call before we departed in the morning.

We’d set a new record for us, ten hours in the saddle.

Tues 14th
Just as we’d hoped, the tanker called and ‘services’ were restored. It was raining again, wouldn’t you know it, so we only moved a mile down the canal and settled down to sit out the weather. On the down side V walked a while to find the farm shop but came back with reports that everyone’s on holiday. How dare they?
On the up side we were moored next to an ostrich farm. These funny creatures were as curious as we were and walked up to the fences to see us.
I looked around but there were no signs of any stray eggs that needed liberating.

Talking of signs, has anyone noticed all the stone mason’s marks on the T&M and Caldon’s lock chambers? I first noticed them down on the Trent & Mersey but the locks on the Caldon are full of them. I’m assuming they’re mason’s marks, the ones they used to identify their own work in order to ensure they got paid.
Starting with simple marks of triangles and stars, they go through ever increasing complexity until one finds elaborate designs that must have taken several minutes to make.

Not everyone shares my interest in these markings and there have been calls for faster exits from locks or just plain “get out of there, we want to use the thundering thing”.

But they fascinate me, they were made over two hundred years ago and are still in excellent condition lying open at times or obscured by mud and algae. It reminds me of the time we spent looking for Pictish stones in Scotland a few years ago. We (I) were bitten by the bug to find every ancient stone and try to work out its meaning.
I’m afraid brick locks don’t interest me anymore, we’re only cruising stone locks from now on.

Wed 15th
Today we are mostly preparing for our journey through Stoke on Trent. We are taking up a position just outside town ready for an early start, before undesirables are separated from their mattresses. We secured ourselves to the edge of Stockton Brook and waited.
Actually it’s Tax Returns prep day. Unable to shake off the tax man’s attention I still get to amuse him every year with my tax return. I’m trying to be as objective and uncreative as possible this year in the hope he’ll tell me he doesn’t need me again. If anyone has found a way to remove a name from the Inland Revenue’s Self Assessment database then I’m all ears.
What’s that you say? “There’s only two things certain in life – death and taxes”. Maybe I’ll just stick to taxes.

Thurs 16th
We actually left the moorings at 7.30am, another record I think. Feeling guilty making a noise at that time in the morning, there’s lots of “shhhhhhing” as metal clips come off the piling and we’re crawling past boats at snail speed. Fortunately the guilty feeling doesn’t last long and we’re up to warp factor seven in no time at all.
The guys on ‘Laplander’ get my vote for dedication, the chimney has to come down at every bridge.

On the way down to Stoke we encounter this interesting attempt at traffic calming.
It looks like someone has dumped a pit winding wheel in the canal but it’s the remains of a swing bridge by the looks of it and I’m glad to say the enthusiasts are making progress with excavating the adjoining cobbled area with its wharf-side rails.

Etruria with its staircase locks and services were a welcome sight. No one about until we turned sharp left onto the T&M. Why is there always someone coming out of the lock turning right and a boat waiting to go in just as you want all the space to spin your own sixty footer? With bows against the tow path bank and rudder scraping the grass bank the other side we made it - just.

I finally discovered why there are square knobs on the top of mooring bollards in these parts, they’re actually winches for taking up the slack on ropes. This one at Etruria must have been rusty because I couldn’t turn it.

From here on it was fraught with little problems.
Firstly our sign language went all to pot. New signs appeared which meant nothing to me.
We had to walk along the bank and discuss this with measured tones so that no one knew what was going on.
Then I was in the lock, near the bottom, unsure of another hand signal and getting no satisfaction. I turned, faced the closed gates, took off my hat and dashed it to the floor, jumped on it with raised clenched fists. Gathering my cool I put my hat back on and noticed two boaters looking down, grinning. There was nothing I could do or say to explain myself above the roar of the water from the leaking top gates. Steam gone, I smiled.

Secondly, I forget what it was now.

We’re doing well through Stoke, me taking more pictures of crumbling buildings and searching for hire boats to overtake.

