Narrowboat Journal

Monday 18th to Sunday 24th May 2009.
It’s been an exciting week by our standards, plenty of adrenalin and many moments of reflection. The one I’d like to remember occurred on Wednesday, at Bristol, when tide and weather fitted perfectly for a jaunt down the River Avon under the suspension bridge.
The one I’d rather forget occurred on Monday part way down Bath locks where we nearly lost our home by getting caught on the cill.

Leaving Bathampton Monday morning we were pleased to be on the move again. It’s a slow journey from here to Bath but once we were through the tiny tunnel and into Bath locks all the frustrations of the summit were forgotten. In fact everything was forgotten and during one descent I was too busy nattering to Mike on Sarah-Kate to notice the concrete cill emerging under my feet. I put it down to the new notices stuck on the upper lock beams telling us to keep away from the cill. There’s a perfectly good white mark on the walls but they had to go too far and stick up notices and of course it’s only natural for boats to be attracted to them.

Can’t remember what we were talking about but the tiller arm slowly went stiff and as I pondered this my eyes spotted the white line on the wall. Oh dear, we’re in trouble.
Yelling dementedly for the lower paddles to be dropped I watched in horror as Balmaha tilted forward and then sideways and leant on Sarah-Kate for support.

It was all over in minutes, Mike and I were up at the top paddles letting in water as the ladies stopped the vital fluids draining away below us.

She floated again and all that remained was to get the rudder back into its bottom cup on the skeg.

Needless to say there were ‘looks’ from V so I kept my head suitably lowered in a contrite manner until smiles returned.

A week later, after many helpful reminders to pay attention I’m back in form, nattering to Mike and missing dangers by inches instead of miles.

Turning right from Bath’s bottom lock we visited the weir at Pulteney Bridge before calling it a day opposite the flats and offices not far from the station.

Tuesday came with showers every half hour. Undeterred by the weather we cruised downhill through beautiful scenery, across open valleys, between wooded hills, through Hanham lock, past V’s childhood playground (a huge steel sewer pipe beside the river) and into Bristol docks.

The old Fry’s chocolate factory brought back memories of goody bags filled with broken or malformed chocolate bars brought home by the workers. Many Bristolians in the 1960s worked at or knew someone who worked at either Frys or Wills’ ciggy factory and brought home cheap samples. Some worked at the brewery but I don’t recall any similar benefits.

We paid our dues at Netham lock where we found the lock keeper most helpful with advice on where to go and what to do. He told us to treat our boat as a taxi and the whole floating harbour as our home but looked quite disappointed when we said we weren’t going to Sharpness and even offered to take us up the Severn himself.

Bristol was a home-coming for us after 30 years away and what a change!! The place has had a face-lift and a good tidy-up since the post war and post commercial days of our childhood. It was good to see ships, yachts, dinghies and narrowboats and, most of all, plenty of empty moorings.
We passed under bridges that we’d walked or driven across and past concrete office blocks that replaced the derelict stone buildings we left behind in the 70s. Some factory walls have been retained for inclusion in new offices and overall we found the modernisation quite acceptable.

But the biggest surprise was the floating harbour with its new image.
Remnants of dock buildings, railways and cranes have been cleaned, painted and arranged in spaces between new offices and apartments.

The odd working boat can be seen amongst the new cruisers and converted barges but they look strange and out of place on this waterscape dedicated to leisure.

Walking the dock side near the town centre I found it hard to understand the mind of the architect who designed the buildings and paved open spaces with seemingly random objects plopped here and there.

Are these designed to raise questions or provide answers, I wonder.

And are they worth the price that the residents paid?

In contrast it was nice to see some of the old dives near Queens Square left untouched, places like The Old Duke and Llandoger Trow in King Street where you drink as you sway to the music.

It wouldn’t be right to visit Bristol without seeing Bristolians so we hosted Chris and Graham Tuesday evening, doing a mini cruise of the harbour (overtaking the sailing ship “Matthew”) before eating.

