BigMartyn's Blog

It ends

2008-11-06T23:34:00.002Z

Kensal Green to Battlebridge Basin, 5 miles, 4 locks

So is was it then. The day when surely I must finally get 'home'. The sky was grey, but in a good way and was saying that it was giving me a chance if I was prepared to take it. Not wishing to rush into anything, I went to Sainsbury's for breakfast. It's not quite up to Bull's Bridge Tesco standards, but it's okay.

Back at Oothoon, I did the usual pre-flight check of the water levels (hardly needed topping up) and selected my clothing for the day (Caterpillar boots, Dickies work trousers, a Snickers polo shirt worn over an NTK 'geek' T-shirt, and a fluorescent green workman's jacket. I looked just like one of the workmen on the aggregate barges that're going up to the Olympic site, which suited me just fine.

I cast off and headed along past Sainsbury's. I wasn't expecting trouble today, unlike yesterday when I was constantly on the look out. I think I felt that this close to home I didn't care. Worst case, I'd get a neighbour to come and tow me back if need be. The canal drifted by and soon I was passing Trellick Tower—long one of my favourite buildings in London, even if it is a brutal concrete tower block. Trellick Tower also means that Little Venice is just around the corner and sure enough there's a large collection of boats leading to the approach. As I get near the bridge which is the entrance, a little boat appears in the 'hole', but thankfully reverses and gets out of the way. Then I'm nearly under the bridge when another boat has a go at coming through, but he manages to move out of the way and we circle around each other as I emerge into the basin.

I'd put my tunnel light on before I set off, so I'm all ready by the time I reach the Maida Hill tunnel. It's only a little one and it's clear, and I've been through it loads of times, but I guess my attitude to tunnels has changed while I've been away (Blisworth—shudder!) and I'm glad I'm through it quickly. My neighbours had been through here a little while before I'd set off and had somehow damaged their chimney, but I'm at a loss to see how unless they went through with sunglasses on or something.

Just after the tunnel there's a little basin, then a tiny tunnel under a building. Creeping out from the mouth of the tunnel is the Beauchamp electric barge. The Beauchamp is huge. I mean huge! It's about 75ft (~23m) long and about as wide as you can possibly be and fit into a lock. It completely fills the tunnel and it's about to fill the basin. Quickly I go into reverse, which brings my prow straight into her path, but a bit of reversing into a handy nook, followed by full left rudder tucks my nose in and the behemoth silently slithers past and turns towards the next tunnel. The skipper gives me a friendly wave as he goes past and I'm pleased that I was here and not the other side of the Maida Hill tunnel, because with all the boats moored up there I'm not sure that there would be room for all of us.

A nice quiet stretch of canal through Regent's Park and the Zoo, with the Snowden aviary on the left and I'm at the bridge and 90° bend where the floating Chinese restaurant is at Cumberland Basin. This can be a tricky manoeuvre to do, especially if there's a Jason's Trip boat coming under the bridge at the same time, but I do just fine. I think the lack of an audience probably helped, since I could give it my full concentration.

Past moored boats and nice houses and the canal eventually ends up at Camden. I haven't really thought about Camden and how I'm going to do the locks, but now that I'm approaching them I'm feeling apprehensive. There are always lots of gongoozlers there, which I could do without. I'm lucky, though, in that the gates of the first lock are open and I can go straight in. As I do so, a workman appears and starts fishing around for something in the lock with a SeaSearcher magnet. He kindly closes the gate on his side, so I do the one on the side where I've parked and open the front paddles. There are a few observers, including three builders who are clearly fascinated. Oothoon descends into the lock beautifully and I soon have the paddles closed and a gate open, and I'm on to the next lock.

The next lock also has the gates open and is an easy approach. After closing them, I set Oothoon going down and look towards the third lock across the basin. It's empty and the gates are closed, but after this lock is drained, I wander down to fill it and open one of the gates ready.

The approach into the third lock is made more difficult by a weir, whose water is pushing the boat off course. I correct and manage to make a passable entry into the lock. I'm going a little quickly, since I'd needed to use some power to counteract the force of the weir, but I don't want to go into reverse which will send me to the right and nudge open the other gate. In the end I jump off and try to slow her with the centre rope, but the bollards on this lock are simply slim concrete cylinders and the rope soon comes off. She's slowed down, but still manages to lightly dunch the bottom gates, and to top it all, the other top gate has opened anyway.

I operate the lock with a trio of people watching from the nearby bridge, but it all goes well. I almost don't need to open the bottom gates, since they spring open themselves. Before long I'm out and into the twisty section of canal that weaves under bridges and eventually leads to St Pancras.

I want to stop at the dry dock at St Pancras to fill up with diesel. It's not that I need it, but I want the tank full over the winter to avoid problems with condensation. I tie up and pop in to talk to Fred, who is busy as usual but still has time to chat for a bit. Peter the welder is also there and he offers to make me a cuppa while I tell him about what I've been up to. Afterwards it turns out that Fred doesn't sell diesel any more and it's the St Pancras Cruising Club who run the pump, but none of them seem to be there so I head off into St Pancras lock. There's another boat waiting to come up and I pass it on the way around the corner when I'm really into the home stretch. There's just the bit where Goodsway Moorings used to be before all the boats were moved on to make way for the King's Cross redevelopment,York Way bridge to get under, then I'm at Battlebridge Basin.

Just as she'd promised, Claudine had untied her boat Bird Song from the one that's normally on the other side, but the wind had blown Bird Song over and there was no gap. Suddenly there was a yell and there were Josie and Sarah, waving madly at me, and pulling Bird Song out of the way so I could get in. At little bit of pivoting on the end of a boat and...I'm in. I put Oothoon into neutral and slowly slide into my berth.

After I've tied up at the back, I walk down the gunwale and Josie and Sarah are waiting to meet me. After a hug, they offer to have me round for a drink and a chat, but I say that I need to sort out my boat first. I tie up the front of the boat and then go back to the engine room to stop the engine and turn the stern gland greaser. I also collect a few things, put the inverter into 'always on' mode and lock everything up. What a relief.

A little while later I heft the gangplank off the roof and try to re-install it. It's a clever design by Fred at St Pancras and it has two pipes which go into holes in the prow, behind which are more pipes. Once they're in the holes, the pipes provide something for the cantilevered plank to brace against and there are two pins to stop the pipes from slipping out. Once that's in place—something Josie has to help me with, since I can't get the alignment right and she ends up lifting one end while I get it in the hole—I attach the other end and access to the boat is once again easy. It just remains for me to re-attach the mains cable from the front of the boat and everything is back to normal.

Josie and Sarah are insistent about having a drink, but I suggest that I'd like to see the new building—King's Place—that has been finished and opened while I've been away. They suggest that we go over and we can have a drink there. It's all very nice, with a subterranean art gallery and double-height escalators, but there's not a lot of character. The Rotunda bar/restaurant has nice views and pretty staff, but service is patchy to say the least. Josie wants champagne and I quite fancy it myself, but I also want a cup of tea. In the end I get both. I also order the 'nibbles' tray, which has olive bread sticks, almonds, olives, chilli-fied broad beans and corn kernels. After that, more champagne and at some point Josie produces a box of chocolates, which is very nice. I share them among us. After even more champagne, we stagger back to our boats.

The next bit is a bit blurry. I know I went through some of my post and also sent some messages on the Internet, but don't really know where the time went. I do know that I was feeling a bit like I was back in the rat race again, wedged between umpteen other boats in the middle of the metropolis.

Dinner was Tesco Four-cheese Ravioli with a bit of pesto. Quick and functional.

A little later there were voices outside the boat and it was Josie talking to Claudine. I went out to have a chat, but Claudine was off to bed. We were joined by Sandra—another neighbour from the other side of Josie and Sarah's boat—and I went back with her to have a chat. It was quite nice, because she'd been reading this blog and decided it was easier to ask the organ grinder or something. A combination of her roaring fire and her lovely whisky completely wore me out and after a while all I could do was come home to bed.

So that's it. It's over. After all the stress and worry that I've had on the return journey and throughout the voyage, it all seems like an anticlimax to be back here. It's going to be strange, not having to look at maps to find a good place to stop or to worry whether something else will go wrong, or the weather will be horrible. Strange? Hmmm, boring more like!

So close and yet so far

2008-11-05T23:21:00.001Z

Bull's Bridge to Kensal Green, 11 miles, 0 locks

Once the traffic noise stopped last night I must have slept soundly because it's after 9:30 when I wake up, meaning I've been in bed for 12 hours! The weather looks grey and miserable and liable to rain, and as I walk to Tesco for breakfast I can feel the moisture in the air.

After breakfast and the news that Barack Obama is the new president of the United States (why do I keep misreading that as "Black Obama"?) I shop for skimmed milk and orange juice then go back to poor old Oothoon. I've convinced myself that the problem with the pump has happened again and it should be easy to fix, however I thought it was too easy yesterday and so I'm expecting the worst. When I finally get into the engine room, the problem is the same as yesterday, so I turn the shaft and tighten the grub screw. After turning the engine over a little, to check that the pump's shaft is turning, I'm convinced that the pulley is slack. I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that the screw probably wore a groove into the shaft when it was turning yesterday, so perhaps there's no 'flat bit' there anymore. I loosen the grub screw and gently tap the pulley with the hammer I use to knock pegs into the ground. I just want to shift it along the shaft a little bit, just in case there is a groove. I figure that it won't stop a new groove being cut if things don't work out, but it might be good enough to get me to Paddington, which is where I'm heading for today. With that all done and the engine topped up again, I start the engine and everything seems okay. It all feels liable to failure at any moment, however I have no choice but to live with it.

I wander along to say goodbye to Duncan, who seems to be having engine trouble of his own. Although he's got lots of fuel, he thinks that there's a problem with the 'lift pump', which pushes the fuel into the injectors. It means that the engine starts, but then won't run for more than a few seconds. Since water pumps and lack of fuel aren't the cause, I'm out of my depth, so we say goodbye and I head off. He gives me a cheery wave from the engine bay as I pass, with a spanner clamped between his teeth the way a Flamenco Dancer might hold a Rose.

It's a tight turn under the bridge onto the Paddington Section of the Grand Union, but I manage without hitting the sides, then I'm on my way. Last year when I did this, I had only been going for about 20 minutes when the rain started and it didn't stop until I was indoors at Paddington (at which point my gas ran out, while I was having a shower). History was repeated today when the rain started as I was approaching the Uxbridge Road bridge at Southall, but at least this time I had all my waterproofs on. The drips from the hood were quite annoying, as was the way my eyebrows would catch on the edge of the hood and flick water into my eyes, but at least I was largely dry. I had the back hatch and one of the back doors closed, to keep the rain out of the engine room, but every time I went under a bridge, I'd shove the hatch forward to check the engine temperature: 50°.

The rain came and went throughout the day and I realised that I was starting to run out of daylight, so I sped up. I was worried that this might undo my repair to the engine, but the temperature just climbed to 55° and came right back down again when I slowed to pass moored boats. There were no n'er-do-well's at Greenford—I don't blame them in this weather—and the day was uneventful and dull. Fortunately I had the engine temperature to fret over, which kept me on my toes. I waved at a few people on the bank as I went past, including Citizen Matt on Growltiger—back in her usual mooring—and by sundown I was passing Kensal Green, where there are good moorings and a Sainsbury's. I'd wanted to get to Paddington, because that is the symbolic end of the arm, however there's only about 30 minutes in it, which would be nothing in the morning, but tonight would mean that I'd arrive in the dark. I decided that I was better off mooring here and did the necessaries.

I showered and finished off yesterday's houmous for a snack, then settled down for a rest. I'd left the engine running and was a bit worried about it, but when there was a loud "boom!" I was expecting the worst. Grabbing the everlasting torch and running to the back of the boat, I opened the doors to find the temperature normal and nothing amiss. Then there was another "boom!" and I realised with a jolt that it's November 5th and everyone would be setting off fireworks. I had to go to Sainsbury's as my baking potatoes weren't tip-top and as I got to the bridge over the disused entrance to a no-longer-there basin, there were more bangs and there was a spectacular firework display. I couldn't see the low-level stuff, but I could see the rockets clearly and it was very impressive.

You know you're back in London in the Kensal Green Sainsbury's. Half the people there look like they couldn't survive outside London—either because they'd get beaten up for their appearance or because they'd be completely lost in a non-urban environment. Maybe they'd see a visit to 'the country' as an opportunity to shop at Barbour. Either way, it was all rather amusing and I wandered the aisles feeling like I was some strange invisible visitor sent to spy on Londoners.

Dinner, which was later than expected due to the delay of the shopping trip and potatoes taking 90 minutes to bake, was sirloin steak, with a baked potato with a dollop of sour cream and chive dip, some sauté'd mushrooms and a fried tomato. I had intended to have peas too, but forgot at the last minute. As it was I didn't need them.

Chatted to Paul before he goes off on holiday to the Lake District—mad fool in this weather—and caught up with e-mail and messages. I've txt'd my neighbour Claudine to ask that any ropes spanning my berth be untied so I can go straight in, and she txt'd back to say that she's looking forward to seeing me. It's all going to be a bit strange once I'm back. I'm looking forward to being without stress for a while and washing my knickers (thank goodness I have so many that I haven't run out of clean ones yet) but I wonder what'll happen once that all wears off. Will I have the wanderlust back on Monday? Maybe I should get to King's Cross first before I start worrying about what happens next.

Bulls Bridge Tesco Again

2008-11-04T23:20:00.001Z

Brentford to Bull's Bridge, 5 miles, 10 locks

I must have been tired because it was after 9am when I woke. Looking out of the window, it was grey but not raining and likely to stay like that. I had a cheery breakfast of a bacon and mushroom sandwich—cooked with the window open so everyone around would feel hungry—then it was straight on to displacement activities like emptying the loo and the bins, rather than getting dressed up and setting off to do the Hanwell locks.

Eventually I could put it off no longer, so I topped up the engine with water, started it, then....wandered down the wharf to Daisy to say goodbye to John and Pauline. A few boats before them was a little narrowboat called Amy, which was just about to set off. I notice that the skipper is also by himself and I quickly ask whether he's going up to Bulls Bridge. He is and says he'll wait for me at the first lock.

John has got the back deck up and lurking beneath is the largest engine I've ever seen. It's ludicrously large, but then it is 4.7 litres! Turns out there's a leak in the pipes to the calorifier—which uses waste heat from the engine to warm the water in the hot water tank—and he's trying to track it down. We chat about their plans and Pauline joins us at this point, and they're going to moor in Brentford for three months (for a very reasonable sum) and then decide what to do after that. They're still waiting for the sale of their house to complete, although that should be done this weekend and after that it's hunting for a bigger boat and a more permanent mooring. I say my goodbyes and return to Oothoon, which is waiting patiently with an engine temperature so low that the gauge hasn't moved.

Amy's skipper's name is Duncan and as promised he's waiting at the first lock. I thought there were 12 locks from Brentford to Bulls Bridge, but he points out that two of them are Thames Lock and the Brentford Gauging Locks, so there's only 10 left to do. One of the gates of this lock is open, so Amy goes in first and nips over to the side, then I follow. As the gate is on my side, I climb up the lock ladder and close the gate, then open the ground paddles for the top gates. It's very strange doing locks by hand again, after what seems like an eternity on the Thames. Oothoon's tiller almost catches on the bottom gate, but springs free at the last minute and I realise that I'm not concentrating properly.By the time the lock is full Duncan has suggested that I open my gate and we'll both go through it, and he'll close it afterwards.

Both gates are open at the next lock, however my usual approach, which is to jump off as the stern goes past the end of the lock, then run up the stairs with the centre rope and lift it over the gate so I can bring the boat to a stop on a bollard, won't work as someone has built a bridge over the end of the lock and I wouldn't be able to pass the rope under. With nothing else for it, I have to climb on the roof and up the lock ladder again. At least it isn't too slimey. As we operate the lock, Duncan and I get a chance to chat. Turns out that he's worried that his engine might overheat because there's an airlock. I suggest that we breast up if it's going to be a problem, but he says it'll be okay and that he just needs to watch it.

No disasters with that lock, so I head off for the next one. This is the first of the 'Hanwell Six', which is a flight of six closely spaced locks in two groups of three. In fact there are seven locks at Hanwell (I used to live there), but there's a gap between the 'six' and the top lock, so it usually isn't included. I arrive and make a little mess of the landing, largely because the entrance to the River Brent is right next to the landing spot and causes odd currents. Once I'm landed, I see that the lock is empty, which is perfect, but for some reason I feel the urge to fill the lock. The paddles all have anti-vandal locks on them, so I've plenty of time to realise my mistake, but it isn't until I've opened the ground paddles and can see water rushing in that I realise I've blundered. I close the paddles and do up the anti-vandal stuff, then go and open the bottom paddles. While I'm doing this, Duncan has arrived and joins me at the gates. I explain what I've done and apologise, but he's a mellow kind of chap and brushes it off. Also he's concerned that he's got something round his prop, but doesn't want to spend time looking at it because of the limited amount of daylight left and asks if we can breast up after all. I agree and once we've got the gates open, I edge Oothoon over alongside Amy. We tie the sterns together and connect the bow using Amy's ropes and the centre using Oothoon's. We also tie Amy's tiller so it's steering straight-ahead, so the two boats won't be fighting each other.

All hitched up we head into the first of the Hanwell Six. Duncan says that he'll do the locking, so I stay aboard Oothoon and control the boats. The first lock goes okay and we're both delighted that the bottom gates are open on the next two locks. That should make life easy. I navigate the boats into the second lock while Duncan closes the gates behind and he joins me just as the sterns pass the bottom gates.

The second and third locks go without a hitch and Duncan runs ahead to set the fourth lock while I open the top gates of the third. I'm just about to head out of the lock when I notice that Oothoons temperature is up to 90° and she's starting to steam. I can't figure out why this might suddenly be happening, unless it's due to the extra load caused by Amy. When Duncan returns, I tell him what's happened and he suggests that maybe Amy's hull is stopping the flow of water over Oothoon's skin tank and so it's not working well. To prove that the cooling is working, I disengage the clutch and rev the engine hard, and the temperature drops a little bit. I consider the other possibility, which is that all the water has leaked out and so there's nothing to cool with, but can't see why that would happen.

In the end I stop the engine and wait a bit for it to cool down. Once it's at a more respectable 80° I get into the engine room, clear the stuff off the engine cover and lift the cover up. The bilges don't seem to be full of water, so that discounts the leak theory, but after feeling the temperature of various pipes with my hand, it's clear that our old favourite—the auxiliary water pump—isn't pumping. I can't believe it's the impeller again; also I had said to Duncan that I could hear a whining noise, so I wondered whether it's just that the pump has shifted and the drive belt is now loose. I feel it, but it still feels under tension, so I start the engine to have a look. Immediately it's clear what the problem is: the water pump's pulley is going round, but it isn't turning the shaft of the water pump. That would explain why the pump isn't pumping. I stop the engine and mention this to Duncan, saying that surely it can't be that simple. The pulley has a little grub screw tightened with an Allen key and when I check it, the grub screw feels loose. I can tighten it, but it needs to be aligned with the flat part of the drive shaft. There's no way to turn the pulley, since it's driven by the engine, but I wonder whether I can turn the pump shaft. I ask Duncan if he's got a pair of Mole Grips and he produces an absolutely ancient pair, but they're good enough. Gripping the end of the shaft, I turn it until the flat bit is roughly under the grub screw. I tighten the screw as tight as I can, start the engine and the pump is working again. Like a miracle, the temperature drops away before our eyes and soon it's back to 50°. It all seems too simple for my liking, but I'm gradually getting used to the idea that engines aren't complicated things and that you quickly see the consequences of cause and effect. Anyway the temperature is now back to normal, so with a deep feeling of disbelief I head into the next lock.

The last three locks of the 'six' pass quickly and I collect Duncan after the last one for the ride to the top lock. We're chatting—him on the back of Amy and me on the back of Oothoon, when I realise that we're going through Three Bridges—a unique place where the road goes over the canal and the canal goes over the railway, all one on top of the other. I meant to photograph it, just as I meant to last year, but yet again I've been gassing and missed it. Oh well.

The next two locks are also simple enough and we decide to leave Oothoon and Amy breasted up for the trip to Bulls Bridge. According to the eTrex, it was 16:29 and sundown as we came out of the last lock, so we haven't got much daylight left and this is probably the best option. Duncan turns on his tunnel light, so we'll be able to see where we're going and we start on the takes-longer-than-you-think-it's-going-to stretch up to Bulls Bridge. In fact it takes nearly 90 minutes and almost all of it in the dark, but we get there in the end. There's a burnt-out wreck of a tiny narrowboat semi-submerged next to the wharf, dividing it into an Amy-sized bit and an Oothoon-sized bit. We decide to separate the boats and Amy can dock under her own power. It's only when we've untied and I'm trying to back Oothoon down the canal to get a better approach to the landing that I realise that she's overheating again. The temperature's up to 90° but holding there, so I risk it and manage to get back to where I can take a good line for the shore. Then it's head for the shore, get the back in, stop the engine, then jump off. I haul her alongside to the sound of the engine gently fizzing.

There's no way I want to start messing with the engine at this time of night and figuring that the batteries are probably charged well enough after the day's exertions I tie up and go below. After a cup of tea and a snack, because my tummy has suddenly realised that I haven't eaten since 10, I get changed and head for Bulls Bridge Tesco. There's something very comforting and familiar about being back here. I don't intend to buy much—I've got pizza in mind—so I just take a shopping bag rather than the trolley, but I end up buying more than I anticipated—partially due to some great offers that I don't want to miss—and have to ask for a carrier bag to handle the overflow. I didn't know they still did them, so I'm pleased that they do if you absolutely must have one.

Dinner was some pitta bread with Jalapeño humous, followed by a small Pizza Express "Sloppy Giuseppe" pizza, which is on a half price offer. I stoked up the fire before I went shopping and it's gone into overdrive, combining with the chillis in the humous and the spiciness of the pizza to make it unbearably hot. In the end I retire to bed at 9:30pm, completely wiped out, however the traffic noise from Tesco's car park combined with the heat means I lie awake on the bed for what seems like hours. Next thing I know it's after 4 in the morning and I'm cold, so I climb into bed properly and am straight off to sleep.

Brentford!

2008-11-03T23:47:00.000Z

Teddington to Brentford, 5.5 miles, 3 locks

Couldn't sleep. I took the phone to bed with me because I kept thinking that the Brentford lock keeper would call any moment and that it'd be action stations in order to catch the early tide. In the end I must have fallen asleep, because I woke at 04:20 and there had been no phone call. Well that's the pressure off for tonight at least.

In the morning I woke early and can't get back to sleep again. I lie in bed worrying about the journey to Brentford and how I'll cope. The crazy thing is that over the last few months I've done a reasonable amount of night-time boating—the last few locks of the Aylesbury arm or the day I went through Leicester for example—so I know I can do it. What's more, I've done the trip from Teddington to Brentford before, so I know I can do that too. And I've got technology on my side in the form of the moving map on the iPhone. Really, unless the engine conks or there's some difficult-to-see underwater obstacle, there's really nothing that should go wrong. Trying to look on the bright side, I even tell myself that it might be a more scenic transit, since I'll see Twickenham and Richmond by night from the river. It doesn't matter though—I'm completely wound up about the whole thing and no amount of rationalisation can do anything about it.

I get up and go back to bed a few times, forcing myself largely because I'm scared to be awake to face the day, but by 9am I can't handle it any more and I have to get up. The high tide isn't until 17:41 and I don't expect to leave until about 17:20 if the lock keeper is going to be there tonight, so I've a whole day to kill. I'm not very hungry but manage an F2 breakfast of bran flakes, banana and yoghurt. I have coffee with it, which is probably a mistake and upsets my stomach.

After a while I decide to take a walk into Teddington, largely to pass the time. John—the captain of Daisy—is out and about and we chat about the latest news. He's been told that they're going out of the lock at 4pm, which is barely 40 minutes after high water at London Bridge and means that they'll be going against the incoming tide. It's probably fine for them, with their 4.7 litre engine and their wonderful power/weight ratio, but not so good for me. I mention this, but John says that the lock keeper thinks the tide will be a gentle one and it won't be a problem. I decide to talk to the lock keeper myself.

On the way there, I notice that they've gone to Yellow Boards. This means that there's a caution warning, that the current may be stronger than usual and additional care must be taken. I assume that this is due to Saturday's water coming down from the Midlands, which turns out to be the case. I ask about this business of going out at 4pm and why the tide might be gentle, and the answer to the last bit is that the water coming downstream will counteract the incoming flow to some extend, which is in my favour. The 4pm thing is so we'll have daylight for a large part of the journey and twilight as we arrive at Brentford, which will be safer than travelling in the darkness. We'll still need the tunnel light on and navigation lights, but it won't be too bad. It all sounds very reasonable and reasoned, but I say that I still won't go unless I know there's to be a BW lock keeper waiting and the EA lock keeper agrees. He says to call Brentford at 15:45, since the lock keeper should be on duty by then.

With all that settled, I head for Teddington. I've wandered along the main road before and been struck at the number of 'French' places that there are, but they seem to have multiplied since last time. Even the 'French' gastropub has opened a tiny bistro opposite, which is undercutting the pub with its "Formule" set lunch. Amazing to find this French idea at French-style prices in Teddington. There has to be a story behind that.

I walk the length of the street until I run out of shops, then turn round and walk back. There's nothing particularly I want and I feel too sick in the stomach to stop somewhere for coffee. I decide that it might be better if I ate something though, so I pop into M&S and buy a loaf and a cheap sandwich, which I eat as I walk back to the boat. I've decided that the thing to do is keep busy, which will stop my mind from worrying, and that this aimless wandering is making things worse not better.

Back at the boat, I top up the engine water and am delighted to find that it needs almost none, then I start the engine. Down below, I apply myself to the problem of the rear navigation light, because I've decided that taking the control panel off in order to sort out the live wires I found yesterday, just before I'm about to go down the tidal river, is just too risky, so I can't use that as a power source. What I did notice yesterday, while I was fiddling with the wires, was a 9 volt PP3 battery. On a whim I pop back to the engine room to get it, to see whether it's powerful enough to light one of IKEA's LED lights. Turns out that it is, albeit not as brightly as 12v would, but probably still brighter than the 1.5v incandescent that the rear light should be. The problem is how to connect the wires to the battery, since the PP3 has that weird press-stud arrangement on the top. In the end I figure that the bare wires touching the contacts, held in place with an elastic band would be perfect, but I don't have an elastic band. I rummage around for a bit and come up with a possible solution: Velcro cable tidies. These are supposed to attach to a cable so that when you gather the cable up, it will wrap around and keep it tidy. I try wrapping one around the battery and get a very snug fit; pushing it off the terminals slightly so I can get the cable in, then pulling it back, seems to keep the bare cable ends attached to the terminals. The whole lot fits back into the light's housing well enough for the waterproof seal to be made. Problem solved!

It's now a bit after 2pm and I pop out to check that there's going to be somewhere to mount the rear light. Turns out it'll hook over the diesel tank breather tube, which is conveniently centred on my back deck. John comes over and we discuss the evening's plans. I tell him about the 15:45 phone call, which to me is very tight if we're setting off at 16:00, but John says that if we don't get a reply then we won't go, which I'm happy about.

Not long after, another narrowboat arrives. They're going to Limehouse; or rather they're going to the West India dock, since this is their home mooring. We discuss strategies for getting in there, but they've done it loads of times and think nothing of it. I'm slightly envious of their confidence, but I'm pleased to say that it rubs off on me.

At 15:30, I put in my contact lenses and start to take equipment to the engine room. I've got the Uniden Mystic GPS VHF radio; the map book in its little house along with the iPhone, whose power cable is dangling out of a corner; the power supply for the iPhone; a mains extension lead, my normal phone and the everlasting torch. John says that he's going to move up to the lock ready for the off, so after plugging everything together—and discovering that the iPhone's touch screen still works through the plastic of the map book's waterproof housing—I join him. It's just before 4pm and as I pull into the lock alongside, I ask if he's heard from the Brentford lock keeper. He has, and says that they're waiting for us. That's good, because it has just started to drizzle, to make things more interesting.

The descent into the lock is gentle and although I start on a centre rope, I don't need it and get back aboard. The gates open and John waves me to go first as we'd agreed. Fearful of the power of the tide and also the water coming down the weir, I open Oothoon's throttle fully and roar out of the lock. The GPS on the VHF radio tells me my speed and it's initially 3mph, 4mph and eventually once I'm clear of the locks and wash from the weir I get up to 7.9mph. I'm fretting about this, because to me it shows that Oothoon isn't fighting the current well enough, but after I look back and see that Daisy is a long way behind, it dawns on me that I'm in the wrong units! Changing the setting on the radio to show KPH, I realise that I'm doing over 12kph—far in excess of the river's limit of 8kph. Relieved, as this will mean that the engine doesn't have to work so hard, I slow down and start cruising at a more reasonable 8.9kph, which I think is a good compromise between keeping to the limit and not wishing to waste the daylight.

The river splits and I'm a bit confused as to which way to go, but I stick to the right and this seems to be the correct course. The iPhone is showing my position perfectly and because I can move the map around through the plastic, I'm able to see that this island is quite short and is really a detour for a boatyard, so I'm on the right course.

Not long after and I'm at the first bend and I can see a huge island ahead. A quick check of Nicholson's shows it to be Eel Pie Island at Twickenham, which to me is a milestone. I used to work in Twickenham, many years ago, so this feels like familiar territory to me. Past that and the stately homes of Ham House and Marble Hill house and there's another island. Once again I can see that I just need to stick to the right and I'll be fine. Daisy is coming up on my port side and we go along together.

Round the corner and we're going past Richmond. I can see navigation lights coming towards me and I'm worried that Daisy might not have seen them, but it turns out to be another narrowboat coming upstream and there's plenty of room for us to pass. Daisy is still parallel as we approach Richmond Bridge and although I head for the designated navigation arch (indicated by two orange lights above) Daisy goes through the one next to it. There's nothing coming, so it isn't a problem, although it is starting to get dark now.

Soon after Richmond Bridge there's the railway bridge; and immediately after that there's Twickenham Road Bridge. The navigation spans are all lined up, so going through them isn't a problem, and beyond them I can see that two spans of Richmond footbridge are open. This bridge spans Richmond Lock and the weirs that will be left open after the weekend, although they're clearly open now and not an obstacle. Another milestone. Daisy has pulled behind me now and is keeping a decent distance. Perhaps they're following my rear navigation light, which is still shining perfectly.

It's properly dark now, probably because after you leave Richmond there's Kew on one side of the river and Isleworth Ait on the other, neither of which have much lighting. I'm close enough to the shore that I can still see it clearly though and the iPhone is showing me exactly where I am, so I'm not worried. I can't see Nicholson's anymore without using the everlasting torch, but I've mainly been using that to check the temperature gauge, which has risen slightly above 50° but still not reached 60°. As we reach the end of the Ait, the iPhone has a glitch and pops up an alert to say that Data Roaming isn't enabled. This will be O2's network playing tricks on me, so I tap OK, press the home button, then restart Google Maps. After a moment it finds me and displays my position on the map, however it has zoomed out from where I previously had it and shows me a bigger picture. It's fine, because I don't need fine detail at the moment, although the rain lying on the plastic of the map book cover is a nuisance.

After Isleworth Ait, Syon House takes over and so there's still no light on that side of the river. After what seems like a very long time the tower blocks at Brentford come into view and we're on the home straight. As I get close to where the iPhone says the lock entrance should be, I zoom in a little and I'm glad for the clues it gives me as it lets me work out where the entrance to the marina is—hard to do because the bright light from the Brentford towers has turned everything into a silhouette. If that's the marina, then the lock entrance should be straight afterwards and the iPhone shows that I'm nearly upon it, so I start to turn. As I get closer to the bank I see the strange silvery sculpture that is at the end of the lock cut and know that I'm there. All I have to do is avoid hitting the sides as I turn into the cut and I'm in. I get a little way down and look back, to find that Daisy has followed me and is also in the cut. Looks like we've made it.

It's a bit dark in the lock cut and the drizzle is making things very hard to see, but it looks to me like neither lock is open. I get closer and closer, and more and more worried, then finally the left hand lock opens almost as I'm upon it. In I go, followed by Daisy. The lock keeper closes the gates and asks my name, and when I reply he says that he's left a message on my voicemail telling me to come down. He also apologises that no-one got back to us yesterday, but the regular lock keeper has been ill and it was only when he came on duty today that he heard all the messages that we'd left.

The water is level through the locks, so there's no delay waiting to go up or down, and the lock keeper opens the far gates immediately. He warns us that headroom is very poor under Brentford High Street bridge, but that water levels are dropping and if we can't get under, it'll only need a wait of about 10 minutes. The cut from Thames Lock to the Brentford Gauging Locks is quite twisty and full of moored boats, so it takes about that long to get to the bridge anyway and both of us can slip underneath without a problem. The crew of Daisy go ahead to get the lock open, but there seems to be a problem with it. Eventually I go in the one door that they can get open, and nip over so that Daisy can get in alongside. Between the three of us, we can't figure out why we can't get the lock to fill once we've closed the gate. I speculate that the problem might be that the lock is broken, so I activate the other lock to see if that works. It seems to, so I don't know what's wrong with the lock we're in. Eventually it turns out to be operator error caused by a lack of light on the control panel. If we could have seen it properly, we might have worked out that there are separate buttons for the gates and paddles on each side of the lock, but I guess after the Thames locks—where it's all sequenced off a single button—that isn't what you're looking for. Eventually we figure it out and the boats come up and we get the gates open, but it's tempting to say that instead of having a little 'lock activated' light, a proper overhead light so you could see the whole panel, or perhaps illuminated buttons, would have made life much easier.

Brentford basin is full, or at least the visitor moorings are anyway. Daisy is small enough to turn and nip back to park on the pump-out mooring, but I'm having terrible trouble controlling Oothoon due to the wind blowing down the exit from the basin, which is bad news with so many boats around. Eventually I get her under control and need to reverse back down the basin, as I'm not convinced that there's room to turn at the other end. It takes a little while, but the practice I got reversing around corners and back down the Oxford canal, the second time my impeller failed, proved invaluable. I end up moored just after the locks, on a mooring of indeterminate purpose. I'm not on the 'facilities' mooring, but I think there are water points, so I'm probably in someone's way. It'll do for this evening though.

I call my friend Jan and he comes round for dinner. I was originally going to suggest that we ate out, to celebrate my safe arrival back on the canals, but in the end I make Chicken Fajitas, using a bag of frozen 'popcorn' chicken from Tesco. It's lovely and very quick to make (about 15-20 minutes from lighting the oven to serving). I'm running short of coal and Jan kindly takes me to Bulls Bridge Tesco to get some more. I know I'll probably be there tomorrow, so can get some myself, but there's the possibility that something will happen and I won't make it, so I'm pleased we went.

I'm completely exhausted and really looking forward to a good night's sleep. In hindsight I can't see what all the fuss was about and it was all very straightforward, but I suspect that it's more due to the lock keeper's idea that we go at 16:00 to get some daylight, than any brilliant navigational abilities on my part. Either way, I'm glad it's over. Now there's just the long lock-laden journey back to Battlebridge.

An unpleasant surprise

2008-11-02T23:05:00.005Z

Laleham to Teddington, 12.75 miles, 4 locks

A look out of the window and the sky is grey, however there's a brighter patch over there and maybe the forecast for rain is wrong. Whatever it's going to do, it's too good to waste and after a celebratory breakfast of mushrooms, bacon and scrambled egg, I top up the engine's water (again) and set off.

After a while there's the M3 motorway bridge. I moored here last year on the way up the Thames with my friend Jan, so we could go to The Kingfisher pub for lunch. I think it was raining when we went in, but sunny when we came out and I remember that the mooring was interesting because you can't actually moor under the bridge as there's nothing to attach to, so we were tied to some bushes or something.

