Wednesday 26th to Sunday 30th March 2008

Whoever said that boating was a quiet unhurried lifestyle couldn’t have been speaking about the River Thames. 24 hours is the most we can stay on our EA mooring at Shepperton and we’ve nearly doubled that. So even though we don’t want to hurry we must leave.

Downstream we called into the marina and spent a fortune on diesel (gosh 80p/ltr!!) before cruising sedately, to save fuel, down to Hampton Court. Mooring was fun, from starting our turn into the flow we must have covered ¼ mile before we were facing the other direction, such was the speed of the river.

We are pleased with our back garden today because they’re painting our grey railings gold.

Nice tall railings make us feel secure, especially considering the rough housing estate on the other side.

The grey undercoat gave me ideas and I slapped red oxide on the scratches picked up from those nasty protruding piling bolts at Windsor.

Bathed in warm sunshine we wandered up towards the big house. Approaching the front of the building we were accosted by two men in funny suits who sprang out, demanding to see our palace tickets. It being nearly 4 o’clock and too late to take in a full tour we spun on our heels and walked around the estate taking in the field of daffs on the north side.

But it couldn’t last and the heavens opened as we ran (me run?) back to the boat. We bumped into the moorings warden (belonging to the Estate) and reported all our neighbours. When they say 24 hours they really mean it and somehow one doesn’t feel very welcome on the Thames side of Hampton Court.

Thursday morning, time is up, we carried on downstream to Kingston Upon Thames. Struggling to turn into the flow to moor up opposite the town quay I can see why some boats get caught out and finish up jammed across the bridge openings.

Found plenty of beautifully converted Thames Barges along the river, drool-drool, and the occasional personalised modern steel wide-beam. Some look attractive, some just funny and one even looked like Thomas the tank engine.

Leaving our home securely tied to mooring rings we walked to town. The market was in full swing and forgetting rule number one I called at each stall and got talked into doing the taste test.
Despite everything being overpriced I bought a variety of tiny sweet olives and giant ones stuffed with goat’s cheese. Wore out a pair of shoes doing the town centre shops though hardly found a thing I wanted. Where are all the chandlery shops?

Back at the boat I had time to slap on some green gloss before the wind got up (nothing to do with the olives). The rains arrived in time for tea.

On Friday we were very naughty, overstayed our welcome (eventually managed 48hrs) and we were spotted by the wardens. They didn’t call in, just made their presence known.

Kingston’s youth also make their presence known, a couple of cans down the throat and their volume controls break. Mid afternoon, wandering along the river bank they hurled their encouragement or otherwise at anything that moved.

But their verbal assault was more than matched by the hollering of loud-hailer toting bullies riding shotgun behind the rowers. Schools take to the water between 9 and 3 and get replaced by their parents, mostly speed maniacs that cram in as many passes as they can between 3 and 6pm.

Not quite as vocal but more insistent were the shrieks of birds. Parakeets had taken over our tree and were fighting over dead branch holes.

But 8pm was a different story. Shouts, screams, yells and sirens merged into one until the rain finally brought peace again.

Saturday and it’s time to go. Spotting a gap between fibreglass hulls, we turned across the river and straightened up in time to ‘pick an arch’ at Kingston Bridge. Half a mile downstream we braked, not that it did any good, and swung a left, did a 180 to come to rest against the EA moorings at Steven’s Eyots. An island of two halves, one half with nice lawns, gleaming wooden boat club cabin and outdoor tables and the other half mostly comprising stones, weeds and the remains of barbeques complete with discarded cutlery. Guess which side we had to go.

Not linked by bridge to the river bank we expected - and we got - peace and quiet. Sharing with Canada geese we got used to the ritual honking sessions and dirty shoes. For entertainment we watched the passing trip boats Yarmouth Belle and Kingston Belle, V and I danced to the music as they came within earshot and enjoyed the fairground ride as their wash hit us broadside.

Weather was better on Sunday but I didn’t feel like moving so we overstayed again (tut-tut). Just as well because we wouldn’t have seen the Canada goose lay an egg outside our porthole.

She found a pile of twigs I’d swept up yesterday and plopped an egg in the middle. No sooner done with laying she wandered off.
Now what? Should we boil, fry or scramble it?

Ten minutes later she was back, sitting on the egg and the flower pot next to it while we watched to see what would hatch out. I hope she’s quick because we have to move tomorrow, 24 hours and all that!!