We spot a boat, a hire boat of course, you can tell by the way the tiller goes from side to side when cruising a straight stretch. He pulls in to let the missus and the dog walk the tow path so I take my chance and go through at warp factor nine.
It’s only when I’ve got a half mile lead that I realise their dog has latched on to us and is trotting along looking at us for instructions. I tried throwing my voice and a whistle but it continued padding along beside us, its owner getting further and further away.
Hearing a faint whistle I drop the revs so the dog can hear it. He turns, he’s unsure, I explain, he stops and while he’s undecided we make a run for it under the bridge past that blooming great eyesore of a factory with its chimney and two arched windows either side.

We’re happy cruising along when we get a call from Cornish Dave, he’s on the M6 heading north again with Margaret riding shotgun. It all ties in and we meet at the Wedgwood factory.
A figure standing between two mooring rings doing an impression of an Australian rugby referee gives me my mooring position. It’s probably a throw back to Dave’s time with Bristol pilots that I’m subconsciously acknowledging and the pilot’s instructions override the captain’s (part time, when I let her).
A coffee later and they’re off again while we rest after another successful cruise through Stoke.

Made a discovery today. The car alarms we’d heard last time we were here are actually railway level crossing alarms. It finally dawned on me that the supposed car alarms were always followed two minutes later by a train. Twit.

Friday 17th
Sunny but cool. It isn’t raining and that’s worth a mention.
They say it’s a record wet summer but I’m sure they’re wrong. I remember summer holidays as cold windy days with drizzle, sitting on the beach at Hastings under a wet towel waiting for the bus home. That was normal. An unusual summer was a sunny day on Camber Sands running about the sand dunes exploring the WW2 concrete pillboxes half sunk in the sand. This year is reminiscent of my childhood summers when we went to the beach. If we didn’t go to the beach we had fine weather. Exploring the woods, damming up streams and building go-carts with cousin Roger meant fine weather. Beaches meant rain. Somebody in our family must be down the beach this August.

Again, we were first to leave the moorings. It was 9.15 and the other boats slept on.
Passed a thoroughly spoilt boater with his own canal and crane. Lots of money or what?

Arriving at Stone, by Roger Fuller’s boatyard, we tied up to those very nice mooring rings, the ones with LED lights set into the concrete that light up at night to stop you tripping over them. Very civilised.
Sarah-Kate is in the area and by eleven we had Mike and Jo onboard for coffee and cakes (yummy, thanks Mike). Nattering continued after a shopping expedition and we spent a very pleasant evening in their company over one of V’s culinary delights.

Caught Jo and Keith fishing from Hadar just down from the boatyard. Using bread, I think they’re after that enormous carp that works its way up and down this section of the Trent & Mersey.

Saturday 18th August 2007
It’s a lazy day, rain pitter-pattering on the roof, boats on the move from 6.35am. Some are quieter than others and the ones just out on hire are the worst “Watch out, keep left, you’re going to hit him”. How can you sleep with that going on outside your bedroom porthole. I got up and cooked breakfast while V went to the shops, again. Special day tomorrow, No1 daughter will arrive with her cat. We’re off up north again, exploring the Macc’ and other places.

Mike and Jo brought Sarah-Kate up the locks and joined us opposite RF’s yard. Coffee was followed by more chat about this and that, typical Saturday stuff and conversations about batteries, energy audits and thoughts of solar panels, yet again.

Cousin Roger added to those thoughts when he called later and it looks like we’re going to have to spend some money sooner rather than later.

It rained on and off all day but it didn’t deter the hire boats. Some went past in a straight line and others didn’t but they were all smiling. So were we, though a little nervously.

Monday 6th August 2007
Time to leave our idyllic mooring and head north again.
Discovered the reason for the noise and fireworks both nights over the weekend – concerts at Shugborough Park. We didn’t know about them at the time but it explains why so many boats moored opposite the great house - free entertainment.

Stopped for water at Great Haywood, two little taps right on the Staffs & Worcs junction. We arrived to take sixth position in the queue.

With an hour to wait there’s usually something to keep us amused and this was no exception. An old fella playing dumb jumped the queue to the annoyance of another boater who was a bit too handy with the throttle lever. It’s a good job he knew the limits of his boat because he could have done some serious damage in his haste to reach the tap.

Passing the new marina further on, it was nice to put a face to the Hoo Mill that we had seen painted on the side of so many boats down south.