After the bridge there's Chertsey lock and the river does a crazy detour, then you're going past Pharaoh's Island. It's all lovely housing round here. Next is Shepperton Lock and once you're through that, there's the choice of the Thames ahead or the River Wey to the right. I wanted to go down the Wey last year, but there wasn't time. If circumstances were different I might have gone down now, but I really want to get back to London, so I press on. There's another impressive 'bypass' just after D'Oyly Carte island, where a large bit of river is avoided by Desborough Cut, then you're going past Walton on Thames. It's a nice straight stretch of river and it's strange to see everyone going about their business. I keep forgetting that today is Sunday and for everyone else it's the weekend.

After Walton there's Sunbury locks. The right-hand one is electrified and is normally used, whereas the left-hand one is manual and (I later found) has no bottom gates at the moment. The lock keeper had just gone for lunch, so I tie up and go to operate the lock, hoping that there's power. There is; but although the lock is full I can't get the top gates to open. I try raising and lowering the paddles, and even go to the other control panel to make sure that the bottom paddles are properly shut. In the end the gates deign to open, meanwhile another narrowboat has turned up and one of the crew volunteers to operate the lock. They're based at Godalming on the River Wey and are just having a trip to Kingston for some shopping, which sounds like a nice way to do things. We're soon through the lock and I leave them to close the gates and follow.

By the time we get to Molesey lock, the lock keepers are back from lunch and do it for us. After Molesey lock the river is dominated by Hampton Court Palace, which looks fantastic. They've even guilded some of the gates on the river side and it shines brilliantly in the sun, which has come out especially. After Hampton Court the river is full of little sailing boats, as there appear to be a lot of sailing clubs along this stretch of river and this continues even as you go through the middle of Kingston upon Thames, with people whizzing round and ducking as the sails flop from side to side as they tack along the river. I'm quite glad to leave them all behind, because I can't manoeuvre out of the way if they get it wrong. Before I know it I can see large weirs and there's Teddington lock.

I'm still tying up when there's a couple from n.b. Daisy at the back deck asking if I'm going to Brentford. I say that I am and they ask whether I've booked passage. I haven't, not knowing when I was going to get here, but they say that they've called ahead to try to book and that the next tide is at 5pm! I'm a bit alarmed by this, because if we went on it, it would mean that we'd be leaving in the dark. Apparently the alternative is the tide at 3am, which is equally dark. I say that I'll go and talk to the lock keeper and see what he says. Sure enough, the next tide is at 17:00, which would mean leaving at 16:30—a mere 40 minutes away. As I haven't booked passage with British Waterways, who operate the locks at Brentford, I'll need to give them a ring. The lock keeper tries, but gets no answer and he explains that in the off-season they only go in if someone has booked; and that you need to do it 24 hours in advance. He gives me a set of tide tables and Brentford's phone number, and says to come back when we need to lock.

I return to "Daisy" to tell them what has happened. Until the passage is confirmed by the Brentford lock keeper, none of us are going anywhere, since you need to be sure that the lock will be open. I call Brentford and leave a message on the answering machine saying that I want passage, but then we wait. The couple explain that an additional wrinkle is that the Thames gets drained between Teddington and Richmond for the month of November, so once that happens we won't be able to go anyway. I can't quite figure out how that can happen, especially when the lock keeper has explained that all the rain that fell yesterday is on its way down from the Midlands and that the water levels are rising, which frankly gives me the jitters. Neither of us have heard anything by 16:20 so we figure that at least it won't be tonight, but I guess there's a chance that the lock keeper might call in the early hours of the morning.

I go back to Oothoon and try to make sense of everything. By a combination of looking at the tide tables and the BBC web site, I construct a table of tide times, departure times, arrival times and sunrise/sunset times. Unless we want to transit to Brentford and arrive in the dark, the earliest we can go is Wednesday morning, when the sun will have risen 20 minutes before we get there, but there's this business of the Thames being drained. In the end I figure out what's happening: the Environment Agency run the river to just below Teddington, British Waterways run Brentford locks and the Port of London Authority run the river between the two, but they're all separate and don't seem to talk to each other. The 'draining' is done by the Port of London and is for five weeks starting on November 8th, and what it means is that the weirs will be left open at Richmond. Normally the weirs are closed, except for a couple of hours before and after high tide, to ensure that the water levels in the river are kept high; with the weirs open, the stretch from Teddington to Brentford will have no water at low-tide and will be somewhat below normal levels at high-tide. If I understand it right, it shouldn't affect the transit of a narrowboat, since that can only go at high tide anyway, so as long as there's enough water left to get us into the lock at Brentford, we'll be fine.

What a mess. I can't believe that I've got this far only to get caught out by the tides. I decide that I don't want to cook, so head over to The Angler's on the other side of the river, for some dinner and to have a think. I've got most of the things I need for the river: an anchor and a VHF radio, but I don't have navigation lights. Funnily enough I'd bought some battery-powered ones in the chandlers at Uxbridge before I set off back in August but I don't have the right kind of battery to power them. If I need to be on the 3am tide, I won't have time to get any before then either. I've put the radio on charge, so that should be ready by the time I get back and while it has a built-in Garmin navigation GPS, I've never bought the charts for the Thames because I could never figure out which of the umpteen formats that Garmin offer is the right one (the radio is made by Uniden so Garmin don't list it). I don't want to be going down the river blind, especially as I need to make an 'instrument' landing at Brentford, but then it occurs to me that I could use Google Maps on the iPhone I rashly bought while I was in Banbury. If I connected it to the mains, so it didn't run out of power, I could use the built-in GPS to show my position on the moving map, so at least I'd know where I was. If I traced the route before I set off, Google Maps would even have the map data cached, so it wouldn't matter if there wasn't a great mobile phone signal. This had to be worth a try.

Back at Oothoon I had another look at the navigation lights. I couldn't work out what size of battery they needed, but all they had for illumination was a little torch bulb. I wondered if there was some way to power that from the boat's 12v system, which got me thinking about all the spare Ikea LED lights I still had lying around. I wondered whether I could somehow use those. Taking the coloured cover off one of the lights and holding it up to the LED lights I'd installed already, I could see that they were almost exactly the same size. If I could take the cover off the LED lights, maybe something could be done. I disassembled one of the unused LED lights and took the diffuser off the front, and was amazed to find that it fitted into the navigation light perfectly. I could even do it up so that the cover went up to the rubber seal to make it waterproof. All I'd need to do was drill a small hole to let the wire though, connect it to the same power supply as the tunnel light uses, and I'd have a starboard navigation light. Excitedly I put all the bits together and went outside to see how to fit it. Mounting was easy, since I could attach it to the fold-down step that is on each side, and the incident with the tree in Sheepwash Cut turned out to have a silver lining, because instead of the pure wire that had gone to the tunnel lights previously, there was now a screw connector block that the nav. lights could connect to. Thinking that this was all too easy, I attached the mounting bracket to the step with tie-wraps (or 'twistys', as they call them in the US) then wired up my hacked light. Flipping the switch, I was delighted when both the tunnel light and the nav light lit up—and really brightly too. The cable was just long enough to reach to the step and voila! I did the same to the red light for the port side and that worked too. Figuring that the cable-entry hole had stopped them being weatherproof, I tied a knot in the cable inside the housing as a strain relief, then put silicone sealant on the outside. Not fantastic, but probably good enough for the time it needed to work.

The rear nav light was going to be more of an issue as there's no power out back. Hard to believe when there's the entire engine room there, but I guess there's no call for it. I had a look around and found a couple of wires poking out of a hole in the side panel and was pleased to find that they were live. Unfortunately in doing this, I'd somehow removed the wire's insulation and as I investigated there was the occasional spark. I managed to get the strands apart, but it was quite alarming really. Assuming that I'm not on the 3am tide tomorrow morning (please make that be so) then I'll try to tidy them up tomorrow. Funny that I should want there to be power, but then be dismayed when there is.

I guess all there's left to do now is wait to hear from the Brentford lock keeper.

A wash out

2008-11-01T23:04:00.005Z

Magna Carta Island to Laleham, 4.5 mile, 2 locks

A late start today, mainly because it's grey and overcast and the forecast is for rain, but it keeps not raining and I keep putting off leaving. To pass the time I bake one of Herr Aldi's Ciabatta's and have a bacon sandwich for breakfast. Eventually I decide I'm going to go and get everything ready, and it immediately starts to rain. This is the rain I've been expecting and it's my cue to go back below and abandon the day. By now it's lunchtime so I have a cornish pasty with a bit more Ciabatta and a cup of tea.

After lunch I notice that the rain has stopped and the sky looks like it might brighten up. The weather's been so variable recently that it's hard to tell what is going on, so I wonder whether I should take a chance and set off, but not doing so is driving me insane so I get togged up and go.

I'm just round the bend at Runnymede and through Bell Weir lock when the rain starts. Just after the lock is the M25 bridge, which I utilise as cover while I put my waterproofs on After that, you're inside the M25. When I used to go places by car, the M25 was always significant, because once I was within it, it meant I was practically home. It's not quite like that on a boat, though—the M25 being 2-3 days away from Battlebridge if you go up the Grand Union, or 2 days if you nip down the Slough Arm or up the Lee Navigation. Either way, as I'm on a boat, I'm not near home yet.

After the excitement of the M25 bridge, there's Staines. I'd been warned not to moor in Staines on Halloween, since the locals might get rowdy, but it all looks very modern and impersonal and it's not long before it's behind you. The rain is starting to get unpleasant now, but I press on to Penton Hook lock. Neither me nor the lock keeper wants me to be there, but it's a tiddler at 4ft (1.2m) and I'm soon through it. I'm pleased, because the rain is very heavy and there's really no point in going any further. There are supposedly moorings nearby at Laleham and I hope they're decent. I'm in luck and it's a proper concrete wharf with decent mooring posts. There's a little plastic cruiser tied up, but there's still plenty of room for me. I make my approach and tie Oothoon up with the centre rope, then try to get her hard against the wharf with the bow and stern lines. The problem is that I should really be facing upstream, but there's no way I'm going to attempt to turn her round in this weather and after a couple of goes I eventually get her tied up properly. I leave the engine running to charge the batteries, since it hasn't run much today and head below. Everything is dripping and I'm pleased I'd put my waterproofs on, however I'm still very cold. I get changed into dry clothing and stoke up the fire, and after bowl of soup with the last of the Ciabatta and a sit next to the stove I'm feeling better.

I notice that there's a drip-drip-drip from the ceiling and it's once again the ring where I attach the centre rope. I want to ignore it but it's too insistent, so in the end I venture out in the rain with silicone sealant and try to bodge it up. I half succeed, in the sense that afterwards it drips about half as much. I stuff some kitchen roll in the hole to absorb the water which dams the flood. I could really do without this at the moment.

I'm not really all that hungry, but in the end I make Scumbalina Fish Pie Deluxe for dinner. All I really want is something I can just shove in the oven and then eat, and while this requires me to mash potatoes and sauté courgettes, it is as close as I can get. By the time it's ready I'm actually in the mood for it and it's very warming and comforting.

Paul txt's to remind me that it's Saturday night and that means only one thing: off to The Roost in Animal Crossing to hear K.K. Slider play. Apparently the song Paul heard was called "K.K. Folk", so that's what I request. It's another one of those where the bootleg that K.K. gives me afterwards is better than the proper song. I've recorded it on the computer anyway, which means I'm building up a nice little collection of songs, but I'm told that there are over 50 in K.K.'s repertoire so I've got a while before I've heard the lot. I'm a bit astonished that it's Saturday already though. Where did the week go?

The rain stops just before I go to bed. I've done very little travelling but I feel completely exhausted. About the only good news is that I've checked the map and if I have a good day tomorrow, I'll be at Teddington and only a short distance from the Grand Union canal at Brentford. Frankly, it'll be a relief to be back on canals again.

Good progress

2008-10-31T23:03:00.003Z

Cliveden to Magna Carta Island, 12.75 miles, 5 locks

Grey today but dry. The forecast was for rain, but now it seems to have changed its mind. I had considered spending the day here and going to have a look at Cliveden House—or more specifically the gardens, which are apparently magnificent—but if the weather's going to be kind then I don't want to waste it.

The engine needed topping up with water again, but not very much, so I figure that it'll survive another day. It starts easily enough, given enough glowplugs, and I'm soon on my way. A couple of boats have gone down while I've been getting ready, including the man from the water point yesterday and the chap who didn't seem to know what he was doing who'd turned in front of me at Marlow, and I catch up with them at Boulter's Lock which is in Maidenhead. To my surprise the lock lay-by is quite busy, with a few boats waiting. Being curious, I decide to walk up to the lock to see what is going on and at the head of the queue is the chap from Marlow. He and the woman he's with seem to be very jittery and the lock keeper is shouting across to them. After the lock keeper goes to set the lock, I ask the woman what is happening. Turns out that they'd actually moored at Marlow the night before, gone for dinner and then retired early. In the middle of the night they'd been awoken by a 'bump' and when they'd got up, they found that their ropes had been cut and they were adrift in the middle of the river! They'd tried dropping the anchor, although that hadn't done much good and in the end they'd started the engine and got to the shore. The reason there was a delay at the lock was because they only had 'good' ropes on one side and wanted the lock keeper to make sure that they went in on that side. I talked to the woman a bit and suggested that they try tying their remaining bits of rope together and I also pointed out that, at the front at least, the ropes were just looped around cleats on the fore-deck and that as they entered the lock there'd be plenty of time for her to unloop the rope and move it to the other side if necessary. If she did that, she'd be back in control, which would help her to calm down.

Eventually they went into the lock, followed by a couple of other boats that were waiting. A narrowboat had turned up behind me and finding no-one aboard, had jumped in front of me. They were much shorter and could fit in the lock with the others and in the end it was just me and a very large and impressive boat left behind. I got chatting to the three men on the impressive boat, who were on their way to St Katherine's Dock in London. They didn't seem bothered about anything, having "lots of food and drink aboard, but no women." We locked together and they whooshed off while I sorted out my ropes.

I always get a strange feeling when I go through Maidenhead on the Thames because I briefly lived here for a year when I was 20. I remember that I kind of knew that Maidenhead was on the river, but I never actually walked down to see it. I sometimes wonder how my life might have been different if I had seen the river and perhaps been influenced by it. Certainly for someone who was 'in computers', Maidenhead and the Thames Valley generally was the place to be, but I ended up on the Isle of Man instead, which is about as tech-free as you can get.

From Maidenhead it's only a short way and then you're in Bray lock. Bray was a mystical place to me when I lived in Maidenhead because of The Waterside Inn, which was (or is) a Michelin-starred restaurant. My flatmate at the time, who was female, was having an extra-marital affair with one of the salesmen at her work and they'd occasionally go there. I know that girls mature a lot faster than boys, but I really was pretty unsophisticated and naïve—to the extend that I was always a bit shocked if he stayed the night—so I doubt I'd have appreciated it. I still associate Bray with Michelin Stars, though, except now it's Heston Blumenthal and The Fat Duck, which I'd love to go to some day.

Through Bray and past the famous Bray film studios, and then past the Oakley Court Hotel, which would easily be recognised by any Rocky Horror fan as Frank'n'furter's house in the Rocky Horror Picture Show or perhaps as the St Trinian's schoolhouse for an older generation. Soon afterwards there's Windsor Marina, where the impressive boat was tied up to refuel and then there's a sharp bend and you're going past Windsor racecourse, which means that Windsor itself can't be far away.

Windsor from the river is dominated by two things: the castle (naturally) and a giant Ferris Wheel. Windsor charge you to stop on their side (£4 for 24 hours or part of) so a lot of people moor on the Eton side, which is rougher but free. I was ready for lunch by now, so I turned around and headed for the Eton bank, but every time I got close and was ready to jump onto the land, a huge French Brothers trip boat would go past and I'd get washed away. After a couple of goes at this—and actually making it ashore at one point—I decided that this was much too complicated a landing for one person, so I got back aboard and headed for the next lock, which is Romney lock. I got there a little before 2pm, which meant that the lock keeper was still at lunch, so I took the opportunity to park in the lock lay-by and have my own lunch of a baguette filled with pork and coleslaw.

After Romney lock you're alongside The Home Park, which I think must be the old grounds of Windsor Castle, then you go under Victoria Bridge and suddenly there are "Crown Estates" signs clearly saying that there's no mooring. Since I went past here last year, new signs have been added alongside, indicating that this is protected area as defined by the Prevention of Terrorism Act and that any trespass is a criminal offence. I'm sure that Her Majesty doesn't really want people stopping and tromping around in her garden, but I'd really hate to break down along this stretch if my choices were to drift with the current and hope for the best, or land and get banged up for 28 days without access to a lawyer. At least it's only 28 days!

Eventually you go under Albert Bridge and normality returns. The Thames disappears off to the left, via an impressive weir and the navigation continues to the right along the 'New Cut'. That's 'New' as in 1822. At the end is Old Windsor lock and then you meander through Old Windsor until it all becomes a bit more rural. To the left is Magna Carta Island, where the Magna Carta was (allegedly) signed. To the right is the impressive face of Cooper's Hill, which has an RAF memorial on the top and the Magna Carta monument on the bottom. I'd wanted to see this last time I came past and as it was getting on for 4pm I decided I'd stop. I found a lovely curved National Trust mooring just past the monument and pulled in.

Not long after I'd moored, the impressive boat from earlier today went past and after seeing my mooring, decided to stop in the next 'cove'. It was a bit shallow, but they somehow managed to get in, although with no access to the bank. However, as they had previously said, they had almost everything the needed aboard. They were kind enough to invite me aboard for a drink, however I said I wanted to see the monument so I left them to it. The monument itself was erected by the American Bar Association in affirmation of their upholding of the principles that Magna Carta embodies. Nice of them, I guess. There's also the John F. Kennedy Memorial nearby, but whereas the Magna Carta monument is easy to find and brightly lit at night, the Kennedy monument is in the trees somewhere and as the light was fading, I didn't find it.

Dinner was soup and bread. I wasn't particularly hungry for some reason. but that was fine. I talked to Paul and played Animal Crossing, then had surprise visit from Gary, who lives in Brentford. As Brentford is next to the M4, I'm only about a 35 minute drive away, which really puts this 'boat speed' thing into perspective. We chat and catch up with gossip. Turns out that one of his relatives used to live in The Home Park as an employee of Her Majesty and would occasionally see her. That must be a very strange experience.

A better than expected day

2008-10-30T23:46:00.002Z

Wargrave to Cliveden, 15.5 miles, 5 locks

Grey and wet this morning when I woke up, but by 10 it was brightening up and a while later the sun came out. After checking the water levels in the engine; and adding a couple of litres and wondering whether I should be worried at this, I unmoored from the trees I was attached to and set off. There was an EA 'mooring' notice near the tree that the prow had gone through yesterday and as I set off I realised that this marked the end of the mooring, and on the other side of the tree was a lovely clean stretch of bank with proper mooring posts, which was the official mooring. Oh well, that'll teach me to arrive under cover of darkness. My GPS wasn't working, so I had no idea what speed I was doing which I hate.

Not long after I set off, I went past Poplar Eyot and a couple of other little islands, then round the corner and into Marsh lock. Nothing remarkable there, except for a large hire boat where the captain didn't seem to have a clue what he's doing and at one point looks to be in danger of turning his boat around within the lock, rather than getting it tied up.

After leaving there, the Thames is suddenly full of rowers and this continues as you go through Henley. I'd forgotten how lovely Henley's waterfront is and how unspoilt the town seems. I guess this all changes during the regatta. The regatta dominates the river once you're under Henley bridge, with land on both sides seemingly belonging to it. On one side there are large fields; on the other there is the large Victorian-looking wood and glass building where one imagines Her Majesty would sit and watch. The regatta is run over a very straight section of the Thames and today there was a freezing cold wind whipping down it, that seemed to penetrate through your clothes and through your skin. My fingers were numb with cold—all of it 'wind chill'. Eventually you go past Temple Island, avoiding the rowers as best you can and round the corner to Hambleden lock.

Hambleden is one of these locks which has a lay-by made of stout black upright pillars, with the walkway cantilevered behind. I brought Oothoon in tidily, but as I landed a man walked towards me along the lay-by. I naturally assumed that he was the lock keeper, come to tell me something important, but it turned out to be another narrowboater who was just being friendly. I was so busy concentrating on getting Oothoon under control and talking to him that I wasn't really taking much notice of other things that were happening, however I did notice that Oothoon shuddered at some point and there was a large 'crack', but when I looked around I couldn't see why. I assumed that she must have hit some submerged debris but I found the actual reason once the lock gates opened and I had to take her in: the wooden end off the tiller had obviously caught on one of the lay-by's uprights and Oothoon's inertia had been too much for it to resist, so it had broken off. but not before bending the metal bar that it was attached to. Without the extra 8-10" (20-25cm) of leverage on the end, the tiller was much harder to turn. I hope that the river isn't too rough and that I don't need to make any sudden turns.

Through Hambleden and off along a slightly windey bit of the river, but at least the wind isn't in my face any more, which gives me a chance to warm up. It's all rather lovely, at times making me think that I might be in the Canadian outback rather than just a few miles from Heathrow, although the caravan site just before Hurley lock rather shatters that illusion.

Hurley has a sanitation station that I want to use, but when I arrive a plastic gin palace is at the water hose having a drink. I pull over in front of it, since there isn't room behind and stand waiting, holding Oothoon on the centre rope because I assume it won't be there long, but after the tank is filled, the captain merely puts away the hose then goes and sits aboard. I wonder whether there's something else going on, not being too familiar with the needs of gin palaces, but after a few minutes I decided to tie up and walk over to ask. The captain seems oblivious to everything, especially me waiting to use the water point, however he does finally shift his boat, although you'd think the effort was in danger of killing him from the slowness with which it was done. With him gone, I start to fill the water tank and also wander over to the sanitation station to look for where to empty the loo. For some reason I'm thinking that it'll be indoors, and although there's a men's toilet, a disabled toilet and a mens/woman's toilet, I can't see anything for Elsans. I try wandering round the back, but there's a pen with bins there. There's another building nearby and I try that, but it is completely locked. In the end I decided that the mens/ladies loo will have to do and take my toilet there. I've had to empty Elsans down conventional toilets before so know the routine, which mainly consists of trying to stop it splashing. Once I've taken the loo back to Oothoon, I figure I should empty the bins while I'm here, so carry them over to the bins that are behind the sanitation station. There, right in the middle of them, is a large hatch in the ground marked "Elsan Disposal" and a sign explaining why you shouldn't pump out your toilet into it. Wonderful. After emptying the bins, I walk down a little ramp, rather than down the steps that I originally used and there on the corner is a small sign, barely large enough to hold the lettering, saying "Chemical Toilet Disposal". 10/10 for discretion, Environment Agency.

After filling the water tank and emptying the loos and bins, lunch is a hastily grabbed egg mayonnaise sandwich made with some Tiger Bread, followed by a bag of Quavers and a cup of tea. Feeling full I walk up to the lock to see what is going on. The dozy bloke at the water point had obviously become bored with the lack of a lock keeper and has manually operated the lock, leaving the bottom gates open behind him. The lock keeper isn't due back for another 20 minutes, so I set the controls and start winding the handle to close the bottom gates, then swap the controls and wind the handle to drop the paddles on the bottom gates. After this I go to the other end of the lock and set the controls and wind the handle to open the paddles, so the lock will fill, and I've just finished doing that when the lock keeper turns up. He gives me some encouragement and says that he's just off to get a cuppa and will be right back, and by the time he is the lock is full and I've started turning the handle to open the gates. He slips in his special lock keeper's key, but allows me to finish opening the gates manually, closing the paddles under electric power.

The cruiser from Marsh lock had arrived while I was filling up with water and has been watching all my exertions. Now that the gates are open, they've unmoored and have entered the lock, but still don't seem to have a clue. As it's a wide boat, I can't go fully alongside, but that also means that where my prow overlaps—because they will insist on mooring halfway along the lock—I have to be particularly careful not to hit it,

It's only a short way from Marsh lock to Temple lock, so I'm a bit cross when I arrive to find that the cruiser has gone in and the lock gates are closed. They could have mentioned that I'm right behind. Fortunately the lock keeper sees me and opens the gates, but as usual the cruiser's poorly positioned. I'm not sure that he's even aware that there are other boats on the river. This is, I think, proven as we approach Marlow, where I'm not far behind him and he suddenly swings right across my path because he's decided to stop and feed some ducks or something on the opposite bank. I swerve just in case, glad that I've been trying to keep a reasonable distance behind.

I remember Marlow lock, as there's a particularly large weir and there was a queue for the lock last year. I ended up somehow stopping Oothoon from disappearing down the weir by holding on to the end of a tiny jetty that pokes out from one of the houses. Even when I got to the lay-by, a couple of lock-fulls of plastic boats went through before me, although I didn't mind so much once my situation wasn't so precarious. This year, the gates were open and I went straight in, which I was pleased about because that weir is really quite something. I had the lock to myself, but was allowed to do the descent on centre rope because there's no 'pull'. I'm not surprised—the weir must take away every last bit of current.

Under the Marlow bypass bridge, which says No Mooring but which I'm sure I had to stop next to last year, then on to the straights past Cookham. It's wooded and rather pleasant, although the wind had returned and I wasn't making much progress. At one point I did a 'Crazy Ivan', because I was sure that the prop was fouled, but no—it's just the wind. After what seemed like a very long time, I was at the curve that is the start of Bourne End and after even longer—for I was sure I was slowing down without the GPS's objectivity—I arrived at Cookham lock.

Cookham lock took an age because there was a large barge and a tug coming up, so it was about 4:15 when I got through. I was keen to avoid a repeat of last night's dash for moorings, so I checked the map and there were apparently three before Boulter's lock and Maidenhead, and all in the grounds of Cliveden House. They were after a set of thin islands, but after being hopeless at spotting the proper moorings last night, I was hoping these would be better signposted. The end of the islands came and went, but I couldn't see anything that looked like a mooring, however I could start to see where the Jubilee River takes its feed from the Thames, so by a process of elimination worked out where the middle set of moorings must be. There was a Dutch Barge moored there, so I chose a spot a little way before—between two trees, naturally—and went past slowly to see if I'd fit. As if to confirm that I was doing the right thing, the barge flashed her navigation lights, so I reversed carefully and fitted into the hole between the trees perfectly. The bank at the stern wasn't great, but I was moored, and with a fantastic view of Cliveden. I wandered along to the Dutch Barge to check that I was in the right place and the captain confirmed that I was, so I went back to the boat to settle down for the night.

Dinner was Herr Aldi's Yellow Pea and Potato soup with the last of the Tiger Bread, followed by linguini with pesto and crayfish tails. All pretty simple and delicious.

Listened to Russell Brand's podcast. Russell seems to have been in the news a lot recently, largely to do with this particular show, aired on the 18th October, when Jonathan Ross was the guest and they made stupid calls to Andrew Sachs (or rather to his answering machine). Having heard it, what Jonathan Ross came out with was outrageous—in the "bold and unexpected" sense of the word—rather than nasty, although he did use the "F" word. I'm told that there were questions about it in Parliament and that Russell has resigned and Jonathan Ross is suspended. I doubt that anyone who regularly listens to Russell's show would be upset by it, although I can understand why Andrew Sachs would be, but this strikes me as an over-reaction. There is a warning at the beginning of the podcast that this show contains "Adult" material, so you know it can get ribald. I wonder how many of the people who complained listened specifically because it has been in the news. The radio equivalent of rubbernecking.

Wow! Have you seen the view out of my kitchen window?!

A nicer day than you might have expected

2008-10-29T23:10:00.001Z

Goring to Wargrave, 16.5 miles, 5 locks

Beautiful sunshine when I woke up, in contrast to last night's snow, but if it had been snowing then it had to have been a cold night and I was dreading what I might find outside. After a breakfast of branflakes and yoghurt (must buy bananas!) I wrapped myself up in several layers, put on my wooly hat and ventured outside.

Instead of a layer of snow on the roof, everything was covered in ice. In some places it was quite thick—on the flat surface of the solar panel for example—and the ropes were stuck to the roof with icy glue. Oothoon was parked on the shaded side of the river, so none of this was likely to thaw for a while, but I realised that if I set off then I'd be in the sun and it would be a different story. With that thought uppermost, I gave the engine 60 seconds of glowplugs and was delighted when it started straight away.

While I was liberating the ropes from their icy prison, the man from yesterday's little cruiser walked past. He stopped for a chat and said that his partner was feeling quite ill; and that all their boots and waterproofs were frozen solid. Apparently they didn't want to take them inside the boat last night because they were wet and now they were regretting it. He thought I was brave to set off, but wished me luck.

One I'd unmoored and got to the other side of the river, things immediately improved. The sun was shining strongly and there were no clouds in the sky at all. Gradually things started thawing and as I went along the roof slowly steamed, matching the mist that was rising from the river in places. One funny thing was seeing 'duck breath': I'd be passing some ducks who would be quacking out their annoyance at being disturbed, and with each quack a little breathy cloud would emerge from the duck's beak in the cold air. It was like the smoke signals that you see in comics, with each puff of smoke containing a quack.

This stretch of river goes past Beale Park, where there are moorings. I remember last year thinking how this would be a lovely place to stop for a day during the summer and I still do. A narrowboat had taken advantage of the mooring there and it looked very peaceful.

By the time I reached Whitchurch lock everything had thawed and was now sodden. As I entered the lock, I said a cheery hello to the lock keeper then asked whether he was in a rush. I realised that this might be taken the wrong way, however he gave me the benefit of the doubt and asked why, and I had to explain the cold weather had got to me and that I was desperate to use the toilet! I tied up and disappeared below to relieve myself, and by the time I emerged another boat had joined me in the lock.

Whitchurch to Mapledurham lock is a pretty but relatively boring stretch of water. The 'towpath' disappears at some point, leaving you uninhabited fields on both sides although there's an island to make it more interesting. I'd checked ahead and you can go round it either way, so I stuck to the right. There was now a single cloud in the sky—a huge stack of white right behind me that looked like it should be the steam from a power station rather than a cloud. After Mapledurham there's a long stretch of river that is bordered by a riverside road at Tilehurst, with smallish houses on one side of the road and their gardens on the other, facing the river. There's also a tiny wharf that leads up to a bridge over the railway tracks and a pub, although I forget its name.

Past a couple of islands (except that one is an Ayot, in the weird way they have of naming things on the Thames) and along a wide stretch of water that has a park on one side and you're in Reading and within site of the sweeping arches of Caversham bridge. As I approach I notice that there are felled trees in the park and on the sunward side they're wet, but in the shade they've still got frost or snow on them. I guess the air temperature hasn't risen all that much, even though it's warm in the sun.

Under Caversham bridge and past Fry's Island (and the Bohemian Island Bowls Club) then it's under Reading bridge (which had an ominously large container lorry directly on the span above me as I passed) and into Caversham lock. I've got there just in time to catch the lock keeper before he goes off duty for lunch, which suits me fine. There are a few other boats in the lock with me, so it's all a good use of water, although I suspect that matters less on the river.

Round the bend and past Better Boating and their super-cheap 86p/litre diesel and then I spy a perfect landing place next to the Tesco at King's Meadow. This is a perfect place to stop as I need a few supplies—tea bags especially—and I'm hoping that the petrol station might sell coal. This is a Tesco Extra, so it also has a café and I have a baked potato with cheese and beans. Very nice. Shopping itself is a drag, since the 'extra' in this Tesco seems to mean 'extra distance between things you want to buy', but I eventually get everything I want. I've forgotten to take the granny trolley with me, so I load everything back into the normal trolley and hope that I can sneak past the trolley point and get it back to the boat. I manage, but ironically have to bag everything up for the last few yards across the threshold and into the boat. It's not until I try to take the trolley back to Tesco that the perimeter brake thing kicks in and I end up having to carry the trolley the last 20 feet back into the car park.

While I'd been unloading, I'd got taking to Steve who is on the boat behind me. He's and his wife are liveaboards, who work here in Reading. He's a barber and had just become unemployed by falling out with the wife of the man who owns the shop he works in; who has turned 43 and is having his mid-life crisis, but Steve is being blamed for being a bad influence. He's not sure what he's going to do and fancies a change of career, and I understand what he's talking about perfectly. I ask him about coal and he says that Tesco's petrol station sell it, so I pop back for a look. They've only got three bags, which I load into another trolley, but the petrol station is clearly outside the perimeter too, and the wheels lock up. I shuffle it across to the store and transfer the coal to yet another trolley, which dies at the edge of the car park, but I can ferry the coal the remaining distance by hand and so I abandon the trolley where it stopped.

It's now 3:30 and I'm concerned about whether to continue my journey and where I'm going to moor. There are moorings after Sonning Bridge lock, so I head for there, but get through quite quickly. I decide that I can probably make it through Shiplake lock and around to the moorings at Wargrave before nightfall, so I head off at full speed. There's a cruiser behind me, that came through Shiplake lock with me and I keep expecting it to overtake, but it doesn't and stays right on my tail. There's another Ait (i.e. an island) called Hallsmead Ait coming up and Nicholson's says to pass it to the east—clear enough—but just before it there's a little collection of islands and I'm on them before I've realised that this is what they are. With no time to turn east and after a quick check of the map, I follow my existing path to the west and the cruiser follows. The channel narrows up a little and there's a big tree I need to swerve around, but I get past okay and it's not until I'm out of the islands and off past Hallsmead Ait that I realise that the cruiser is no longer there. I'm a bit worried, because it was much wider than me and might have got entangled in the tree, but I figure that I'll see it soon enough. I don't and it's only me that goes through Shiplake lock, just before sunset. I ask the lock keeper about the moorings and he tells me that they're a mile away, under the bridge, past the boathouse and on my right.

The light is really fading by the time I get past the boathouse that the lock keeper mentioned, and I'm thinking that if I can't see a mooring soon then I'll have to stop anywhere. Moorings on the Thames aren't like those on the canals. Often they're just a bit of bank that has had the vegetation cleared from it and this mooring is one of those. I head for it, trying to avoid the overhanging trees and while I have a good approach and land cleanly, the spacing of the trees means that the prow ends up in one. What is it with me and trees? The trees actually come in handy, though, because they're spaced exactly right to allow me to tie up to them, which is what I do. I figure that they aren't going anywhere.

Not such a cold night tonight, I think, and I'm feeling very tired. Dinner is a bowl of soup with some Tiger Bread that I bought in Tesco, followed by Tuna Pâté, again on Tiger Bread. I've got loads of food in now, but am too tired to cook. In the end I retire early, having not even written up my blog, so this was done the following morning while I was waiting for the rain to stop. I's brightening up now and the cruiser I lost in the islands has just gone past, so I think I'll get ready and see if I can get at least as far as the sanitation station at Hurley lock, because the loo is once again full.

When there was Weather

2008-10-28T23:11:00.003Z

Abingdon to Goring, 18 miles, 6 locks

Another beautiful day with the sun shining and clear blue skies. I'm still in BST in my head, so I was awake at 8. I didn't really want to get up though, so I put some bread in to bake and went back to bed for a short doze. After a lovely breakfast of a bacon baguette, I go to check the engine before I set off.

The water levels are pretty much where they were yesterday—just below the level of the filler cap on the header tank—so that's good. I fit the jubilee clip I bought yesterday, over the oil cooler, losing a screwdriver into the bilge in the process. I guess I'll get it back one day. With all my checks done and a flask of tea made, I started the engine and set off.

First was the job of turning around so I was facing downstream. The currents just after Abingdon bridge are, er, interesting, so it took a few goes before I got it right, but after that I was off. I reached the point where I noticed the smoke yesterday but the temperature needle hadn't moved from rest, so that was good. A little while later I passed the entrance to Abingdon Marina and the garden where I'd been moored at the end of yesterday. I looked and waved, hoping someone would see me and was very gratified to see my former host out on the patio, waving a cheery wave back.

Around the corner and along the long straight of Culham Reach, then it's a blind 90° bend into Culham Cut that leads to Culham lock. When I arrive, two canoeists are already there, with one winding the handle to operate the lock (no lock keeper, so no electrification). She got the bottom gates closed, so I took over the job of opening the top paddles to fill the lock. After that the lock keeper appeared, so we returned to our craft. Although I was sure there had been no-one behind me when I came down Culham Reach, to my surprise a hire cruiser was now moored behind me at the lay-by.