What a week! Floods curtailed our cruising and we missed the boat rally at Bridge Barn on the Basingstoke Canal. When we did get going again (Saturday) we were a little premature for the Thames lock keepers who insisted on issuing us with “red cards”. Apart from the scary bits when we left locks and joined the swirling waters from the weirs we mostly steered a straight line past all the familiar sights but too fast to take well aimed photographs.

We joined Roger and Babs Saturday morning as they hurtled past on their way down from Wallingford. Reports of water levels five feet above normal made our one foot six look silly. What was flooded meadows at Pangbourne had been flooded towpaths, carpark and pub patio at Wallingford. I knew it was bad when Roger reported that the water was over the top of the pub’s outdoor tables.

The Devizes to Westminster canoe race added extra interest from the Kennet and Avon at Reading and dodging these tiny egg shells toned ones steering skills, especially around and in locks. Yes, some insisted on being in locks rather than practising portage around them.

Lock keepers are obliged to issue red cards to those who insist on passing through their locks at times of ‘Strong Stream’ warnings. It’s a bit of a joke because canoes were supposed to cease activities, according to the written words, but obviously canoe competitions over-ride the river’s health and safety issues. Nothing was said but everyone got a card until supplies were exhausted.

One canoe capsized in front of us and wouldn’t accept an offer of rescue, preferring to drift along at 5mph with their heads just out of the water until they reached the bank. “Jolly bad luck” shouted the crew of the following canoe as they swept past, realising there was one competitor less between them and the prize.

Capsized boats dotted the river bank, nothing to interest us because plastic boat parts won’t fit our tin tub.

I’d forgotten how bad the aircraft noise was over the last twenty miles down to Shepperton, how the locals put up with it I can’t imagine, deafening take-offs thundered across the river and rattled our windows on more than one occasion.

Just to add to the misery it snowed on and off, though this didn’t put off the sailing dinghies which raced each other up and down the river between our two narrowboats and our pursuers in canoes.

The Thames holds many fascinations for me, what with its ornate bridges, expensive houses and luxurious and often strange looking craft.

The few walkers who braved the elements waved at us but it was strange being the only two narrowboats on the move for most of our journey. The few plastic gin palaces that we did encounter were mostly anonymous with crew hidden behind plastic canopies. Locks brought them out for the customary exchange of weather observations and questions about our travel plans but for most of the time they remained fuzzy faces behind perspex windows.
Probably the best views for me were those enormous Thames sailing barges that hang around boat yards on the outskirts of towns.

No quarrels about wardrobe space on those I’ll bet.

A boat that size would need proper security and I know where to go – the German Shepherd Dog Rescue Centre that we passed on the Thames.

Generally, the cold wet weather brings out the best in people but we discovered a lock keeper who was more than a tad disgruntled with the public supporting the canoe race. He’d spent a week cleaning up his lock ready for the crowds and was not amused by the litter droppers and garden wee-ers that wrecked his pride and joy.

Temple Lock made us laugh with its sign and a baby doll hanging from the rafters behind the window keeping an eye on boats locking down the Thames.

Pleasantly surprised by the wood situation in these parts, we stocked up on pre-cut logs, saying our “thank-yous” to EA as we spent our nights in front of our log burner.

Saturday and Sunday evenings were spent either on Megan or Balmaha, eating, nattering, comparing boating stories and musing over boat power source alternatives. Recent discoveries of an alternative to solar panels, called rain panels, could mean we will have free power all through the winter, spring and early summer. I can just imagine the excitement as we watch late night TV’s weather report of rain heading our way and boaters chasing clouds around the country in order to charge the batteries. Dream on did you say?

Windsor Castle came and went, flag flying on the turret means “She’s at home”. I thought I saw a bathroom light on as we went past, no electricity worries there.

But our excitement knew no bounds when we saw the Queen out for a drive on the estate round the back.
OK, it might have been a practise run for the horses because we couldn’t be sure we saw her crown glinting in the sunlight.

What sun there was didn’t last long, sleet was more or less our constant companion with snow flurries and stinging hail every couple of hours.