Where there’s no moored boats there’s usually ‘orses up this way.

Moored in fields south of Little Stoke, on the edge of Stone. Spotted a goldfinch, the first one I’ve seen in many years.

We had a shower that evening, rain that is, the one they’d been promising us every day last week.

Tuesday 7th
Must have had more rain in the night because the paintwork was dotted with yellow dust patches, a little more and we’d have our own beach to sit on.

Moved up into Stone and stopped below the Star Inn, Terry Darlington wasn’t there.
Further on I was drawn into the chandlery (good selection but a bit expensive) and managed to escape with only two paintbrushes. A few hundred yards north I stumbled on nb.Hadar manoeuvring into Roger Fuller’s boat yard, and met Jo for the first time, Keith was occupied at the business end, we’d meet later.

This is our old friend Steve’s stomping ground or should I say working patch and he’s up this way today. Sleeping bag in one hand and electric guitar in the other he arrived at lunch time announcing I had a job to do on the guitar – to cure a mysterious noise. Like all intermittent electrical faults it never appears when you’re waiting for it but after some tinkering on the pots, battery and pick-up wiring we think we may have a result.

While waiting for the soldering iron to warm up we got a surprise, Ten Bob Note was coming down the locks. We shouted our friendly abuse back and forth and grabbed cameras to record the event and I’m afraid I was too slow to take down the washing line on the stern deck. So we’ll have to put up with any captions on their blog this time.
See you again on the T&M I guess?

Treated to an excellent three course meal at Granvilles in town, amazing chocolate fondue, thanks Steve.

Wed 8th
We started out early from Stone, dropping Steve after we’d worked him hard on the locks.

Calling on Jo and Keith on Hadar we toured this magnificent working boat and began to appreciate the research, the time and hard work they’ve given to this project. Soon she’ll be ready to take on supplies and head off into the sun, down our way we hope.
Looking forward to meeting up again, I’m sure there’s so much more we can learn from these two.

With most of the day behind us we head off towards Stoke, stopping at the Wedgwood factory moorings where trees still outnumber houses.
Walkers, runners and cyclists remind us we’re close to town but apart from the sound of boats pulling in for the night and the occasional car alarm from Josiah’s car park it was a peaceful spot.

Thursday 9th
The cruise through Stoke was far nicer than I expected, there was very little graffiti, very little floating rubbish, in fact I can’t remember seeing anything noteworthy floating.

It was late morning when we passed through and quiet in both road and boat traffic. Backs of factories, old ones, I find terribly interesting and I have to restrain myself from filling our photo archives with endless angles on chimneys and shots of stone walls with bricked up windows.

It’s a bit of a tight turn at the Caldon canal and I was glad the southbound boats kept away from the top lock so we had a little more space to swing the back end around. It was tempting to shout “does my stern look big in this?”

Etruria’s staircase locks gave us some amusement as a crowd gathered and argued the ruling on 2 up, 2 down in peak season. There’s always someone who knows everything because they cruised here years ago.
Through the park, looking down on offices, past new construction works with their clouds of brick dust and around the last remaining bottle kilns we pottered on up the Caldon.

Behind the pottery factories we throw hellos at sandwich guzzling workers in their ‘hospital’ gowns. The stuff they chucked in the skips looked fine to me and the ‘old crocks’ seen through the windows of their museum looked very much like the day to day stuff we’re using on the boat, cheeky monkeys.

Lift bridge barriers looked like they could defeat those of a short or slight build because they are manually pulled down by chain and pushed back up with a jump and a shove.

So much of our journey had been through town or suburbs so it was good to find a countryside mooring when we turned right at the junction of the Caldon and its Leek Branch.

Watching the Caldon drop through three locks into the valley to our left we continued towards Leek until it opened out at a 24 hour lay-by above the Holly Bush at Denford. Screams from toddlers and barking mad dogs dissuaded us from calling in there and instead we ate a la barbeque.

This had been our longest day in the saddle since the spring and we were so glad to reach our countryside oasis surrounded by beautiful views and accompanied on the tow path by tame black rabbits that hopped in and out of the hedges.

Balmaha’s engine reached the milestone of 2500 hours since the launch. We’ll celebrate with an oil change tomorrow and break out a 2007 beaujolais 10W30 .