V knew Chris from school but I first met Chris at what we called Pigsty Hill Youth Club in Bishopston in the 1960s where Andy, my best man years later, and I did our best to ruin the snooker table.
In fact that was where I first saw V, but that’s another story.

Wednesday brought an unexpected highlight of the week. Enquiries at the Harbour Master’s office led us to believe we could arrange a locking out to sea, covered by the price of our ticket to Bristol City Docks. High tide was at 16.38 and as long as we were back before the tide turned we could take a jolly down the river. So we contacted the Dock Master as he came on watch three hours before high tide and he agreed to let thousands of gallons of water out of the docks just so we could cruise the salty river.

With Mike and Jo aboard as crew, advisers and necessary extra floatation should we sink, we slipped through the massive Entrance Lock onto the River Avon.

Passing beneath Brunel’s Suspension Bridge we pushed against the tide to our half way point at Sea Mills.

Returning with the tide was easier and we were back inside the safety of the lock in just over an hour. Having called the Dock Master as we passed the bridge on the way back upstream we found him waiting with a relieved look that turned into smiles when we reported all had gone according to plan.

I would recommend it to anyone reaching Bristol by boat, providing the tide is at a reasonable time of day. Locking outwards is up to three hours before high water and the last inward locking is 15 minutes before the tide turns. The Dock Master was just as keen for us to go, can’t think why, and was very helpful with advice on what to do and how to do it.
I’m led to believe that opening the lock allows them to scour the mud from the harbour so maybe we’re doing each other a favour.

A visit to Bristol wouldn’t be complete without pictures of the ss.Great Britain and the Matthew, a replica of Cabot’s little sailing boat that crossed oceans many years ago.

If it looks like the sky is about to erupt then that’s just how it was. The weather changed every five minutes so you took your chances when cutting loose from the side.

We felt good paying 55p for diesel at Bristol Marina until we heard the price had dropped to 50p elsewhere. But at least we could declare our own propulsion/power split, there being no pressure to comply with a fixed ratio.

So much happened in those three days down to the city and back that it would take too long to relate but in summary we all agreed it was worth doing. We would have stayed longer and gone back another day if the daily rate was more reasonable and judging by the empty moorings others feel the same.

Thursday and Friday saw us return to Bath and canal life. It had been good to clear the soot from the exhaust but it’s pootling time again.

Fine weather at Bitton’s railway station meant walkies and I mean walkies, it was at least two miles. But I made it back on a hotdog and chips from the station restaurant and the promise of a barbeque beneath the bridge over the river, our first this year.

Something else has been added to my ‘want list’. Actually several things but all under the title wide beam Dutch barge. We saw so many on the river and around Bristol’s city centre that my wants are fast turning into needs. I know it spells doom to cruising the narrow canals up north but just think of the fun on rivers and around the coast. Imagine pulling up on the sand at Weston Super Mare for an icecream.

Friday’s arrival in Bath was marked by fireworks. This presumably was the launch of Bath’s music weekend where everybody and his dog turned out onto the streets to watch live bands and acoustic musicians play for free. Apart from the locals there were representatives from every nation east of Margate, mostly sitting on tour buses or dragging suitcases between hotel and train.

Bank holiday weekend was best spent sitting tight, holding onto a mooring because anyone who wasn’t walking or cycling was floating past our veranda.

A call from Ter to say “it had started” reminded me that today’s itchy eye is tomorrow’s hayfever. Everything went mad when the sun came out, flies popped out of the water into the boat, mostly into the bedroom, and pollen wafted in on the slightest breeze.
I guess winter’s over, summer’s begun and it’s time to look out those shorts and tee shirts.

Monday 11th to Sunday 17th May 2009.

Monday
The plank came in useful this morning when John and Joan from V’s coach trip to Scotland called in to see us. Lovely couple, live between Shaftesbury and Shepton Mallet, on the road we used to travel when visiting the in-laws.