The next boat will have an autopilot fitted so we can go below when things get really bad up on deck.
With water levels returning to normal we are considering where to go next. The Basingstoke Canal is a no-go for us. Closed in places for repairs and needing constant supervision by the Rangers to unlock gates for us, it doesn’t have the appeal of a well cared for canal. We might be back another year, we’ll see.
East lies the tidal Thames, Houses of Parliament and the Thames Barrier, a must to see one day but it’s perhaps a little too early in the year with associated flood risks, not the best place for a 'sewer tube' like ours.
The Kennet & Avon is a possibility while we are this far down the Thames but first we might have a look-see along the Wey Navigation. We’ve been as far as Pyrford (2006), and that could be our next stop for fuel (80p a litre?) but this time we should go that bit further and see what Guildford has to offer.

Wednesday 19th March 2008.

Stranded on the Thames at Pangbourne's river meadows we find ourselves powerless and at the mercy of a swollen River Thames. Last week’s rain is still finding its way downstream and water levels have been rising steadily since we pulled in here on Sunday. Whoever is closest to the big rubber plug, pull it now please, we could do with a change of scenery.

High water has scuppered our plans to attend the Bridge Barn boat rally at Woking, on the Basingstoke Canal and instead we face a return to the Midlands along the Oxford Canal. Any alternatives using the Thames are blocked because Teddington Lock is out of action for several weeks for planned repairs.

Nb.Megan upstream from us faces the same problems and R&B are sitting tight playing the waiting game.

However, we do have brighter moments. A phone call yesterday, Tuesday, announced the arrival of Andy and Sue from Australia and along with daughter Rebecca and friends Mary and Pete they picked a path across the soggy meadows bearing bulging bags of food and drink.

We ate, drank and talked our way through the afternoon until, all too early, they had to go.

A very big thank you to whoever spent a small fortune on grub and hope to see you all sometime, somewhere, somehow.

Clockwise: Rebecca, Sue, Andy, Pete and Mary. Andy feeding the ducks and V checking the floods while Balmaha rides the waters, hanging on to the trees.

The lock keepers downstream have red-boarded themselves in and told us not to think about moving for at least another three days. However, more rain or snow this weekend would condemn us to further delays, possibly another week or more.
Water, fuel and food are OK but precautionary rationing began today.
These pretty ducks with red beaks look very tasty. Mandarin duck Tandoori style could do it for me.

Monday 10th to Saturday 15th March 2008
Newbridge to Goring (R.Thames)

Sitting outside the Roses Revived (river Thames, Newbridge) we watched the water levels rise, fall and rise again. The jolly wind was more scary than the speed of the water so we decided to sit it out for the day. One kept busy by doing odds jobs indoors like repairing the varnish around the portholes.
We were getting low on logs but didn’t think the pub would take too kindly to patches of sawdust on their lawns so foraged around in the cratch until I found the odd tree stump and half bag of coal. We’ll have to stop somewhere downstream tomorrow and zap the branches on the roof.

It was all go on Tuesday, we let the river spin the boat and then set off at a cracking pace. Confused over speed limits, is it 8 or 9mph or kph? Decided it must be a measure of speed across the water rather than speed of the boat in relation to the river bank so felt like I could open up and didn’t we move.
On the first corner we went round broadside, wouldn’t have made it otherwise. Decided to slow down when the wind rose and squally gales lashed us with rain on the wiggly bits above Swinford Bridge. Got soaked as one of us fought the tiller while the other operated the throttle as the rain drove sideways, hitting the cabin sides and rising into the air as a vertical wall of spray. Pity, but moments like that never get caught on camera.

Kings Lock meant a welcome break from the wind and a few minutes to change clothes. Yellow boards here and at every lock down to Cleeve Lock made us believe the river conditions were close to danger. It wasn’t until the lock keeper at Cleeve told me that yellow disks mean “Open it Yourself, lock keeper on tea break” that I realised I’d been had.

Found a lock with a long landing and while we ate lunch and took on water I demolished four logs and stacked them in the boat. That will see us warm for a couple of days.

Osney Bridge came and very nearly went, such was the flow of water. Hurling a stern rope over a bollard as we were swept along, we slowed to a halt but reversing was a problem and only full revs on the engine and both of us pulling on ropes achieved a tidy mooring, leaving space for other boats.

Not that there were other boats, apart from overcrowded canoes and their owners chasing them and shouting through loudhailers “Stop thieves, give us back our canoe”.

T’was windy but there was no real rain, we’d copped that already but water levels rose and fell all night and we decided to hang on and concentrate on shopping.

Part of our journey will be in company. Roger and Babs on nb.Megan have started out from Calcutt Marina on their way south to the Basingstoke Canal. A few days away at the moment but going hard at it they should catch us somewhere lower down the Thames. News that Isis Lock had ‘red boards’ up at the entrance could mean delays, we’ll have to hope that the predicted rains pass over and the river levels stay below the tow path.