We all fitted in the lock easily and I had no problems controlling Oothoon with her ropes. I was last to leave, as I wanted to sort them out before setting off and I kind of bow-hauled her until the stern was at the steps (Thames locks have steps rather than a ladder—so much more civilised). Everyone had disappeared—even the canoeists—so I had the river to myself and it was glorious in the sunshine. The odd cloud had started to appear in the sky, but you only noticed them when the sun disappeared behind one.

About half an hour later, through flat country that is only ruined by the sight of Didcot power station steaming away in the distance, you get to Clifton lock. I'd passed the canoeists on the way and knew they wouldn't be joining us, but another cruiser did, however Clifton lock is a mere 3.5ft (1m) so the lock keeper let me hold the boat on the centre rope and in fact we were down and the gates were open almost immediately. Just after Clifton lock you can double-back on yourself and go along the weir stream, even in a boat like mine. At the end is Long Wittenham and the Plough Inn. I didn't go up to have a look, but I'd love to one day.

After Clifton the Thames makes an extravagant sweep past Clifton Hampden and the large luxurious waterside houses of Burcot. In the distance is the old Roman town of Dorchester and on the other bank you get to see Didcot power station from almost every angle.

After Day's lock there's a sharp 90° bend and then the river meanders back and forth past Shillingford and towards the lock at Benson. Just before the lock there's a boat hire place that sells Diesel and thinking that it's a while since I've filled up, I stop. Good job I did, as Oothoon takes on 107.7 litres—fortunately at the 'red' diesel price. I had intended to eat at the café there, however I didn't really fancy a 'full' meal and ate aboard instead, so lunch was a baguette with mozzarella, tomato and pesto.

Through Bensons lock and to Wallingford. I had intended that this would be my stopping point today, but the weather is fine and it was only mid-afternoon with over two hours of daylight left, so I press on.

The Thames is failrly straight and uninteresting after Wallingford, which explains why it seems perfect for rowers. I'm going past their clubhouse when the rain starts spitting. It's only light—no more than a shower really—so I don't worry about it, although I notice that the sky is primarily clouds now and the blue is getting few and far between. Past North Stoke and the rain gets much heavier. The rowers don't seem to mind, but Oothoon's doing 8kph and they're going much faster, so maybe it's keeping them cool. By the time we reach the islands just north of Moulsford Railway Bridge, the rain is really quite nasty. The rowers shoot off to the left, whereas it appears that the channel continues straight on (there's no sign). I've had this before with rowers, where they'll go the 'wrong way' round an island because it suits them better, however after a moment I realise that perhaps they were right this time. Stopping is tricky in the strong current and reversing even more so, but eventually I reverse up to the fork in the river, only to have to slam into full forward because the rowers shoot back out of the cut at full speed and I'd have hit them. This completely undoes all my careful manoeuvring and now I'm drifting sideway towards the top of the island. After full reverse and hoping that the bank behind isn't shallow, I manage to get the prow past the start of the island. After putting the cratch through the obligatory tree, I'm once again headed in the right direction.

By now the rain is so bad that I can't use my glasses any more and I shoot under the railway bridge determined to stop at Mouldford, which is the next village. There's nowhere to stop (most of the banks of the Thames being privately owned and liberally littered with "No Mooring" signs) but the rain is easing. Nicholson's has the next mooring place as being below Goring lock, so maybe I can make it there.

Cleve lock, at 2ft3 (0.7m), empties so quickly that I don't even have time to get ropes ready before we're finished. In the lock is me, the cruiser from back at Culham, and two striking breasted-up narrowboats—"Tarred" and "Feathered"—that were moored just below me at Osney lock. They apologise that they're going to be slow, explaining that they've had engine trouble and are moving under 'electric power'. I've no idea what that is, but it sounds impressive. Sure enough they are quite slow, so I overtake them and the lock keeper at Goring decides to lock me and the cruiser separately. The rain is back in full force now, so I ask the lock keeper where I might moor and he points out the moorings a little way below the lock. I head for them—compensating for the strong currents caused by the weir—and manage to get moored. I'm so relived that I've found somewhere, because the rain is torrential and it's about to get dark.

One hot shower later and after having re-lit the fire using the home-chopped kindling from the other day, I start to relax. I realise that there are a couple of things I need to do, for example fill the coal scuttle, so I get these out of the way. I stop the engine—still on 50°—and settle in for the night. I've decided to have Scumbalina Fish Pie Deluxe again, since it feels like a Friday. It's very warming and comforting and I feel much happier for it, however as I make a cuppa afterwards, I notice that it's snowing. Deep joy.

It lives!

2008-10-28T00:43:00.003Z

Abingdon, 1 mile, 0 locks

Was a bit shocked to find that it was nearly 10am when I awoke this morning, after one of the best night's sleep I've had in ages. Then it turned out that it was actually 9am, because I'd forgotten to reset the bedroom clock at the weekend, which was even better. The sun was streaming through the windows and I felt very positive about the day.

My host knocked on the hull a little after I'd showered and I popped out to have a chat. Even at that time of the morning he was immaculately dressed, with a shirt and tie. I felt quite slovenly in comparison, in my jogging bottoms and polo shirt. We chatted for a while and I said that I was expecting Keith Duffy to return sometime this morning to sort everything out, but that if I hadn't heard anything by 11am I'd give him a ring. We then went back to our respective homes for breakfast. While I'd been out chatting Keith had left a message to say that he had managed to source an 'end cap' for the header tank and that it was in the wrong direction from me, but that he should still be with me by lunchtime.

After a luxurious breakfast of bacon sandwiches, I checked my e-mail and caught up on my backlog of instant messages, then set about making cream of cauliflower soup. I'd bought some cream in Abingdon a couple of days previously with this in mind. The cauli I had was rather small, so I added in the remaining carrot and swede that I hadn't used in the Delia "Cheat" Shepherd's Pie the other day. While that was all simmering away, a sudden movement of the boat and a lot of banging announced the arrival of Keith. He'd brought two end caps, because he wasn't sure what size was right and made a start on sorting out the water pump straightaway, while I returned to my soup making. I was particularly looking forward to using a stick blender that I'd bought in tesco for a fiver months ago. Okay, it's not the one Delia recommends, but I'd already bought it when Delia's book came out. After giving it a good wash, I set too, scrunching down the bits of cauli in a very satisfying way and turning the lumps into mush. Next thing I knew, the blending had stopped and the blade and its shaft were hanging out of the end of the blender. It was broken. Funnily enough I remembered then that Laurance had also bought one of these blenders and it too had broken on it's first use. After giving the blender a quick wash and dumping it all back into its box, I checked on the consistency of the soup and although it was on the thick side and still had some chunks of carrot in it, it tasted lovely.

I went back to see how Keith was doing and sat on the back deck chatting while he worked. He was having a lot of trouble refitting the pump. In the end I offered to make him tea, as an excuse to get out of his way while he worked. When I returned with it, he'd fitted the pump almost straight away--turns out I'd been blocking the light and preventing him from seeing what he was doing, and he'd only realised when I moved away.

With the pump fitted, everything else went back easily and I went off to fill my water canister so Keith could top up the cooling system. By the time I got back, the engine was running and Keith was trying to get air out of the system. With the addition of the extra water, there was a lot of bubbling and then it all calmed down. We ran it for a while with the temperature gauge not moving and we ended up engaging the propellor and running with that thrusting us into the garden for a while. Eventually the gauge moved, but not much, and stayed there. Keith started to pack his stuff away, pronouncing that it was fixed and that his work here was done.

We agreed that I'd take Oothoon up to Kingcraft at Abingdon as a test run. This should prove one way or the other whether the engine was keeping cool and if it wasn't there were plenty of places to stop. Keith helped me pack back all of the gubbins that I'd taken out of the engine room, then left. I got changed into warmer clothing and then went to see my host.

After chatting for a while and then wishing me goodbye, my host helped me unmoor and watched until I was across the channel and well on my way before waving farewell and returning indoors, to the lunch I'd interrupted. I tried to get used to going upstream on the river while keeping one eye on the temperature gauge. It didn't move from rest. After a short while I got close to Kingcraft and came in to land on the opposite bank, and even after I'd taken ages shuffled the boat along the bank in order to tie up properly, the temperature still wasn't registering. It was just like after I left Welford all over again, where I really had to tax the engine to get it up to 50°. Marvellous.

Went over to Kingcraft to meet Keith and tell him the good news. While I was there he pointed out a few things I needed to buy, like a new jubilee clip for the oil pump. We chatted for a little while in the car park and then off he went on his way. He's an interesting chap and it was a pleasure to meet him.

I wandered into Abingdon—really as a way to kill time—and saw the friend of Chris' who had joined us in the Watermans Arms in Oxford, but he was with someone and I didn't want to intrude. Eventually I went into a coffee place and had a Cappuccino and a piece of Pecan Pie, although it wasn't particularly great.

On the way back to Oothoon, I remembered that it was Monday and that I'd promised to give my friend Jan a call. As I was so close (by car anyway) he said he'd come over and see me later. Not long after that he called to say that he'd arrive about 7:30, so I decided to have a nap.

About 7:40 I got up and started to cook dinner. I'd decided that rather than go out, as we often do, I'd make tacos, which we both like. Jan arrived not much later, having called to check he was on the right bank of the river, after which he found the boat with no problem. It was great to see him again, because it seems to have been months since that time in Nether Heyford, He seemed to enjoy my soup too, lumps and all.

I'm now planning what to do tomorrow. The weather forecast is for a repeat of today, although it's very cold outside. If that's the case, I'm going to try to make it to Wallingford. I'm sure Keith would tell me that I could make it much further than that if I wanted, but I think it's a good destination because it's where Keith lives. Insurance, if you like. I also need to find someone who sells smokeless coal, because my reserves are starting to run low and I've probably only enough for a couple more days. There's supposed to be a place a little before Wallingford, according to Nicholson's, so I might be lucky. The alternative is to run the central heating, which will eat gas, however gas might be easier to replace than coal. We'll see.

I'm hoping for another peaceful night tonight. I'm still marvelling at how soundly I slept last night. I guess I must have felt very safe in my floating home at the bottom of the garden.

Impellerd Again

2008-10-26T22:40:00.005Z

Abingdon, 1 mile, 1 lock

Woke up to rain beating down on the roof, so it didn't look like I was going anywhere, however it calmed down by mid morning and I started to think about maybe taking a chance on moving. First, though, I needed to have a look at the coolant in the engine. I'd filled my water carrier from the hose and set it emptying into the engine. It took about 20 litres! As I watched, the water level in the filler hole started to drop, so I started to look for a leak. After a while I found it—it was where the drive shaft goes into the auxiliary water pump. There are two large nuts where the leak was, one of which I remembered was a locking nut, however my adjustable spanner isn't large enough to go round either of them. Not really thinking it might make much difference, I tightened the grease nipples on the pump and to my surprise the dripping stopped. Surely it couldn't be that easy? I topped up the water to the brim and left it for a few minutes to see if it went down, but it didn't, so I decided to leave it for a bit longer to see what happened.

While I was waiting, I went to see the lock keeper. He asked if I was moving today and I explained that the engine had overheated last night but that I was looking into it and—all being well—would be moving soon. He seemed happy enough with that, so I went back to the boat and checked the water level and all was well. I started the engine and waited until the temperature started to rise, then walked away to chat to the people on a narrowboat that was filling with water. I had thought they'd whistled at me, but it turned out to be some kind of South American bird in a cage. It was nice to talk to them and hear some of the gossip from Wolvercote near Oxford, where they were heading.

Back at Oothoon, the temperature was a little below 90°, which normally would be causing lots of black smoke, but none was being produced. Maybe this was a good sign. I wasn't sure, but decided to take the risk anyway, so got into my 'boating' clothes, unmoored and headed for the lock. The lock keeper had the gates open ready and I shared the lock with a wide-beam cruiser and a man in a canoe, who snuck in at the last minute.

After leaving the lock, I headed gently downstream. It all seemed to be going okay, but I'd decided that if she overheated, I'd head for the moorings on the other side of Abingdon Bridge. As it happened, the temperature stayed at about 90° and there was still no smoke, so I decided to press on. I got around the bend in the river and on the straight and everything looked good, but then the smoke started. The moorings on the 'good' side all looked to be private, with the bank side being irregular and bushy, but Abingdon Marina was coming up on the right so I decided to nip in there and tie up. Big mistake. As you go in there's a sign saying that visitors should go to the right of the pontoons. This is confusing, as the pontoons are, at that point, behind you, however there are 'Visitors' signs pointing to the other end of the marina, so I followed them, with smoke still coming from the engine. Eventually there's a tiny landing stage on the end of a pontoon with a sign saying that visitors should moor there and talk to the site office, however all around are plastic boats and there's no way I could land a 67ft narrowboat there. Worse, I'd run out of marina, so I had to turn around. After managing to get around, I headed back towards the entrance, not sure what to do. By now the temperature was up to 100° and I was really starting to panic. Deciding that there just wasn't anywhere to land in the marina and that coming in had been a mistake, I decided to head back to the river and 'a bank'. I was just approaching the exit for the marina when the engine died and wouldn't start, and there was just enough inertia and steering to allow me to get around the guiding posts and across to someone's patio. Not knowing what else to do, I jumped off the back with the centre rope and managed to bring Oothoon to a stop, but now I was standing on someone's back patio, with the front half of the boat hidden behind a tree, with nothing to tie on to, and needing to hold the centre rope and the end of the tiller to hold her in place.

I stood there for a little while, wondering what to do. I figured that the owners of the house would be out any second, understandably upset that their private property had been invaded by me. As it happened, no-one appeared and I considered myself lucky that the house owners were perhaps out. Trying to work out what to do, since my only way out of the patio was on the boat, I figured that if I could just wait until the engine cooled down, maybe it would start again and I'd be able to reach the far bank of the Thames, tantalisingly close about 100 yards away. This was a terrible situation, but at least I was okay and the boat wasn't broken down in the middle of the channel with a weir coming up, and there was always the possibility that the house owners might be friendly. It would be awful if this was the patio where everyone broke down and they were sick of finding jetsam standing on it.

Just then I thought I heard a woman's voice. I looked around as best I could, but couldn't see anyone. I figured that maybe one of the neighbours overlooking the patio had seen me and was trying to 'shoo' me away. A little later I thought I heard it again, but this time I was more sure because I heard someone reply. This was strange. I looked around again and couldn't see anyone hanging out of a window, when it dawned on me that the voices were coming from the garden between me and the Thames, and that I couldn't see anyone due to the high wall and the tree. I called out "Hello" and the voices agreed that there was someone on the end of the boat. A voice asked if I was all right and when I replied that I'd broken down, it suggested that I use the boat roof to walk around the tree to join them. Not knowing what else to do, I did it, to find a kindly-looking elderly couple waiting for me. They asked if I was okay and then kind of took control, telling me that they used to have a boat and that the mooring cleats were still there at the front of the garden and that I could bring the boat round and tie up. I started to pull Oothoon towards me using the centre rope, but as their house was on the corner, I'd need to get her round the bend. Fortunately my front river rope was superb for this and by using a combination of pulling the centre rope to move her and the front rope to steer, I managed to 'walk' Oothoon around to the front and got her tied up. They asked a few questions, but worked out that I was probably all right, then asked if I needed hook-ups for electricity or water. I politely declined and they left me to call RCR. I'd asked where I was so I could give RCR an address and the gentleman handed me a sticker with the address on and his name...with the letters O.B.E afterwards!

Keith Duffy from RCR rang back quickly to ask where I was and to say that he wouldn't be long as he was only in Wallingford. I popped back out to inform my hosts of what was happening. They were just off for a post-lunch snooze, but that I could use their side gate to let the RCR repairman in. I went back aboard Oothoon to have a cup of tea and wait, and before I knew it there was a bang on the side of the boat and a man in my engine room.

Keith was very efficient and was moving stuff out of the engine room to gain access to the engine as I got there. The end of the boat was a few feet from the bank, due to the bank's corner having been cut off, so putting stuff on the roof was a bit of a challenge, but I managed it. Then he started looking for basic stuff, like were there any leaks and was the engine's head gasket blown. This continued for a while, with us filling the engine with another 18 litres of water and then running it up. The leak I'd seen this morning was back, only much worse and required tightening the big nut on the pump to compress the packing within. Keith said that his daughter had described the packing material as being like a Walker's Quaver, but it sounded more like a Hula Hoop to me.

He tried tightening the pump's nuts, then taking everything out of the engine room in an attempt to get the floor above the skin tank up so he could find a bleed point (which it appears my tank doesn't have). Then there were various other places that he checked for leaks. In the end, we refilled the engine and ran it up, occasionally blipping it to get air out of the system, and when it started to overheat it gave Keith a chance to see where the leaks were. It turned out that there were several, such as in one of the caps on the end of the header tank, another in the pipe from the header to the skin tank, another underneath the water pump, and perhaps even more. We stopped the engine and Keith continued to look for leaks, eventually working out from the 'output' pipe of the water pump being cold, that the water pump wasn't circulating water through the skin tank.

My host returned and I explained what had happened and what was going on. He was absolutely fine about the whole thing and said that if it couldn't be fixed tonight, I was welcome to moor overnight. I thanked him and we went back to see how Keith was doing. He was taking a short breather—mainly to cool down because it was roasting being near the engine. Turned out that my host had been in the Glider Pilot Regiment in World War II and had been at Arnhem; and that Keith had been in the RAF and had been a keen glider pilot. The world being a very small place, there were several people that they both knew, with my host having seen the man who taught Keith to fly only the day before. I hadn't realised that we used gliders to get troops and tanks across to the WWII battlefields, but my host pointed out that there were no helicopters able to do it at the time, so huge gliders—like the Horsa that he flew—were the only option. He'd also served time as a POW, having to walk from Poland to Germany when the Russians invaded. It made me realise that my current difficulties—an inconvenient stoppage in my cheery jaunt around the canals—was nothing in comparison.

At this point it was sunset, now at it's new improved time of 5pm, but Keith decided that while he couldn't fix my engine tonight, he didn't want to leave the job without at least knowing what he was up against. I went inside to warm up, as the temperature had dropped significantly in the previous 10 minutes, and when I heard banging on the wall to summon me back, Keith had the pump off and in bits and was tutting and shaking his head in a most disgusted way. He showed me the inlet pipe, which seemed to have an inordinately narrow washer in it. This, it was pointed out, was actually packed particles of impeller that were blocking the pipe. Additionally there were more bits of impeller inside the pump and damage to some of the vanes, but only to two of them—most of them were intact and working nicely. Keith managed to get it all out and cleaned the pump, then fitted my newly bought impeller, but by then it was dark and as I needed more parts to fix everything, we agreed that Keith would return tomorrow.

My host again asked if there was anything I needed and I asked whether I might take up the offer of an electrical hook-up, since the engine hadn't run much today. I was supplied with an impressively long cable and shown where I could connect it, and left to arrange things as I wanted.

After connecting the electricity and looking at the way the engine room was—with parts and tools and pumps all over—I decided to leave all the engine room contents on the roof. It wasn't going to rain tonight, although it would be cold, but I didn't think there was anything that would really spoil from a bit of damp.

I went below to do the dishes and have some soup. About 8pm my host returned to check that I was okay and to chat and hear my story. After that he wished me a good night's sleep and retired indoors. I did the same, stoking up the fire so that it was cosy and warm. Looking back on today such a lot seems to have happened, with the latter half being one of the strangest ever. Who would have thought that I'd spend the night moored at the end of a stranger's garden on the Thames, with my engine in bits, and yet I feel completely calm about it. I think it can only be the amazing kindness of my host and the thought of what he has lived through, that allows me to put my current predicament into perspective.

Getting nowhere fast

2008-10-25T23:11:00.003+01:00

Abingdon, 0 miles, 0 locks

Had a difficult night last night. I was convinced that I could hear sounds outside the boat and lay awake trying to hear them, or if I dozed I was convinced that the boat would break free of her moorings and be swept down the weir. Of course it's probably all residual stuff from last year, but it meant that I didn't go to sleep until late and slept badly.

When I awoke, the weather wasn't bad—certainly not the rain that I'd been expecting. I got up and had bran flakes for breakfast, then wandered into Abingdon for some shopping and to visit the Chandlers. On the way I stopped at the lock to check with the keeper that I was okay to be moored where I am, although he was slightly distracted by operating the lock to allow the chap from the small boat from yesterday in. I walked over to talk to him as his boat rose and he seemed to have found cheap diesel—87p a litre—and pointed out that I should fill up my tank while it's cheap and to avoid condensation. I asked if he'd heard the weather forecast and he impressed me by looking at his watch instead and announcing that the barometric pressure had dropped by 4 millibars since breakfast, which was indicative of rain! Apparently his watch was a Casio Sea Pathfinder, which has all kinds of things, including a compass, and that he needed to know all this stuff back in his old sailing days.

Abingdon is a nice little town with a smallish square in the middle, near the site where Abingdon Abbey once stood. This was eventually given to Henry VIII when he dissolved the monasteries and all of the stones were taken to London and used to build palaces, leaving almost nothing behind. Now it's a large green park with some excavated areas showing where the building used to be and with good interpretation boards. After wandering through there, I headed for the nearest Chemist, as Laurance had txt'd me to say that he thought I might have the Norrow Virus. Service in the chemist was terrible, with it taking a few minutes for anyone to appear and she had to go off and ask the pharmacist whenever you asked anything. Eventually the pharmacist looked over the partition and asked me to come over, since it would be quicker to tell me directly. After reading to me from what looked like a BBC News web page, she decided that I should try to eat 'light' non-taxing food and buy some Immodium to stop the diarrhoea, some Pepto-bismol to calm my stomach, and some Dioralyte to replace the missing minerals etc that I was losing down the loo. I don't like Pepto-bismol much, so just bought the Dioralyte, having Immodium at home.

Next was a trip to Morrisons. I wasn't sure what I wanted really, but ended up buying some rolls, cream and melba toast. Walking back towards the river, I popped into the Baker's Oven to buy a loaf, and ended up buying a sausage roll too—the smell was irresistible. Back at the river, I popped into the chandlers at Kingcraft Abingdon boat centre. All I really wanted was another impeller, in case the current one failed, but I also bought a telescopic boat hook and a battery box for the battery I'd bought in Halfords in Coventry. The impeller was surprisingly interesting: unlike the one fitted in Welford or the one I bought in Brinklow, both of which had come in olde-worlde cardboard boxes with a quaint Jabsco logo in squirly writing and the ITT logo looking like it was done on a typewriter, this impeller came in a clear plastic bubble pack with a new logo and 'Genuine Jabsco Service Parts' and the names of five countries. It also included a new gasket. I suddenly had a flash of inspiration and dread: what if the impeller fitted in Welford had been some 10 year old part that was getting brittle and ready for disintegration (which would explain why it failed) and did that mean that the currently fitted impeller, which was similarly packaged, was equally ancient and ready to die at any moment? It was both comforting to think I might have guessed why the old impeller failed, but disturbing to think that the new one might go the same way real soon now.

Back to the boat to start the engine and have a little lunch. I started the engine and opened the back deck to fit the new battery into the new box. Turns out that the box, while perfect for the battery, is too large to fit into the space left in the engine room. Oh well. At least by lifting the deck I cleared up one mystery: turns out that water is leaking in through the stern gland. Every time the boat vibrates with the engine, a small spurt of water comes in the top of the shaft. I guess maybe the gland needs repacking, which I'm told they do from time to time. Still no explanation for the coolant loss, although I had meant to check it before I started the engine.

Had lunch of Scotch Broth with some bread and a glass of the Dia-calm. It's surprisingly nice and you do feel better for it. After lunch I had pretty much psyched myself to get on and move the boat, if only so I didn't have to move off the 24-hour mooring in the rain, but by the time I'd completed my last remaining chore of emptying the loo, raindrops were falling on my head. It was a light shower, though, so I figured that I could still move down to the moorings next to the town (the lock being slightly upstream from it). I got changed into suitable clothes and went to the back to open up and was dismayed to find smoke coming from the engine. A quick check of the temperature gauge showed that it was up to 90° which did not bode well. In the end I stopped the engine, but without any cooling the temperature quickly rose to over 100° so I re-started the engine. I figured that this would also be a good test as to whether the pump was still working. After increasing the revs, in order to increase the pumping, the temperature did start to drop and eventually got just below 90°, but not enough to stop occasional whisps of smoke from drifting up from the engine. This was very bad news. I couldn't tell whether the problem was lack of coolant, since I hadn't checked it before starting the engine, or lack of pumping, as the amount available at a little faster than tickover hadn't been enough to cool the engine, although running the engine faster had (except that the engine got hotter as a consequence). There was nothing to be done until the engine had cooled and I could see how much water was left in it, so I stopped it and left the back deck open to allow it to cool.

The rain had stopped by this time and for no obvious reason I decided to try chopping up the fence post I'd found with my new axe. You only need to have hit a piece of wood a couple of times with an axe to realise that you need safety goggles, so I put some on, although I'm not sure that they conform to the ANSI standard mentioned on the handle of the axe. Chopping is also surprisingly hard when you've never done it before, as each chop seems to miss the last one. Eventually, though, you start to make progress and there was a definite deep cut appearing in the post. I rotated the post, figuring that the outermost layers of bark would probably break easier than the dense inner layers, and after quite a bit of chopping, I cut through the post. Not the neatest cut it has to be said, but very satisfying. With that done, it was time to make kindling from the chopped-off bit, which is what this was supposed to be about. I've seen other people doing it and the gist seems to be to hit the wood from the top to separate it. To my surprise, it was quite easy. If you get the positioning right, the wood splits right down the grain. My chopping wasn't sophisticated, so the bits of kindling were a little on the thick side, but I pronounced them not bad for a first attempt. Quite therapeutic too.

As I wasn't going anywhere until the engine cooled, I went back indoors and played Animal Crossing for a bit, then researched Norrow Virus on the internet (there's surprisingly little). Before I knew it, it was dark and I wasn't going anywhere, so that made life simple. I listened to Johnathan Ross' Podcast for a while, then put the remaining half of yesterday's Delia "Cheat" Shepherd's Pie in the oven to reheat, covered with some tin foil. Yesterday I'd forgotten about the instruction to 'let it rest for 10 minutes before serving', which was probably why the seconds were nicer than the firsts, but today, having had 24 hours to 'rest', it was even better. I don't know why I'm so impressed, considering that the only thing I actually cheated on was the use of a tin of lamb mince and some ready-chopped carrot and swede—something I could have done myself in a few minutes—but I guess I'm not thinking like a proper cheat or indeed someone with a well-stocked freezer.

Paul txt'd me to say that he'd been to Brewster's in Animal Crossing to see K.K. Slider play and I'm glad he did, because I'd forgotten that tonight is Saturday. K.K played 'Imperial K.K.' for Paul, so I decided to request it when I went to hear him play. I once again recorded it on the computer and it's good, with a bit of howling in it, which I love.

Tomorrow is going to be an uncertain day. The forecast is for rain, but I might have to move if the lock keeper insists, which means firing up the engine in it's uncertain state. At least if I need to call RCR out to fit yet another impeller, I have confidence that this one is modern and likely to work. On the other hand, it might all hold together if I rev the engine enough, which I can probably do on the river. I'm trying not to worry about it, if only because there's a boatyard down river and I'll bow-haul her there if I have to.

Oh and the clocks go back, so I'll be completely lost time-zone wise and it'll get dark at 5. Boo!

Homeward Bound

2008-10-24T23:57:00.001+01:00

Osney to Abingdon, 7.5 miles, 3 locks

To my surprise it was bright and sunny this morning. I had been expecting rain, so I assumed that this was a temporary thing that would deteriorate as the day wore on. After a simple breakfast of bran flakes and yoghurt, and a cup of coffee while I brought the blog up to date, I got on with the day's business: getting ready for the Thames.

First off was to sort out the screws that hold the Cratch in place. I had thought these would have to be replaced, but a simple tightening was all that was needed.

Next was the tunnel light, which required tidying the ends of the wire that was left and connecting it with a small connector block. After a tap on the light to wake it up, that was fixed too.

Third job was to put Oothoon's new name on the outside. I have a magnet that I use for fishing things out of, for example, bilges, that has a string made of old bootlaces on it. Clamping this to the gunwale directly below the porthole, I tied an Ikea pencil into the string just above the porthole top and drew an arc. Using this as a baseline I positioned the letters, starting with the central "H" and working outwards. I was stood on the shore at this point so it was easy to adjust the letters to get the kerning right. I was quite impressed when I stood back and admired my handiwork, thinking that I'd done a pretty good job for a first attempt, although I think a professional probably wouldn't have had the 'H' right in the middle, since the name actually looks slightly heavy on the right side, probably because the "N" has a square side which makes it seem more substantial than the leading "O" whose roundness makes it seem lighter. It's an optical thing and I think shifting it round the curve a small amount would probably balance it out.

I did the same on the off-side, trying not to fall in or drop the letters in the river as I did so. When I was drawing round the acetate last night I was using a felt-tipped pen intended for writing on CDs, since I figured it would work on shiny plastic, but I hadn't expected it to leak ink, which caused large splodges in a couple of places. I put the splodgy letters on the outside so they wouldn't be so visible, forgetting that the river has two banks.

Next were river ropes. I haven't used these for a year and it appears that they have shrunk slightly. They're very dry, so if they get wet later today, maybe that will sort them out. Also I seem to have a lot more stuff on the roof than last year, with the gangplank and the new water heater chimney being obstacles I could do without. I would just have to see how I got on.

Finally it was time to check the oil and water. Oil was fine, but I decided to top the water up. And up. And up. In the end it needed 12 litres before the coolant system was full, so it's clearly leaking, and I doubt that it's the drip-drip-drip leak of the water pump grease nipples that I had earlier. It would also explain why my bilges are quite full most days. I had assumed that this was due to water coming in the stern gland, because where else could it be coming from, however I refilled the stern gland greaser the other day and I'd noticed that there was nothing in the bilges in the morning. If it was just the gland leaking, I doubt that it would only let in water if the propeller was going round, but a leak from the cooling system would explain it nicely. This was going to need to be looked at, but I'd no idea where. Or more importantly, when.

With all that done, it was time to brace myself and cast off. Osney lock was about 150 yards (137m) away and it was 12:55 when I pulled into the lay-by. By the time I'd stopped and tied up, Ray had locked the hut and walked along opposite, and shouted over that it was now lunchtime but that I could do my licence at Iffley lock. At this point I kind of lost my nerve and decided that perhaps I'd wait, so I stopped the engine and popped below to have lunch too.

Lunch was Herr Aldi's Fresh Gorgonzola and Walnut Ravioli. I've had the Salmon version of this a couple of times and it's lovely, but I thought I'd give this a go for a change and it's equally nice. Although it only takes four minutes to cook, by the time I'd messed around doing dishes and boiling water and serving it, it was already 1:40pm and by the time I'd had a cuppa and played Animal Crossing for a little while, it was after 2! I popped over to the lock-keeper's hut to find a sign saying that he was 'doing weirs' until 15:00. Looks like I was going to have to go through myself after all.

Locks on the Thames are huge in comparison even with Grand Union barge locks, able to hold boats up to 120ft (36.5m) long and the gates and paddles are equally impressive. Consequently, they're all hydraulically powered and while there's a big handle you can crank to operate everything, normally they're electrically powered and sequenced, which makes everything easy. You push a button to open the sluices and it slowly sequences filling or emptying the lock, opening a little at a time so that the flow isn't too bad. Once that's out of the way, you press and hold the 'Gate Open' button and the gates open. I prepared the lock and got Oothoon in, and had just tied her up with the centre rope while I got the front and back ropes organised, when another boat came along. I waved her into the lock and she came alongside. Then a 35-footer arrived and we wondered whether it could go behind either Oothoon or the other boat, but the captain wasn't keen, so he did the lock while I controlled Oothoon with the ropes. That was far nicer than I was expecting.

I went out first and was very nervous. Last time I'd been on this stretch of water, disaster was lurking just around the corner after Osney Railway Bridge and I was extremely twitchy, but the boat handled nicely and the engine temperature stayed fairly level at 80° and as I watched the bank go by I recalled all the times I'd walked backwards and forwards along it to the water point at the lock, and just how rough that time had been. The Environment Agency have obviously decided to do something about the trees, which were getting a bit mad along that stretch and then I went round a corner and there was Osney Railway Bridge, where I'd had my enforced mooring last year. It was amazing to see it and how unthreatening it looked, and even more amazing to see how low the water levels were on the legs. I'd forgotten just how high the water was last year.

Once I was past there, the next worry was the turn for the Folly Bridge. Last year, a college boat was partially submerged on this bend because the captain had decided that he could go upstream on red boards and got it wrong. Even when I came down the current was quite strong and I remembered it being quite a scary turn. Today there was no bother at all. I aimed for the gap between the wooden guide posts, turned as I got past one, straightened up and turned gracefully. Even the bridge itself was easy. I remember it being very low and a squeeze to get under with a tight turn afterwards, but today it was tall and roomy and I could begin the turn halfway through. Once you're under the Folly Bridge, the Thames opens up as you go past the delightful Christchurch Meadow and the water is full of university rowing boats. I remember my relief as I got this far last year and figured that maybe I would make it home okay. There were only three rowing boats today, but that was enough to make me start having the same thoughts.

Everything went well all the way down to Iffley lock, with the engine temperature staying at 80° and the sky staying almost entirely cloudless and sunny. At Iffley, the lock keeper (I seem to remember that his name is Austin) spotted me and opened the gates to let me in. Ray had obviously phoned ahead to say that I was coming and would need a licence and he was ready. The boat that had shared Osney lock had turned around to moor at Christchurch, so I knew it wouldn't be coming, but the little boat we left behind might be, so the lock was left open just in case. He turned up just as I completed filling in the paperwork and handing over a cheque (I know! A cheque!) so we both went down together. He went out first as I had ropes to sort out and by the time I left he was in the far distance.

I caught up with her at Sandford locks, where by the looks of things they'd been waiting a while. The speed limit on the Thames (I believe) is 8kph and I'd been doing roughly that since I left Iffley lock, so I didn't feel guilty. Besides, I'd actually started to calm down and enjoy the journey. I'd forgotten just how lovely a stretch of waterway the Thames is and also just how staggeringly large and desirable some of the waterside properties are. Some of them I recognised from last year, including a wreck of a boat next to the shore, which seemed to be no less intact for having been there another year. The Sandford lock keeper was very kind and let me take my time to sort out ropes both before and afterwards, and again my companion was out of sight before I'd even left the lock.

After Sandford the Thames does a long sweeping curve round to Abingdon lock, passing Nuneham Courtney. Prominent above the river is Nuneham house and down by the water's edge there are a couple of tiny cottages, such as the one opposite Radley College Boathouse, which must be idyllic places to live if the river isn't in flood. There's also a small boathouse, with a couple of canoes hidden behind the gates. After that there's a thickly wooded section and you feel like you've got the whole river entirely to yourself, until you come to Nuneham Railway Bridge and the thundering of trains reminds you that you're not far from civilisation.

Another bend, some wiggly bits and before you know it you're at Abingdon lock. This is where I was originally heading for when I set off on that fateful day last year, as the pump-out toilet I had then was full. I remember my relief at arriving there and my joy at seeing Liz, who runs the Southern Carriers coal boats down the Regent's Canal, and who had been stuck in Reading while I'd been in Oxford. I also remember that it was the best night's sleep I'd had in four weeks. Waiting in the lock was the little boat from earlier, who waved me in. I gestured to say that I was going to stop here and he waved and went to operate the lock.

I moored next to the pump-out machine, exactly as I'd done a year ago. This was perfect, because I could empty the bins, empty the loo and fill the water tank. I wandered along to the lock to see if I could help, since I'd figured that the lock keeper had probably gone off-duty by now. I chatted briefly to the chap on the little boat, but he wasn't really the talkative type. All he wanted was a mooring by a pub and that's what he was keen to get on and find. I operated the lock and let him out, then closed the gates and went back to my own business.