Walked to Bath for the shops, wallet was just as heavy when we got back, fruitless visits to hardware shops and nothing but tired legs to show for hours waiting outside fitting rooms.

Nattered to a BW man just before we departed for Bathampton and he told us there was a regular ‘patrol’ in this neck of the woods every Monday or Tuesday. Too regular if you ask me because all the naughty ones move up to Bradford on Avon on Monday night, swapping places with their cousins who come down here.

Tuesday
Used the plank again. John and Beth called in to see us. Haven’t seen these guys for a while and there’s always so much to catch up on like kids, hobbies and people we knew from yesteryear. Links go back to 1972 when house sharing was in vogue and finding parties at weekends was helped by knowing where nurses lived.

Wednesday.
Pottered up to Bradford on Avon with Mike and Jo on Sarah-Kate. V was desperate for the shops, the groceries kind, and we were getting low on the wet stuff, both kinds.
Got reminded that the washing machine’s drying function doesn’t work, I’d forgotten all about it and made a note on the second sheet of A4 to have a look at it (one day). It won’t be easy because the machine is built in and I’ll have to use a jemmy to get the jolly thing out.

Thursday
A sunny day, hooray. We all agreed to wander down town, Bradford’ that is, and sample the Bridge tea rooms coffee and nibbles. Terribly nice fella served us, apologised for not wearing his pinny.

Nice place, not huge but then you don’t get a lot of space in hundred year old buildings.
Outside we wandered across to the hardware and clothes shops, usual routine, she finds nothing that fits, and we go to the museum. You’ve got to go there if you’re in town, there’s a complete pharmacy as it was millions of years ago, you remember the sort of place, where you could buy bits for chemistry experiments at home.

More culture came our way as Mike and Jo led us up to the Saxon church of St.Laurence, then down again to the tithe barn.

These are places not to be missed, but unlike the museum you didn’t get the old fella’s explanation so it’s up to you to read the blurb and spot the features. I’m a lazy sightseer and prefer to rely on tour guides for my input.

But we can’t be hanging around Bradford’ all day so we tied up to Sarah-Kate and did a pirouette in the boat basin before entering the lock to go back down to Avoncliffe for the night.
We did a lovely spin with props in forward and reverse but there was no one to notice.

It rained, again, but nothing too bad or I would have stayed indoors. I walked V around the aqueduct and pondered the ‘request-stop’ railway station until a train came along and picked up the lady who stuck out her hand. How civilised is that.

Tomorrow morning Mike and Jo will catch the train here for another hospital visit. This is the biggy, the plaster is coming off. We joked about her putting her red plastered arm out to stop the train and damaging the driver’s cab.

The view from the aqueduct answered some of my questions about the River Avon. It’s not just getting wider but the flow is picking up, preparing for its take-over of the canal at Bath.

V cooked for the four of us on Thursday night and we ate faggots and peas, faggots from the market stall in Bradford’.
Tasted lovely but did terrible things a couple of hours later.

Friday
It was a pain getting caught on the submerged concrete every time a boat passed so we pushed off and left Sarah-Kate behind. Mike and Jo managed the request-stop train both ways and, returning later in the day, cruised west to meet us at Dundas.

We met an interesting fella here as we sheltered under a tree during a rain storm. Noticing several boats sporting the latest boater’s accessory, the black and white Patrol Notice, we received an explanation for boats behaving in their own particular way.

Perhaps because they have been squeezed out of their customary moorings they are now showing a sense of community and preparing to face their goliath together.

Invited to join their discussions at a favourite watering hole we declined but maybe one day, when those licence fees finally become too much to bear we will seek out the boaters of “Sunset Strip”, as he called it, and join the battle.

This boat reminds me of the ingenuity of boaters who personalise their craft. On many of them the window frames, doors and furniture show some amazing wood working talent.

Between showers we wandered the paths around the Dundas Aqueduct and found ourselves in Brassknocker Basin. What a delightful place this is with its charming name and historical connections with the coal fields to the east.
It might be a tiny canal stuck on the side of the Kennet and Avon but it’s not short of a hire boat or two.