Thursday looked good so we hit the road. Osney Lock was manned so we were through in minutes and once we reached the incoming weir water we picked up speed and shot past Oxford’s boat sheds. Met up with nb.AfterTime, a boat we’d seen before but couldn’t put a finger on where.

We kept company with this couple until we lost them coming out of Abingdon. As happens on long routes with no junctions we passed each other again and again until we finally parted at Goring.

Iffley Lock had a treat for us, tree branches in manageable sizes, free for the taking. Burning it we discovered why it was left at the side of the lock – it smelt disagreeable.
There were funny looks between us for an hour or two until we discovered the source of the smell but not before I’d washed and changed again, carpets had been inspected and shoes had been turned over and sniffed.
Not any old wood for us next time, it will get the nose test before we take it.

Multi-culturism has arrived on the Thames, signs are being erected for those from down-under (must tell Dot and Derek).

Almost lost it on a corner, thought I saw a tunnel ahead and was about to switch on the tunnel light and enter when I saw a boat coming out or rather hanging around at the entrance.

Going astern on the starboard engine and turning the wheel hard we missed the camouflaged boat house and continued back down the river.

Benson Lock was obstructed when we arrived. Mary Stuart, who had passed us at 70mph earlier in the day, was stuck on mud at the entrance (tee hee) and by the time she’d cleared through it the lock keeper had gone to lunch.

Been here before and know how jolly hard it is opening these locks with no electricity so we tied up and stuffed our faces.
Someone parped outside (a horn goes parp) and we emerged to find nb.Ten Bob Note intent on using OUR lock. Ernie and Rhonda are in a hurry so what’s a few minutes wheel turning to them.

We joined them in the lock and raced them down to Wallingford. Wallingford is a problem for mooring, so we hunted for our secret spot amongst the trees. Turning and poking the boat’s nose into the bushes along here isn’t helped by fast water flow. Hailed by a Dutch barge parked up long term on the £5 moorings we took up his offer of a freebie alongside the narrowboat behind him.

“The owners away” he said “and won’t mind you breasting up”. We grabbed the spot just as Ten Bob Note swung round the corner. We tripled-up while Rhonda shopped and after E and R left we settled down for the evening lit by the searchlight and accompanied by the sounds of the Drummers of Burundi from the Boat House pub next door.

Crossing from Oxfordshire into Berkshire we couldn’t help noticing the presence of hills, greener grass and trees with bigger leaves. Field edges turn from ‘Strictly No Mooring’ to ‘£4.00 a night’ and I couldn’t help admiring the farmers or rather landowners diversifying to raise an extra quid. Must be something to do with class or the cost of living down here and I felt at home.

Bridges built of stone or part stone, part brick are still a rarity this far up the Thames but those I do find get inspected for the old mason’s marks as we are swept through.

It’s impossible to stop and take photographs when you’re concentrating on missing the pillars at 8k/mph so I have to make do with a mental note of ‘marked’ bridges ready for the trip back upstream.

And finally, late Saturday morning we tied up on the boring Goring mooring.

Brilliant moorings actually, loadsa room and no one about but ‘town’ was a disappointment. Nothing there. Called in the church (12th Century) and saw the famous bell (13th Century) and noted the village butchers, flooring shop, Chinese restaurant and card shop, oh and Threshers, and felt we’d seen everything so returned to the boat to sit out the day.

Scenery here is second to none. V thought it reminded her of Norway, I thought it looked like a lake in Switzerland, but whatever it looks like there’s a history here of a very early Thames crossing. Must look into that sometime.

Being Saturday it’s rugby, rugby and rugby which meant nothing else happened, no jobs, not even brass cleaning. And finally, congratulations to the England and Wales teams. Result.

Later....Sunday 16th March 2008
Knock-knock on the boat at 8.30am by the Goring lock-keeper just had to mean trouble.
Over night rain was finding its way into the Thames and to handle expected new water he was dumping it over the weir onto our stretch of river. “It’ll be over the mooring bollards and probably over the path by the time I’m finished” he said. “Best go to Reading where the floods will hit last”, so we skipped breakfast and let go the ropes while we could still see them.