Jobs done, I was trying to decide whether to go through the lock and moor below. I couldn't stay where I was, although I could reverse a little way and moor there for 24 hours. I decided to walk back up to the lock to have a look at the mooring possibilities, aware that it was getting on for 6pm and sundown. As I approached, I was surprised to see the far lock gates open and into the lock came a narrowboat. I helped the chap on the prow to get a rope around a bollard and another man by the lock operated the controls. They were determined to get to Oxford tonight and took the opportunity to make sure that their navigation lights were working. I pointed out that it was basically sundown, that it would be dark in less than 20 minutes, and that Oxford was three hours away, but they said that they weren't in a hurry. More importantly, they needed to be at Oxford tonight, Banbury tomorrow then somewhere else the day after to get the boat into dry dock on Monday. It sounded like a tight schedule to me. I wished them well as they left the lock and as I returned to Oothoon, watching them disappear peacefully into the distance, I had to admire their courage. Or do I mean foolhardiness? Either way, even in my craziest moments, I wouldn't have tried doing what they were doing.

By now the sun had set and I decided that I didn't want to try mooring in the dark again. I also realised that I'd forgotten to empty the loo and that swung it for me: I would reverse away from the facilities and moor there. It was all straightforward, although the Environment Agency could make it a little more welcoming by having mooring rings rather than me having to use pegs. After that it was inside to get the fire going and cook dinner.

Dinner tonight started with a bowl of chicken soup, since I knew there'd be a while before the next course. This was because while I'd been in Sainsbury's, I'd spotted a bag of price-reduced ready-diced swede and carrot, which reminded me that I had a tin of M&S lamb mince in the larder because one day I was going to make Delia Smith's "Cheat" Shepherd's Pie. Obviously I couldn't do the 'proper' recipe, not having the space for the Aunt Bessie's Homestyle Frozen Mashed Potato, but I did the best I could, chopping the onions by hand and making mash the old-fashioned way. I also hand-chopped the leeks and grated the cheese, but accepted that sometimes you have to compromise. In the end, though, the results were worth it. While it's not exactly how I remember Shepherd's Pie, it is delicious. So much so that I had seconds, which meant I'd eaten half the pie. I also had a small glass of red wine to go with it, which was probably a mistake, however I don't feel too bad for it all.

Although I'd thought it was going to rain today, apparently it will happen tomorrow. But only in the afternoon. Maybe. After that there's supposed to be a couple of days of good weather, or more rain. That's the potted weather opinion of three boaters I've spoken to today, so I feel none the wiser, except that the Venn diagram says that it'll definitely rain tomorrow afternoon. I guess I'll wait and see what it's like in the morning. Meanwhile it's a clear frosty night and the sky is full of stars. It's beautiful, although I wish the sound of the weir wasn't so close.

Self-induced Misery

2008-10-23T23:42:00.007+01:00

Osney, 0 miles, 0 locks

Managed to keep down a cup of tea at about 8am then went back to bed. Other than a couple of trips to the loo, I managed to stay there until 11am, gradually feeling better. When I finally got up I had more tea, but couldn't face food, so just had liquids. By midday I was back in bed and slept until 3pm, again having strange and unpleasant dreams.

To take my mind off things I started playing Animal Crossing and was amazed to find the tent of Katrina the Fortune Teller pitched outside the town hall. I'd never seen her before, but her 100 Bell Tarot card reading sounded like a bargain. Of course it was all far too mystical and elliptical for a poorly bear like me to understand. Then she asked if there was anything else she could do for me and offered her 10,000 Bell "Cleansing Ritual". Now this sounded exactly like what I needed to detox my system, except that I didn't have 10,000 Bells on me. Promising to return, I went to my cherry orchard and harvested enough cherries to sell to Tom Nook to raise the necessary, then it was back to Katrina's—assuming that she was still there. She was; and sensing the Bells in my pockets, was extra mystical and all big eyes and psychic whiskers—like Cher but in cat form. I duly handed over the money and she completely went off on one, wailing and howling, and falling briefly into some kind of trance, before coming to and pronouncing that I was cleansed. It was all over so quickly and I couldn't believe that she could work that fast, but she seemed to think that it was done and that I could go. I left the tent not knowing whether I felt better for having my psyche cleansed or stupid for blowing ten grand on such an obvious fraud. She was entertaining though and, strangely, I did feel better for it. Just shows: it's all in the mind.

Got up to light the fire and have more tea. By now I felt more restored so I had a melba toast with a Baby Bel cheddar, which was comforting. The fire didn't take, so I had another go at lighting it, then started the engine to charge the batteries.

Had quite a long conversation with Paul in Hull about the previous night and we also talked about my magnetic lettering idea. While he was on the phone I plugged in the printer and printed out a few sizes of letters to see what worked, and eventually picked something I liked. The plan was to print the letters onto acetate sheets, which I'd then cut out and draw around on the magnetic sheet, then I'd cut the letters out with scissors. I did one to prove that it was viable, then retired to the Waterman's Arms for dinner. I didn't want anything fancy, so I had steak with just a few mushrooms and onions.

Back aboard, I cut out the rest of the letters ready for fitting. In theory all I needed to do was attach them (see picture above for the end result), fill up the water tank, buy a licence from Ray, then I was off down the Thames. Shame that the weather forecast is for rain.

Busy busy busy

2008-10-22T23:37:00.001+01:00

Osney, 0 miles, 0 locks

Today was to be a day of doing jobs and getting ready for setting off tomorrow. It was sunny again and I had scrambled eggs for breakfast, then set off for Maplin's, so I could get a fuse holder and some fuses in case I finally finished wiring up the Solar Regulator so that the starter and leisure batteries were considered to be separate banks and also to take back the power consumption meter that I'd bought a while ago and where some segments of the display didn't work. Of course I hadn't remembered to take the receipt for it, however I figured that they'd just swap it once they saw that it was faulty. Not so: their procedures insist on a till receipt and as I didn't have one, they wouldn't swap it. In the end, I bought another one, then immediately handed the sales chap the faulty one and said that it didn't work and could I have a refund please? As I had a receipt, there was no problem with that, and their books were square and I had a working meter, but it did seem a bit of a rigmarole.

On the way back from Maplin's I popped into the Army surplus place. I wanted some waterproof gloves, because I was bored with having cold wet hands when it rains, and I also wanted an axe because a fence post had washed up at the rear of the boat yesterday and I figured that I could cut it down to make kindling. The glove-part was easy: they're made from three layers, with merino wool on the inside to keep the fingers warm, some kind of breathable Goretex-like material in the middle, and a man-made fibre seamlessly knitted outer with rubbery bits for extra grip. The seamless outer is amazing and I've no idea how they actually make it. I was asked why I needed an axe and when I said 'kindling' I was told that I probably wanted a hatchet really (I didn't know the difference). They had one left and it looked the part, with a hickory handle and a nice feel, so I took it.

I had a look at the cratch when I got back to the boat and apart from needing new screws to hold it together, the wire to my tunnel light has been severed so that will need replacing. Intending to do this later, I got my granny trolley and headed for Sainsbury's in the middle of town. On the way, I passed what seemed to be a Tiki bar, which excited me a lot. I'd gotten quite into the Tiki thing thanks to Tiki Bar TV which is a video podcast on iTunes. I excitedly txt'd Laurance about it.

Lunch was in the Croissanterie: a baguette with mozzarella, pesto and salad.

Sainsbury's was its usual self, made more interesting by me having a trolley and a granny trolley in tow. Whereas Aldi has quite a bit of room for trolleys, Sainsbury's doesn't and I was usually in everyone's way. Still I got through it okay and had a wander around Oxford. Everyone seemed to be in a great mood because of the weather. I got a few strange looks because of the trolley, especially when I went into Waterstones and got the lift up to Costa Coffee for a gingerbread latte and a Lintz biscuit, but I didn't care.

Back at the boat as it was getting dark and Laurance txt'd to ask whether we were going to the Tiki place and what time to arrive. We settled on 7:30 although he arrived a little early, and we headed off for it. Turned out to be more of a nightclub than a bar, so we went to the nearby Las Iguanas Latin American restaurant. The service was brisk and we were soon seated. Their two-for-one cocktail happy hour had, technically, finished at 7:30, but they extended the offer to us. I ordered Long Island Iced Tea and Laurance ordered something made with Tia Maria, Kahlua, Baileys and cream! For a starter I ordered something that turned out to be fishcakes—but spherical—followed by their chicken fajitas. Now I don't know whether it's because I'd had a lot to eat the day before or whether the fishcakes were very filling, but by the time I started my first fajita I was full. However I persevered, slowly, and managed another two. Laurance was teasing me about the last bit of "wafer thin" chicken still on the platter and how I couldn't leave it, so against my better judgement I ate it, which was probably a mistake.

A little while later I started to feel quite ill and very similar to the queasy feelings I'd had after I'd overeaten on Saturday. We paid the bill and left, but the fresh air seemed to make things worse and we returned to the boat. Just as I got there, I needed to go over the side and bring up a lot of my dinner. Laurance, sensing that this was not going to be pretty, made his farewells and scarpered. I meanwhile, had terrible diarrhoea and frequent feelings that I was going to be sick. This continued throughout the night, with me often up to rush to the loo, or lying in bed shivering and having unpleasant dreams when I could sleep.

Oxford!

2008-10-21T23:34:00.002+01:00

Oxford to Osney, 0.5 miles, 1 lock

What a contrast to yesterday, with the sun shining and it being absolutely beautiful weather. This is the day I should have come down from Thrupp, not yesterday, although I might not have been as lucky with the lift bridges, so I wasn't going to complain.

I had nothing in for breakfast, but I remembered that there's a great Croissant shop in the big square not far from the end of the canal, so I had a wander along there, passing the Elsan disposal point on the way (which I'd need later as the loo was full). After a relaxing breakfast of a croissant and coffee, I wandered over to the Thames to talk to the lock keeper at Osney. I was hoping it would be Ray, who was the super-helpful lock keeper last year when I'd got stuck on the Thames and it was. Once again he was friendly, helpful and chatty and welcoming. We sorted out what kind of licence I'd need and he said there would be no problem with mooring at Osney for a few days if I wanted to, which I decided I would.

I went back to Oothoon and emptied the loo, then got a txt from my friend Chris in Oxford who asked where I was moored and what was I doing. He was just off round the gym, but said he'd meet me in an hour once I'd got to Osney. I decided to set Isis lock so I could go straight in and as I was returning to the boat, there was a boat-fella coming the opposite way who asked whether I'd heard that the boatyard had been saved? Turns out that the developer's planning application has been rejected for a second time, because the council are insisting on a 'mixed use' plan (whatever that is). With the falling price of property and the developer's having paid over the odds for the boatyard land, they were in a fine pickle apparently. He was hoping that they'd either sell the land and a boatyard would re-open, or they'd build one themselves. Personally I couldn't see it.

No problems going through Isis lock, however Ray had warned me that the current in Sheepwash cut was quite strong as the weir there was open. He wasn't joking. As I tried to turn, I realised that I was drifting sideways towards the large red DANGER buoy that was moored in the channel. I decided that all I could do quickly was to head for the other bank and pivot, which is what I did. Of course waiting for me on the other bank was a tree and while I pivoted successfully, as I reversed out, I could see that it wasn't letting go of Oothoon's cratch without a fight. The current in Sheepwash was very strong, but I got through okay, even managing a graceful turn at the end into the Thames proper. I knew Osney bridge was low, so I hadn't bothered to reattach the chimneys and I'd taken the precaution of putting the gangplank in the front well deck while Oothoon was in Isis lock. I'm glad I did—the boat barely made it under there, with me having to crouch right down to get under myself!

As I was tying up, Chris arrived and we went to the Waterman's Arms for lunch. It's a great pub and I got to know it quite well while I was stranded on the Thames last year. The food was as good as ever, with the home made steak and kidney pie being excellent. We were joined by a friend of Chris', who lived just the other side of the river and although we were the only ones left, the pub didn't bother to close or chuck us out until 4pm, when the management had to go to the cash & carry.

The three of us stood chatting outside my boat for a long time, then Chris took me to a local signmaking company, so I could buy some magnetic sheeting. Although it's a year since I was on the Thames, I still haven't got Oothoon's name painted on her and the Environment Agency likes all their boats clearly named, so I was intending to make magnetic letters from the sheet.

After that I went to see my friend Laurance, who was taking me for dinner. We went to The Mole Inn in the charmingly named village of Toot Baldon and the food was excellent. Dinner was Cream of Parsnip Soup with Walnuts followed by Creamed Smoked Haddock with Mustard, Leeks, a Poached Egg and Cheese Mash; the whole lot washed down with some Merlot. It was nice to see Laurance again (and Scooby the dog!) and he dropped me off back at the boat afterwards.

Don't try this at home

2008-10-20T23:30:00.001+01:00

Thrupp to Oxford, 6 miles, 4 locks

Didn't wake until 10:30, I'm guessing it's due of the lack of sleep yesterday. It was grey and miserable outside, but dry, however that wasn't to last and by 12:45 when I set off, the drizzle had already started. I didn't mind, though, because I had only a short way to go before I was in Oxford and it was all going to be plain sailing. I'd removed my chimneys to make sure of that.

The first lock was Roundham Bridge, which is 7'5 (2.3m). It all went without incident, however I didn't fancy climbing down the lock ladder or walking on Oothoon's wet slippery roof, so I bow hauled her out. Then I went under Yarnton Bridge, or at least I would have had the gangplank not caught on the protruding brickwork of the arch. Funnily enough this looks like a huge bridge when you're approaching and the span of the arch looks like you could get a barge under it, however it wasn't to be. Even though my chimney wasn't in an upright position, it still got squashed as the gangplank moved and looks as though it should be crooked.

Next up was Kidlington Green Lock. This looked to be Roundham Bridge all over again, especially as it isn't very deep, but it was made less pleasant by the drizzle having got much heavier. After bow-hauling the boat into the narrows and closing the bottom gate, the wind had caught the prow and it had drifted across the canal. Normally this wouldn't be a problem because you'd just go forward with a bit of turn on the tiller and soon be off, however right in front of the prow was a little rowing boat called The Oak, which was at the end of someone's garden. (Someone's quite large garden, I should point out. Why they didn't lift the boat out of the water and store it upright, where it wouldn't have been in the way of the navigation or full of water, I don't know). With that in the way, I couldn't go forward, so all I could do was try to bring the stern in and turn the prow out. Except that the off-side part of the canal is very shallow and I got grounded front and back. I could move backwards, however that just took me back into the lock's narrows, from where I couldn't manoeuvre, and I still couldn't go forward because of The Oak. It was a completely vexing experience, trying to get Oothoon off the side of the canal while not hitting the little rowing boat and I was really cursing her owner. In the end I reversed into the narrows, jumped ashore with the centre rope and managed to pull the front out enough so that I could attempt to set off, then had a hairy time trying to get back aboard as the stern came out of the narrows and headed away from the bank. Eventually I did it and managed to get away, and without hitting The Oak.

Only a minute or two later, when I had barely got back into the centre of the channel, propulsive power suddenly disappeared. Putting the throttle into reverse didn't make any difference and neither did putting it into full forward. I clearly had something around the propeller, which at least answered yesterday's question about whether the canal is shallow or is it due to stuff round the prop: by now I knew that the answer was 'both'. Fortunately in my fiddling with the throttle I'd somehow pointed the boat towards the bank and was able to jump off and bring Oothoon to a stop. The bank at this point had lovely new piling and judging by the mud had been filled with dredgings from the canal. Nice. After tying up I went below to get changed into something more appropriate for going down a weed hatch and re-emerged to find that the drizzle had become proper rain and heavy too. My last experience down the weed hatch hadn't been a happy one, with me being too large to fit into the hole in the back deck to gain access to it, so there was only one course of action left, which was to lie on my belly out of the engine room and basically dive into the hatch. It's difficult to do because there's no-where to put your head and getting back up is tricky because there's nothing really to push up against. However I'd had a brilliant idea: I figured that I had an underwater camera, so why didn't I take pictures of what was round the prop and then I'd know what I was dealing with. Well the theory was certainly fine and the camera worked perfectly, however I think that the people who designed it assumed you'd be snorkelling off the coast of Cyprus or perhaps in the Bahamas, not in a canal in England in the rain. The pictures were useless, with abstract splodges of colour against murk. One had a shadow which could have been a propeller if you were desperate to believe that, but basically it was hopeless.

A grope around the propeller revealed two things: firstly that the bit of rope that I hadn't managed to get off the last time was still there, but much much larger; and secondly, that there was some wire wrapped around the shaft, which is what I assume was stopping it from turning. As I was dangling down into the hatch, I used my cheapo Wilkinson's one-handed saw thing to good effect and managed to get the rope off after several minutes of struggling. I was dreading having to cut through the wire, but to my delight pulling on one end of it rotated the propeller and it came away easily. A quick check confirmed that there were no further obstructions on the prop shaft, so I put everything back together and went below to get changed again. In an attempt to avoid the mud, I tried walking along the gunwale, but it was much too wet and I slipped off into the mud. My map book, which I had intended to take indoors to turn the page, fell out of my hand and down the gap between the boat and the bank, and I just managed to reach down and grab it in its waterproof house, before it would have disappeared. Once inside I considered putting my waterproofs on, but I realised that the clothes I had been originally wearing were so wet that I might as well continue to wear them.

The trip down the weed hatch had cost me 35 minutes, but at least now I knew that if there was no power, it was due to the canal and I could hear it scraping along the bottom from time to time. Eventually I came across the first of the day's lift bridges—the Drinkwater lift bridge—and was just angling to come in for a landing to tackle it when a cyclist appeared around the disused railway bridge just after it and offered to do it for me. I couldn't believe my luck.

Duke's lock went straightforwardly and as I was leaving I saw the only other boat I'd seen move all day—a hire boat with an American family on it, who were asking how long to get to Thrupp. It was a little after 4pm by this time, so I said that it was an hour or two and that they might make it before sundown.

There's major construction work taking place by the A34 bridge, with the navigation controlled by Stop/Go boards as there's a hydraulic lifting platform straddling the canal. Just before it is another lift bridge, however as I approached, one of the workmen from the construction site was walking past the end and lifted it for me. Again I'd been lucky, but surely this couldn't last.

In fact it didn't, with me having to do the next lift bridge—Perry's lift bridge—myself. Except that I failed. I could lift it up a little bit and could get it to, say, knee height, but I couldn't get a pole underneath it and I couldn't raise it higher without being right next to the edge. I tried leveraging it open by putting my pole on a nearby bollard, but all my attempts failed. It looked like this was the end of the line. I was going to be stuck here until another boat came along with more crew. Just then, I noticed a man walking towards me under an umbrella. He was smiling and asked me if I needed a hand with the bridge. He then explained that this was a tricky bridge to do and that I stood no chance because my pole was too long. He also explained that I was lucky in that you could lift this bridge single-handed and that some of the others definitely needed two. We chatted for a bit and then I noticed Oothoon drifting away from the shore, so I ran back to catch her and the man with the brolly opened the bridge. After I went through and he'd lowered the bridge, I saw him walking back from where he'd come. I asked if he was on one of the boats moored there and he said that he was, and that he'd watched my antics through the window before deciding to come and help. He also said that there were no more lift bridges to do before I got to Oxford, which was a huge relief.

Wolvercote lock was easy enough except that there wasn't all that much daylight left and I had a couple of miles to go before I reached the end of the canal. I put a bit of a spurt on, but still slowed down for moored boats, although clearly not enough for one grumpy woman who was just returning to her boat and who complained that I hadn't slowed down at all. By the time I reached the Electric Lift Bridge, which seems to have been replaced by a proper road bridge as part of a modern housing scheme, it was really starting to get dark and by the time I got to the site of the former boatyard at Jericho and the end of the canal, it was properly dark. Nicholson's says that there are visitor moorings at the end of the 1/4 mile part of the canal that extends by Isis lock; what it doesn't tell you is that if you go down there you can't wind if you're over 30ft and that the winding hole above Isis lock only accepts 50ft boats. Not wishing to go down there to find it was full and then having to reverse out in the dark, I moored by a kind of weir just before the winding hole. There were a couple of other boats there, so I assumed it was okay, but although the front of the boat was on decent bank, the back was rather dangling out in the canal due to the bank having subsided.

Once I was tied up, that was it. There was no way I was mucking about on the canal-side gunwale to reattach chimneys so I went Inside and into warm clothing, with tacos for dinner because I wanted comfort food. It had been a hard day, even though it had only been short, with the rain and wind really making the going rough. I was so exhausted that I couldn't even face writing up my blog.

Gibraltar and the Shipton Missile Crisis

2008-10-19T23:46:00.001+01:00

Lower Heyford to Thrupp, 8 miles, 5 locks

Woke up at 4am with the most incredible heartburn. It really was as though I was a vampire and a wooden stake had been plunged through my heart. After pacing about a lot and not knowing how to shift it, I consulted the Internet for cures, which suggested that a tablespoon of Mustard would sort it out. Desperate to try anything, I dug out my trusty pot of Coleman's and managed to swallow down three teaspoonsful. To my surprise, this actually eased the pain and while it didn't go away completely, it was sufficiently better that I was able to go back to bed. The Internet also suggested lying so that your body is on a slope, with your legs lower (given that heartburn is apparently caused by stomach juices flowing backward up the oesophagus and this will make it flow back towards the stomach), so I propped myself up on pillows and slept fitfully.

A little after 8am it was back, only not quite so bad. I couldn't face more mustard, so looked on the Wikipedia page about heartburn, hoping that it might have some different remedies. It voted wholeheartedly for Bicarbonate of Soda (which it describes as "baking soda") which rang a bell. Fortunately I've got bicarb in the larder for making bread with, so I had a spoonful in a glass of water. Or rather, I thought I did. In my not-quite-with-it state, I'd actually used baking powder. Realising my mistake, I tried again using proper bicarb and it started to work almost immediately. Feeling better, I went back to bed to let the magic happen.

About 10:30 I felt a weirdness inside, then suddenly much much better. After another 10 minutes of dozing and feeling not too bad, I decided to get up, to find that the pain was gone and I had an appetite. I thought I'd take it in easy stages and have some cereal, so I started with dry bran flakes, then added milk, then added yoghurt, then had orange juice and finally had a hankering for coffee. Figuring that I was on a roll, I decided to have a 'proper' breakfast, if only because if I was going to be sick later, it's best to have something to bring up (a trick I learned on the Isle of Man ferry, as a way of preparing for the possibility of sea-sickness). I had sauté potatoes, a fried egg and baked beans, and afterwards was feeling pretty good. I'd also put some ready-to-bake baguettes in the oven, because I was determined that I was not going to skip lunch. After all this hearty fare and a couple of trips to the loo, I felt in a boating mood, so I prepared a baguette with Serrano ham and tomato, with a tiny splash of olive oil, wrapped it in tin foil and made a flask of tea, and I was ready.

Before I set off, I checked the water levels in the engine. They seemed fine, but I thought that I would top it up anyway. It guzzled down almost exactly two litres, which didn't seem too bad. The engine started okay on the glowplugs, and I set off.

Now that I was back on deck and had time to think, I realised that one difference between today and yesterday is that I was feeling extremely stressed yesterday. There had been the business with the engine the day before and I was worried that it would overheat again, plus I was pressuring myself to get to Oxford—partially because I have friends there who I wanted to see, but also because I see the Thames and the Hanwell flight of locks as the last obstacle to me getting home. Once I'm through Hanwell, it doesn't matter if something goes wrong because there's a clear path home and I can take as long as I want. Today, on the other hand, my health was a bigger issue and if the engine overheated or anything else happened, I didn't care. Just to be sure though, I removed both chimneys and stowed them in the middle of the bits of gangplank on the roof of the boat.

The weather was grey and overcast, and quite windy, but didn't look like rain. I chugged along, slowing for the boats at Heyford Wharf and marvelling at how normal it all seemed. Even the first lock appeared dead on cue, exactly where it was supposed to be and without a strange bridge or shape. In fact it all went very well, with me bow hauling Oothoon out because it just worked better that way.

The next lock was easy, being only 5ft (1.5m) and there was a boat waiting to come up so they handled the bottom gate for me (I should point out that, since I left Banbury, instead of having a single top gate and two half-width bottom gates, the locks have all had a single gate top and bottom). I celebrated by having half of my baguette and a cuppa.

Something I'd started to notice is how the canal often feels like it's shallow, yet at other times I'm convinced that I've got something round the propeller instead. I would occasionally do what I've started calling a 'Crazy Ivan' (after the manoeuvre in The Hunt For Red October) where I'll go into neutral for a moment, then into full reverse until either the boat has started to turn or the engine pitch changes, then back into neutral for a moment, then into forward. I'll often do this when the exhaust note is laboured, as though the engine is working really hard. A lot of the time things run a lot better after a Crazy Ivan, although that's probably psychological rather than physical. What really confuses me is that I'll leave a lock going like the clappers but gradually everything slows down. If it were prop-scum, you wouldn't think it would be better immediately after a lock.

I passed under the "Brighton" bridges and a pipe bridge—don't see many of those on the Oxford—and it was time for Pigeon Bridge lock. As Oothoon was descending, a boat based at Thrupp arrived behind and her crew handled the bottom gate for me. Next was a slow glide past all the moored boats around Enslow Wharf and Gibraltar—an unexpectedly named part of the canal, complete with it's own "rock" (it's a pub).

The Thrupp boat caught up with me again at the next lock—Baker's lock—which was very nice. After Baker's lock you're no longer on the Oxford canal; instead you're on a 'borrowed' piece of the River Cherwell, which joins from underneath the spectacular bridge 217. The bit after this is particularly wiggly, reminding me of the River Stort and with the banks looking a lot more like river banks than canal banks. The going is great, though, since the channel is quite wide and there's obviously quite a bit of depth.

After whizzing along—at one point Oothoon was going over 4mph (6.4kph)—you reach Shipton Weir lock, which is another octagonal lock like the Aynho weir lock from yesterday (my thanks to Adam on nb Debdale, who wrote to explain that the shape is there to make the lock use more water than it needs to for the drop. If it didn't do this, then the subsequent locks, which are normal-sized, would draw more water than the lock provides to the intervening pound, draining the pound dry. Given that the lock can't be deeper due to the relative water levels, the canal designer's only choice is to make it wider). At Aynho, crew from the boat that had gone through before me operated the gates and paddles and I just stood on the back deck, looking pretty and taking photographs, so I hadn't considered how I'd do it by myself. In the end I decided to push Oothoon over to one side, so I'd be able to get aboard again from the bank. In the distance I could also see that lift bridge #219 was in the 'down' position, so I'd have to figure out how to do that too. Just at that moment, like the Cavalry bearing down on a sticky situation, came the boat from the earlier locks. It was a tiddler in comparison to Oothoon and we'd easily fit into the lock together, so I waited for her. Once we were both in, they closed the back gates and I did the front, and we changed level gracefully. It also gave me an opportunity to ask whether they might be kind enough to operate the lift bridge. Scheming or what? As it happened they were quite happy to do the bridge and given that Oothoon was blocking the exit, I went first and they followed behind, with one of their crew running ahead to lift the bridge. As we approached, another boat came through and for a moment I was convinced that they were going to hold the bridge open for all of us, but they didn't, and the crews passed each other on the bridge, in what seemed like a highly symbolic way.

Just after the lift bridge there's a railway bridge and just after that there's a disused railway bridge that has had the span over the canal removed. As I approached, I noticed a hooded child's head popping into view. This really could only mean one thing and going to full throttle, I looked up at the bridge as more heads bobbed up. Then the missiles came. Fortunately they were only throwing sods of earth rather than rocks, but a couple hit the side of the boat and two nearly hit me—one landing directly between my feet and exploding like a muddy nail bomb. The boat behind had seen all of this and had whipped out a camera and were photographing the assailants and calling out "Smile for the camera!", but it didn't stop at least one round of sods raining down on them. I then thought they had stopped to get off and give chase, but actually they'd become grounded. That really was not a good place to get stuck, however the kids seem to have gone.

Next was Thrupp proper—a very pretty collection of boats but quite a narrow stretch of canal. A boat decided to pull out right in front of me, so it was fortunate that I was going along on tickover. I followed them to the right-angle bend next to Thrupp Yard, where it looked like they were turning, but they were actually mooring to use a water point. While I drifted, waiting to find out what they were doing, a woman on a nearby boat said hello and that there was a queue for the water point. I explained that I didn't want water, but I did want to go past the lift-bridge, so she kindly volunteered to open it for me. By this time the other boat had finally moored and I needed to do something or I'd start drifting into nearby boats, so I took a deep breath, opened the throttle and tried to pick my best line to curve round and go through the bridge. This kind of thing is always difficult when your peers are watching, especially when they're hanging out of side hatches like linesmen at a football game, but I somehow got it right and swished round gracefully and lined up with the lift-bridge perfectly. "Bravo!" said the woman who was holding the front rope of the boat that I had waited for and I was convinced that this would make me hit something, but I got through without touching the sides and thanked the woman who was sat on the bridge's balance beam watching the performance.

There's a nice looking pub at Thrupp called the Boat Inn and it looked very welcoming, but I wasn't sure of the mooring situation so I pressed on. A bit later there's another pub called The Jolly Boatman and the sign clearly said 48 hours, so I tied up alongside. I didn't really want to go much further, as it was 5pm and next stop would have been Kidlington, which looked a bit built-up. Besides, I'm now only 6 miles and 5 locks from Oxford, although that leaves plenty of opportunity for disaster to strike.

In the morning I'd had a txt from my friend Chris in Oxford, asking whether I had arrived yet. I txt'd him back this evening to say where I was and got one by return to say that he and his partner would join me in the pub at 8pm. I intended to get to the pub for 7pm so I could have some dinner, but got delayed by phone calls and got there at 7:45, but they were still serving food. I plumped for the fishcakes—I didn't want anything fancy after yesterday—and to drink went for rum and coke, since I'm sure my mother once told me that rum is good for calming your stomach. At 7:55 I got a call to say that my friends had arrived, then we got together around the table for a good old natter. We stayed there until chucking out time, then came back to the boat for a cuppa before they headed off.

My ambition for tomorrow is to finally reach Oxford; I guess the question is by which route? If I do it via Duke's Cut, I can avoid all bar the Drinkwater lift bridge; however the route to the Oxford visitor moorings would then be via the Thames for which I don't have a licence yet and involves a lock. On the other hand, if I stay on the Oxford, I might have another two lift bridges to contend with and there'll be a bit of the Oxford Canal that I've missed. Tricky.

Stress! Stress! Stress!

2008-10-18T23:10:00.004+01:00

Twyford Wharf to Lower Heyford, 9.25 miles, 6 locks

Nice weather again today so I was looking forward to making lots of progress, if the engine would let me. I had breakfast then set off at about 9:45. The engine temperature was hovering around the 60° mark by the time I reached King's Sutton lock. This is quite deep at 10'8 (3.25m) so once Oothoon had descended into the depths, I decided to bow haul her out, which worked pretty well. As I was doing this another boat arrived and they kindly closed the bottom gate for me.

Almost immediately after the lock was the first of the day's lift bridges. I'd been dreading these because I think they're probably very difficult to do by yourself, especially when it was pointed out to me that you need to keep a weight on the end of the balance beam or they close. Fortunately it was open, as were almost all of today's bridges. Speaking of bridges, I'd noticed that a lot of them are on the tight side and at Nell Bridge lock—noted for its narrowness—there's even a board to tell you how much headroom there is under the bridge. That was fine, but it doesn't take into account the curvature of the arch. As it happened there was 2.25m of clearance (7.3ft) but I took the chimney off just in case.

Aynho Weir lock is a bit of an odd one. It's only got a drop of 12" (30cm) and is octagonal! The gates are two faces of the octagon, with huge gaps on either side of the boat. I'm sure it's really there to separate the canal from the River Cherwell, which crosses the canal immediately prior to the lock, but I don't know why it has the funny shape or tiny drop.

Next was Aynho Wharf, which has a boatyard. I'd been fretting over the engine temperature like a broody mother hen all day and I was hoping that I might be able to get a new impeller if the boatyard had a chandlery. Well it does—kind of—but they mainly sell 'ordinary' stuff like ShurFlo water pumps and chimneys and fuses; not exotica like impellers.

Leaving Aynho Wharf, you go under the extremely tight Aynho Bridge 190. This might have been okay, except that Aynho is pretty exposed and the wind caught me as I passed under the bridge, driving the front of the boat straight into the bridge wall and scraping the gangway—that I've been carrying on the roof since I left Battlebridge—across the roof and leaving deep gouges in the paint work. After moving the gangway over to the other side of the roof, I tried bow hauling the boat through the bridge but the wind was too strong and she kept getting stuck on the bridge wall. There was nothing for it but to go under under power. I went slowly and cautiously, which was probably the wrong thing to do because again the wind caught me and the chimney of the water heater went straight into the arch and moved a couple of inches. I've been unhappy with this chimney since it was fitted when I had the water heater replaced back in January, maintaining that it's far too tall and unwieldy to be on a narrowboat. Worse, it's of a tube-within-a-tube construction, where one tube carries clean air into the (room sealed) heater and the other takes away burnt gasses. If the heater isn't happy with the installation (using some kind of gas sensor thingamajig) then it won't run and since the chimney probably wasn't designed for use on boats, it's hard to get off and fiendishly difficult to refit, which is why I tend to leave it alone if I possibly can. The wind relented and I got the rest of the boat through the bridge intact, although I was badly shaken by the experience. I'd been fretting all day about the engine and my next biggest worry was the lift bridges, so I really wasn't ready when I was caught out by low bridges and the wind. Even the Ashby canal didn't do that to me.

After tying up—again an exhausting and frustrating experience with the boat wanting to waft across the canal on the merest breath of wind—I looked at the water heater chimney. It was still intact and attached, but a bit movable, which it hadn't been previously. I went below to see what state everything was in and the heater was still there on the wall, except that the collar to connect the chimneys at the top was at an interesting angle. I also found that the heater moved and by looking round the side I could see that the collision has pulled the heater's mounting bracket off the wall and left the heater sitting on two screws. I loosened the collar and climbed up onto the roof to remove the chimney. I'd have to look it it properly later.

I wasn't feeling much up to it when I got to Somerton Deep lock and thought about stopping for lunch, but I really couldn't face food and taking a break wasn't going to get the boat through the lock. I took my time and just as I was about to set Oothoon lowering gently into the lock, the boat from earlier arrived. Her skipper told me to get aboard and he'd do the lock for me, for which I was extremely grateful. It's 12ft (3.7m) and there was no-way I was going to climb down the ladder into it.

More hilarity at bridge 198 or "Deep Cutting Bridge" as Nicholson's has it, which I barely got under even when crouching. Traditionally pulled working boats would have needed a very short horse to get under here I think. Who names these bridges anyway?

All this business with bridges had distracted me from the engine temperature, which I'm pleased to say had peaked at a little over 80° on the gauge. Any higher and I'm guessing there will be trouble, but so long as it doesn't happen I can live with it. Reassuringly, when I stop to go through locks, the temperature drops back to 60°, making me think that the impeller must be intact and doing something. Interestingly, in the shop at Aynho Wharf there was a chap who had recently had to replace the impeller on his water pump. He said his was down to one 'vane' and that he knew it was deteriorating because the running temperature had been gradually rising. After having one fitted at Welford the engine ran at 50°, so I'm wondering whether 80° indicates that there's already some damage but not so much that it's stopping water from being pumped. I can really see why people say that ignorance is bliss, sometimes.

Allen's lock at Upper Heyford was straightforward in that I moored and set the lock filling, but when I looked back to check that Oothoon was tied securely, I realised that a BW work boat behind was completely straddling the canal and blocking it. I wandered over to have a look and found that it was tied directly onto piling with black nylon rope at the front, but that the blue nylon rope that had tied the rear directly to the piling had been cut through by the movement of the boat. These boats must be hydraulic, judging by the control gear on the front, but I was able to use this to twist the boat around to bring the back across to the bank. I jumped on the back and found several bits of blue rope, none of which were particularly useful. There was even a large looped bit underwater, but the loop was too short to go round the piling and I couldn't get the knot through. In the end, all I could do was tie the severed rope back together and hope that it held. I wonder if this is the source of all the blue nylon rope that has found its way around Oothoon's propeller over the years?