Ladies can hire boats too you know, and we just happened to meet a few preparing for the weekend. But not all was as it seemed, a few deep voices aroused suspicions but their smiles were genuine even if nothing else was.

Saturday
We’re off again. Pausing for water and other things at the service point we agreed movements with Mike and Jo. They’ll kill a couple of hours at Claverton’s pump while we sniff out the moorings at Bathampton.
Jo’s arm looked odd with its puffy wrist and wasted forearm where the plaster had been but exercises should put things right in time. She wasn’t best pleased with the restriction on wrist movement and the pain showed in her face when she attempted the praying hands pose.

This was to be another day of April showers, just when you think it’s all over another gale hits the boat.

But it’s good news, we can eat properly again, Rob and Jan are visiting for dinner. Known this couple since I don’t know when. V was at school with Jan and I suppose I met Rob a few years later when we moved to Pucklechurch (don’t laugh, that’s a real place).
Rob was in the Merch’ like me so I was understandably keen to get stuck into the photo albums they’d brought along. Pictures of rough seas and very, very, large crude carriers (supertankers to you) and stories of people met and places been in the 1970s brought back many happy memories.

Sunday 17th May 2009.
Weather wasn’t brilliant but the food was. It was Ter and Claire’s turn to visit so we got the best plates out and had proper food again.

Lunch was followed by a sleep in the chair, last night was catching up on me I’m afraid.
Don’t forget the Blog V said, zzzzzzzz said I.
I’ll do it tomorrow.

Monday 4th to Sunday 10th May 2009

The Editor is back. Now life can return to normal, no more getting up at an unearthly hour (8.30) and going to bed late (8.30), no more eating drinking and breathing sawdust and varnish.

V returned Sunday morning, clutching bags, photographs and stories to make my hair curl of coach travel and hotels in jolly bonnie Scotland.

As for me, I started a jobs list the day she left but by midweek I’d given up recording which bit of wood got scraped, sanded and varnished. Who cares? Fortunately for me she could see something different on her return. Here’s a tip for other boaters, wiping turps over the shelves certainly gives the appearance of new varnish and the smell will convince anyone that work has been done. Only joking. That idea didn’t come to mind until just now and by then it was too late.

There are advantages to being on one’s own but I wouldn’t like to do it all the time, the thought of waiting at swing bridges for someone else to come along scares me silly, what if nobody comes along for weeks? Thinking about it one night, half way through a bottle of milk (not) I got quite maudlin and pondered my chances of staying a socialite in a narrowboat on my own. In reality I’d probably turn into a hermit and do what the youngsters down here do – just sit and sit and sit until the ‘notice’ appears on the boat, then move a mile up the canal and start sitting all over again.

I’d become an old age drop-out, partial to a glass but having to resort to the ‘apple juice’ rather than my current favourite, mother’s ruin. Mind you, I’d have to change my wardrobe if I lived down here, my colours don’t fit the scene at all, it’s all oranges, reds, browns and yellows along this bit of the Kennet & Avon.
To completely fit in I’d have to cover the roof in logs, no not logs – branches with the twigs still attached and plastic toys and battered bicycles and a trailer for those little trips to the water tap.

Talking of which, there’s a favourite watering place just along from me. It’s a land drain sticking out of the field which takes the run-off from a sheep pasture and deposits water into the canal. Now you have to imagine a clay pipe, about 3” diameter protruding a few inches from the earth, underneath it is wet clay and a couple of feet away is the canal. The water seems to run continuously and has attracted the ‘permies’ as I like to call them, who walk over the little footbridge with their plastic containers to top up with water.
One boat tied up at the bridge for three hours and by using a funnel and pipe put this field water straight into the boat’s water tank. Now how inventive is that? Absolutely brilliant. Someone must have come along and tested the water and declared it safe for consumption and word spread along the canal.
No, you won’t catch me doing it, I have a delicate tummy and I’d have to imbibe mother’s ruin to sterilise it which would cause me to fall over, again.