At Whitchurch Lock it was just the same, “don’t hang around here” he said, “I’ve dumped two lots and I’ll have to dump another two soon, I suggest you go down to the meadow and tie up to the wooden posts and hang on”. We found the meadow, still two feet above the water and tied to the posts and a tree. That should do it. Now all we have to do is wait and watch the water rise and hopefully go down again. Should be easy enough.

Monday 3rd to Sunday 9th March 2008

Fenny Compton (Oxford Canal) to Newbridge (River Thames)

Couldn’t find the Elsan point at Fenny C, I’m sure there was one two years ago because I remember they charged for the privilege. We caught up nb.Black Pearl (Napton’s single hander) at Cropredy and feeling like we’d completed a decent day’s cruise we settled down for the night, just before it snowed.

V and MiL walked to the shop and back (no one rests on Balmaha) but I got out of it by looking busy and keeping my head down.

We’re still experiencing frosts overnight but temperatures are only dropping to zero now. Cruising on down to Banbury we passed nb.Sonflower on the way in (no one home) and moored opposite the bakery.

Smells of yeast, bread and chocolate drifted across all day. Noises are a little too industrial to call this stay enjoyable but we’re only staying a day anyway. Taking on diesel at the little marina was discouraged because although the shop is ‘open between 10 and 4’ there’s a ‘closed’ sign permanently hanging in the window.
We did shops and banks, which was nice, and bought a bunch of roses as I can’t see me getting another chance before our anniversary on Sunday. It’s nigh impossible to do surprises on a boat. I was allowed to wander round a card shop on my own in case I needed anything. After a few minutes I cottoned-on and bought something. It ain’t easy finding a nice card of the size that fits in an inside jacket pocket. Funny how one still pretends to be discrete.

Wednesday brought icicles to the inside of our roof hatch frames. Must try and get some outside covers like the ones we saw on Lorimar, clip on canvas covers with clear flexible plastic panels to let the light through. The bakery went quiet for a few hours overnight but they started early next morning and the blackbirds almost drowned them out with their singing, if that’s what you call it. Winter lie-ins are over, we’ve another two months of 4am bird singing before we can sleep late again.

Passing through the deserted town was a pleasure but we were caught at Banbury’s lock by a school party and the memories of 4am bird noises returned as the little blighters leaned over the wall and shrieked their observations at me. Maisy2 took a walk on the stern hatch which brought more shrieks and 30 pointing fingers. You could see the teachers popping Prozac as they mustered their class for a walk into town.

A big thank you to the captain of nb.Tyler for helping with the shopping at Morrisons’ bridge, I was way out in front and hadn’t seen V struggling with the wheelie bag down the towpath steps.

We knew they were somewhere in front of us and it wasn’t long before we spotted Ten Bob Note. Couldn’t pass without making sure Ernie and Rhonda were out of bed and after honking the horn two faces appeared at the window.

Returning to stone locks and bridges country has sparked off another search for stone mason’s marks.
There are some beauties just above the low water mark and are not to be confused with more recent scratchings of a graffiti nature in bridge holes.

Glad MiL was onboard to see these because her father was a stone mason in Hanham, Bristol many years ago. Although his work was nearer to the quarry end of the stone prep’ process, he must have been very familiar with mason’s marks and could have filled in the gaps in our knowledge had he still been around.

Moored after Somerton lock in a lovely landscape. Sawed the last of our logs and made a right mess on the grass by spreading wood chips around. A rather well spoken couple stopped to talk which didn’t help my embarrassment. A later encounter with a fisherman left me in no doubt what the older ones think of boats ruining their hobby. “This all used to be lily pads back in the 1970s before boats came along, now look at it”. Sorry, may I compensate you with a few sprigs of floating pennywort?

The journey from Somerton brought new surprises in the form of logs, cut and stacked close to a lock. Couldn’t be handier if I’d done it myself. These went on the roof, something we said we’d never do but we need the cratch empty for rope handling at Thames’ locks so that’s where they had to go. Feeling generous I left some wood behind for TenBobNote. Actually I was more worried about getting through Dukes Bridge with a roof full of tree branches. Made a note for next time in these parts to check out what looked like more logs in the weeds upstream of Allen’s lock. Leave some for us Ernie.

We debated stopping for honey at the boat shop before Pigeon’s Lock but couldn’t see anyone in residence so carried on. Then found out why the boat was unattended, everyone was at lunch on the patio. Nice collection of moggies in the yard.