Friday 10th
Up with the lark the sun blazed down on us as we crept out from under the sheets.
The oil change went as planned and we were under way having counted a handful of boats ahead of us. The canal becomes quite narrow from this point and we had our moments as boats passed on blind corners and a ten minute wait while a hire boat figured out how to get the stern out of the reeds. For reasons of not wishing to get thumped by V I’m learning to smile where I used to laugh.

Finally we arrived at Leek tunnel and the end of our journey.

Through this 130 yd long, single boat width hole in the ground we emerged into sunshine, sprinted to the last winding hole and reversed back into the moorings. It’s literally a two minute walk to the terminus, an in-filled aqueduct that used to reach into Leek but the remainder now lies buried under an industrial estate on the outskirts of town.

Saturday 11th August 2007
Another fine day, it’s getting hot, it could be summer.
The water has cleared overnight and we can see fish darting to and fro. Something flashes and there’s a chase going on. A fish breaks the surface and something large, thin and fast chases it down the side of our boat and it all ends in a scramble. Something had scrambled fish for breakfast.
Between geese patrols a lone moorhen visits us for bread, taking each piece back to the reeds to eat or pass it on, they do that don’t they, not like those guzzling ducks.
Boaters disappear down the canal on foot so there must be a shop somewhere further on. V checks it out and sure enough my turn arrives and we have to go walking. We cross the river at the aqueduct and walk through a dusty industrial estate to arrive at Morrisons. All the boaters come here, we saw them all, in turn, clutching their polybags some with sensible stuff and others with just cans. We note these boats (in case we run out of liquid refreshments).
Around mid day the JCB bucket in a nearby scrap yard ceased its clatter and was replaced by steam train toots somewhere in the valley beside us. Anglers arrive in droves and seem put out that boats fill the bank this side of the bridge. Walk on, I say.

It’s peaceful, it’s idyllic and we’re all behaving ourselves, we like it here. The Peak district ticks all the boxes.

Monday 30th July 2007 - Loughborough
This is it, we’re off, a quick shop for last minute goodies in town and we are onto the river Soar going downstream towards the Trent.
Bishops Meadow, Zouch, Kegworth and Redhill waters stayed in the orange for us as we got started on our summer cruise to the north. Plans for Wakefield, Skipton and Ripon are scuppered because we can’t trust the Trent not to flare up. We’ve limited our explorations to the west, in the direction of Stoke on Trent and have pencilled in the north-eastern canals and rivers for 2008.
For now, a beautiful cruise down the river Soar, faster than normal and occasionally spectacular at corners, we made it under the bridges and missed all the weirs.
It was nice to be back on the move but my lock approaches left much to be desired until I was back in the swing of things.

Looking for evidence of recent flood levels on the way downstream we saw the occasional poly-bag 4 foot up in the bushes but no signs that anyone got their feet wet in the houses on the river bank.
They weren’t daft when they built the church at Normanton on Soar, I doubt even the crypt got damp during these last two weeks.

Nearing the end of Leicester’s river we can see why this place is called Redhill. Below the red stained cliffs houses stand on stilts to compensate for the lack of a flood plane.
I love unusual boats and this is a narrowboat with a difference. Couldn’t slow down to read the name, the water wasn’t waiting. Tried stopping for cheap diesel further upstream but it was hopeless, the landing stage came and went so I made out I wasn’t interested and carried on round the corner still going hard astern.

Turning left where the Soar spewed us out we plodded up the Trent, staying close to the shore where the water wasn’t so hurried.
Shared Sawley lock with a plastic whose owner told us they were well behind their cruising schedule, they should have been at Stratford by now but didn’t dare leave the Soar until today.

Spotted Mark manoeuvring nb.Lorimar amongst the moorings at Sawley Marina, he’d been called in and would lose a day from his week’s cruise. Sorry Mark, put the cans back in the fridge, you’ll never catch us now. We’ll look you up on our way back in September.