Enough, I’ve wandered far enough in my thoughts on that subject, it’s time to return to serious boating stuff.

Fortunately for my sanity Mike and Jo caught me up in Sarah-Kate and provided much needed distractions. But there’s a down side to that, someone is always there to note the days that I don’t get out of bed.

As V took the camera with her to the Outer Hebrides or wherever it was (Orkneys, she reminds me) there are no pictures to show from this week’s canalside activities, that is apart from one. Some background first. Vic on No Problem made some excellent vented windows for his boat comprising wooden frame covered with a fine fly-proof netting that lets in the breeze but keeps out the flies. This week I made two of these babies for Balmaha and have to say they work quite well.
All I do is take out the removable semi-circular glass unit and insert my new device which allows a flow of air but keeps out the flies.

First trials didn’t go quite to plan because I found flies on the inside of the unit, they’d come through the back doors and stuck themselves on the mesh while trying to get out through the porthole. But I can see how it might work in the middle of summer, from about 5pm when the mozzies pop out of the water and go crazy trying to get into the bedroom to wait for us. Thanks Vic for that idea, what have you invented this year?

Finally, I must apologise for the lack of anything interesting to report but I’ve done much the same thing every day and I haven’t had the benefit of V to make my days exciting.
Apart from Mike and Jo who, have been brilliant friends ever since the cruise began, my only close companions this week have been two ducks who appear every hour at the side doors where they quack until they’re fed. These ducks have taken it upon themselves to look after me by floating outside the windows with those “I’m starving” eyes during the day and by flip-flapping up and down the roof all night as if to keep my nightmares away. Did you know that ducks love cheese?

But for those who, like me, don’t know where Scotland is, here are a couple of pictures of the place.
The first one is all to do with affordable housing at Skara Brae on the Orkneys.

The last one is something to do with Italian POWs building a chapel during WW2 and having to make do with a Nissen hut. That’s nothing to do with Nissan cars (is it?).
It might look like stone and plasterwork but it’s all a trick with clever painting, a bit like me last week in this boat.

As for the future, we’re hanging around east of Bath for another week then doing the Bristol run, possibly stopping two nights in the harbour.

Spurred on by the “Who’s doing diesel at what price” and “Where to get your laundry done” I’m preparing a booklet called “Floaters or sinkers”. It’s all about what floats and what doesn’t so we know what we can chuck overboard without getting into trouble.
For example - potato peelings sink, so they’re alright, whilst apple peelings float, so they’re not alright.
Everyone is invited to contribute to the booklet so let me know your experiences, ‘though nothing too ghoulish please.

Monday 27th April to Sunday 3rd May 2009

Rain was forecast and rain was what we got. It wasn’t warm but neither was it cold so although we didn’t use the central heating (spoilt or what?) we kept the fire going overnight.
We’re out in the country, somewhere near Seend (no that’s not a spelling mistake). One sees the occasional boat or two but there’s plenty of space between them and the cruising is up to standard.

By evening we’re listing again. Someone’s pinched the water. Yesterday we were robbed in the morning, today we’re robbed in the evening. This canal certainly takes some getting used to.

We’re approaching Hilperton marina so V and I take a walk (it really isn’t far, she said) and there I finger all the shiny bits in the chandlery and the icecreams. Not a bad shop I have to say, there’s things in there that I haven’t seen anywhere else on the system, reels of 6mm copper tube for my winter project and boat main fuses of all shapes and sizes up to 750 amps. I bought two giant fuse links at £3.10 each, compare that with Midland Chandlers if you will.

The following day we stopped at Hilperton Wharf’s services and did a rubbish drop. There’s no point buying diesel here, they will only sell with a propulsion/power split of 60/40, and no, I haven’t got that the wrong way round. At 60p a litre plus 46p extra duty we would be £63.60 worse off on a full tank of diesel.