After Upper Heyford, a quick look at the map and my watch made me decide that I'd stop at Lower Heyford. Upper sounds nice as does the pub, but the one at Lower Heyford is supposed to be just off the towpath and that sounded better to me. The journey between the two Heyford's is quite short and there must be an Anglo-Welsh hire place somewhere nearby judging by the number of hire boats coming the other way. Which was good, because just before Lower Heyford was the first lowered lift-bridge that I'd encountered all day. I had stopped to try and figure out what was the best way to tackle it, when an Anglo-Welsh laden with kids wearing life jackets came the other way. They were all eager as anything to do the bridge, pounding across and having it aloft in no time. The other captain graciously waved me through and as I went past and thanked him, the Anglo-Welsh training chap who was on the back deck with him said that what he does when he's by himself is to take his boat pole and prop the bridge open with that while he goes under. That sounds like an excellent idea and I'll try it next time I meet a lowered lift bridge, although to be honest I'm hoping that that's never.

Nicholson's says that there are good moorings around the lift bridge and there are—sort of. They're round the corner actually, but not too far. Once I was moored, I took another look at the water heater. I tried refitting the chimney but couldn't get the alignment right and going below I could see that the problem was now the angle of the heater, which wasn't flush against the wall any more. Not having a better idea, I took the front cover off to see whether it was possible to screw the heater to the wall without using the bracket, since that screwed to the wall and would have required the complete removal of the heater in order to refit. There wasn't, but I was able to sort out the collar at the top. Refitting the cover, I decided that the only solution was to pin the heater back against the wall with a bungee cord connected between one of the wall hooks that I hang pans on and another hook that I'd need to put on the other side. I tried this and it worked a treat, with the heater pressed nicely against the wall and the collar now in passable alignment with the gaping hole in the roof where the chimney needed to go. Back on the roof again and a bit of jiggling and cursing, and the chimney reconnected and I could feel it sit down back onto the 'inner' tube and make a seal. I pulled the watertight rubber collar that is silicone'd to the roof over the outer tube to make good, then went back indoors. Frankly I was a bit concerned because I'm very nervous of gas, but there was no smell of gas around any of the pipework and the heater was nicely pressed against the wall and the chimney looked perfect. With a deep breath I switched the heater on and turned on the hot tap. There was the clicking of the igniter and then the red 'fault' light came on. Thinking that this wasn't so surprising after what it had been through, I tried again. This time the heater ignited and the internal fan came on to waft the burnt gasses away. It didn't sound exactly like it used to, but that wasn't surprising either. It'll do, but really needs to be looked at properly. Given that most of the cost of installation was to have it mounted and the pipework arranged, I'm guessing that having it looked at won't be cheap either. I might be better off spending less money having the optional back boiler fitted to the gas central heating, although there's then the cost of having a plate welded over the hole in the roof. Oh why couldn't I just have had my Paloma fixed back in January? Damn boat regs!

After all this malarky with chimneys, I was in no mood to cook, so I went to the pub. It is Saturday night after all; and all I'd eaten today is my F2 breakfast of bran flakes with a banana and a probiotic yoghurt. I ordered Duck Paté and the Irish Stew. The Paté was okay but nothing special and the hot baguette it came with was a disaster. I'd have been much happier with plain ordinary toasted white bread. The Irish Stew with dumplings was a much better effort, especially as I asked for mash rather than new potatoes (more comforty, innit?) but the dumplings were crusty on the bottom. When my mam used to make them, they were like little fluffy clouds that floated in the stew. With all this I was drinking a pint of Arundel bitter, which seemed to be on the strong side. It was all going well until I ordered coffee afterwards and—stupidly—put sugar in it. That's a bad habit I have when I'm not sure whether the coffee will be drinkable or not. As it happened, the combination of slightly too much food combined with strong bitter and sweet coffee on an empty stomach was not a happy one, and on the way back to Oothoon I was feeling distinctly queasy. By the time I reached the canal I knew that the only solution was to be sick, so I found a quiet wier along the canal bank and effortlessly brought the whole lot up. Feeling better, although with that strange 'having been sick' feeling, I walked slowly back to the boat, cheered by the thought of what a rather tactless friend of mine in Manchester would have said: it's what kept Princess Diana thin!

Back home and being a Saturday night, it was off to Brewster's in Animal Crossing to see K.K. Slider perform. A couple of weeks ago he'd given me a bootleg of his song "K.K. Faire" but I couldn't remember how the original went, so I requested it and recorded it on the computer. I have to say that I prefer the bootleg, but there you go.

Impellered

2008-10-17T21:25:00.005+01:00

Banbury to Twyford Wharf, 2.75 miles, 1 lock

Wonderful weather this morning and I was up and ready to go by 10. It was a bit strange leaving Banbury and I've noticed that I get this feeling whenever I leave somewhere I've been a few days. The other feeling I get is one of panic and that was definitely present this morning. Thinking about it, I can only assume that it is once again due to me setting targets for myself, in this case to get to Oxford by the end of Saturday. That was the plan yesterday, except that I lost the day to boat problems, shopping, chores and stabbing myself (looking much better today, thank you). Today was going to be different.

My biggest worry was the large number of lift bridges on this stretch of canal. A couple of people have told me that they're usually 'up' and I have nothing to worry about, however my experiences with movable bridges so far haven't been great and I'm still a bit unnerved by yesterday's. As it happens, they were all raised and I whizzed through. In fact my biggest problem of the morning was the brightness of the sun, which was shining directly in my eyes most of the time.

Eventually I got to a lift-bridge that appeared to be down, except that something was wrong with the picture. It turned out that this was the first lock and the 'something wrong' were people with windlasses. There was a boat coming up and another behind it, so both crews took complete control of the lock and all I had to do was look after Oothoon. It all went well, which is good because it looked like quite a deep lock to me, although it turns out it's a baby at 9'6 (2.9m)—the next lock is 10'8 (3.25m) and there's Somerton Deep to come, which is 12 foot! (3.7m)

After leaving the lock I noticed that the temperature gauge was registering 80° and as I watched it jumped to 90°. Not long afterwards, smoke started to emerge from the engine area and I pulled over. I experimented with leaving the engine running, which brought down the temperature a little, but not enough to stop the smoke; and stopping the engine, which made the temperature go up considerably due to the lack of cooling water. Once the temperature was at a safe level, I unscrewed the cap on the header tank and looked inside. There appeared to be water there, but I knew from my DeLorean days that this is misleading. I'd taken the trouble to two-thirds fill my 25 litre water carrier and I slowly glugged it into the top of the engine, with it overflowing just before I ran out. Having filled the tank, I cheerfully unmoored and set off down the canal again, only to watch the temperature needle rise to 60°, 70°, 80° and 90°. After the appearance of smoke I pulled over—this time a little way before bridge 177 between King's Sutton and Adderbury (Twyford Wharf).

Leaving the engine running, I took the covers off and looked for leaks. Sure enough, the two grease nipples on the auxiliary water pump, whose impeller I'd had replaced back in Welford, had water dripping from them. I stopped the engine and waited for it to cool, then removed the brass caps on the nipples and stuffed them with grease. I also topped up the water just in case and was pleased to see that it didn't need much. I started the engine and checked for leaks, and on finding none I again set off.

This time I really didn't get far—just under the bridge and round the corner in fact—before the temperature was up in the 70's. I pulled over again and stopped the engine. A quick check under the covers showed that nothing was dripping and at that point I decided I was out of my depth and called RCR. They'd called me sometime earlier in the week when I'd had no mobile reception, to check whether I was happy with the call-out I'd had on the way to Coventry when I'd run out of diesel and I'd called them back yesterday and upgraded to Gold membership, so I didn't feel anything like as nervous as I would have if this had been my second call-out of the seven allowed by Silver membership.

RCR said that someone would be with me between 4 and 4:30, so I let the engine cool a bit more, then decided I'd use the 'temperature window' to get Oothoon back to bridge 177—this being the last road bridge for several miles. With fingers crossed and not a little trepidation, I put her into reverse and pulled away from the bank. Narrowboats were never designed to go backwards and it really shows in their handling, which is almost, but not quite, non-existent. By pushing the tiller towards the left (as you look off the back of the boat) you can kind-of vaguely move to the right and vice-versa, but it isn't exactly steering and it's the front of the boat that you need to keep an eye on. I was fairly happy that nothing would be coming, since the two boats going through the lock were the only other moving boats I'd seen all day, however just as I came around the bend—tacked round the bend is probably a more appropriate description—there was another boat coming under the bridge. I was headed for the bank at that point anyway, so just kept going, doing a little puff of forward thrust before hitting it to make the front turn in. The result was a wonderfully graceful 'reverse into a parking spot' manoeuvre that left me adjacent to the bank so they could pass. Once they were gone, it was a bit more effort to get under the bridge backwards, but again my line was good and I sailed through and parked perfectly.

Jim, the RCR man, was at the boat bang on 4:30 and I explained what I'd done today and also the troubled history of the auxiliary water pump and the impeller. After running up the engine and feeling various pipes, he concluded that one side of the pump was hot and the other merely warm—just like in Welford. Fortunately I'd had the foresight to get another impeller in the chandlery at Rose Narrowboats in Brinklow last week, so if it was the impeller then I was ready. After a quick call to a 'Jabsco Expert' and a struggle, Jim got the cover off the pump and where there should have been an impeller, there was...a few bits of rubber. It had pretty much disintegrated. That would explain the lack of cooling then. Although Jabsco pumps weren't Jim's area of expertise, I'd listened carefully to what Dave had said when he'd fitted the replacement impeller in Welford, so knew the trick for getting the belt off the pulley and how you have to take the pulley off to push the shaft through to get the locking key so you can fit the new impeller. It was a bit of effort, because you need to lean over the engine to get to the pump and there's the ever present danger of the shark-infested* bilge for you to drop things in, but Jim managed it and with a few minutes to go before sunset, everything was back together and we started the engine.

After Dave replaced the impeller, the engine had a tendency to run all day at about 50°; after fitting this new one, we couldn't get a temperature to register on the gauge at all. In the end we left it a while, running at a decent amount of revs and got a small needle deflection, which told us what we needed to know. I filled in the paperwork and Jim headed off to the first of the two jobs still left for him to do today. Still unanswered is what happened to the impeller to cause it to disintegrate and whether it would affect this one too?

As the engine hadn't run much today, I left it running to charge the batteries and to see what would happen temperature-wise. I stopped it at 8pm and it was up to 60°, which I can live with. It might be less than that when the boat is moving, as there'll be a better cooling effect from the moving water outside the keel tank.

Dinner was pasta with pesto and crayfish tails. I'd bought a tub of these in the Tesco in Rugby and they looked very nice. Worst case, I figured that I could buy some rocket and make an ersatz M&S sandwich. Feeling that I really needed some comfort food, I had a tin of rice pudding afterwards. It was nice at the time, but I'm woozy now with the sugar. I'm hoping that I'll make some progress tomorrow, but really I'm worried about the water pump. As I don't know what caused its demise, I don't know that it won't happen again, except I do know that I don't have a spare impeller. I really don't want it to go wrong on the Thames, especially on the tidal bit from Teddington to Brentford. I'm beginning to think that maybe I should have gone down the Grand Union after all, even if it would mean going through Blisworth tunnel again.

* I'm joking—there aren't really sharks in my bilge.

A curate's egg

2008-10-16T23:01:00.002+01:00

Banbury, 0.25 miles, 1 lock

The sun was shining this morning which lifted my mood after last night. I had several jobs to do today, the most important of which was to sort out the glowplug issue, so after getting dressed I went into the engine room to get some kind of feel for what the problem was. There are numerous wires coming off the starter battery but one specifically goes to a box marked "Glowplugs". I assumed that this was the fuse for the glowplugs and was probably a good place to start. Inside the box there was a strip of thin metal stretched between two terminals. It looked intact, but just to check I put a meter over it. Yes, no problem there. I figured the problem was to do with the relay that activates the glowplugs because it's that 'click' of the relay that wasn't happening. There were likely to be several wires related to the operation of the relay, for example there might be one off the keyswitch. Starting with the glowplug fuse I followed it down to a large green cylinder with wires coming off it. This was obviously some kind of power distribution thingamajig and possibly even the relay itself. Hanging off it, not connected to a spade terminal, was a black wire. Surely it couldn't be as simple as a wire come off? After pushing the wire back onto the terminal, I turned the key to halfway and...click! The glowplugs activated and after 30 seconds of giving their cheery warmth into the engine block, the engine fired up straight away. I was saved!

After this triumph, I decided to celebrate with breakfast in the BHS restaurant, which Oothoon was effectively parked next to. Not bad for the price, especially given that one of the options available was bubble'n'squeak, but the mushrooms were tinned rather than fresh and the coffee was disgusting. Still, it cheered me up even more.

Even better was that when I got back to the boat, I realised that the fire was burning. I guess my last attempt to light it last night must have worked, so I filled up the coal scuttle and put a bit more fuel on the fire to stoke it up.

Next was shopping. I unpacked the shopping trolley I bought yesterday and tried to figure out how to put it together. Putting the wheels on was easy enough, but there's a brace thing that goes inside the bag and I couldn't figure out how to fit it in and get the bag into the frame of the trolley at the same time. Then I saw the instructions on the floor. A quick read of these and it all sorted itself out and was dead easy really.

With my trolley assembled, it was off to Aldi, which looked to be a shortish walk away. It wasn't. It was a long walk away and past a huge Tesco Extra. Never mind, the walk will do me good. Aldi was its usual self, except that there was no grapefruit wheatbeer, nor generators, nor funny soups. However I did find Poppin' Chicken in the freezer compartment, which was basically the same as the stuff I'd made using the Fajita kit the other day. Aldi also sell Burrito kits, so between them I should be able to recreate the stuff Paul and I had last week.

The walk back was much easier than normal, thanks to the trolley. It isn't steerable, so going round corners requires you to tip it back slightly and swivel it, but I schlepped at least 16 litres of water, milk and orange juice back, not to mention soup, veg and sundry other things. That would have been impossible for me to do otherwise, so I'd say the trolley is a great success in that regard. Less successful, however, is getting it back on the boat. Because it's heavy and has sticky-out bits all over the place, it's tricky to get onto the boat. Also once it is indoors, there's no easy way to collapse it, so it sits there fully assembled, taking up a lot of space. Not so useful. Maybe it'll be less of an issue once the front cabin isn't full of junk.

Now that I was back and all the shopping was unloaded, it was time to do the next chore: filling the water tank. This required me to get Oothoon through the hydraulically operated lift bridge in the centre of Banbury, where the lift mechanism is on the non-towpath side. There's a bollard, so you can moor while you do it, but I couldn't reach the bollard because the restaurant boat Rosamund The Fair was moored outside Tooley's boatyard. I could have tied up to her, however that would only have got me access to inside the boatyard, which isn't helpful. Standing on the prow, I was just thinking that the only solution would be to go right up to the bridge and climb onto it, when fortunately a passer-by offered to lift the bridge for me. I handed him a windlass and off he went, while I scuttled along the gunwale back to the cockpit. Once through the bridge, I tied up at the water point and had my windlass returned.

Filling with water took ages, so I took the opportunity to take the (full) loo down to the Elsan point by the bus station and empty it. I then did the same with the first of the rubbish bags, closing the bottom gates of the lock and opening a top paddle to fill it. Just before I took the second lot of rubbish for dumping, I had the bright idea that I'd unwrap another set of LED lights and chuck the unwanted packaging. Picking up a conveniently placed Stanley Knife, I cut down into the plastic blister pack and straight through it into my left thumb. I was a bit shocked at this, but it was a nice clean cut and after washing it, I pressed the two halves of the cut together so they could heal. I left them like this for a while until they didn't come apart, then carried the rubbish down to the bins. I left the LED lights in their blister pack.

Once the water tank was full I disconnected the hose, unmoored and headed for the lock. A woman who had been down to empty her elsan offered to open the top gate for me, so I got in the lock, closed the top paddle and opened the bottom paddles, all using my right hand. I was waiting for Oothoon to descend into the lock when another passer by offered to open the bottom gates and close the paddles, so I got back aboard. Once through the lock I realised that my hand had started to bleed again and that I was in no condition to operate a boat. I pulled over to the visitor moorings just past the lock and tied up—not easy when you can't really use one hand properly.

After cleaning the cut again, I realised that I didn't have a suitable plaster to go on it, so I wandered back into town to get one. In Superdrug they sell umpteen types of plaster, including transparent, waterproof and 'silver' anti-bacterial. In the end I went for Spray Plaster, which is an aerosol that you spray over the wound and it forms a kind of clear protective skin that disappears after a couple of days. It has the advantage of being waterproof and flexible, and you can spray it in awkward places, which I could see might be useful. After applying it, I popped into Costa Coffee for a Gingerbread Latte to cheer me up.

Returning to Oothoon, I realised that the fire had gone out. Maybe that coal this morning was a little too much for it. I remade it and it fired up straight away, which was good. Paul called to say how exhausted he was after getting up at 5:30 this morning for work and how he was going to have dinner, a beauty bath, then bed. I pottered around for a bit then made poppin' chicken fajitas, which were almost as good as the last lot, the difference being that Herr Aldi's Fajita Kit hasn't quite the same salsa sauce as the Old El Paso one. Very nice nonetheless. Hopefully my hand will have healed a bit by tomorrow and I could try to head off again. I've now only got a few weeks left before the stoppages start in November and I really need to get a move on.

Rain, Trains and Trolleys

2008-10-15T23:05:00.002+01:00

Banbury, 0 miles, 0 locks

Rain today, so just as well we're not moving. Paul is going back to Hull this afternoon, so we both had a lie-in. Breakfast was sausage sandwiches made with Tesco chicken sausages (due to Paul's Chicken obsession). I'd never had these before and they're not much like ordinary bangers, being very herby and having a much denser texture. They taste nice though and I certainly enjoyed them.

I got the engine going—with much reluctance on its part—then Paul and I moped around the boat all day, talking and drinking tea and generally feeling a bit flat. When the time came, we wandered off to the railway station, which really isn't far away at all (indeed, the canal runs right by the side of it and there's a handy set of stairs to get to it). Paul was getting the Edinburgh train to Doncaster, then changing onto a Hull train. It is a five or six hour journey, including a 30 minute wait at Doncaster. Still quicker than by boat though.

After he left I wandered through the funfair—now in full swing—to Argos. I'd been talking to Paul about how you can only carry a limited amount of shopping when you're on your own and how it can be tricky because it's assumed that you'll have a car. His suggestion was to get a granny-style shopping trolley and after consulting the Argos website, that's what I decided to do.I also wanted to do my laundry and it turned out that there's a launderette just along the road from Argos (Cotton Clouds—47 Broad Street, OX16 5BT), so having popped in to check when they were open and how much money I'd need, I took my trolley back to the boat (still in its box), strapped my laundry bag to my normal trolley and returned to the launderette.

Back at the boat, I had another unsuccessful go at lighting the fire, then used up the cooked sausages left over from breakfast by chopping them up into a tin of Heinz Spaghetti to make a kind of Scumbalina Spaghetti and Meatballs, then attempted to catch up with three days blogging. Bedtime soon, with the luxury of freshly laundered bedding. Bliss!

A day off

2008-10-14T22:53:00.002+01:00

Banbury, 0.5 miles, 0 locks

Niceish weather today, but following a discussion about targets and how Paul needed to go home tomorrow, we'd decided that we'd have a day off and mooch around Banbury instead of trying to get to Oxford. It seemed like a sensible decision and also made me aware that, although Paul has enjoyed the last few days of boating and locking, really here's here to see me and we hadn't done much of that except on the back deck.

We got ready to go out and realised that all the other boats around us had left, so I suggested that we move round the corner to the posh moorings. As I tried to start the engine I realised why it has been reluctant to start of late: the glow plug relay has probably died. Normally you turn the key halfway and there's a click and the glowplugs kick in to heat the engine block so that it doesn't bring down the temperature of the diesel and prevent it from igniting, however the click wasn't happening and turning the key simply turned the engine over. After giving it several goes, the engine eventually spluttered and roared into life, but I remember that when I first got Oothoon and before I'd found the proper position for the glowplugs, it was always a hit or miss affair as to whether the engine would start, and often a miss. Now that the weather is getting colder, I'm going to have to get this looked at quickly. Fortunately, from our new location in beautiful downtown Banbury, Tooley's boatyard—yes that Tooley's out of Tom Rolt's book Narrow Boat—is about 100 yards away, so maybe they can do something.

Banbury seems to be another typical market town, with its market square and shopping mall, but unexpectedly you couldn't actually see any of it because it was all hidden behind a funfair. This is the Banbury Michaelmas Fair, which is a little confusing because my diary says that Michaelmas is in late September, but apparently it refers to Old Michaelmas, which was October 11th. I was told that you shouldn't pick blackberries after Michaelmas day, but I guess no-one told that first boat in the Fenny Compton tunnel yesterday (or maybe they did and they were naughtily harvesting the leftovers). The fair had obviously just arrived and was setting up, so it was all a hive of activity. It doesn't start until tomorrow, so we probably won't get to see it.

We wandered around and did quite a bit of shopping. Inspired by my Everlasting Torch, Paul bought two equally everlasting torches in Wilkinson's, except that these have three LED bulbs to my torch's one, they have a rubbery non-slip coating and a wrist strap, and they're powered by squeezing in a pop-out thingamajig rather than, er, waving the torch. Recommended.

We returned with the shopping and I had no problem starting the engine to charge the batteries, so Paul got on with getting the fire going. I explained the principles and went to do some fiddling in the engine room, but when I returned, although he'd created a lot of smoke, the fire hadn't taken. He tried again, but again it wouldn't take. I said I'd have a go, and it all looked very impressive, but it didn't work either. Paul wondered whether the new kindling was not really suitable and I was beginning to think he might be right. He had one more go while I got dinner ready, but fortunately with the heat from the cooker it didn't matter that the fire wasn't on.

Dinner was Scumbalina Fish Pie Royale. This takes the Fish Pie Deluxe I had a while ago and knocks it up a notch by using Salmon fish fingers and—as well as the tin of baked beans—adds in a small tin of sweetcorn and a very small tin of garden peas. The mash is upgraded to cheesy mash; and the cheese and leek topping is replaced by Tesco Ciabatta bread crumbs. Paul was astonished at how lovely it was and decided that it was far nicer than the Thai food he'd had the previous night, which I was very chuffed about.

After dinner we headed for the Old Reindeer Inn. It's a Hook Norton pub and the beer was good. Nicholson's says that it is "generally favoured by adults who enjoy a peaceful evening out, with no fruit machines", but what we found was that the place was crawling with Chess players. They were obviously meeting in a back room somewhere (perhaps the mysterious oak-panneled Globe Room) and would emerge in twos and threes to order drinks and slag off the other players. Chess bitchiness—who knew? We got another carry-out at closing time and headed back to a not-very-warm Oothoon.

A long day

2008-10-13T22:49:00.002+01:00

Fenny Compton to Banbury, 9 miles, 12 locks

So-so weather this morning, but at least it's dry. I'd like to get to Banbury today, which seems ambitious but it should be possible. The engine was a bit reluctant to start but got going in the end and we were off. Turns out that we'd moored just before Fenny Compton, which was good because there was no-where to moor in Fenny proper. Of course, the village itself is a good mile from the canal, so all we saw were a few industrial buildings and Fenny Marina, which is apparently closed on Mondays. This is a shame, because we are running short of kindling.

Once you're out of Fenny Compton, there's the long 'Fenny Compton Tunnel'. This isn't really a tunnel, but is a long straight narrow cutting with steep sides that is thickly wooded. There are signs saying not to moor because of land falls and tree falls, and indeed there are a couple of places where there are large floating orange markers where there's obviously been such a landfall. We passed one boat near the start, where there is quite a bit of room, which had stopped to gather blackberries from bushes on the off-side, and the next boat was about halfway down—where the bridges are—which is much narrower. I pulled over and waited to let the other boat past just in case.

Once you're out of the 'tunnel' there's a bit of wiggling goes on and then you're at Boundary Lift Bridge. These lift bridges are apparently a big feature on the Oxford, but I'd yet to encounter one. They're nice and simple: a platform with a pair of counterbalanced arms above, that can be tilted to lift the platform to allow passage. Paul jumped off the front of the boat and over the bridge, then dangled on the chain hanging from the counterbalance. After a moment, the bridge lifted in a very satisfying way and Paul sat on the end of the arm in case it decided to drop. I nipped through in the boat and after dropping the bridge, Paul rejoined me.

There's a bit more wiggling and then you're at Claydon and the flight of 5 locks. These take you up 30.5 feet (9.3m) which is quite a lot. There were a few people coming down and two boats behind us, so there was good use of water. Paul and I got into quite a rhythm, with me doing one side of the lock and jumping back aboard Oothoon before she disappeared, and him doing the other side and the gates. He'd become quite proficient at getting from one narrow gate to the other, although he said that it still scares him.

Once we'd reached the bottom, we pulled over for a while to have some lunch but it was nearly 3pm by the time we'd finished and I realised that the day was slipping away if we were to get to Banbury. It wasn't essential, but the only other choice was Cropredy, so we thought we'd see how we were doing when we got there. Fortunately the going was fairly easy, even though the locks were always set against us and we averaged 15 minutes per lock. When we arrived at Cropredy, we stopped for a moment to visit the travelling supplies boat 'Gilbert', mainly because I wanted to see the amazing 'gull wing' doors and it turned out that this was a fortuitous stop because we were able to buy kindling.

Cropredy was quite busy up to the lock, but we figured that there'd be moorings afterwards. It was nearly 5pm when we went through the lock and we figured that it was late enough that we'd stop, however we had to find a mooring. Straight after the lock there's a couple of bridges and places for BW boats to moor, and then boats as far as you could see. We chugged past them on tickover, not able to believe how many there were. Eventually we reached the end, at Cropredy Mill Bridge, over a mile from the lock. That was the end of our staying in Cropredy.

With no choice but to get to Banbury, we pressed on. The canal at this point is fairly wide and the curves and bends tend to be gentle and kind. Further aiding our progress was the lack of moored boats, although there were a few scummy cruisers under tarpaulin. My eTrex said that sundown was at 18:20 and we just got through Hardwick lock—the last before Banbury—when the sun went down. During the summer there's normally quite a bit of grace after sundown but not now. Within about 10 minutes it was getting dark and by the time we reached Grimsbury wharf and the outskirts of town it was really dark. We stopped for a moment to light the tunnel light, then proceeded slowly. Fortunately we were close enough that all we had to do was keep going without hitting anything and we'd be fine, eventually finding a mooring just before Sovereign Wharf. There was quite reasonable lighting, because there's a park there, but even so the chap on the boat we moored in front of was kind enough to come out, ask for a rope and help moor. There were mooring rings, so it was just a matter of finding them and tying on. By 7pm we were moored and safe.

After a cuppa and a shower, we were ready to eat. I couldn't face cooking after the stress of coming in under darkness, so we decided to walk into town and find a restaurant. Wandering round the bend we came across the 'excellent moorings' that Nicholson's describes, which are well lit and slap-bang in the middle of town next to the shopping precinct. There's 24 hour CCTV surveillance too, which is reassuring, but I wasn't going to move the boat. As the shopping centre was closed, we walked around the long way and eventually found the Old Reindeer Inn, which dates from 1570 apparently, but booze wasn't the priority and through the power of Google Maps we found that the street the Reindeer Inn is on has loads of restaurants. In the end we chose a Thai place that seemed quite nice. Service was a bit slow, although there was only the one waiter and he insisted on bringing everything out of the kitchen and putting it on a little trolley before bringing it to you and putting it on the table. He even did it with our drinks order and given that we were on the table closest to the bar this seemed like a lot of work. I ordered Tempura vegetables as a starter and the prawn Massaman curry with coconut rice that I'd had with Cliff last time I was in Battlebridge Basin. Paul ordered Paper Prawns and a spicy beancurd thing, again with coconut rice. My Tempura was great, but Paul's prawns weren't properly cooked and some of the prawn was still blue and raw. This wasn't a good sign for me, asking for prawns. Fortunately the main courses were properly cooked and tasty. We were full, so paid the bill and left, and only afterwards realised that we'd forgotten to complain about the uncooked prawns.

We popped over the road to the Dog and Gun. This reminded us of something we'd seen on Sunday, where there were four fellas wandering around in a field with rifles. We weren't sure what they were up to until after I'd been down the weed hatch, by which time they'd managed to shoot a rabbit (or was it a hare?) I was quite disturbed by it all anyway, but the most worrying thing was that only one of the men carried his rifle broken. I don't know whether the others didn't have ammunition in their guns and therefore there wasn't anything to worry about, but it doesn't surprise me that gun-related accidents happen. The Dog and Gun is obviously a 'happening' place at the weekend, so I'm glad we were there midweek, but less glad that they'd run out of dark rum and that their cola is Pepsi. I know I sound like a moany old soul a lot of the time, but I was disappointed that when I suggested Bacardi instead, the barmaid seemed surprised that this was also rum.

Back home safely thanks to the everlasting torch. We'd bought some drink to take home with us, so we sat up drinking and chatting for a bit, which was a very nice way to finish the day.

A lovely way to spend a Sunday

2008-10-12T23:15:00.003+01:00

Napton to Fenny Compton, 9 miles, 8 locks

It was glorious weather when I got up to go to the loo early this morning, but a bit misty by the time we actually set off. That was fine, though, because the sun was shining and it was warm and dry, so perfect lock weather. After a quick Elsan stop (told you the loo filled quickly with two aboard) we were in Napton Bottom lock. The Napton locks are narrow as you'd expect, but unlike at Hillmorton, they're only single locks, shared by both directions. They're also a lot like the Trent and Mersey locks in that when the water rushes into the lock, even though its from ground paddles, the current is such that it slams the boat into the top gate unless it is restrained by full reverse (in Oothoon's case) or a rope. Having perfected my technique in Atherstone, I was ready with the rope, but the lock approaches largely aren't suitable for jumping off, being too wide. In practice we did all variants of me staying in the boat and trying to control everything with the engine, jumping on the roof before the boat got all the way in, climbing the ladder, jumping onto the lock rim and getting Paul to wrap the centre rope around a bollard. It passed the time. Worth mentioning also are the crew of the boat behind, who were numerous enough to be able to walk forward and help with the locking much of the time.

Eventually we popped out of the top lock and went round the corner to moor and enjoy a delicious lunch of Herr Aldi's 'bake it yourself' Chiabatta, stuffed with Tesco reduced price Mozzarella balls, sliced tomato and Tesco's 'cutting my own throat' Pesto, which seems far nicer than the usual stuff, being quite coarse with chunky bits of basil, garlic and pine nut in suspension.

The weather had brightened up as we went through the locks and it continued to be superb as we headed for Fenny Compton. There was almost no traffic on the canal, with everyone vegging out by their boats and lapping up the unexpected late sunshine, which was a golden opporunity to appreciate what a lovely canal the Oxford is. I was a bit concerned that we didn't seem to be making a lot of progress and the engine seemed to be getting hot, and in the end it got so bad that I couldn't ignore it any longer, so it was up with the back deck and off with the weed hatch. I hate doing this at the best of times, largely because my arms are too short to reach into the weed hatch by lying on the deck and also because I'm too large to squeeze into the hole in the back deck to get near the weed hatch. In the end I somehow managed it, but could only get one hand down into the freezing cold murky water. As you might expect there was plenty wrapped round there, including the ubiquitous blue Nylon rope. I got most of it off, partially thanks to a nasty-looking one-handed saw I bought in Wilkinson's when I was buying the LED light back in Coventry. There's still a bit of blue rope wrapped around the prop shaft, but it's loose and I can't reach it to get it off. Anyone would think it was tied on.

'Weeds' removed, we got on a lot better. getting to Fenny Compton just before schedule at 6pm and actually finding a mooring spot. After lighting the fire, dinner was a proper "Sunday" roast chicken dinner, with potatoes, neeps'n'carrots, leeks in cheese sauce, cauliflower, broccoli, home-made Yorkshire puddings, stuffing balls and lovely gravy made from cauli/broccoli water and the juices from the chicken. I do make a fantastic traditional Sunday dinner, even if I do say so myself, and there's loads of left-over vegetables and chicken which should keep us going tomorrow.

Decision Time

2008-10-11T23:01:00.004+01:00

Barby to Napton, 10 miles, 0 locks

Another day of fantastic weather and with big decisions to make we set off for adventure. First, though, there was Bridge 80 on the Oxford Canal. I'd read about this and how it's in a very poor state, but actually that doesn't describe it well. "Miracle it's still standing" is what describes it well. I can't tell whether the damage is due to unwary boaters (80 is on a bad turn) or subsidence or just plain old wear and tear, but really it needs to be sorted out.

Braunston was soon on the horizon and before we knew it we were at Braunston Turn. The big decision I spoke of earlier is whether to continue down the Oxford and return to London via the Thames, which might be subject to flooding if the weather goes wonky, or take the safe (but dull) route back the way I came up down the Grand Union. In the end, the Oxford won it, so we knew we needed to turn off. Nicholson's, typically, doesn't give you any idea of the layout of the junction and neither do BW, so I was a bit surprised to see two bridges. Was I supposed to go under the first one or was that disused or something. Eventually it all became clear—that the canal designers sensibly put in a Y junction and you just decide which direction you're going in—but I fluffed the turn completely due to there being boats moored on the towpath side almost up to the first bridge and an oncoming boat that wanted to moor at the water point, which is on the offside. This on a bend where you're trying to turn and where the canal isn't all that wide. Brilliant. We got around eventually and moored just after the first bridge. I was surprised to find that I couldn't pull Oothoon up to the bank due to the shallowness, but we moored up well enough and set off with rubbish to be disposed of. Now it's at times like this that a map and some clues as to which is the best way to do things would be helpful, because the facilities are all next to the water point—on the other side of the canal. Not knowing any better, we walked along the canal to the right, past the pub an to a road bridge; then it was back on ourselves and trying to work out where the facilities were from the road. Eventually we found them just past Midland Chandlers and although there's a BW gate, it was locked. Fortunately Midland have built gates into their surrounding fence so you can get to the BW facilities, where we dumped the rubbish. We had a quick look in the chandlery and decided to come back later—if only for the coffee which looked good—then went to the pub.

I'd mooted the idea of a pub lunch when we first set off and it sounded like a wonderful idea, especially as I wanted to have a look at Braunston Turn. The only canalside pub is The Millhouse Hotel which looked a bit 'corporate' (i.e. posh cars in the car park). Undaunted we went in, with me wanting a Ploughmans, which I ordered. When I got asked whether I wanted white or brown bread, I was a little taken aback. Surely a Ploughmans always came with a baguette, or at least French-style bread? It turns out that what I'd ordered was a Ploughmans sandwich. If I wanted a Ploughman's baguette they could do one, but it'd be over a quid more—no doubt due to (a) a baguette being perceived as being more swanky than a mere sandwich and (b) baguettes coming with chips rather than crisps. Surprisingly, given that they clearly had the ingredients, they didn't do an actual Ploughman's lunch. Not wanting to pay more and not being fussed about the chips, I elected to stick with the sandwich and on white bread; Paul had a Prawn Cocktail sandwich on brown. Then we ordered drinks. Paul's was a straightforward Apple Juice, but I ordered a shandy made with Bass beer. I was a bit shocked when I tasted it, because there was no 'lemonade' sweetness to it. It actually tasted exactly like what I expect watered down beer to taste like. Not happy about this, I asked whether I'd been given a shandy and the bartender was sure that I had. I then asked whether it was possible that the lemonade dispenser had run out of syrup, since there was no fizz in my shandy and no sweetness. The bartender went off 'to check' and came back a while later to tell me that everything was connected up correctly. He then poured a little bit of lemonade into a glass and took a sip, the pulled a face telling me that it was definitely lemonade because he hated the stuff. Faced with this incontrovertible evidence, I accepted the drink and we paid, but it was the worst glass of 'shandy' I've ever had and certainly the worst glass of Bass. In the end I left it, due to it being undrinkable.

When the sandwiches arrived, we both noticed that the face of one of the slices of bread was slightly dry, like it was from the open end of the loaf. Paul seemed happy with the filling in his, which included watercress instead of lettuce; I was less happy with mine, feeling that surely a major component of a Ploughman's anything is cheese and this had only a small quantity of grated cheese. Indeed while not unpleasant, it tasted mainly of chutney, mayonnaise and watercress. Both of us were surprised to have chips accompanying our sandwich and I have to say that these were very good—crispy on the outside and fluffy within. The mayonnaise that Paul requested to dip his chips in was less lovely, but he seemed happy enough.