Chanced upon nb.Last Command which, unfortunately, was also unattended. We spotted this boat last year at Rugby but didn’t get to meet the owner, ex Merchant Navy like us, but I had hoped to meet up one day to ask about his experiences as a ship’s Master.

Passing through Thrupp we completed another page in the Eye-Spy book when we spotted what we assumed to be Mortimer Bones’ boat. I can see this is going to be a good week for spotting things.

Another surprise was in store as I was singing “one more lock to go, one more lock of sorrow….” when the prop tangled with a duvet. Couldn’t do a thing with a stalled engine and jammed rudder so we drifted into thorn bushes. A pair of freezing arms and 20 minutes later we had the blighter on deck and were back under steam. Dropped it at the next bridge, next to the dog poo bin. A good wash and a few stitches at one end of the duvet could see it back on someone’s bed within a day.

That little episode will teach me to sing songs before we tie up.

South of Kidlington we endured lines of “permies” along the canal bank. Like a ribbon village on a country road these boating villages look like they haven’t changed in hundreds of years.

But our spirits lifted as we entered Duke’s Cut. Soon we were on the Thames, heading upstream and doing the obligatory 9kph, my heart was singing even if my lips were shut against the unrelenting wind. Swinging hard left then hard right, then back again we wound our way up to Pinkhill lock only to find it closed for repairs. Worse still, it was major works and our “stoppages clerk” hadn’t checked recently or she would have discovered that this closure had over-run by several weeks. While I was confronting the works manager, V was checking her records and it transpired that we were ahead of our original schedule. Ooops.

“It’ll be open in a couple of hours” they said but they weren’t expecting problems with the stop planks. We over stayed on the lock landing and at 9 the next morning lockie Sarah arrived to declare the facilities open. While Sarah woman-handled the gates I chatted to pooch who loves boaters. He lets you know when to scratch his head by licking your hand.

Balmaha has gone into the Pinkhill Lock written records as first boat through after its major refit.

Another couple of hours passed, leaning into a westerly gale. Storms were forecast but if it’s worse than this then we’ll be blown back to the Oxford Canal. The Ferry pub at Bablock Hythe seemed like a good idea for our weekend stop but an offshore wind and a 5 foot high river bank made us give up and motor out again into the flow.

We were promised a meal out so we needed a pub with a restaurant and road access so MiL could be picked up by car. Newbridge was our next hope and seeing the high river bank made my heart sink. But turning round, blunt end on to the flow, we backed up to a dropped garden lawn and tied ourselves to pins.
MiL bravely walked the plank (not what you’re thinking) and we were in business, seated at tables in the Roses Revived restaurant with an excellent menu.

All done, tummies full (thanks grandma) and on our own again we turned the boat back into the flow and tied ropes to pegs, fence posts and anything else we could find ready for the “great storm of 2008”.

But apart from a showery night the water level was down on Sunday morning. Someone has pulled the plug further downstream, expecting a deluge over the weekend. Cries of “port list” meant wandering around outside in slippers slackening ropes and pushing the boat off a muddy ledge.

We’re going to have fun tonight though, we’re back in the restaurant for our 34th anniversary nosh and we’ll have to negotiate the boat plank at 45 degrees in the dark afterwards.

But the good news is that the roses held out for the occasion, leaves all dropped but the buds are still there at the top of empty stalks. Who says I’m not romantic.

Monday 25th Feb to Sunday March 2nd

The weekend is over and it’s time to be on our way. Cruising south on a fresh breeze we hammered through Norton Junction (on tickover), took the corner with eyes closed and steamed on down to Braunston Tunnel. No one about so we dawdled through, stopping at ventilation shafts and at any hint of an opening in the side walls.

Nothing fell on us as we passed underneath the huge overhead openings but like all “instant” cameras the shutter opened just after the event.

Further on we slowed to a stop as the side tunnel came into view and we think we may have solved the mystery of the parallel tunnel with lights in it.

There appears to be a short tunnel on the left, lined with calcite, half way up the wall and joining us to another vertical ventilation shaft. The “light” that we saw could be daylight in a shaft that misses the main tunnel by several feet. We didn’t find a second side tunnel but we’re sure there’s another one on the same side.

Thinking we were clever in solving the tunnel mystery we hit the landslide outside the west entrance and skidded around it with an alarming port list. There appears to be plenty of room to miss the landslide but it is deceiving because it extends further underwater than you think.
Wouldn’t advise passing another boat at the landslide, could result in two boats getting seriously stuck.