Good fun crossing the junction of the rivers Trent and Derwent between Sawley and Derwent Mouth lock, it felt like shooting the rapids in reverse as both currents caught the boat a few seconds apart and the slightest rudder movement threatened to spin us around.
With the river excitement over we made Shardlow and found the last space amongst the double moored hire boats. I’m told they shift a load out from Sawley into the shelter of Shardlow so that hiring isn’t interrupted when the Trent floods.
Walked round the village and returned to the boat in time for a meal with Ter and Claire who came out of town specially to see us. Lovely people.

Tues 31st
We’re away bright and early as Shardlow slept on and teamed up with a family from Truro on a three day break, their first ever canal cruise. They were terribly green on lock procedures but there was nothing wrong with his knots, he’d spent most of his life on or near the sea.

Next stop Burton. We’d caught some decent weather and as the day progressed we stripped back to shorts and T shirt. Got told off for changing while still in the lock because we took on a little water as we bumped the top gates. I blame it on the lady with the windlass. Guy on the hire boat pretended not to notice our little domestic.
Even the river Dove was crossed.

Wed 1st August
Getting going on the Trent & Mersey is a bit like trying to leave the slip road and join the A34 at Newbury before it got its bypass. As soon as you hitch the tiller and spot a gap, another boat appears round the corner behind you. In my eagerness not to get in anyone’s way I pushed the throttle down more than I should and practically emptied the canal in front of the boat while producing a wall of water behind us. But boaters are generally very forgiving and at the next lock everyone smiles and pretends it never happened.

I used to have theories about the best time to leave in the morning. Don’t go before 8 or you’ll tangle with the early brigade, they’re the ones with furrowed brows and a gaze permanently fixed on the horizon. Don’t leave too late or you get surrounded by boats that crawl everywhere looking at every blade of grass and won’t let you pass. So we leave somewhere between the two in the mistaken belief that there has to be a lull in the traffic.

Today everyone was working the same system and we queued at every lock. I think V likes it that way because she gets extra help with the paddles and heavy gates.
We saw a lot of a Mum and four children from the boat behind and the excitement on those kids faces as they helped Mum with the windlass and competed to open lock gates will stick in my mind for a long time to come.

Here we are at Tatenhill lock before 10am. We saw the same family eight hours later and the children were still going strong, running up and down the tow paths, still dressed in life vests at the end of a baking hot day. A credit to Mum and Dad.

We named this one keyhole bridge, it’s so tight and slightly on the skew.
There’s plenty of collision evidence at gunwale level and some lovely coloured streaks on the brick work at handrail level. Makes you wince to think about it.

Why they stick a notice on the bridge I haven’t a clue because my eyes are glued to the waterline. It’s probably something to do with fishing rights and it’s bound to be full of bullet holes like every other notice on the waterways.

My suggestion to British Waterways is place a gun target a few inches to the side of all the official notices to draw the bullets away from the words we’d like to be able to read.
Another suggestion might be to place notices on the offside saying “Don’t shoot guns at this notice” and change them once a week.

Talking about speeding bullets, the A38 is so close at this point that you can tell what radio programs car drivers are listening to. The occasional parp from lorry drivers gets a wave from boaters and you just know what they’re saying.

Through the river section without a hiccough we lifted back onto the canal at that most civilised of places - Alrewas. They seem to pride themselves here on how long they can grow weeping willow branches and how slow they can make travellers go through their narrow twisting double moored waterway.
Finally we made it across the windy stretch to the bottom lock at Fradley junction. Waved at Belle but no one there. We were expecting to see painted cans on the roof and peeled paintwork after their recent cruise but it wasn’t to be. However, we did bump into Stelle as we crawled up through the locks, though no sign of Chris.

The Alrewas crawl was just a preparation for Fradley because this has to be the slowest transit we’ve ever had anywhere. Three hours to get through five locks must be a record.

When we finally got clear of Fradley the sun was down behind the trees and at the third attempt we got close enough to the bank to stick pegs in the ground. It had been a long day and there were no arguments over what time to hit the sack. But even that didn’t go quite according to plan because we were adopted by a racing pigeon which pecked its way up and down the gunwales until dawn when he either fell in or flew away. Somewhat lacking in charity and sleep I didn’t care which.