As we left, Paul popped to the loo and returned with a big smile on his face as he'd bought us both 'chewable toothbrushes' to cheer us up. These come in a plastic sphere which I couldn't get into, but actually you just squeeze it. The toothbrush itself is a little brush with a vial of toothpaste attached and you just pop it in your mouth and chew. Almost immediately I realised that this was a bad idea, since the toothpaste is strongly minty and disgusting, and the toothbrush feels like you've been eating something to find that there's a bone in it. After about five seconds I had to spit mine out because it was so horrible and a few minutes later I realised that the taste of the toothpaste had upset my stomach and I was feeling bilious. We were walking back towards Midland Chandlers and it was a relief to get in there and order a Cappuccino. It's a very well-stocked chandlery but the promised LED lights ("Ask at the counter about our range of LED lighting") turned out to be a damp squib, with them only having received a few samples to try out and which had all gone.

After the disappointment of Braunston Turn, we got on our way again. I wanted to get at least past Napton Junction—which is completely anticlimactic—and possibly a lot further if possible. I know that the map says that we're on the Grand Union Canal, but really it feels like the Oxford. Speaking of maps, Nicholson's, in a very vexing way, takes you from page 156/157 on the Oxford, across to page 82/83 on the Grand Union for the Braunston to Napton Junction section, then back to page 154/155. Surely it wouldn't have killed them to have duplicated pages 82/83 in the 'Oxford' section, rather than making you jump across half the book for a single page, especially one with a junction at either end?

The most obvious place for us to stop was Napton bottom lock, which we aimed for. En-route we saw signs for the Folly Pie Pub and were most intrigued by it, so when we arrived at Napton and got moored with no problems, that's where we headed. As its name suggests, its a pub that specialises in pies and they're great. I had the Chicken, Ham and Mustard pie with Paul having the plain Chicken and Mushroom. Both were excellent, with mine chock full of chicken and good hods of ham, flavoured with a noticeable but not overpowering tang of mustard. Both came with vegetables and croquette potatoes. Less successful was the Apple Crumble I ordered for dessert, which seemed to have been microwaved and whose temperature was distinctly variable. Worse yet was the coffee, which was Craigmillar-style instant catering coffee at its worst. Verdict: pies—fantastic; puddings—so so; coffee-avoid!

While we're on the subject of the Folly Pie Pub, can I just mention a curious item that they have on the bar: it's a very large brown lion with a white mane, lying on a plinth that says "Needlers Chocolate, Hull". We asked the landlord about it and apparently it is made of chocolate, with the mane made of white chocolate. It had originally been made for a trade show and since then had been in a college in Leeds. They were all for throwing it in a skip, but a lecturer at the college, who was a friend of the landlord's, saved it and brought it to the pub, where it has been ever since. It's very old now and the chocolate looks more like plaster than something you might eat (but just in case there's a "Do Not Touch" sign on it) but it seems to have survived the years and the nicotine and the dust, and is an offbeat memorial to a company that it appears are long gone.

After the pub we retired back to Oothoon. Being Saturday night we were keen to fire up Animal Crossing and get over to Brewsters, because K.K. Slider would be playing. You can request songs from him, although I don't really know the names of any, but if you let him play one of his own selection, he gives you a bootleg of it afterwards, that you can play if you've got a tape player in your house. I've got three now and they're all very catchy. Tonight on my DS, he played K.K. Lullaby, which is on the slow side, whereas on Paul's DS he played K.K. D&B—a catchy drum and bass number. As big K.K. Slider fans, we were both thrilled.

When we were very tardy

2008-10-10T22:53:00.001+01:00

Rugby to Barby, 5.5 miles, 3 locks

Paul and I spent such a long time talking and playing Animal Crossing last night that I was very tardy in getting up this morning, even though the weather was lovely. I made breakfast and we continued chatting and catching up on the news and gossip. It was midday by the time we set off for Tesco and by the time we'd returned and had our lunch of home-made cheese salad sandwiches sandwiches (in Tesco Oven Bottom Muffins) it was after 2pm before we set off. I had wanted to get to Braunston Turn by the end of the day, but what with the Oxford canal being on the wiggly side and Hillmorton Locks, we stood no chance.

Hillmorton Locks were a revelation to me because they are pairs of single locks. One up and one down, if you will. I've only seen paired locks at Camden on the Grand Union (Hampstead Road locks) although they're full-width barge locks. Of course, it doesn't matter how many locks you have if they're full and there was a steady stream of traffic in both directions. Ahead of us was a hire boat with 10 fellas on it and although they weren't exactly skilled at doing the locks, with that many 'staff' you get efficiency just because everyone gets a job, so they roared ahead of us.

The rest of the afternoon was very pleasant with the sun making the going easy, but as the sun started to go down it started to get cold. In the end we stopped at Bridge 79, where the nearest habitation/pub would be Barby, but that was a good mile or two away and on the other side of the canal. We lit the fire and had some soup, then a bit later we had Old El Paso Crispy Chicken Fajitas. I hadn't had these before, but Paul has recently rediscovered chicken and is rather obsessed with it. You buy (or make) strips of chicken breast which you put into a (supplied) plastic bag along with a bit of oil and the 'crispy mix' (which seems largely to be spicy breadcrumbs). You toss the chicken in the bag until it's all fully coated, then bake it. The soft tortillas are wrapped in foil and popped in the oven with the chicken 10 minutes later, while you chop up some tomato and lettuce (and I grated some cheese for good measure). You serve with the (supplied) salsa and sour cream. I have to say that I really enjoyed them. They're dead easy to make and might even be healthier than tacos. I'd certainly have them again.

Rugby—and on a boat!

2008-10-09T23:46:00.003+01:00

Ansty to Rugby, 9 miles, 0 locks, 1 tunnel

Great weather again today, so I was up early although I didn't set off straight away. My aim was to get to Rugby to meet Paul tomorrow morning and I figured that as I only had a few miles to do, I could do chores instead. Like getting diesel.

The best place to get almost everything was Brinklow or Stretton Stop as everyone calls it. There's a water point there, so I filled the water tank and also Rose Narrowboats, who were able to fill Oothoon's tank with diesel and sell me a new gas bottle. It was also an opportunity to empty the loo before Paul arrives, because chemical toilets seem to fill up really quickly when there's two of you.

After I got all that out of the way and my wallet emptied of a couple of hundred (Oothoon's got a big tank) I moored up. As I was in the area, I'd said I'd pay a social call on Ken at Brinklow Boats, who had originally fitted out my neighbour's boat Lynx when she was converted from a working boat. They're at the end of the short Stretton Wharf arm, although they're not mentioned in Nicholson's. We chatted for about half an hour about, well, all sorts really, then it was time for me to get on my way.

It was all going really well until I flipped over the page in Nicholson's and saw the phrase 'Newbold Tunnel'. At 250 yards (229m) it isn't very long and indeed as I approached it just seemed like a deeper than normal bridge—I could see the other end clearly. It appeared to be quite wide, so I was surprised that there was a boat in front of me waiting to go through. Surely boats could pass in it? The other boat set off and although I was sure I could manage just fine without a tunnel light or taking off my sunglasses, I put the light on and got my sensible specs, then followed. As I got really close I realised that this is no ordinary tunnel. For one thing there are towpaths on both sides, restricting the width to that of a single narrowboat (that explained the queue); the most surprising thing, though, is that one towpath has been gated off and used to mount coloured lights that wash across the tunnel in a quite spectacular way. All it really needs is for the lights to pulsate under control of a sound-to-light unit and a bit of disco or hi-nrg, and this would be the funkiest tunnel I've ever been through! I was right about the light and sunglasses though—with the coloured lighting in there I didn't really need the tunnel light and the disco lighting meant that I probably needed my cool shades so I didn't look out of place.

Coming out of the tunnel there seems to be a little community of run-down looking boats. I'd heard tell that there were a lot of these on the system and one boater gleefully told me that the ones at the bottom of the Oxford had all been cleared out, making that stretch of canal pleasanter and also providing much needed moorings. I'd only come across boats like this a few times in my travels but I have to say a lot of them are in really bad condition and you wonder whether they're fit for human habitation. Has the availability of dirt-cheap fibreglass cruisers and ancient cargo-carriers allowed the creation of a sub-culture within the boating community. I expect that the relative cheapness of the boat licence combined with traditionally poor enforcement of mooring restrictions has made this possible, but I wonder how long it will last.

I'd spent so much time filling various tanks and socialising that it was just after five when I arrived in Rugby. I'd decided that I wanted to moor between bridge 58 and 59, since there's a large Tesco there (to make up for the Tesco where I forgot to buy food yesterday). There was also a Harvester nearby (yes, I've been to a Harvester before) which might do for dinner and would also be a handy point of reference for Paul when he arrived tomorrow. Except that as I'd got to Rugby in such good time, he decided to catch the 6pm train and come down this evening. I was kind of thrown into a spin about this. I'd caught the sun and needed a bit of a rest and had counted on Paul not arriving until tomorrow to give me time to shop. In the end I went down to Tesco and bought enough stuff to get us through breakfast with the plan that we'd shop together tomorrow. He was saying that his diet has changed recently so I wasn't sure what to buy anyway, but I had cheese and tomato Pizza (£1!) for dinner, which was good enough.

Paul duly arrived and got a cab to Tesco, since there seems to be only one in Rugby. We popped in to pick up some booze, then back to the boat for a noggin and natter before bedtime. We were also quite excited because we both had gifts for each other in Animal Crossing and since we were now within Wi-Fi range, we could visit each others towns. I'd got him a Bunny Shirt, which I'd seen Sable Able making a few days earlier and also a claw-toed bathtub, which I knew he'd love because Paul is forever having Beauty Baths in the real world. He'd got me thick black glasses and an explorer hat, so that my Animal Crossing self looks surprisingly like me with my floppy sun hat on!

Another day, another canal

2008-10-08T23:33:00.001+01:00

Coventry to Ansty, 8.5 miles, 0 locks

The weather was lovely when I woke up, which was good because I'd felt cold through the night. The sun was shining and the clouds were white, fluffy and with big gaps between them. I'd had another lie in because I was expecting to spend the day in Coventry looking at the Motor Museum and also going food shopping, but after starting the engine and a leisurely breakfast at the Country Crust Tearoom, I was in the mood for boating.

Today was going to be exciting because I'd leave the Coventry canal and go onto the Oxford or the 'North Oxford' as BW seem to call it. I think this is because it goes to Braunston Junction and connects with the Grand Union, then the Oxford continues as a spur off the Grand Union at Napton Junction. Back in the day I think the Oxford Canal Company used to own the bit between Braunston and Napton and charged for the use of it, so although it might have the wrong name, it's really the Oxford Canal in spirit. That's certainly how I'm thinking of it.

After the trouble I had getting through bridge 1—rumoured to be the lowest on the system—on the way in, I was worried about what it would do to my chimney on the way out, but not until I could see the whites of its arch. By then it was too late and the coolie hat was knocked perpendicular. Bridge 2, which caught me on the way in by having some paving on the non-towpath side, caught me again on the way out. You simply don't expect paving there when the bridge hole is wide; and it happens so rarely that after a while you forget to look (there's a bridge on the Ashby that has paving on the off-side that caught me out too). Other than that, the journey away from Coventry in the sunshine was a complete contrast from the journey in, illustrating what a difference the weather actually makes. The wharf at Swan Lane was still deserted, but at least now I've figured out what the diesel pump is for: it's to refuel the Coventarian—the trip boat I followed on Sunday. Speaking of refuelling, I was in two minds whether to stop at Tesco by Bridge 8, thinking that surely the 60 litres I had would do until I reach the boatyard at Brinklow, but in the end I couldn't face going past without stopping, so that's another 30 litres and a big smile on my face. Well, there was until I went under the M6 bridge again and realised that my original reason for thinking about going to Tesco was to buy food. Doh! Incidentally, above the M6 bridge is a sign saying "London 97". Funny to think that it's so close, yet for me so far away.

Hawkesbury Junction is rather like Fradley in that there's a pub situated so your peers can watch you, so you don't want to mess up. With this in mind I slowed right down and was very deliberate in how I steered Oothoon under the (thankfully) wide bridge that connects the two canals, then straightened her up to go in the lock. I might even dare venture that the manoeuvre was graceful. A short boat had just come out of the lock and was waiting for me to finish my turn, then it slipped past and under the bridge; meanwhile a woman with a windlass, who I thought must be a BW lock keeper from her dress, opened the gate for me and let me in. I got off and wrapped the centre rope round a post and waited for something to happen, and was surprised when about 60 seconds later the other gate was open and she told me I could go. It appears that the lock is actually a stop lock with a drop of about 6" (15cm). I was even more surprised to find that she was off a waiting boat and nothing to do with BW. Nice steering while everyone watched and valet service at the lock: this was definitely my lucky day.

The Oxford is typically described as being twisty. In fact it makes the most of the contours, in much the way that the Leicester section of the Grand Union does between Watford and Foxton, or indeed the Ashby. It also means that it weaves about a bit and even on the section I was on, which had been 'de-kinked' back in the 1820's, it was still fairly twisty. Nice canal though. The M6 runs alongside for a bit, which is surprisingly interesting and a short arm that used to run to Wyken Colliery, but is now used by the Coventry Cruising Club, joins the canal at an awkward-looking angle during this section. Once the canal turns away from the M6 it's largely rural, with the fields on either side of the M69 bridge being full of billy goats. There's then a gracefully curved bit where the canal is elevated above the nearby houses by virtue of a large bank on either side and you're in Ansty.

By the time I got to Ansty it was a little after 5pm and my instinct told me to stop. There aren't any official moorings until after Ansty Village Bridge, but I found one easily enough and was soon moored. After a cuppa and a few odd-jobs like making the fire, it was time for dinner. Having not shopped, it meant going to the pub, but I am so pleased that I did. The local is the Rose and Castle, a short walk up the hill from the bridge, which is smallish but very welcoming. The service was efficient and even though I hadn't booked, they managed to find me a nice table. The menu is extensive, with decent prices and there's a huge specials menu too. In the end I had home-made Chicken Liver Paté as a starter, with Vegetarian Fajitas to follow and a large glass of rosé wine. The paté was excellent. It didn't look like much but it was a perfect portion, served with four triangles of toast and lashings of salad, and full of flavour. You could really taste the liver and the cream. The Vegetarian Fajitas were even better: three flour tortillas with a plate of salsa, sour cream, guacamole, grated cheese, lettuce, tomato and cucumber, and with the vegetables arriving on a separate sizzling platter. To be honest, just the paté would have done or perhaps just the Fajitas, but the two together were too much. I ate them anyway. It had been another one of those days where I'd had breakfast and then nothing and I need to get out of this habit and back to little-and-often. One last thing: I couldn't face dessert, but their coffee was excellent. I'm so pleased that I had no food and had to eat there, because it was absolutely excellent in every respect.

Got back to the boat okay thanks to the Everlasting Torch, to find that the fire had gone out. Also everything looked weird because of the new LED lighting, whose colour temperature reminds me of those awful fluorescent lights that you used to get in warehouses. I don't care. I worked out that by using them, I can have all eight lights on in the living room and the four in the kitchen, and be using about the same as just one of the halogens I've just replaced. I've started thinking that if I reinstated the single working gas fridge and turned off Herr Aldi's, I could get close to running the whole boat on just the solar panel on a sunny day.

Tomorrow I want to stop at the boat yard at Brinklow for gas and diesel, and perhaps some gubbins to let me wire up this new battery, then moor in Rugby for the night because Paul is going to join me for a few days. Funnily enough, the last time I saw Paul was when I left him at Rugby train station.

Ikea!!

2008-10-07T11:30:00.005+01:00

Coventry, 0 miles, 0 locks

Bit of a wet morning, but I didn't mind because I had a lie in. Well, until 10am anyway. There was an ominous 'beep' from the engine room, which I thought could only be the Inverter closing down due to lack of power, but when I looked in the inverter was on, but in power save mode. I gave the engine 15 seconds of glowplugs (I've been giving it 10 until now) and then turned the key. Nothing happened. Not even the sound of the engine turning. Given that the engine hadn't run much yesterday and that the batteries were flat to start with, this wasn't so surprising. Fortunately I had the extra leisure battery which I bought yesterday, so I got the jump leads and hooked it up. After 15 seconds of glowplugs the engine turned, but didn't start. So I tried another 15 seconds: nope. Another 15 seconds: no good. Taking a deep breath because I could tell I was starting to panic, I gave it 30 seconds of glowplugs and crossed everything. It was a bit ropey and was having a hard time, but in the end the engine fired up and ran. I really can't tell you how relieved I was. I disconnected the jump leads, but kept them in the engine room for 'next time', then set the engine at 12,000 rpm (which I hoped was enough above tickover to charge the batteries), then shut up the engine room, deciding that I was going to run the engine all day and never mind the diesel!

After the stress of all that, I couldn't face making breakfast so I headed to the Country Crust Tearoom, which is the café I had 'lunch' in yesterday, for their Full English. It was very nice, with sausage, bacon, egg, tomato, mushroom, toast and tea. I tend to put sugar in tea in café's, because they invariably serve whole or semi-skimmed milk, which I don't like the taste of and afterwards I could tell that I was a bit woozy with the sugar rush.

I collected my bag, camera and Ikea mini Blue Bag and headed off to see the Cathedral, leaving the engine running in the meantime. I wasn't entirely sure that this was wise, but on the other hand I wasn't sure what I'd do if something happened anyway. The route to the Cathedral was straightforward from the basin and I didn't really know what to expect. When I was a kid, we'd had a box of matches with Coventry Cathedral on, but I couldn't remember much about it other than it being brick and having a serrated edge. I know that I'm a complete non-believer, but I've been to a surprisingly large number of cathedrals in my time. The majority of them have been old and to me their magnificence reflects not the glory of God, but rather shows that mankind can achieve astonishing things when we put our mind to it. There's the suggestion that space aliens built the pyramids, but they didn't build Amiens cathedral nor Reims and the build precision and centuries of undeviating 'sticking to the plan' that these buildings embody is all our own work. No supernatural or extra-terrestrial agents required. The only 'new' cathedral I think I've seen is La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, but that's so new that it isn't even finished yet and the newer bits do look too clean and streamlined to be something Gaudí would have designed. It's an incredible pity that he died before he could complete the design, especially as he left lots of sketches showing ideas he was considering, but no clear guide as to which were to be used.

The new Coventry Cathedral is built adjoining the old cathedral, which was bombed during the war. To my surprise, there's actually quite a lot of the old one left—the outer walls are all there and a couple of towers, and even the altar area looks servicable. It matches my idea of the size and plan that you expect from a cathedral—in many ways not unlike Ely—but it doesn't have the cruciform shape that crops up a lot in cathedral design. The new one is a complete contrast. It's modern in the way that only the 1950's could produce, with simple shapes and angles, and an elegance that leaves you in no doubt that this building justifies the name 'cathedral'. Instead of monumentality, the inside is light and airy and this is reflected in many of the details, such as the slender pillars that support the roof that end just above floor level, with the connection to the ground via a surprisingly slim metal leg. The ceiling is vaulted in a complex way, but by having the arches at 45° to the main axis, all that sophistication is completely hidden. But what is really spectacular about the building is the use of light. The entrance is a huge glass wall that provides light for the humble congregation and there are stained glass panels along the sides that add a wash of colour, with the huge tapestry behind the altar having its own set of irregular clear windows to illuminate it, but it isn't until you're at the altar looking back along the building that you realise the magnificence. The building glows in a way that you simply do not expect and makes the very most of God's (alleged) original proclamation of 'let there be light'. Even in the side chapels there are little sky-lights that make the rooms glow. It's brilliant and really made me want to visit that other modern take on a church: Le Corbusier's church of Notre Dame du Haut at Ronchamp in France. Outside I was delighted to find the view I remember from the matchbox. It's been spoilt slightly by a strange wall that seems to have been built by Coventry University, which has its campus facing the cathedral, but otherwise I'm sure it's the same, which I found very heartening.

I wandered back past the entrance and up to the slightly tacky Cathedral Walks shopping centre, which seem to mainly consist of Wilkinson's (no relation), but that gave me an opportunity to pop in to buy a long spirit level/straight edge and an astonishing LED light that seems to have 48 LEDs in it for £3.99! Next I walked through the Coventry Indoor Market. This is a remarkable circular building, which has a huge variety of stalls, in the best indoor market tradition. Apparently it is to be demolished as part of a massive redevelopment of the city centre, a development that includes building a Tesco roughly where the market is now. There's a suggestion that some of the stall holders will move 'next door', which is currently Iceland, but for a lot of them, their future is uncertain.

Next to the market is Ikea. I was beginning to think I'd never get here, but here it was and here was I. Ikea's a bit confused at the moment, since they're celebrating both Halloween and Christmas at the same time, but I ignored this and took the lift to the 6th floor restaurant, which was in the throes of being converted for a fashion show to take place later in the evening. No Herring Platter on offer, but they did have the Prawn and Egg open sandwich and of course meatballs with all the trimmings. Wonderful!

Wandering through the Ikea marketplace, as you do to get out, I came across lighting. The light I'd bought in Wilkinson's had me thinking about the lighting on the boat again, because after my mention of LEDs the other day, Dave (of Dave and Pam) e-mailed me with a link to lights he's bought off eBay for their boat, with a consequently large power saving; and I also got a message from Adam Porter on nb Debdale about Bedazzled, who are an LED specialist at the bottom of Whitton locks on the Grand Union. Thinking about it, I'm sure I saw an advert for them when Oothoon was at Whitton Marina weeks ago. Anyway, the problem with both of these is getting the goods delivered. On the other hand, here I was in Ikea and if you had an Ikea Family card, their 'Dioder' white lighting disks were only £22 for four rather than the usual £29! I figured that it was worth blowing £22 on a set just to see what they were like. Famous last words!

Getting home after a brief trawl through the Sweden Shop, I was keen to try my new lights. In the kit that Ikea sell, there's a mains plug with a long lead going into a tiny in-line transformer that converts 240v into 12v, which then leads to a little distribution block that the lights themselves plug in to, on long leads. What I needed were bare wires, so I cheerfully chopped the connector off one of the lights and stripped the insulation to bare the wires. After removing one of the G4 halogen lights from Oothoon's ceiling, I realised that—being DC—I needed to get the polarity right, however the whole point of diodes is that they only let current pass one way, so I figured that if I got it wrong, nothing would happen. Wrong. As you were no-doubt expecting, I got the polarity wrong and when I switched on there was a slight crackling sound and a nasty burning smell, and the light didn't come on. Having learnt my lesson, I assembled the rest of the Dioder kit as per the instructions, having first taken the covers off the distribution box. With power applied and the lights all glowing, I could put a meter on the connectors to find out which way round they are. See the diagram below.

Now I knew the right polarity, fitting the next three was straightforward and without a problem, but my lights are in groups of four and one of these was still a halogen, so I needed to get more lights in order to replace it (I figured that even Ikea's traditionally generous returns policy wouldn't apply to a fried light that had had its plug snipped off). In the end I bought three more packs, figuring that it would allow me to replace almost all Oothoon's lighting. Having now done the original four lights, I have to say that the light is very strange. Not insufficient, exactly, but it's a very harsh bluey-white light and you get very strong shadows. Still it's good enough for me to be typing this and I guess you do get used to it.

Dinner was, well, nothing really. I was so stuffed with meatballs from lunchtime that all I had was a slice of crispbread with some spready cheese with crayfish and dill, and some crisps. It's only now I'm writing this that I've realised that I had half a lasagne left. Oh dear.

Coventry Again

2008-10-06T23:41:00.001+01:00

Longford to Coventry, 4 miles, 0 locks

After a fitful night dreaming that Oothoon and I were characters in Animal Crossing, which was very strange, I awoke to find the sun shining, which suited my positive mood and view that the RCR man would make everything all right.

By 10 I'd had an F2 Diet breakfast of branflakes, banana and yoghurt and was drinking coffee when I noticed someone lurking outside. Although he looked like he was about 16, he was in fact the RCR man bang on time. I explained the problem and he set to bleeding the air out of the engine. Turns out that the place I was fiddling with yesterday was completely wrong and what I needed to bleed was the fuel pump and the individual injectors on each cylinder. This seems to be an iterative process, because bleeding one bit seems to move the air around and if you don't catch it in one place, you need to try to catch it in another. So we went on for a while, bleeding and cranking, and I was very pleased that I'd been frugal with power yesterday because we did quite a lot of cranking. Eventually the RCR chap, whose name I didn't ask (doh!), was convinced that by now the engine should be going. Thinking that it might be power-related, we tried a little Cold Start in the engine intake and the engine burst into life! It was wonderful and I was convinced that my problems were solved and I'd soon be on my way. Mr RCR, meanwhile, was carefully bleeding the injectors just to make sure and was concerned that three injectors didn't seem to have enough fuel. To top this, when he loosened the fourth injector, there was bags of fuel but the engine stopped.

We tried going through the bleeding cycle again, since air seemed still to be in the system. By this time, the batteries were starting to fade so I got out my jump start battery, which was full. That seemed to get us through most of the cycle and again we got the engine going with the aid of a little Cold Start. Once again he checked each injector and three were short of fuel and the engine stopped when he checked the fourth one. There was a bit of a pattern here.

We started the bleeding cycle again, but even the jump start battery was running low by now and with the sun still hiding behind a tree, the solar panel wasn't saving the day. I asked if he had a big butch starting battery on wheels, like those AA chaps do, but he confessed that although he had three batteries in the back of the van, RCR don't provide him with a charger and he needs to visit a mate to charge them up. Asking what he normally did, he admitted that he normally uses the van's battery, so off he went to get that. It turned out to be a cheeky little 60Ah starter battery, but it got us through the next bleed and start cycle, but once again, bleeding the fourth injector caused the engine to stop.

We speculated that as the engine had run, maybe this was its normal state: one cylinder working well and 'carrying' the other three, which were working well enough for everything to function. It was a theory, but he didn't seem happy with it. What was really confusing him was that we'd now run the engine a few times, yet there was still air in the system. That shouldn't be possible. Eventually he asked to check how much fuel was in the tank and after dipping it, he had a quick look on the side and decided that the fuel level was probably marginal. Rock the boat one way and there was fuel covering the pipes, but rock it another and air would be getting in. The only thing to do was get more fuel.

The two 5 litre containers that I'd bought yesterday clearly weren't industrial-strength enough for this job, so using the power of Google Maps on my phone (which yet again figured out where I was) I asked for the nearest Halfords. Turned out it was further along the 'wrong way' I'd taken last night. I got my wallet and locked everything up, then taking my trolley and the two fuel cans and the van's starter battery, we returned to his van—up over bridge 9, then up over the railway bridge on the far side. We took a wrong turn when I pointed the wrong way at a roundabout, but thanks to the blue dot on the map showing where we were, we soon sorted that out. Halfords was a surprisingly long way away—almost to the city centre—but we found it okay and I bought a 20l metal Jerry Can. Given that Oothoon's batteries were flat and I wanted one anyway, I also bought a 110Ah leisure battery, but this being Halfords they couldn't sell me either battery terminal clips or bits of connecting wire. Never mind. The nice RCR man whipped out his discount card at the till, so it was a bit cheaper than I was expecting (which was good, because the battery was clearly in the "if you have to ask, you can't afford it" bracket). Then we went back to the Tescozilla I'd been at yesterday. 30 litres later and we were back in the van and off back to the boat.

We shlepped all the bits up the railway bridge, then across the railway bridge, then down the railway bridge, but at the bottom I tried to form an arrangement of the (heavy) battery on the trolley with the (heavy) jerry can of diesel on the top. I thought that a metal can containing diesel on a battery might not be a good idea, so the RCR man kindly volunteered his top shirt as an insulation layer and with all that lashed together, off we went over the canal bridge, down to the towpath and back to the boat.

Oothoon greedily drank the fuel down without us getting more than a couple of splashes of diesel in the canal and after attaching the spanky new leisure battery to the starter battery with jump leads, we started the bleeding cycle again. (That works in so many ways). This time it worked and after a quick squirt of Cold Start the engine roared into life and kept running. Mr RCR checked each of the injectors and this time was pleased to see an equal amount of fuel fizz out of each. We decided to leave her running for a few minutes then tried her on tick-over with no problems. I suggested that we switch on the inverter so we could have hot water to wash our hands and we left the engine running while we went indoors to get washed and have a cuppa. By the end, it was clear that the engine was fettled, but just to keep me happy we stopped it and started it a few times without problem. Then it was back to the van to fill in the paperwork.

While we were having our cuppa I asked how long the chap had been doing the job and he said about four years and that they all worked for RCR, who provided the vans and the wages. I also asked about coverage and there seem to be two on-duty engineers covering each area, where an area is quite large. London, for example, has two engineers. He also explained that other engineers do Gold Membership inspections and servicing. I didn't realise that RCR do servicing and said this, but apparently it's something they don't advertise except on the inspection form but if you book a service to co-incide with an inspection you get a discount on the service, since the engineer is already there. I said that if I'd known they do servicing too, I'd have gone for Gold membership straight away, rather than just Silver. I'll have to give them a ring and ask about upgrading.

Once he'd gone I fired up the engine, untied and went...half a mile (0.8km) round the corner to next to Tesco. Nicholson's says that there's a boatyard nearer to Coventry and that they do Diesel, but when I called the number given it was 'not recognised'. After yesterday's experience with Nicholson's and The Navigation Inn, I decided that better the Tesco's diesel in the tank than filling up in a bush. It was a bit of a boring experience, trudging along with the trolley, jerry can and fuel cans, mainly because—by being odd— you become invisible. At least I think I must have been, judging by the people almost walking into me smoking, or the cyclist behind me who assumed that, because I'd stopped to let a woman with a pram pass, I must have stopped to let him through. But I got another 30 litres and put it in the tank and felt much better for it.

The sun had gone in by the time I got back to the boat with the diesel and it had started to drizzle by the time I cast off, so I put on my waterproof jacket and my floppy sun hat. After nearly losing my glasses in the canal while putting diesel in the tank, I'd also fitted 'camp Larry' string to my specs so they wouldn't go far. It was 3:30 by now and, other than a cuppa, I'd had nothing since breakfast. The vision of meatballs for lunch was gone and the canal's path through an industrial landscape seemed to suit my grey, wet mood. The boatyard, it almost goes without saying, turned out to be a small basin behind a bridge, with a few boats in it. Yes, there was a diesel pump there, but no clear means of access except by winding and going under the bridge, and no signage or indeed signs of life. I'll have a look on the way back, but I'm not hopeful.

Arriving at Coventry basin, through a bridge so small that it scraped the top of my newly rejuvinated chimney's coolie hat, I realised that I had no idea of the layout. There's a lovely big BW sign outside the bridge, with "Welcome to Coventry Basin" and lots of iconography to show what services are available, but no map showing the layout of the basin or where you can legitimately moor. Turns out that the basin is Y shaped, and you can't moor along the left edge or the bottom right edge, however you can moor in the V bit, now that someone has decided that having a swing bridge across one arm of the V is stupid and has permanently tied it back.

After some woefully skill-less turning, I reversed down one leg and tied up. I'd noticed that the café just as you enter the basin said Open, so I immediately went there for tea and a sit down. Actually it closed at 4:30, but the couple who run it were still there and they happily let me in, made me tea and a toasted teacake, and left me to nod off at the table. While I was paying, I noticed that they sold Golden Wonder crisps, which I didn't realise you could still get, so I bought a packet of Prawn Cocktail flavour (delicious!) and a bag of Seabrooke's Cheese flavour (too salty). Er, so lunch, if you want to call something eaten at 5:30 'lunch', was a toasted teacake and two bags of crisps.

I chatted to some of the other boaters. Town wasn't far away, with Ikea being within easy walking, and no, there wasn't any canal-side diesel to be had, not even for ready money. I set the engine running to charge up the (original) batteries, then went indoors and washed the dishes and made the fire. By some miracle I'd had the foresight to empty the ash can thingy I put the hot ash into, so it was a much easier job than I was expecting. I still had visions of meatballs in my head, but a quick check showed that Ikea Coventry shuts at 8pm (I'm used to the one at Brent Park, which shuts at midnight) and given that the restaurant closed at 7:30 and it was already 6:45, I decided that those succulent Swedish spheres would have to wait yet another day. Dinner was actually Herr Aldi's lasagne, preceeded by chicken soup. I've taken to having orange juice in the morning and the occasional bowl of chicken soup as some kind of talisman to ward off a cold, which I really cannot afford to catch.

Listened to another Russell Brand podcast tonight—almost up to date now—and I see that The News Quiz has started again, so that's something to look forward to. Feeling a bit snoozy now. It might be the fire, which seems particularly hot, or just that the last couple of days have been very stressful, but I'm glad that I'm here in Coventry, even if there are two young lads leaning on the railings of the swing bridge and talking, about 3ft (0.9m) away from my computer screen. I think I need some time off.

What kind of fool am I?

2008-10-05T23:55:00.003+01:00

Higham on the Hill to Longford, 12 miles, 0 locks

It rained terribly last night and was still at it when I awoke. Deciding that, even though I was desperate to get off the Ashby Canal, there was no point in doing it in the rain because if I got grounded again it would all be too much for me, I went back to bed. A little after 10 the noise of the rain reduced and by 10:30 I could hear ducks quacking outside—a sure sign that the rain was going—and I set off at 11 in light drizzle.

Well, I say set off. What actually happened was that I tried reversing and turning, trying to unground Oothoon's prow. Eventually I reversed so far that I thought I was going to use the boat behind as a pivot but at the last moment the prow swung free and I was off. Having thoroughly read the Ashby Canal Society's guide to the canal, I tried to stay at about 2mph (3.2kph) however I would occasionally stray up as far as 2.7mph (4.3kph) if the canal permitted. Most of the time I could feel the rudder jiggling, which is what happens when either I'm accelerating too hard or it's very shallow. I was feeling very stressed, worrying about every bridge, fearful of every gust of wind and terrified that I'd meet another boat coming towards me. As it happened I (almost) ran into one as he shot under a blind bridge, but somehow we missed and I didn't get grounded. Then another boat shot under the same bridge, just narrowly missing both of us! My state of anxiety continued for the 7 miles back to the start of the canal, with me repeating to myself that I could make it and that it would soon be over.

With all the rain last night I was worried that canal levels might have risen slightly and made passage under bridge 17—already taking the mick with how low it is—being impassible, but I got through with an inch to spare between the bridge and my chimney. Not that it mattered because an unavoidable tree right next to bridge 15 attacked the chimney and bent the coolie hat. The last straw was a large weeping willow—again unavoidable unless you wanted to risk being grounded—which set the chimney's hat at an exceedingly jaunty angle.

There were a couple more oncoming boats and all going surprisingly fast, but all passed without incident and finally—finally—I made it to the junction with the Coventry canal. My hands were very cold at this point and I was quite shivery, but I realised that it was probably that I was needing the toilet, so my last action before departing the Ashby, was to wee in it. Interpret the symbolism as you wish.

Getting onto the Coventry was a bit tricky because you need to poke yourself right across the channel and then wind, however I was still terrified of going near the edges, so I did a peculiar manoeuvre which ended up with me backing up the Coventry back towards Nuneaton for a bit. But after that I gave a huge sigh of relief as I went past the entrance to the Ashby and onwards to Coventry.

After the slow pace and (perceived) constant danger of the Ashby, the Coventry was a joy. It's wide and you can go near the edges safely, and if you want to do 3mph or—wreckless fool you—4mph, it's all possible. My destination was to be two bridges down and The Navigation Inn, which Nicholson's describes as "Large pub with a comfortable lounge and an award winning garden with swings. Real ale and a large varied menu served 12:00-21:30 daily. Children welcome. Mooring." Hmmm. Sadly things haven't gone well for the Navigation since Nicholson's was written. The sign is missing, the bottom floor is boarded up, the top floor's windows are smashed and there's a large hole in the wall. The award-winning garden is now overgrown with weeds. I clearly was not going to get my Sunday lunch here—the one that had kept me going for the last three hours on the Ashby. Never mind, Coventry isn't that far. If I pressed on, I'd be there in a couple of hours and then I can have the rest of the day off.