Leaving Hilperton we continued towards Bradford on Avon. No sooner had we started than we stopped under a bridge to admire dozens of mason’s marks. There be stone bridges in these parts and Jo and me snapped away with cameras until we’d recorded everything. Even an approaching narrowboat didn’t deter us, he fought his way through the bridge hole while we loitered in it scanning stones for these unusual markings.

At Bradford Lock we halted for a shopping trip to dear old Sainsburys. Might as well take a walk into town while we’re there, she said, and we found it much as we’d left it 35 years ago.

In fact it’s much as we’d have left it hundreds of years ago.

The Bridge has been branded UK’s Top Tea Room 2009, topping the Ritz and all London’s top hotels and even Bath’s Pump Rooms, so the sign says.

What a lovely place to find near the Kennet & Avon canal, well worth the ½ mile walk from the boat.

Smashing place, nice people and a lovely accent is developing as we get closer to our old haunt of Bristol.

And then we spotted it – my relatives – Granny Mo’s, right there next to the lock.

Couldn’t go any further without sitting outside Granny’s sipping good coffee and watching the boats go by. This might even beat the Bridge because of its unique setting and it’s a darn sight kinder on the pocket.

We stayed the night (at the moorings, not at Granny Mo’s) and on Thursday joined the queue for the water tap before descending the lock. All went well as we waited our turn for the tap but unfortunately we met Mrs Grump on a hireboat coming the other way who couldn’t handle queues and let off steam about us and the system and probably life in general so we dumped rubbish, declined water and pulled away from the conflict. It didn’t stop then, she told her husband who yelled some more so I smiled, which didn’t help. Granny Mo’s owner came out to see what the fuss was all about and commented on how it provided wonderful entertainment for the locals.

Back out into the countryside we relaxed and enjoyed the cruise to the Dundas Aqueduct, built in 1804 across the Avon valley, and where we waited an hour for water.

The wide beam in front must have been 90% water tank, 10% accommodation. The owner has two of these which he hires out and we compared notes on central heating systems and engines. He’s getting a new 50hp Beta engine which will leave him with a spare Italian engine to dispose of. I got the impression he wasn’t asking much for it but I declined.

Made a note to cruise the Somerset Coal Canal until I looked in the book and discovered its only ¼ mile long now, the rest was abandoned many years ago.

Mike and Jo have popped home for an important birthday so we’re on our own for a day or two.
By the time we reached Bathampton we were cruising the canal equivalent of the M25. Wall to wall residents left little space for visitors so we pushed on in the hope of finding something in Bath.

A space on the 72’s and on rings was more than we could have expected and judging by the last few miles this is a rare find.
What’s even better was the bridge ahead of us was plastered with mason’s marks, just wait til I tell Jo.
Despite the weather we walked down town, following the locks, to see what the River Avon offered boaters. Moorings are scattered between the locks, sometimes in twos or threes, and we mentally booked our space on the public moorings below the weir in town, even if it’s going to cost us money. But that’s another day.

Friday arrived along with the population of Bath, all eager to tread the gravel path beside the canal.
I was given two lists by V, one summarised boat jobs while the other listed food in the fridge. Why? Because she’s doing a runner.

No, nothing like that, she’s going as carer/companion with a couple of ladies on a coach to the frozen north. Somewhere beyond the mainland, somewhere over the sea to a remote paradise, or it would be if the sun ever shone there, for a week. Meanwhile I get to indulge myself with cooking, washing, cleaning and attacking that long list of jobs.

But first I have to turn the boat and find a mooring that won’t attract attention from the blue-shirts. Remembering the check list, like fit the tiller arm and start the engine before casting off, I make it through bridges and tunnel to the winding hole above Bath locks. There’s a friendly fella with a boat at the ‘hole who chats to me as I turn around and has nasty things to say about sea gulls that drop fish onto his boat and forget to collect them. He held up his trophies that looked a bit like piranhas to me.
Back in the other direction I crawled along looking for a space to stop for a week and taking advice from a hireboat crew stopped as far from a suspicious looking floating wood pile as I could. Needn’t have bothered because another one turned up later and plonked himself right next to me.

