Monday 21st to Sunday 27th January 2008
The weekend is over and it’s time to move on. Chas and Ann have a spot of business in the south and we’re on our way back up to Leicester for hoppy’s knee appointment.
We aren’t very far from Watford so we head down there to help work the locks for Moore2Life just as the clouds begin to lighten their load on us.
Watford is a strange place in the middle of winter, deserted - no lockies or boats, or at least we hope there aren’t any piling into the opposite end as we start down the flight. That secure feeling is missing when there’s no one overseeing events and it isn’t helped by the absence of clear instruction boards at the approaches.
I couldn’t put my finger on it until someone mentioned the wind whistling across the pounds and then I realised the motorway drone was absent, the wind was blowing the M1’s relentless din away from us and we could hear what we were saying without having to shout. A precious moment at Watford Locks that no camera could capture.
When all was done we parted company with Chas and Ann, M2L set off towards Norton Junction leaving us on the summit.
Now facing north we set off towards Crick tunnel and quit for the day. Apart from the distant road noise we heard and saw nothing, no walkers, no dogs no sheep, no birds, it’s as though everything was asleep.
Another day, another mile and we pull in at Crick. The new marina (next to the old one) is open and occupation has started.
There’s plenty of space on the towpath so we moor up, safe in the knowledge that we are welcome to “stay overnight where there are spaces” amongst the fee-paying winter moorers. My guess is that fears of disruption by marina contractors put people off over-wintering here and this produced unexpected but welcome benefits to those like us who can’t “settle” in the winter months.
Obedient to the notice’s small print (…..please clear-off!!) we set sail the following day. Yelvertoft with its proper butchers shop was calling so we sampled piggy chops and real bacon, yum-yum. Mr Butcher apologised for the small chops, citing the local farmer’s problems catching the big ‘uns. Something to do with the rain turning the ground to slurry which makes it impossible to catch mummy or daddy so we had to make do with the tiddler, arhhhh.
(Anyone turned on by fresh, juicy piggy pork should note the shop’s closure from 13th to 19th Feb.)
This is also a handy spot for a Tesco delivery but this time we get a special one, a personal service by Mike and Jo (nb.Sarah-Kate). Coffee, cakes and a jolly good natter were in order, which included the latest news from Jo on my current fetish - stone mason’s marks on canal locks and bridges.
Spotting bats in tunnels is another craze at the moment and although I didn’t catch a glimpse of any in Crick Tunnel, I noticed the stalactites are doing well, some approaching 12” long, thereby proving the tunnel is over a thousand years old.
More light has fallen on a recent mystery, our problems accessing this or any other blog on Blog.Co.Uk. It’s become apparent that T-Mobile have singled out their USB modems for special treatment. The technical guys are supposed to be sorting it out.
Didn’t it rain and blow!! I was dreading the gas running out as the end-of-bottle ‘smell’ appeared in the galley, telling us it was time to visit the gas locker. Getting at the taps is never an easy task but in the wet and wind it’s fraught with dangers, in particular the risk of wet-leg.
Checked gas prices with N.Kilworth Wharf as we sighted Welford Arm but declined an offer of £20+ for 13kg when I know it’s 18 something at Debdale. I was led to believe that Calor controlled retail prices but find there’s plenty of variation on the canal.
Stopped overnight at Bridge 59 and wondered if we’d get a visit in the night (feevin’ Finch) but all was quiet. I say quiet but this wind rattles the cratch canvas so much that it sounds like there’s a party of tramps in there having a good time.
We later read Gypsy Rover's report that AF had turned himself in at Daventry Police Station. Slept well the following night.
Friday saw us hit Foxton Locks at breakfast. Not a soul around, no boats moored up top, none moored below. We shot down the flight, V lifting the red paddle as I lifted the white one and me running to the boat before it disappeared into the ground. Experimented with crossing the centre pound but still can’t get it right.
Back into familiar territory we have the moorings to ourselves. Fed the moorhens, the ducks, the swans and Mr and Mrs Tezzer. I know what you’re thinking, but no, they didn’t all get stale bread.
And then the weekend arrived, time to relax. A steady stream of walkers, bikers, pets and children meant I had to be careful where I put the paint pot on the towpath. Did some damage in Bossy’s tunnel dodging a BW workboat (got your name, got your number) so slapped on the red oxide while the sun shone.
Hadn’t quite finished cleaning the brass when friends from Blaby called in for tea. Then four southerners dropped in, sorry, three southerners and one from north of the border and then we were nine up, counting Bruce the dog. More boaty discussions - electric motors, solar panels, batteries, the usual stuff and then we were alone again.
Outside noises had me out of bed twice in the night so I was still firmly welded to the mattress at 9 o’clock this Sunday morning.
Must have seen the whole of Leicestershire pass by our portholes today. All ages, all colours and every breed of dog from Irish wolfhound to chihuahua.
Dogs are OK, they sniff the boat and carry on.
Kids, on the other hand make me laugh, they can’t help peeping in and screaming out a list of everything they see to anyone who will listen.
I’ve stopped making faces at them because they can’t help exaggerating and it might get misunderstood by the grown-ups and I don’t want to finish up losing my liberty.
Ah well, the day’s almost over, the sun is on its way to the USA and the crowds have returned to the city. The fire is glowing, as it has been for about three months, hot crumpets and tea fill the saloon with homely smells and ducks head off to the reeds, their tummies stuffed with bread from Mary’s little shop at Foxton Locks.
All is at peace, now all I have to do is get T-Mobile to let me at the blog.