Things went well for the next part of the journey, down to Hawkesbury, where the Coventry joins the Oxford canal. There is a nice pub there, but (as usual) nowhere to moor, so I kept going, whizzing under the M6 motorway bridge at a dizzying 4mph, just because I could!

At Longford, where the Oxford originally joined the Coventry, I had to slow down while a trip boat set off. Still, I've followed trip boats on the Regent's Canal and they don't hang about, so it wasn't going to slow me down. Indeed, I was finding it hard to keep up. Every now and then there'd be a slight loss of power, as though something was round the prop. A couple of times I went into reverse in an attempt to clear it, but it kept happening. Under bridge 9 the engine cut out completely and wouldn't start. I had a bit of inertia left so I managed to coast into a slightly inelegant landing alongside the towpath, but I couldn't get the engine to start. Then it dawned on me: Occam's razor says that the most likely explanation was lack of Diesel and it had been a long time since I'd last filled up: back in Welford! I tied up and dipped my dipstick, cursing myself that the 'quick checks' I'd done the other day didn't include the fuel. Funnily enough the first few years I had Oothoon I never put diesel in at all, because in the few weeks boating I had I never really went very far, so it's something I rarely think about. A passing boat asked if things were okay and when I said I needed diesel, they said there was a huge Tesco by the next bridge, so I thanked them and off they went.

They were right: it's a gigantic—and I mean gigantic—Tesco Extra. It seems to be the hub of a shopping village that accompanies the Ricoh Stadium, which I'm guessing is home to Coventry's footie team. It was about 3:30, so it was still open and as it was an 'Extra' I knew they'd sell petrol cans, so I bought two and some lunch—a chicken fajita wrap. The petrol station was round the other side and at the far end of the car park, which felt like it was going to be a long way back. There was a Pay-at-Pump free that was out of Unleaded, so I managed to fill my cans with 10 litres exactly without that horrible hanging around in the shop, all for the princely sum of £1.19 per litre! On the way back, I was amused to see that Tesco have decided to have a price war with Aldi. Their weapon of choice—the one that, by being 5p cheaper, will bring hordes of Aldi shoppers flocking to Tesco: Tomato Ketchup. Who knew that ketchup buyers were so price-sensitive?

Back at the boat, I put the diesel in the tank, crossed my fingers and turned the key. Nothing. The engine didn't start. I rocked the boat a bit (not easy as it looks like she's grounded at the back) then tried again. Then I had a horrible thought—something I was sure someone had told me about diesel engines and running out of fuel and airlocks. I called Sandra back at Ice Wharf, who confirmed that I probably had an air bubble and that I needed to do something with the top of the fuel filter to get rid of it. This all felt very familiar and that sick feeling I always used to get when the DeLorean had an airlock in its cooling system came back all of a sudden. (I should explain that I used to have a DeLorean car and that one, or both, of the head gaskets had gone, causing it to overheat a lot. This required me to wait for the engine to cool then fill up the cooling system, but thanks to a brilliant piece of design, the header tank is too low and you'd quite often get airlocks. I became quite adept at squeezing the various cooling pipes to force the air through, rather like squeezing a cow's udder to get milk.) After a cuppa—the first since I'd set off at 11—and a quick read of the engine manual (I say 'read'—I mainly looked at the pictures to find where the fuel filter was) I decided to give it a go. Turns out that there is a bolt on the top of the fuel filter and if you unscrew it, underneath seem to be a lot of bubbles. I let them dissipate, then put the bolt back, The engine still didn't start. I released the bold again, hearing some hissing this time, but after tightening it, the engine still didn't start. In the end I removed it completely and briefly blipped the engine, which caused a small spurt of diesel to pop out of the bolt hole, but after putting the bolt back the engine still wouldn't start. There was now really nothing for it but to call River Canal Rescue, who I'd joined a few days ago when I got my first internet access in days (yay!) They were very helpful and courteous, but rang back to say that their engineer was on a call and it'd be dark by the time he would be free, so could he come at 10am tomorrow. I wasn't going anywhere, so I said yes.

After a bit of pottering about, I decided that curry was in order. Consulting Google Maps on my phone (which actually worked out where I was for a change) I found four "Indian Restaurants" in reasonable walking distance. Three of them were one way, so that's the way I headed. The first was a takeaway. The second was a takeaway. The third was a long way away, but was also a takeaway. So it was back all the way to where I'd started, hoping that the last one would be a restaurant. It was and dinner was poppadoms, followed by vegetable biriany. When I got back to the boat and looked in Nicholson's, it looks like I'd walked the best part of four miles to get to that restaurant, so I don't feel too guilty.

I'm conserving power tonight by leaving the lights off, so there'll be power to start the engine tomorrow. I've got a funny LED desk lamp thing that I bought off eBay ages ago and which is really too weak to be useful, however it runs off three (rechargeable) AA cells and—sellotaped to the ceiling—it's better than nothing. Wish someone did G4-equivalent LED light fittings, so I could replace the four 20w each halogen lights that I have above my desk. I'm sure that would be a huge power saving.

Grounded!

2008-10-04T23:01:00.000+01:00

Snarestone to Higham on the Hill, 13 miles, 0 locks, 1 tunnel

Grey and overcast this morning, with a slight smattering of rain. Not really the best conditions for boating, but by 11 it was a bit brighter and dryer, so I made preparations to set off. First there were the inevitable chores of emptying the loo and bins, then a quick check that all was okay and I was off.

Although it wasn't raining, it was incredibly windy today. The Ashby is a navigation that isn't very forgiving: as well as being very twisty and with a large number of 90° bends, it also seems that every time there's a twist in the canal, the engineers put a bridge on it, so if there's a bridge, you know it's going to be a tricky manoeuvre. To compound this, much of the time the only places where the towpath bank is decent is at a bridge, so those tricky bends usually have long, inhabited obstacles in the way. This is not good news at the best of times, but is particularly bad when the wind is doing its best to send you off course. Then there's the shallowness: the Ashby Canal Society's book about the canal almost sees this as a feature, describing the canal as "saucer-shaped" and saying that encountering an oncoming boat will "tend to put the unwary aground on the sticky mud". Well there weren't many oncoming boats today (two, to be precise) but who needs them when it's windy. I think this is also a canal that's easier to do one way than the reverse. At least, that's what I was finding.

I didn't do too badly at first, getting through the tunnel okay (it does have a bend in it!) and keeping to the centre of the channel. Then I got to Shackerstone. This is the place I thought had a teeny tiny aqueduct, but I was getting confused with Shenton. The Shackerstone aqueduct is much larger and adjacent to an old railway bridge, and it has a 90° bend immediately after it. I went over the aqueduct okay and started to turn, and I was turning, turning, turning; then the wind joined in and I was turning and drifting, turning and drifting, turning and drifting. Now you know it's all about to go bad when things go into slow-motion, or maybe it's that I was attempting a 90° bend in a narrowboat after an aqueduct and everything actually was going slowly, but either way the next thing I knew Oothoon had stopped moving and I was in a tree. A 67ft narrowboat is not the easiest thing to unground at the best of times, but certainly not when you're in a tree as well. I couldn't move her forwards, backwards or left or right. In fact, she was just stuck. I tried rocking her and little blips on the throttle, and several other tried and tested ungrounding techniques, but nothing worked. Meanwhile the tree, which was being waved around by the wind whipping across the aqueduct, was having a fine old time trying to knock my hat and glasses off. A family walked by on the towpath opposite, but they completely ignored me, figuring (wisely) that it was best not to get involved. I rocked Oothoon a bit and tried a few more blips. A nearby boater wandered along and lamely asked me how long my ropes were, but I think we both knew that even if they'd been long enough, I wasn't going to manage to throw them from inside a tree. Eventually some of the rocking paid off and I could move backwards, but that just took me deeper into the tree. It's obvious when someone mentions it, but trees are made of wood and those branches are very strong and very whippy when suddenly released from tension, making movement into the tree uncomfortable to say the least. Eventually I crouched down and let the tree kind of wash over the top of me, until I was out the other side, then I stood up to see that Oothoon's prow had worked free and was drifting back into the middle of the canal. Encouraged, I tried a little forward throttle and we actually moved forward, but that just took me back into the tree again. I ducked down and tried to hold the tiller steady with one hand above my head and must have managed it well enough because when I stood up the boat was free of the mud and the chimney was showing another tree that it wasn't for budging.

Feeling relieved that I'd got away lightly, I resolved to stick to the middle of the channel and be very particular on how I took corners. That all went well until Carlton Bridge, where the first oncoming boat was already coming through. Fortunately there's a winding hole on my side, so I slowed right down and headed away from the oncoming boat, letting her drag me back into the centre of the channel and in line with the bridge.

Lunch was at Market Bosworth, in exactly the same spot as yesterday. Funnily enough, the other boats in the visitor moorings were the same as yesterday too. A co-incidence I'm sure.

Coton Bridge was the next tricky one, where it's almost a 90° and a boat popped out just as I was making my final approach. Fortunately the boat was quite short and her stern moved out of the way just in time for Oothoon's prow to fill up the space and again the manoeuvre worked well, but after I got through the tunnel the perpendicular wind blew me right, onto the reeds and the mud, and my map book flew off the hatch into the reed bed. This took a bit of jiggling, because the wind seemed to gust one way, then the other. A hire boat came up behind me and stopped to watch, but I beckoned them past. Once they were gone, I managed to reverse enough to get free and in a happy co-incidence, pick up my map as I went past, but the whole thing had taken about 20 minutes.

I was doing pretty well after that. I'd realised that Hinckley—where I'd like to have got to—was out of the question, but Stoke Golding looked like a certainty and there were pubs there. This was my goal until I got to Wooden Top Bridge, which is approached via a sweeping right-hand bend. Once again the wind caught me, but I thought I was doing pretty well at countering it, even if I was travelling up the canal diagonally. But diagonally means that either end stands a chance of getting caught in the mud and this time it was the stern. With the stern not moving and the wind's assistance, the prow swung gracefully round and got stuck in the mud too. Not a problem, I thought: I could move Oothoon backwards, so all I needed to do was reverse a bit, rotate slightly, then off we go. But I hadn't reckoned on the wind, keeping the prow against the bank. If I reversed, I ended up diagonally across the canal the other way, then it was seriously difficult to get the stern out of the mud (for a change, the wind was actually useful at pushing me off). Of course, once the stern was steerable, I could turn the prow into the canal, but not enough to get a good line, which meant that the stern got stuck in the mud on the right side of the canal and the prow came back in again thanks to the wind. This continued for 30 minutes, me reversing, turning and getting stuck again. Each time I tried reversing more, hoping that I'd find a less sticky patch, but the basic problem was the narrowness of the canal and the lack of room to manoeuvre. Eventually I got back to the start of the bend, where there was a little more space, and finally I got the prow in a reasonable line. I still got the stern caught in the mud, but I was on full power and I was determined to get through. It meant I headed for the bridge at full speed, but fortunately it's straight on the other side so I slipped straight under into what felt like better waters.

I was a bit shaken by this time and the light was starting to go, but Stoke Golding was only half a mile away so everything was going to be okay. Except that when I got there, there was no-where to moor. The Ashby Boat Company, who hire out boats, are based at Stoke Golding and their boats were hogging every decent bit of bank. There was a clear space actually on the boat company's wharf, but I didn't think they'd be pleased with me using it, so on I went.

After Stoke Golding there's Higham Bridge and while Nicholson's doesn't say that there are moorings there, there's good piling and several boats. Between two of them was a decent sized gap so I decided to moor there, being careful with my approach as all of the boats seemed to be occupied. I touched down nicely and jumped off with the centre rope, only to find that the wind had caught the prow again and I couldn't stop it drifting across the canal. When it did stop, I found that the angle was such that the rudder was jammed into the piling and Oothoon was tightly wedged across the canal. I tried pulling on the centre rope to try to unjam the prow, but nothing happened. In the end, I put the boat into reverse and tried to push the stern off the piling. This managed to unjam the rudder and I jumped aboard and tried to reverse so that the prow would come away. All that happened was that the stern got jammed again, but this time with the rudder free. After a bit off too-ing and fro-ing, I got the stern free, backed up enough to get the prow free and turned enough to head along the canal without catching again. This was obviously why Nicholson's says to use designated mooring spots only.

The next one of those was at Basin Bridge—the next bridge along. By this time it was pretty dark, but there was a gap and I headed for it. I couldn't get very close to the bank, but close enough to get ashore. I pulled hard on the centre rope and got the prow in, but couldn't get the stern in. Pulling her along the bank a bit, the stern came in a little more, but by then I was running out of light and running out of bank. In the end I tied the prow up to the metal piling and pulled the stern in the best I could. It was still a decent distance from the bank, but by now it was drizzling and I'd run out of options. I made her fast as best I could, then decided that it would have to do.

Dinner was soup, followed by pasta with courgettes and soft cheese. I wasn't really in the mood for it and would happily have gone to bed after the soup, but by then it was 8pm and time to stop the engine, and once peace and quiet had descended, my appetite returned.

There's no internet connectivity here, not to mention no phone signal, which just adds to the general awfulness of my situation, but I found a couple of old episodes of UFO on the computer and an unwatched Horizon about how memory works. Apparently after you reach 40 you loose some large number of brain cells every day, so I'm glad I've written this while it's still fresh in my memory. Another part of the programme dealt with traumatic events and how your memory's 'importance' filter ranks these so high that they're effectively etched permanently into your brain. Watching that, I was wondering whether today's events would always be there, scarring me forever.

I know I said that the Ashby is a lovely canal and it is; but the canal society, rather than chasing money for getting the missing bit built, would be better off spending it on dredging or there won't be any boats able to make it to the current terminus to try the new bit out.

End of the Ashby

2008-10-03T22:59:00.001+01:00

Hinckley to Snarestone, 15 miles, 0 locks, 1 tunnel

Contrary to the wet weather I was expecting today and which last night's weather foretold, this morning the sky was blue and full of white cotton wool balls. Not wishing to waste the weather, I was soon off, although well wrapped up with my hat and gloves on. Nicholson's says that the Ashby canal is shallow in places and they aren't joking—some of the corners are tight and when you're as long as Oothoon, there's always the danger that one or other end will get stuck on something, although it hasn't actually happened. Other than that, the canal meanders across the countryside, completely ignoring that there might be a rest-of-the-world out there somewhere. Only the occasional sound of cars or kids larking about on motorcycles, reminds you that you aren't in the bit of Leicestershire That Time Forgot.

Stopped for elevenses—and to take my pills—near Dadlington. Well, it might have been Dadlington—none of the villages are near the canal as such. Even Hinckley, which I've almost gone through the middle of, completely ignores the canal. Don't get me wrong—there is civilisation nearby if you want it, but it's all a little walk away first.

Lunch was 'near' Market Bosworth, which is about a mile and a half away. Nicholson's says that it's much as it was in the 18th century, which would explain why all the visitor moorings were full: I've noticed a fair few owners of modern boats who go out of their way to recreate a 'golden age' of boating, with their 'original' engines, boatman's cabins, scumbled panelling and rose and castle paintwork, but you know that in a corner of the engine room there's a Victron to power the microwave and up front a flat-screen telly just across from the Squirrel stove. I guess it makes sense to them, but I just find it strange. Anyway, lunch was soup and a sandwich again, which makes sense to me.

After lunch, it's time to travel the last leg of the canal, although that's unfair really. This is one canal where being forced to go slowly is actually part of the pleasure. The countryside really is so lovely and with no locks to worry about you can take the time to enjoy it. The weather was still being kind this afternoon and the occasional tree has changed colour—vivid red and gold against the greens of the others. Plenty of wildlife too, with the usual ducks and swans being joined by the occasional farmyard goose or at one point by grouse (which I recognised off the whiskey bottle label).

Past Congerstone (which Nicholson's describes as "Scattered village of small interest.") and Shackerstone with it's teeny tiny aqueduct and on to Snarestone and the Snarestone Tunnel. It's 250 yards (229m) long and apparently the headroom decreases towards the northern portal. What they don't tell you is that there's what looks like a wiggly bit in the middle and that the headroom isn't fantastic to start with. If you're concentrating on missing the walls and keeping your chimney, it's easy to forget about your head. Fortunately John had mentioned this when we were talking back in Fradley and I remembered to duck just in time, so both boat and boater came out unscathed.

After the tunnel there's a slight shimmy, then you're there: the current terminus of the canal. The canal itself actually continues for another 9 miles (14km) except that the bit from here to Donisthorpe—i.e. the bit through Measham and Oakthorpe—is missing. The Ashby Canal Society have had several attempts to raise the money to reinstate it, only to get knocked back at the last moment, either by the Lottery saying no or due to a troublesome landowner who wouldn't budge. They've achieved great things so far, including getting the section of the canal past Moira Furnace to Conkers (a kind of hands-on forestry educational thing for families) re-watered and they've either acquired the land or at least got a Transport and Works Order in place for the route, but they're still a good ten million pounds short. But this money isn't to restore the canal as was, which is impossible; it is to provide a new route through Measham that will reuse the old railway line and would have canal running through Measham Railway Station rather than tracks. It's exciting, but would mean introducing two deep locks so that boats can go under the A42. I rather like it without.

Dinner was yesterdays left-over Toad in the Hole, which was surprisingly nice. And further cheery news is that, after spending time 'drying out' at The Radiator rehab centre, my phone is functioning again. It's built-in GPS still hasn't a clue where I am, so I'm guessing that that's working too. Not only that, but after spending a surprisingly long time in reconstructive surgery (surprising for something that only has seven parts in total), my Ikea aerolatte is frothing better than ever. I never actually make Cappuccino of course, but I find that a few seconds aerolatte-ing during heating transforms packet soups and is especially brilliant at zapping any lumps if you're making one of Delia's all-in-one sauces. Worth the £1.50 just for that alone. Wonder how brilliant it would be in hot chocolate?!

The Ashby Canal

2008-10-02T22:46:00.004+01:00

Atherstone to Hinckley, 13 miles, 0 locks

Woke up to shining sun—completely contrary to today's weather forecast—and decided to make the most of it. I'd decided that I was going up the Ashby Canal because various people have told me that it's shallow but pretty and I figured that if nothing else I could get to Marston Junction which is where it joins the Coventry. On a whim I tried the Internet and it was working perfectly—certainly well enough for me to partially update my blog and download the 50 e-mails I had pending (mostly junk, but also some pictures from the London Tattoo Convention, which I've obviously just missed). If you've been wondering what's happened recently, well now you know. I think the deluge of e-mail must have tired the internet out, though, because it stopped working after that.

Once I finally set off it was all fairly plain sailing, with the weather being well behaved but the wind chilling me down a bit. Once you're out of Atherstone it's all quite rural, with strange conical hills on either side of the canal—presumably old slag heaps. There are also several farms and a lot of cattle and horses grazing right down to the canal edge. The canal itself is pretty, but very shallow—at one point I passed another boat only to find that Oothoon's stern had grounded. I managed to get free, only to find that the prow was grounded on the opposite side of the canal. The railway is never far away either and there's the constant taunt of Mr Branston's trains whizzing by—at one point past a goods train that looked like it was crawling along at canal speeds by comparison.

By the time I'd reached the good moorings by Boot Bridge in Nuneaton I was cold enough that I decided to stop and the weather agreed by starting to rain. One lovely lunch of Herr Aldi's salmon tortellini later and with the sun shining, I was ready for the off again, only this time with a sensible coat, gloves and my flat cap.

After Boot Bridge, which is pretty much as close to beautiful downtown Nuneaton as the canal gets, you're soon back in rolling countryside and with the sun shining you realise what all this boating lark is about. There's even some history, where former arms of the canal that are now disused still exist as winding holes. I pootered along enjoying the scenery and the quiet until I went round the final huge bend to reach Marston Junction.

Now I had expected this to be quite a big affair with lots of boats, as Fradley and Fazeley junctions are, but no—it's basically a winding hole and a bridge, with a small sign welcoming you to the Ashby canal. It doesn't even look like there's anywhere to moor on the Coventry, since both approaches are on bends. The bridge spanning the Ashby is...well 'narrow' is being more generous than the bridge builders were and you really need that winding hole in order to line yourself up. Coming down the Coventry is much easier because the hole under the bridge is slightly facing you; from the Coventry end it must be a complete pain.

Once through the bridge and the narrows on the other side, it's suddenly extremely rural. There's a tiny road dogging the canal for the first couple of bridges and then that's it—you're in countryside. There's a bit of civilisation on the opposite side to the moorings past Bilking Road bridge, where static 'mobile' homes form a community along the steep right bank. Several of these have claimed the bank for themselves, building terraces, precarious-looking log steps and even a little fishing hut in the style of a 'weather house', with the England flag and colours on one 'door' and Liverpool FC's flag and colours on the other.

Once you're past the narrowboats at Bramcote Wharf, it's countryside all the way to Hinckley. Yes, there's Burton Hastings on one side, but it's only a village and set well back from the canal, from where you get the best views of the listed church dedicated to St Botolph. Actually, the main fascination with this section of canal is the power pylons, which are right next to the canal from where you can gawp up at their fragility and beauty. In one field, two power lines cross, with one on a huge pylon and the other split across two much smaller pylons, one on either side—the whole thing looking like an electric version of daddy taking the kids for a walk.

More good moorings at Hinckley. Nicholson's says that to avoid grounding you should always moor at a designated spot and even bothers to mark them on the map—something it normally reserves for rivers only—so I'm doing as told. The ones below Limekiln bridge—which has our old friend Watling Street going over it—were full, but the ones afterwards were empty so that's where I've stopped. It was about 5pm.

Dinner, you'll be horrified to hear, was Toad in the Hole with mash and onion gravy. All home-made too. It was what I had in mind when I bought the sausages in Alrewus, not expecting that I'd be eating it in a pub first. I have to say that it was great and there's enough left over for dinner tomorrow night too. The fire has stayed in all day and I'm hoping it'll still be alight tomorrow, because the rain is stotting off the roof and I'm not expecting good weather. It's funny: coming along the Ashby this evening was just perfect—the sun making things warm but with that low-angled autumnal light that makes everything shimmer and cast strong shadows—and from my privileged position on the back of my own boat in the middle of this unspoilt countryside, it seemed like you could see the whole of the sky. Bet it's rubbish tomorrow.

Lorra lorra locking

2008-10-01T22:41:00.002+01:00

Atherstone Lock 8 to Atherstone Top Lock, 0.5 mile, 7 locks

After a relatively quiet night, spoilt only by the frequent trains going over the nearby railway bridge, it was time to press on with the Atherstone locks. Expecting the worst, I started off in waterproofs and by the third lock I had to take them off because it was so warm. By the fourth lock it was off with the sweatshirt too and the day was turning out nicely, except for a bit of bother with the third lock because an idiot had moored in the lock approach (the boat was there the previous night too). By this time another boat had come up behind me—I assume a father and son team based on the age differences—with the 'dad' doing the locks. My system of tying the rope to the rear bollard was still working nicely, so I was keeping ahead, but they were usually ready to enter the lock just as I was ready to leave so I only had to do the top gate once.

It was about 2pm by the time I'd got out of the top lock and I was pleased to see that there were moorings just under the bridge. After a good approach I pulled up alongside the piling and jumped off with the centre rope, only to find that in the strong wind Oothoon was drifting into the middle of the canal. I managed to stop her and drag her back to the bank but as she touched the side another extremely strong gust sent her off again. Determined not to let her go, I held onto the rope, getting pulled forward and nearly into the canal until I let out some slack. This happened a few times and ended up with me sat down on my haunches and Oothoon pulling hard on the end of the rope. Just then a woman came past walking a dog and she grabbed the rope with her free hand and between us we pulled Oothoon in. "Good job I'm stronger than I look!" she said as she continued on her way. I intended to wrap the centre rope around one of the mooring rings, but the wind gusted stronger than ever and Oothoon was away. Eventually it was stalemate, with her not moving out any further, but me straining with all my might to hold her in place. This continued for a minute or so until I realised that I couldn't sustain it, so I let go and tied some of the slack centre rope round the ring, just in time to stop her reaching the other side of the canal. I was feeling pretty strange by this time, like my body felt strained and achy, but after a minute or two when the wind seemed to have died down a little, I grabbed the centre rope and pulled her back close enough that I could make a dash for the back. I grabbed the stern rope and quickly threaded it through a ring and pulled hard to get the stern back in, then jumped aboard and tied off the stern rope. Back to the centre rope and heave again, this time to get the front in. I climbed aboard and grabbed the front rope, but by then her prow was off into the canal again. In the end I shuffled down the gunwale until I was close enough to jump ashore, then dragged her in by the front rope. I just got that through a ring and was back on the front, about to tie it to the cleat when a boat came past from the lock behind, pulling Oothoon once more into the channel. With a last heave I got her back to the bank and tied off, but by this time I was shaking and feeling very weak and weird.

I went below and put the kettle on and had a sit down. After a cup of tea I felt better, but still wobbly and strained. I decided that I'd take a slow walk into Atherstone and have a proper look at the place, using the booklets that the lock keeper had thoughtfully provided for those with a BW key, in a glass-fronted cabinet next to his cottage. It was just after 2:30 by the time I reached town, so the first pub had stopped doing food and the Old Red Lion Inn—described in glowing terms in the literature—seemed to be more, well, hotel-y rather than pub-y. Across the road was The Old Bakery café who seemed to be open so I went in. Making a decision about what to eat or drink was almost impossible, however I overheard another customer ordering a baked potato with cheese and beans so I ordered that too, with a pot of tea. It was excellent—lots of cheese, plenty of beans, nice salad and potatoes that had actually been cooked in an oven. That restored me a bit so I had a wander around the town, photographing the main square and the church, and noting that Atherstone is well on the way to being a 'book' town like Hay-on-Wye, which is what the council would like it to be. Of course, Atherstone has never really done badly, straddling the old Roman road of Watling Street as it does (these days known as the A5). It's also why several companies—including Aldi—have made it their main distribution centre. Speaking of Aldi, I went to photograph the railway station, which is particularly fine, even if not used by the railways anymore, and was heading for the next-door Co-op Super Store when I spotted Aldi across the road. That cheered me up a lot, especially as I'd thought to bring shopping bags. They seemed to have a strange mixture of everything from the past few Aldi's in stock, including fridges, generators, American soups and the German grapefruit wheat beer (which naturally I bought).

It was all a bit of a struggle getting my shopping back to the boat and it made me realise how out-of-sorts my tussle with the wind had left me. Once I was back aboard, it was 4:30 and I decided that I'd had enough for the day. I packed everything away and then, feeling cold, decided I'd light the fire. I've been putting off doing this, partially because I don't want to run out of coal on the way home, but also because I haven't packed the gap between the stove chimney and the boat's chimney with fire cement (or rather I have, but it keeps breaking and falling out when I hit things). Thanks to my addled state I didn't even think of this and was delighted to find that the stove works perfectly without it, with no blow-back. Pretty soon there was a roaring fire in there, which was exactly what I needed.

Dinner was Herr Aldi's yellow pea and potato soup followed by pasta with pesto and king prawns. Not quite as comforting as I'd like, but probably quite good for me. Then it was an early night.

Boating in the rain

2008-09-30T22:00:00.001+01:00

Fazeley Junction to Atherstone, 9 miles, 6 locks

I awoke at 5am to hear the drumbeat of rain on the roof. Peering out of the window as I stagger to the loo, I can see that it's very heavy and not a good sign. By 8am I've slept fitfully and had dreams about Oothoon being in a video game where I have to steer her past various obstacles, including weirs, twisty bends, other boats and other hazards that I can't remember. I get up, with the intention of going to the loo then back to bed, but I realise that I'm too awake for bed and decide to make coffee and some breakfast, then see if I feel any more sleepy. I'm not paying attention while I make breakfast and make far too much, but it does get me in a boating mood. As I eat, I notice that there's water dripping from a grille in the ceiling. These normally cover the mushroom vents and it's not surprising that a bit of rain might have got in, so I think nothing of it. By the time I'm finished, the rain has stopped and it looks like it might be brightening up, so after doing the dishes I get ready and set off.

About 30 minutes later, by the time I reach the first lock, the situation has changed: rain is pelting down from the sky and I'm starting to feel distinctly drippy. I moor at the lock approach as I have to wait for a boat to come down and I wave to the captain of the boat behind telling him to go through. I, meanwhile, go below and get out of my wet clothes and dress properly: lots of layers, my waterproofs and boots. By the time I've changed, the boat behind is in the lock after mine and the rain has died down a little. I manage the lock without a problem and leave the boat in it while I walk the short distance to set the next lock. The people in the boat ahead have kindly left one of the back paddles open for me and the lock is empty and ready. I set it and by the time I've got back to Oothoon there's another boat just arrived so I don't even need to close the top gate because the other crew do it. At the next lock, another boat arrives as I'm leaving, so I can leave the top gate open again.

After the canal leaves Tamworth it wiggles around in the country a bit then passes through Polesworth. There are decent moorings just before the first bridge so I stop there for lunch. I am thinking 'pub lunch', but I remember that I have bread to use up and I fancy some soup, so I have soup and a sandwich instead. The weather improves while I'm lunching and by the time I'm finished it's not even raining any more, but I keep my waterproofs on all the same. I'm curious about this dripping grille, because I've realised that there's no mushroom vent there. I unscrew the grille and underneath is a big bolt. This is clearly on the other end of the loop that my centre ropes attach to. I'm not surprised that it leaks, given the stresses and strains that the centre loop must undergo, but it'll need sorting so I re-attach the grille and make a mental note to look at it later.

There's quite a way to the next lock, which is the bottom lock of the Atherstone flight and it starts to drizzle again. I'm fine in my waterproofs, except that when the rain stops and I lower the hood, my ears and head are cold. I'll need to dig out a wooly hat. The bottom lock is a breeze—as John said it would be. It also has new square bollards on one side, but the middle one is not in the right place for Oothoon's centre rope so I ignore them. This lock is a little more forceful than the previous ones and I'm only just quick enough to grab the centre rope to stop the boat banging into the top gate. Another boat wants to come down, so I'm quickly out of there and a boat has just come out of the next lock and I'm straight in. This time I decide to tie Oothoon to the rear bollard, to stop her going forward. Although the square bollards are terrible for wrapping rope around, they're fine if you just want to attach a static rope. I make a loop using a bow-line and put this over the bollard and it's sufficient to stop Oothoon from going near either the cill or the front gate, even with both paddles open.

It's a similar story with the next lock, except that the rear bollard is positioned slightly differently and the rope almost isn't long enough, but I manage it in the end. At the next lock there's a boat waiting to come down and I chat with her captain while we're waiting for the lock to fill. He recommends mooring just before the railway bridge—which is basically the pound I'm just about to enter. He says that it's relatively quiet (if you ignore the trains), that there are shops nearby (including an Aldi) and that the only problem he had was the boat grounding in the middle of the night. Hoping that that won't happen to me, I thank him for his advice and moor up halfway between Baddesley Bridge and the railway bridge.

I'm cold and a bit damp again so I warm up and get changed, then remember the centre loop. I surround the loop with the sealant that was used on the cracks in the roof near the central heating chimney, hoping that this will work. When I come back indoors, the drips seem to have stopped, so maybe it has. We'll see what happens tomorrow after it gets pulled and stretched a bit.

I can't face cooking so I walk past the next two locks to The King's Head. It's quiet but they do a giant Yorkshire with sausages, which is what I'd have made if I could have been bothered. It's dark when I've finished and I've forgotten to bring the Everlasting Torch, so it's a cautious walk back to the boat. It has stopped raining and the forecast for tomorrow is for occasional light showers. It'll be interesting to see how that's different to today. I'm pooped and in my warm cosy bed by 10:30.

Tamworth Time

2008-09-29T17:54:00.002+01:00

Fazeley Junction, 0 miles, 0 locks

Still can't get on the internet, even though I try with the computer on top of the cratch thanks to the sunny weather. It occurs to me that there might be a free WiFi network around and there is, although it's amazingly slow. Slow will do, though, and it allows me to find where the station is and the train times. I get chatting with the people three boats down, who are locals and who tell me that the easiest way to London isn't from Tamworth station; it's from Wilmecote, which is about a mile away. I decide to walk there to get the lay of the land, passing another boat that has a pipe organ on board! It is from Belgium and is the kind that would have been found in café's before the arrival of the Juke Box. The captain tells me that he's 80 and that he owns several organs, but after his wife died he decided to live on the boat and the little Belgian organ is there to keep him company.

When I get to Wilmecote, sure enough there's a train to Birmingham early enough to get me to London for 10am and plenty of trains back. I start to walk into Tamworth, but as usual the road signs are made for cars, not pedestrians and they're taking me a long way around, but I'm passing a bus stop as a bus arrives, so I jump on that.

Central Tamworth could be central anywhere, which is a shame given that at one time it was the capital of the Anglo Saxon kingdom of Mercia. The main tourist attractions are the castle and the large church, but I'm not really in the mood. Now that I'm in town, I can get a phone signal so I call the customer who I'm supposed to see on Tuesday or Wednesday. They've gone live with the work I did last time I was there, but they want to let it bed in for a while to see what needs doing next. We leave it that I'll do another day there once I'm a bit closer to home, which is fine by me. Now that the pressure's off, I'm regretting having not set off for Atherstone, which I've decided will be my next stopping place. I've heard that tomorrow will be wet and there will be locks to do, which would have been better done today. Still, that's just me pressuring myself to get on. I stop by the 3 Store and ask if they're having technical difficulties and it turns out that they are: they're starting to share transmitter poles with T-Mobile and that means re-jigging the network to use Nokia switches rather than Ericsson (or was it the other way around?) The upshot is that although there's signal and the network is carrying voice, it isn't carrying data. The girl in the shop hands me a piece of paper which explains some of this and says that when my bill arrives, I should take it in and they'll refund the days when I've had no service. Although they specifically mention Tamworth, I'm wondering whether this is affecting the rest of the region too, which would explain why I've not been able to get on-line for days. Wandering through Tamworth, I remember that both McDonald's and Costa Coffee do free WiFi. If only I'd brought my computer, I could have got on-line. Drat!

After getting a bus back to Fazeley (since I have no idea how to get there), it's on with the heating and dinner is the leftovers from yesterday's tacos. It's all quite comforting, as is listening to Russell Brand's podcast. I notice that I've got two new One Life Left podcasts, so I listen to one of them before bed. Now I don't have to worry about work for a while, I can enjoy the rest of the journey home without having to worry about the outside world. At least, until it starts to worry about me.

Junction to Junction

2008-09-28T17:51:00.001+01:00

Fradley Junction to Fazeley Junction, 11 miles, 0 locks

Was at a bit of a low ebb this morning, partially because of the so-so weather and partially because of the 'parting of the ways' with John and Rita. After a brief chat with John in the morning, I cooked breakfast then set about essential chores: emptying the loo and the bins, then getting the brolly stand changed for one that is smaller. Its about time I filled Oothoon's water tank too and while there's a water point this side of the Fradley lock, there's also a couple after the swing bridge on the Coventry canal. I decide to use one of those so John repositioned Izzyinn Two to use the one this side of the lock. As I head for the lock I wave good-bye to Rita, then John sees me through the lock and the swing bridge.

After a quick water stop, it's time for some boating. I know that Frazeley Junction is about 3.5 hours away and there's no locks, but it's not until I've set off that I realise I've left the map indoors. This might be a worry normally, because I like to know when and where the locks are, but I should be okay without it. The journey is largely uneventful, meandering through nice scenery and countryside. The sun even comes out for a little while and makes everything seem even better. Around 5:30 I go under Lichfield Road Bridge at Hopwas and notice that there's a pub on either side of the canal and a decent mooring spot too. It occurs to me that I really should stop now, because the signs are right, but the sun is still shining and from my vague memory of the route I'm not far from Fazeley, so I press on. Big mistake. The sun goes in not long after and it suddenly starts to feel cold, and there's lots of boats moored so I'm crawling along at 2.5mph (4kph). There's not many landmarks at this point—even the frequent bridges that have marked my progress disappear—and I realise that I have no actual idea how much further there is to go or whether I'll make it before sundown. It's a thoroughly miserable state of affairs and one of my own making. I keep doing this: setting a target and pressing myself to make sure I get there, even when my instincts are telling me not to. I really need to stop doing this, because it's not doing me any good, but I've no choice but to go with the decision I made and so I keep going.