Thursday 2nd
A pleasant cruise through Kings Bromley, Handsacre and Rugeley brought us to town moorings and a supermarket shop. Topping up our charcoal and meat reserves we had our hearts set on barbeques for the weekend. Away from town and sandwiched between the Trent and the railway we found a gorgeous 60 foot steel piled mooring buried in the reeds. This would do us nicely for the weekend.

The river Trent is less than a field away and looks totally harmless. What a change from the monster we saw a few days ago.

Fri 3rd
Stuck between TV regions we can’t be sure what the weather forecast is for us so we ignore them and crack on with the painting.
My new idea for shore power seems to be working, a wooden pole on the roof and we’re connected to the power station.

It might be the countryside but it’s like the M25 outside with boats buzzing both ways every couple of minutes. And it’s not easy saying “Good Morning, have a nice day, thanks for slowing down” to everyone that passes. I’d make a sign and wave it but I’m afraid someone might shoot at it.
The day isn’t without its laughs. One poor fella on his first Anglo-Welsh hire boat forgot to waggle the tiller and continued his straight line at the bend. With the boat bow buried in the reeds he (they, four adults on the stern) fought a hard battle with the stems and roots until they finally broke free. Only trouble was no one noticed the kids running all over the roof, jumping into the bow deck, and in one case, leaping onto the bank in a potato field.
As the boat picked up speed there came cries of help from the field and little hands waving in the air were seen to be following the boat until they stopped at a barbed wire fence.
The next bit taxed the four skippers’ skills as they discussed how to stop the boat, reverse it and deploy the plank.

Having pulled him aboard and completed a head count they set off passing us with the comment “Well that’s the emergency rescue part of the cruise completed.”

I presume the small island of reeds jammed under the boat’s bow will fall off somewhere near Fradley locks.

I’m sure it was nothing to do with the hire boat but the farmer sprayed his spuds later on and they began dying back so I suspect he was using the old sulphuric acid trick to reduce the foliage prior to spud lifting.

Nice countryside but crumbs they don’t half grow gnats out here. Had to retire inside before 9pm, the blighters are way too prolific in these parts.

Sat 4th
Emptied the mozzy zapper and analysed the bones tray. No whoppers, just dozens of little beasties and we can report no new bites at night, an annoying high pitched whine which keeps you awake wondering where it is and what its intentions are, but no bites.

You can tell it’s Saturday, planes take to the sky. Someone entertained us with stunts under the white puffy clouds.

As I’d hoped, the rain predictions were wrong. We managed painting and a barbeque.

The Trent and Mersey weekend traffic was no different to a weekday – one every couple of minutes, dawn to dusk.

Dave S called from Anglesey to say he might pop in for a coffee on his way back to Cornwall. It’s almost dark and along he comes, a fifteen minute walk on the tow path from the nearest road. One coffee later and off he goes in total darkness on his way to the other end of Cornwall, how does he do it?

Sunday 5th August 2007
Same canal, same piling, same weather - a miracle.
Varnishing is the order of the day, some floor, some wall panelling and some cratch frame, that’s three different varnishes.

Kneeling on the grass painting the removable bits, as you do, when a walker stops to talk. He set out from Stoke at 8am, passing us at 2.30pm heading for Rugeley to see his mate on a boat near the power station. He asked if I thought he’d be able to spend an hour with his friend and make it back to Stoke before 10pm. That’s 14 hours walking. I nearly fainted at the thought of it.

He was back an hour later, his mate’s boat had just been attacked by youths and all his windows broken. His friend had gone to hospital with cuts.
After lamenting the passing away of law and order he chirped up saying at least he would be home by 10.

The gnats have joined forces with the flying ants and are attacking poor innocent boaters. The swallows cottoned on pretty quick and with no effort they’re full and going home after less than an hour. Smelly candles, skin spray and high frequency mozzy scarers aren’t doing their job so we went indoors and closed the windows at 9.
We could see them all hanging on the windows laughing and taunting us, waving their proboscis bits and claiming they’ll get us when we’re asleep.
Not so sure about this countryside stuff, maybe towns are better after all.

We’re off to Stone tomorrow, not because the insects have beaten us, we’ve some shopping to do and a boat to see. There’s a rumour that nb.Hadar is in these parts and we want to get a good look at this super new star-class narrowboat.