At last, the cottage at Braunston top lock has sold. It must have been this time last year that the owner finished his new fences and brightened the place with a fresh coat of white paint. That was the time we accidentally “lifted” the wrong tree branches from the veg clearance between the lock and the tunnel. It was a genuine mistake and we made up for it by doing the owner a favour with our saw.

Talking of saws, we’ve noticed dozens of fresh tree stumps on our way down from Mkt Harbro’. They have the appearance of selective tree dropping, fresh white stumps newly cut poking their heads out of the bushes every few miles along the tow path and we haven’t had any storms lately. Hmmmm.

Changing the subject, we’ve had trouble getting onto our Blog again. The three w’s in Balmaha’s URL were dropped for no apparent reason and after enquiring about it they’ve been reinstated. Now either we should have www in front of our blog name or we shouldn’t, I wish things didn’t get changed without warning.

Braunston was fortunate to have us for a couple of days while we did the usual rounds of chandlery and village stores. Hardly anything stirred in those 48 hours, Braunston was still locked in a deep winter’s sleep.

Heading for ‘Wiggies’ Turn we passed a charcoal boat. No, not selling it, being it. Don’t know what happened but whoever has been hanging on here for years has finally moved onto the bank.

Spoke to Mark last week and discovered he and Lorain are selling “Lorimar”.
Mark’s work prevents a proper cruising life and their boat is up for sale while they revert to bricks and mortar for a few years.

This isn’t a permanent change but it makes sense to sell up and build again when the time is right.
Anyone interested can find the details in the March issue of Canal Boat (pages 34 to 40).
As a guide she cost £107,000 a year ago. In my opinion she’s a top class fit-out with many classy and expensive features. Its bedroom up front would have suited us if we hadn’t already been spoken for. Lorimar can be seen afloat at Sawley Marina.

I came over all sick as we passed Wiggies Turn, diesel here was 59p and we’d only filled up a few days ago for 65p a litre. Drat!!

Found a space in the lay-by at Napton and split the last of our logs ready for another freezing day. But the sun shone like nobody’s business and I was compelled to walk the gunwales and rub the brass again.

Thursday brought special visitors Mike and Pat and loads of goodies. A bag of wood (spoilt I am), vino - slurp, shelf dividers (now used as book shelves) and a new Maisy. We’ve called her Maisy 2 though she’ll have to go out in the cratch when No1 daughter visits with Maisy 1, we don’t want any fights.

Our time was up at Napton (a measly 48hrs) so we kicked the Beta into gear and ploughed through the locks to the frozen summit. Hard on the heels of a single handed boater we encountered low water where contractors were repairing side weirs. The poor guy in front steered out of a lock into the mud as he discovered the water was 18” below normal. He stuck firmly in the middle of the pound. Everything he did made things worse so V went forward to the next lock and flushed him off his Goodwin Sands.
I followed him out after doing my own gates and got caught with both sets of paddles up. That’s what happens when you meddle in things you don’t understand. I had to stand in the naughty corner for ten minutes and suffer the embarrassment of hearing the story retold to all and sundry.

Rounding the corner at the top we sighted Moore to Life. Not Chas and Ann’s current home but their previous canal residence. She’s still looking good Chas, well looked after.

Boy, wasn’t it cold going down to Fenny Compton. We had to take it in turns getting out of the wind and standing by the fire. We had the Oxford Canal to ourselves which was just as well seeing some of the sharp corners at bridge-holes. We took the last 14 day spot before the pub at Fenny and threw most of Mike’s wood on the fire just to get the bones warm again.
Another day like this and I’ll be looking for a house with central heating, preferably warden controlled.

But the next day all was different again. The sun appeared and the fire was too hot.

Yet another special day, visitors from Calcutt. Roger and Babs on their way down south stayed overnight with us. The girls sat one end as they do, while the men sat in the comfy chairs and sorted out electric drive conversions and solar panels. It must have been a rare occasion because I can’t recall the loo word ever being mentioned.

And finally we arrived at Mother’s Day. Tezzer and Clarie replaced R+B and after fine food (not the usual boater’s gruel) they left us with MiL. Mil is braving the cold with us for a week on the Oxford down to Oxford funnily enough. Traditionally the wind gets up when she’s onboard but we’ve already had a dose of that so we’ll see what she does to the weather this time.

Weather update – It’s windy. And it’s cold. It’s cold and windy, some say it snowed.