Saturday 2nd May
Full of beans, well bacon and eggs, I was pleased to see the jolly old sun was out again. Time to find the two lists.

First open doors and windows, second lift the furniture, third sandpaper the floor.

And then slap on the varnish.

Great?

No, not exactly. It’s dandelion weather, gorgeous yellows have been replaced by fluffy whites which at the chime of mid-day float away on the breeze. I’m not sure how they steer but they’re very good at finding portholes and gaps in the doors and they collect in bunches in every corner of the boat. They particularly look for their favourite landing places - cups of coffee and glasses of wine, but worst of all they seem attracted to fresh varnish, open tins and sticky paint brushes.

So while the varnish dries I sit at the other end of the boat trying not to suffocate because I have to keep the windows and doors closed.

There’s another downside to sanding and varnishing wood, dust gets everywhere. But the good news is that you can only see it when you move something. The trick is to put things back in the same place and that’s made easier by dust leaving a shape the same as the object.

I kept the fire in overnight, it helped to dry the varnish which smelt a tad nasty and it helped to dry my socks which also smelt a tad nasty. I’d soaked them in a bucket with phosphate free (terribly high in nitrates) soap and couldn’t believe the colour after I’d rinsed them. Why don’t I do this more often I wondered.
Being close to Bath it’s terribly busy on the canal, boats pass every five minutes and many of them seem to be in a desperate hurry.
It’s not a pleasant experience being on pins at the end of long ropes outside reeds and balancing on submerged concrete beams that line the canal. I wonder if the concrete was higher than the water level at one time and served the purpose of a wall to rest alongside?

Perhaps the water level has been raised to save dredging and now the concrete is lying at base plate level so that waves from passing boats lift us onto it with an unpleasant bang and a scraping noise. Some clever boaters have dropped car tyres down the side to ease the scuffing but guess who didn’t bring any?

No, give me deserted canals and rivers any day.

Not that I’ve anything against the scruffs that line the bank in these parts, I’m getting to know them one by one and have found them, so far, to be a friendly lot. I think I’m getting to like them.

Some of the boats down here look very interesting, if only we could stop and talk and get to see inside them, I’d find them fascinating, I’m sure. There must be great stories to tell. I wonder if any keep blogs.

The towpath is wider here than we’ve seen it in the east, it needs to be wide to handle the traffic. Every day it’s the same, joggers first then dog walkers by the thousand and then cyclists by the million. There’s no way I’m going to be able to chop wood on the towpath. But there’s one good point worth mentioning, there are no anglers, no 30 foot perch poles, no fold up seats and no umbrellas to negotiate on the towpath.

Sunday 3rd May 2009
Sanding and varnishing continues. I’m doing the water stained bits that you think you’ve cured until the varnish goes on and the stains all reappear like magic.

Boats continue to whiz up and down so I’ve stuck a couple of notices outside. The first one I’ve used before on the Trent & Mersey, to good effect, it says “Please Slow Down, we’re almost out of china”. This usually gets a smile and often has the desired effect.
The other is “Go Slow – canal humps ahead”.

If neither work, as happens with hireboats, then just as the steerer passes the open side doors I drop a few empty tins on the floor and let out a yell, that usually gets their attention and their reaction makes me laugh.

Two pirate boats left for Bathampton this morning, must be a stag do, they were three parts jolly and having a real good time. A wide beam trip boat goes one way in the morning and returns later with rows of smiling faces and the sounds of a turkey farm.
The only thing that slows the trip boat is the narrow bridge hole a few feet away. As he applies the brakes his boat sends a small tsunami down the canal which treats us all to a free Alton Towers experience.

Hurry up V, I’m all for getting outta here.

Addendum
Any nonsense, grammar or spelling mistakes that mya occur are due to the absence of my editor.