Frazeley turns out to be about three miles from Hopwas and it takes me over an hour to get there. Without the map I'm not sure whether I've arrived or not, but there's a long queue of boats moored and I figure that surely I must be there by now. I stop and tie up in the first available spot, then wander along the towpath to look at the BW sign I can see in the distance: Frazeley Visitor Moorings, 48 hours, 7 days max. There's a spot directly opposite the BW offices, which is where several people have told me to moor, so I shuffle Oothoon along into it. Once all is secure, I go indoors, put the heating on and get changed. I've got mince to use that I should have cooked yesterday, so it's taco night again (yay!) That at least puts a smile on my face and the minor amount of cooking and preparation takes my mind off what has really forced me to get here today: train accessability.

The internet isn't working again, although the modem claims to have five-bars of signal. Without it I can't check train times from Tamworth to London; neither can I figure out where Tamworth station is relative to the mooring (although the train lines seem to cross at the other side of town). The only other option is Atherstone, where the station is right next to the canal, however I like the mooring here, whereas Atherstone is an unknown quantity and I don't want another Long Eaton. Fortunately it's Sunday and I won't have to be in London until Tuesday or Wednesday, which gives me time to work out what the best option is. If it's Atherstone, I've got Monday to move there and possibly Tuesday too. I decided to sleep on it.

Gongoozling

2008-09-27T17:49:00.001+01:00

Fradley Junction, 0 miles, 0 locks

Having a bit of a lazy day today. It was misty again and not really conducive to getting out of bed, but last night John had suggested breakfast at the Kingfisher Café at 9am and I was just about up and ready in time. Although John was up, Rita and Freddie (their dog) were still slumbering, which seemed very sensible to me. I wandered up to the café, but they didn't serve breakfast until 10am and a little chat with the owner revealed that the nearest cash machine was back in Alrewus. Given that I didn't have much to do until 10 and given that Alrewus was, in the cafe owner's opinion, "only a 20 minute walk", I decided to pop back before breakfast. On the way I came across one of the boats whose crew had helped me through the Fradley locks yesterday and when I said where I was going, he told me not to miss the butcher's.

Turns out that at the speed I walk Alrewus is actually about a 40 minute walk (still faster than by boat though!) but it wasn't to cold and the mist made it seem rather special. At one point you could see the sun clearly in the water, yet when you looked up at the sky there was just haze. Thanks to John's directions I found the cash machine without problem and popped back to 'ave a butcher's at the butcher's, who by this time had a queue out of the door. Now I normally shy away from proper butchers, largely because I find they remind me too much of where meat comes from, but this place had everything. Vegetables outside, loads of bright red meat inside, fish over there, amazing 'Texas' steaks that I don't think I've got a pan large enough to hold, a bakery and a well-stocked cheese counter. And everything is local. Talk about freshness and low-carbon footprint. Actually, it probably doesn't have a low carbon footprint, judging by the number of people who go there in their cars. I bought sausages, bacon, Gouda with nettles, some sausage rolls, eggs and a loaf; then set off back to Fradley.

By the time I got back, at 11:20, the weather had improved and the sun was well and truly out. I was wearing layers, so I was a bit hot. John and Rita were going to be a few minutes, so I thought I'd make coffee and by the time I'd had that and joined them to walk up to the Kingfisher Café, it was 12:05, and five minutes too late for their breakfast. I was a bit cross about this—mainly at myself for wasting time having coffee which meant that we'd missed the breakfast, but also because I can't see that it makes any odds to a café what they're cooking, so why not offer breakfast all day? (I suppose the real answer is that breakfast is a loss-leader to get people in when they otherwise wouldn't and is priced accordingly; the rest of the menu is effectively not as good value.) John and Rita went for the double-egg, ham and chips; I got my 'revenge' by ordering a toasted bacon roll with extra sausage, egg, tomato and mushroom, and a pot of tea—or their standard breakfast all bar the beans and black pudding. It was delicious and filled me up nicely.

After more tea, we wandered round to The Swan for an afternoon drinkie and a bit of gongoozling (i.e. watching boats). I know what I'm like with booze in the afternoon, so I had shandy and it was all very pleasant sitting in the sun. I'd bought a book on knots in the shop next to The Swan and I don't know whether it's that I'm stupid or whether it was the shandy, but I was having a hard time understanding the diagrams. Another shandy later and it was decided that there was a dearth of boats to watch, so we went back home—John to take Freddie for a walk; Rita to read and me to 'play' with the washing machine.

On the way I bought a brolly stand that allows me to fix an umbrella to the tiller. I've wanted one of these for a while, although I'm not sure whether it'll be as useful as I hope. The one I've bought is basically two rings on a stick, with one ring 90° relative to the other one. One ring goes round the tiller, the other round the umbrella handle and they're tightened with screws. Seems simple, although perhaps a little inflexible. John showed me his brolly stand, which is a T shaped piece of tubing. The top of the T slips over the tiller and is held in place by two hand-tightenable screws, with the leg of the T pointing upwards and into which you put the brolly. It looks far better designed than the thing I've bought, but apparently the manufacturer doesn't exist any more.

When Sterling sent me a Pro Combi S to replace my old 1.5Kw 3-in-1 combi, they kindly sent me a 2.1Kw model. This meant that instead of standing no chance of running the washing machine without a mains hookup (given that my washer is 2Kw) I was suddenly in the running, although I hadn't had the nerve to try it. Today, I decided, was the day. It all went well enough at first—the engine started and I was running at a good number of revs, the sun was shining and the solar panel was doing its thing, and the washing machine was going round and filling with water as you'd expect. Then the alarm sounded on the inverter, I started to look worried and then it closed down and the washing machine stopped—full of water and my smalls. After waiting a moment or two to check fuses and the inverter trips, I reset it and off it went again for a minute or two, the washing swishing around in the little porthole and looking exactly as though everything was going well. Then the alarm sounded again, the inverter closed down and everything stopped. Thinking that maybe I needed more power, I decided to angle the solar cell so it was perpendicular to the sun's rays and I opened the throttle a bit more. After waiting a couple of minute to let it 'build up a head of steam', so to speak, I reset the inverter and crossed my fingers. After another couple of minutes the alarm sounded and it all stopped. Just at this point, John and Freddie returned from their walk and after a quick mental calculation, John pronounced that I was probably a battery short. This sounded reasonable to me, but what to do about getting my knickers back? John pointed out that it was probably the heater that was causing the problem and if I did a cold wash it might be all right, so I turned the thermostat from 30° to 0 and reset the inverter. This time it all carried on nicely, proving that there's just not enough wonga to drive the heater. John and Freddie continued on to their boat and my undies continued to revolve until the cycle completed.

I spent a little time fruitlessly trying to get onto the internet, then fitting the brolly stand (the ring is too large for my tiller), then finally giving Oothoon a wash down. Then it was time to go to the pub for dinner. I was in a very indecisive mood, so in the end I had a 'Berni Special' (that's Prawn Cocktail followed by Steak). No Black Forest Gateau on the menu, unfortunately, but there was Lemon Cream Dream, so I had that. I know it's not even vaguely healthy, but I also know that I'll be doing proper boating for the next few days and should work it off. Anyway, I was up and down onto the roof enough times trying to reposition the solar cell and I did give the boat a clean, which must count for something.

More Trent and Mersey

2008-09-26T21:00:00.001+01:00

Branston to Fradley Junction, 7 miles, 8 locks

Woke up to a very misty morn. So misty, in fact, that visibility was about 300yds (274m), however the sun was clearly up and fighting and it quickly started to get brighter. John and Rita were up and set off just as I was making a flask of tea. They said they'd have the first lock set ready for me, but before I got started four South African ladies on nb Ophelia came past.

After the first lock, the canal starts to go through the National Forest and is joined for a couple of miles by the modern-day A38, which in Roman times was known as Ryknild Street. This seems to be very busy and is extremely noisy too.There's a brief deviation at Barton Turn, a tiny place that seems to consist mainly of a pub, a lock, and a turn-off of the A38. It's actually an adjunct to the much larger Barton Under Needwood (hence the 'Barton') which is a good distance from the canal. Amusingly, there's a couple of Little Chefs at Barton Turn (one each side of the road) and I was tickled to see that the canal-side one has piling nearby so you can moor up, should you be in need of an Olympic Breakfast or a toasted tea-cake. The Little Chef itself is directly opposite the entrance to Barton Turns Marina, which is vast and has its own hotel, pub and parade of shops!

After a couple of bridges the canal goes through Wychnor lock and turns away from the A38, finally restoring peace and tranquility. It then dithers about for a bit before passing Alrewas (pron. "Olrewus") which was supposed to be last night's destination. At Alrewus lock, the canal briefly turns into the River Trent. Just before the lock, the landing stage has been ripped out and BW are doing substantial works to fix up what I'm told was a bad bit of bank. There's a temporary mooring point, but it's a long way from the lock, so I was very fortunate that I arrived the lock was empty and one of the bottom gates was open. I called to a passing couple to ask if they would open the other gate for me and the gentleman kindly obliged, allowing me to go straight in. Although these are narrow locks there's a lot of force in the water and I wasn't quite quick enough to catch Oothoon before she hit the front gate, so after she'd popped up to the surface, I took advantage of the short gap before Izzyinn Two turned up to check that everything was still intact. The only casualty seems to be my Ikea 'aerolatte', which will probably never froth again.

Alrewus itself is slightly set back from the canal but even if it wasn't, you wouldn't be able to see much for the number of boats that were moored there. I think not getting there yesterday actually worked in my favour. After Alrewus, there's a short straight, another couple of locks in quick succession, then you're in Fradley Junction. Once again I was lucky and people waiting to bring their boats down helped me through the locks, so I was through in no time.

Fradley Junction is where the Trent and Mersey, and the Coventry canals meet and is one of the most famous canal junctions. When I leave here I'll be heading south down the Coventry, but John and Rita will be continuing on the Trent and Mersey, so it'll be a parting of the ways. They arrived a little after me and we regrouped and hit the BW café for tea and cake. We also had a wander up to look at the Trent and Mersey locks, because John had heard a rumour that they'd been closed, but it looked like if they had been, it was only so that the Cill markers could be repainted.

We had dinner in The Swan: a hearty bowl of Cream of Onion soup (unusual but tasty!) followed, in my case, by minted lamb pie with veg and new potatoes. Very nice. Another pint or two of Spitfire later and it was back to the boat and I was in bed by just after 9:30.

On the Trent and Mersey Canal

2008-09-25T23:30:00.001+01:00

Willington to Branston, 7 miles, 2 locks

I've been a bit rubbish today. For a start off I didn't get out of bed until 9am, even though I'd set my alarm for 8 (blame it on the Autumn duvet that I installed a couple of nights ago if you like, or perhaps the combination of booze and batter from last night). Either way, I doodled around until it was getting on for 10 when I decided to go to the Post Office to send in my request for compensation for the journey back to Harborough on the day of my eye exam. Of course, the next boat over has the couple from Birmingham on it (who introduced themselves as John and Rita) so I'm chatting to John and Rita's interjecting from below decks, and the time passed very nicely. Then it's the Post Office and everything's sorted, then it's back to Oothoon with the intention of getting going. I started the engine and got everything sorted at that end, then pottered around making flasks of tea and checking e-mail and generally not rushing, and John and Rita have left already and I'm still messing around, and eventually I set off.

It's all lovely. The weather's grey but dry and although I'm convinced I can feel rain all the time, there's no actual water falling from the sky. So Willington disappears behind me and the canal meanders and wanders and then there's some aqueducts and a pipe bridge, and then it's Stretton and the canal's still plodding along and I'm behind a boat that's doing exactly 3.0 miles per hour (not 2.9, not 3.1, but 3.0) and then it's Burton upon Trent and there's a bridge with a basin and a winding hole and then—oh my—a lock!

Dallow lock is the first of the narrow locks on this canal and there's a queue. There's one boat going in when I arrive with another waiting (who doesn't shuffle up). After him is Mr 3.0mph, who hasn't bothered to tie up or indeed step down off his boat; instead he's reading the paper and giving the throttle the occasional blip when no-one is looking to keep roughly in the right place. After him is me, stood on the bank holding a green and red 67ft dog on its leash, and after me are a couple of people renting, where the chap is—well I was going to mention Wallace from Wallace and Gromit, and Norman Clegg from Last of the Summer Wine, but I've worked out that they're both Peter Sallis, so the chap is just like Peter Sallis, and like him is funny and helps make the time pass. There's so many people around that when it's my turn for the lock I'm just an unnecessary cog in a well-oiled machine. I just need to get the boat into the hole, stand around looking decorative while she rises out of the pit, then wave gratefully as we leave.

Burton upon Trent passes uneventfully, with the exception of a shortish stop at the Chandlery at Shobnall, who are friendly, helpful and courteous; and then it's Branston lock, which I need to do myself. Branston is one of those locks that I love—it's in the middle of a field in what seems like the middle of nowhere, and if you were to look from the edge of the field all you'd see is the lock gates and paddle equipment standing like obsolete relics of a bygone era in the middle of a lot of grass. It all goes well: I don't do the brave thing and leap from one narrow gate to the next, and nothing goes wrong either.

I'm just passing Branston Bridge when I realise that I recognise one of the boats moored near the pub there: it's Izzyinn Two, who have stopped for a sandwich and a cuppa, heard that Alrewas (pron. 'olrewus') is full, and have decided to stay. As I approach, John asks whether I'm stopping for the night and—given that there's an Oothoon-sized gap immediately after them—I say I will.

We chat a bit and Rita makes tea, then John helps me seal up the cracks around the central heating chimney using the stuff I've bought at Shobnall. After that, they're off to the pub (which is really an Italian Restaurant in disguise) for dinner and I stay at home and have the prawn and pesto pasta that I've been promising myself for days. After dinner I wander along to the pub to join them, and we have a few rounds before coming home again. I'm rather squiffy at this point, which might be due to the Grappa I had instead of red wine in the last round. Don't care: I'm feeling happy, contented, and all's well with the world. And if John and Rita have anything to do with it, I might even be on a different canal tomorrow!

How deep?! You have got to be joking!

2008-09-24T22:21:00.008+01:00

Shardlow to Willington, 11 miles, 5 locks

Grey and overcast today and very dreary, but at least it was dry. I set off from Shardlow with a vague idea the Willington should be my destination although I wasn't sure how far it was. My hackles were up almost immediately that I'd set off, as I came under Idle Bridge and approached Shardlow lock (4'5/1.35m). A Canaltime boat (Canaltime are a boat time-share/hire company and, round here, a euphemism for something far less delicate) was just leaving the lock with two people on board and two operating the lock gates. They shut both gates and climbed back aboard and waited as I pulled up in front of them, forced to tie up so I could re-open one of the gates. They stood on the back deck looking blank and I walked past them without acknowledging their presence. This simply wouldn't do. After the events of the past few days, I needed to let these petty annoyances go, so I tried to breathe deeply and think calm thoughts, like perhaps if I'd sounded the horn they might have noticed me. I got Oothoon into the lock and had just opened the first ground paddle when another Canaltime boat emerged from under the bridge. I wound down the paddle, opened the back gate paddles and opened the gate for them to come in. Turned out that they were a Welsh couple on their fifth canal holiday (what is it about the Welsh and canals?) who were very nice although it was amusing to watch as the lady's magnificent bosom rather got in the way of turning the windlass.

They kindly offered to close the gates and off I roared, only to pass the Birmingham couple from yesterday, who were just starting off. I finally got to meet them properly at the next lock, which is Aston lock (8'1/2.47m). I arrived a few minutes before them and went to help the boat already in the lock come down. There's a bridge just in front of the lock and to my amazement I looked down and there was Oothoon's prow, heading for the lock gates! I quickly shut the paddles and ran back to try to catch her, to find that the Birmingham captain had done so and was holding onto the end of the centre rope as tight as he could. Without the surging current from the lock, we quickly got Oothoon back under control as the captain of the boat in the lock came to have a look. He explained that there was a certain knack with the I bollards and it came down to using the right knot. He showed me how to do a clove hitch (which I already knew how to do, although I didn't know its name and which is apparently a bad choice) and he said that if I used that, I wouldn't have any more bother. Excitement over, the Birmingham couple—whose boat is called Izzyinn Two (apparently the captain used to be a freelance motor mechanic and people were forever knocking at their house and asking "Is he in?", so the house became known as "Izzyinn", which is why the boat is "Two")—and I went through the lock without further ado.

We met again at the next lock—Weston lock (10'11/3.33m)—where it was Izzyinn Two's turn to break away and dance about. Glad it's not just me it happens to! As I climbed out of this lock, I noticed that the locks seemed to be getting taller and I was nonplussed to find that the force of the current of water entering the lock as it filled, which makes the boats move towards the top gates, was so strong that I couldn't pull Oothoon away from the gates.

Izzyinn Two stopped for water just after the lock and I stopped for lunch. We set off again at about the same time, with them in the lead, so it was no surprise when I caught them up at Swarkestone lock (10'11/3.33m). What was surprising was the queue of boats waiting to go through. There were our two, plus another three! It seemed to be taking a very long time for the lock to cycle, so Izzyinn Two's captain went to have a look...and was gone for ages. When he finally returned, he explained that there were a 'foreign' couple on a Canaltime boat (by which he meant a couple whose grasp of English wasn't great) who were trying to operate the lock using instructions provided in their native language. They'd got a bit confused and not only had all of the paddles open, but the tiller had somehow got itself caught under the lock ladder! He'd shut all the paddles, drained the lock a little so that the tiller came free, then finished off the locking so they could go on their way. With this obstacle past, all that was left to do was unground the boat in front of us so they could go through, along with the Canaltime boat with the Welsh couple on, which turned up just at that moment.

Izzyinn Two's captain decided that I should stay on my boat and he'd operate the lock, so both our boats went in together and the locking passed so easily that I wasn't prepared for the behemoth that is Stenson lock (12'4/3.76m). This isn't so much a lock as a vaulted cathedral with a waterfall feature at one end, that has had its roof nicked. Having been through Stenson lock before, the lady on Izzyinn Two refused to be in the lock and insisted on doing the gates and paddles. I've no idea how she did this, given that the back gates must be at least 15' high (4.57m). The waterfall feature became positively scary when at the front of my boat with the gates shut behind me and the strong current that I'd experienced in Weston lock seemed to be magnified, such that even on full-reverse I couldn't get Oothoon away from the front of the lock (we were still below the cill at this point, the bottom of the gates being up above us). In the end, the captain of Izzyinn Two attached my centre rope to his boat and used the power of the Prop Of Doom (as seen in action yesterday on the Trent) to pull us both back from the cill.

After that, it was all plain sailing into Willington. I popped into the Co-op for tea bags and, as it looked like rain, I popped into the pub for a pint. Who should be there but the crew from Izzyinn Two, who bought me a pint and invited me to join them for a chat. They were both very interesting people who were genuine continuous cruisers. Indeed, they'd been cruising almost as long as I've lived on Oothoon, which gave me pause for thought. We talked about some of the highs and lows of continually being on the move, and in particular how they dealt with the cold winter months (apparently it's as simple as having the fire on all the time). They had ordered dinner in the pub and although I wasn't supposed to, the smells wafting around me as we sat talking were so overpoweringly good that, when I bought the next round of drinks, I ordered a large yorkshire pudding filled with a cumberland sausage and onion gravy, with mashed potatoes and peas. I'm sure my doctor would tut, but you have no idea how huge it was, not to mention how yummy!

Homeward Bound

2008-09-23T22:26:00.006+01:00

Long Eaton to Shardlow, 6 miles, 7 locks

Having reached a low point yesterday I felt a bit more positive this morning. I think it was the idea that I was going to get off the Erewash combined with that idea of something definite to look forward to. I originally started on this journey with grand plans of going to Manchester via Selby, then to Liverpool and via the Anderton Boat Lift to Llangollen, then down the Severn to Bristol, and back on the Kennet and Avon canal and the Thames. As time has gone on and reality has set in there's been a degree of de-scoping—something I'm a master of after 30 years in the computer industry. Manchester was left on the cutting room floor once I realised that Oothoon is too long to go over the Pennines thanks to the Calder and Hebble's short locks; the Kennet and Avon got shelved after a relatively small river like the Soar flooded, making me think that the Severn was going to be too hairy; Llangollen, a definite until only a week or so ago, vanished into the distance as realistic locking times were fed into the equations and extended stops at places that were comfortable ate up the days. This shifting sands of destinations and times makes it difficult to have a clear way forward, but I at least knew the clear way back to Trent lock.

I'd said four locks yesterday and the first of those was okay. By the second—the one with the winding hole where I could turn round—the weather had got brighter and that 'boat' thing had kicked in: you're not on a dodgy canal surrounded by knaves and varmints; you're on your boat, boating, and the weather's looking up. It's in weak moments like these that you consult your Nicholson's and convince yourself that it's only a day's travel to the end of the navigation, and how that would make a fitting end point for the journey, not to mention another canal you could 'tick off'. I was in this semi-blissful state by the time I'd opened the exit gate on the second lock, just as another boat came round the corner towards me. The captain came over to take over control of the lock while I left and we got talking. He was from Langley Mill, at the end of the canal and every time they wanted to go somewhere they needed to 'do' the Erewash first. I asked what it was like upstream and he said that both the landscape and the people got more 'country'. I asked whether the paddles were vandal-proofed all the way up and he said that they were, except where BW had replaced some of the lock gear and hadn't fitted the anti-vandal measures, so kids still drained that part of the canal. And I asked what the locks and moorings were like and he said that the locks were stiff and hard to operate, and that moorings were few and far between. Then he said that, even with all that, they'd had a pleasant journey down and there'd been no fridges in the canal this time. I think that convinced me. My thought bubble—containing a rosy picture of the end of the navigation in its faithfully restored glory—burst, and was replaced with a vision of swirling murky waters full of shopping trollies, just waiting to wrap themselves around the propellor of the unsuspecting boater while pre-teens in shell suits looked on, laughing, then started throwing things. I asked the captain to hold on a moment, as I was going to turn round and I'd be joining him back to Trent lock.

During the return journey I took the time to see whether Long Eaton was as bad as I'd thought. It probably isn't, but things do look different during the day. For example, the towpath edge from where I'd moored in the lock approach is terrible, but gets better once houses start to border the towpath. I'd discounted those as moorings because they were too close to, well, 'inhabitants'. Long Eaton lock isn't in a pretty location, but lose the people and it's otherwise unremarkable. The moorings that I couldn't find last night are definitely there, although they had boats on them yesterday. In short, if I'd arrived a few hours earlier when it was daylight and the moorings hadn't been grabbed, and if perhaps there had been another pair of eyes looking at the situation more objectively than me, things might have turned out differently. But then, it's become very clear to me that boating generally works far better with two because canals were designed knowing that there'd be at least someone on the boat and someone controlling the horse.

I know that it's wrong to anthropomorphise things, but I was struck by how the closer I got to Trent lock, the brighter the weather got, making you think that it agreed with the decision.

Stopped for a quick lunch at Trent lock, then managed to share the lock with a Birmingham couple. They left the lock first and were off along the Trent, while I nipped below to get my map. When I finally popped out onto the Trent and turned right to follow, there was no sign of them. I was a bit surprised at this, especially since even at full power Oothoon was barely managing 3.8 mph (6.1kph). A boat coming the opposite way fair whizzed past, so I'm guessing that the current was fairly strong, and it wasn't until I got to the mechanised locks at Sawley that I saw the other boat again—it was just pulling out of the lock. I tied up and went to take over the lock and asked the captain just what kind of engine he had. Turns out that it was 2.8 litre and a make I'd never heard of. He also said that he'd had the prop changed—apparently this was a new boat and whenever the original prop (which was made in China) hit anything it would bend out of shape. Indeed, he said that you could actually bend it with Mole grips if you tried hard, so he'd had it replaced and sent the bill to the boat builder. Now, apparently, the problem was that even on tick-over the boat went too fast. No wonder they'd lost me!

Sawley was hard work. It's a big lock, as you'd expect from something that links a canal to a river, and the gates and paddles are all operated hydraulically using a push-button console, supposedly by a lock keeper (although no sign of one today). Getting Oothoon in was quite a struggle, because with locks like that you really need to keep the boat under control using ropes, and that meant she needed to be on the left side of the lock, but no matter what I did she went over to the right-hand side. Eventually I wedged her diagonally across the lock, with the prow in the top right corner and the stern in the bottom left, which was inelegant but allowed me to reach the ladder on the left side. Then she didn't want to come over even on the rope. Figuring that it had to be the wind, I tried closing the bottom gates—not straightforward when you're trying to control a boat with the other hand, even if you do just need to keep your finger on the button. Controlling her wasn't helped by the lock having silly I bollards, that seem to have taken over from the equally useless L bollards, and where a single turn of the rope slides and has no grip, but two or more turns of the rope are immovable. Eventually I got her within a couple of feet of the left side of the lock and three twists of rope around the bollard, and I pressed the 'raise' button to open the top paddles. Fortunately it's all sequenced and a small amount of water is let in to raise the water levels, then the paddles are opened more to give a more substantial burst, then finally they're fully opened so the lock can finish filling. Things were under control until the lock got about half full, but at that point there was sufficient slack in the rope for Oothoon to start wandering over to the other side of the lock. I dare not loosen two of the turns off the bollard or I'd have had no grip and been pulled over, so I had to watch her doing a little dance around in the lock. Fortunately she calmed down as the paddles opened fully and even floated over to my side, ending up obediently parked right next to me once the lock was full!

The last bit of the Trent, from Sawley locks, is flat, pleasant, and has a cross-rivers with the unnavigable mouth of the River Derwent on one side, a little navigable bit of Trent on the other and the entrance to the Trent and Mersey canal straight ahead. I headed for the Trent and Mersey and got through the first lock with no problems. After all the rivers I'd been on recently and the horror of the Erewash, it was lovely to get back onto some well-maintained honest-to-goodness broad canal. I wasn't on long before I got to Shardlow, which seems to be mainly pubs, boatyards and boats, and seemed like an excellent place to stop. Again all the 'proper' moorings were full (and this at 4pm too) but there was a cheeky towpath mooring near Idle Bridge, which I grabbed. Been a while since I've needed to put pegs in to moor and there was something very comforting about it.

I'd meant to try the pubs—there are two within spitting distance of each other—but after a nap and cauliflower cheese for dinner (and there was no rain so I could put the central heating on) I was pooped. I'd had several e-mails and txt's from people concerned that I was so low yesterday and two offers of help, so I spent a happy time replying to those and chatting. I might be physically alone here in on my boat, but I'm clearly not alone in spirit.

I've had enough

2008-09-22T22:30:00.002+01:00

Loughborough to Long Eaton, 10 miles, 9 locks

Apart from the trip to Aldi this morning going well (except that it started raining as I started to walk home) today has been on the poor side. Obviously the wet weather and grey conditions haven't helped, but neither have scarily big locks, inconsiderate parking in a lock approach and ending up on the Erewash canal.

I needed to get the train to London again tomorrow, so my choices were to stay in Loughborough and travel from there or get to Long Eaton which is the next station up. Wishing to make progress and having heard that the Erewash Canal was worth a detour, I set off for Long Eaton and in fact the journey has generally gone well—I even managed to buy more gas at Kegworth—and i was through Trent Lock well before 6, giving me plenty of time to find a mooring and settle down for the night with the heating on. Except that there isn't anywhere to moor. There's a lot of boats near Trent lock, but there's nowhere obvious to moor on the Towpath side and—with the exception of the Royal Oak, who have a mooring limit of 18 hours—there's nowhere on the off-side either. Sheetstores Basin, which I hoped might be the answer given that it's run by a boatyard, was completely full of boats and the approach is narrow and at an odd angle, meaning that you'd need to turn about 315° in order to get in. Then there would be the problem of there not being any space and having to reverse out, so I kept going—eventually finding a terrible spot right by a main road which had the disadvantage that I couldn't approach it without grounding. By this time it was starting to get dark and so I continued up the navigation, eventually going through Long Eaton lock.

Now it's at this point that I should mention something that Nicholson's doesn't, namely that Trent Lock has a discreet sign saying that a Water Conservation Key is required for the navigation. I didn't realise what this meant when I went through Trent Lock, because the ground paddles appeared to have been taken out of service and half the gate paddles were missing too, but I found out at Long Eaton: it means you need a 'handcuff' key to unlock the paddles. Now it so happens that earlier this year I bought one of these, mainly to find out what it is, so I do have one; but if I didn't, I'd have had to reverse halfway back to Trent lock before I could have turned. Now I was already feeling fed up with this canal, at how grotty it seems and how Long Eaton seems to be populated with chavs (at least going by the people hanging around near the lock), but this was really the final straw. If they need these for the whole canal, maybe it isn't the kind of canal I want to be on. I think I decided there and then that I've had enough: I'm tired of not knowing whether it's going to be possible to moor when you get somewhere; I'm tired of towpaths that you can't get near for bushes and reeds; I'm tired of never knowing whether where I've moored is safe; I'm tired of inconsiderate and ignorant boaters; I'm tired of not knowing whether there'll be enough power to start the engine in the morning; and I'm heartily sick of bad weather. I know that there's always lots of politics going on in my home mooring (not to mention people who are beset with 'issues') but at least I can plug into the mains and shut my front door and pretend none of it is happening. I've also realised that I'm missing my friends terribly. I know that I speak to some of them regularly on the phone or via e-mail/instant messaging, but it's not the same as going out with them or being in their company. In short, I just want to go home.

Going to work tomorrow is a lost cause, so I'll just have to make my apologies and hope they'll be understanding and I have to go through another two locks before there's a winding hole, which means four locks before I can get off this hell-hole of a canal, but after that it's full speed for London and 'home'.

While I'm having a moan, can I just mention the idiot narrowboat owner who had moored on the last two bollards of Kegworth Deep lock and who was polishing his boat's roof and rearranging the TV aerial, and the imbecile fibreglass cruiser owner parked on the same lock approach, only two bollards from the lock itself. Between them was a gap of approximately 70ft, which through lack of choice I was forced to squeeze into in order to operate the lock. As I approached, the man in the narrowboat went below, having studiously ignored my pointed looks and gestures; the man in the cruiser poked his head out the door, followed by an arm to push me off his fragile little boat, then disappeared below too. After I'd got between them and tied up, almost touching the cruiser, I went to ask the cruiser owner whether they'd broken down. Apparently not and the captain seemed surprised that I might think he'd parked inconsiderately—if I wanted him to move, I only had to ask. I don't know how he thought I was going to do that, other than by pulling right alongside and shuffling along the gunwale to have a word. I mentioned that this was a lock approach and not a mooring, so he had no business to be there, but that if he was going to be there, he should at least moor by the narrowboat so there was a large gap left by the lock. Of course he completely ignored me and I went off muttering and wondering whether I should take photographs and report him, but I just wanted to get on as I was apprehensive about the lock as it was. Funnily enough, after Oothoon had descended into the deep deep pit that is Kegworth Deep Lock, another narrowboat turned up to use the lock and had exactly the same problems I had. I'm guessing that the cruiser owner still thought himself in the right and that narrowboat owners are a miserable and grumpy lot. Of course tonight I haven't a leg to stand on because i'm parked in the approach to Dockholme Lock—but only because it's the first clear bit of towpath since Long Eaton lock. At least I'm on the furthest two bollards so other boats can still use the lock if they need to. Unless that cruiser turns up.

My final word for today concerns my roof. I've got an Alde central heating unit and for some time now I've been concerned about what look like cracks in the roof where the chimney emerges. I'm now convinced that they are cracks, because tonight I discovered water dripping into the boat via the central heating unit. It wasn't much, but I didn't feel like risking putting the heating on with there being water about. Deep joy.

On a day when the sun was shining

2008-09-21T23:44:00.004+01:00

Birstall to Loughborough, 12 miles, 7 locks

Woke up to find that I had no hot water because the water heater had no power. This could only mean one thing, namely that the batteries were flat. I soldiered on, boiling the kettle, making breakfast and pretending that it wasn't as bad as I thought, but eventually could put it off no longer. Taking my jump-start battery with me, in the vague hope that it might help, on opening the engine room hatch I could see that the inverter had powered off. That had to be a bad sign. I switched it off and gave the glow-plugs 10 seconds of 'glow', then tried to start the engine. It turned over, but didn't fire. I disconnected the clutch and put the throttle into a more 'jaunty' position and tried again, but nothing. Resigned that I would need to connect up the jump-start battery, I opened the back-deck hatch and also the engine bay hatch. From there I could see the solar regulator, which suggested that the batteries had at least two 'blobs'. Thinking that this aught to be enough (how scientific is that?!) I realised that after moving the throttle, I hadn't given the glow-plugs their chance, so I gave them 10 seconds again, then fired. The engine turned over a few times, then burst into life. I was saved!

I figured that the battery was flat as a combination of not running the engine much yesterday, combined with the inverter being on all the time and Herr Aldi's fridge. Now that I had the engine running, I could afford to experiment a little, so I put the inverter into power save mode. This is where it checks to see whether anything is using electricity and if not, it switches off. It's also the thing that causes me bother with the hot-water, because the heater's ignition doesn't use enough power to start the inverter. I'd previously convinced myself that this wouldn't work with the fridge—although I hadn't tried it—and it turns out it works perfectly, kicking in the inverter when the fridge needs to cool itself, but letting the inverter switch into its low-power mode when it doesn't.

With the engine running it was time to set off. Today's target was Loughborough—a name designed to confuse foreigners just as "Leicester" used to confuse Wei Wei Wong who took over from Anne Aston on The Golden Shot. According to Canalplan AC, under my new revised settings, this was easily achievable in a day, so I was quite hopeful.

Just before I set off, the little plastic cruiser that had been moored in front of me had left and I was hopeful that I'd catch it up by the time we reached the first lock. By the first lock, I had caught it up and another cruiser had joined it. After checking that they were fine being in a lock with a steel narrowboat, in we went, but their captains talked to each other and largely ignored me. At one point I heard the captain of one cruiser ask the other whether he closed the lock gates behind him. When this happens, you can always tell that they're basically asking for permission to be lazy and break protocol, and the other captain replied that while he normally did close the gates, as this was a river it probably didn't matter so much. He also said that cruisers were a lot faster than narrowboats. As it happens, once the exit gates were opened, both cruisers left, leaving me to do the gates myself. Now call me old fashioned, but just because a Ferrari has a higher top speed than, say, a Perodua Kelisa, doesn't mean that it isn't subject to the same rules of the road.

Although they'd hared off, leaving me to tortoise behind at my (legal) top speed of 4mph (6.5kph), it was such a nice day and the journey and view were so enjoyable that I didn't mind. I was bothered to think of how I expected to find the next lock—empty, and with both bottom gates open—but it was really far too nice a day to worry. As it happened, when I finally did get to the next lock, they had both had to sit and wait while a boat came up and it came out of the lock as I approached, so I went straight in! This continued for the next few locks, with them roaring away and me closing the gates and plodding on behind, only to find that the next lock was set and I was first in by the time I arrived. Eventually we got to Sileby lock where one of the cruisers was going into the marina and the other was stopping at the pub at Mountsorrel. Both captains came over for a chat to tell me this and when they heard that my destination was Loughborough, they were unanimous in recommending the moorings outside the Albion Inn.

The rest of the journey was more of the same—lots of sunshine, easy locks and thoroughly enjoyable. Until, that is, I got to Barrow Deep lock. Nicholson's says this has a drop of 9'7 (1.4m) and I really didn't fancy climbing down the wet slimey ladder to rejoin Oothoon after emptying the lock and opening the gates. After mentioning this to the crew of one of the boats that was coming up, they kindly offered to do the lock for me. Once in the lock, I stood on Oothoon's roof, keeping everything under control using the centre rope wrapped round a bollard, and they did the gates and paddles. I'm sure they have no idea just how grateful I am about that, but it's a lot! Next after Barrow Deep is Pilling's flood lock, which is only used when the Soar is misbehaving. As it isn't, both sets of gates were open and I roared though. Such fun!

Loughborough is a bit odd in that it's the end of the Leicester section of the Grand Union canal and the start of the Loughborough section, which eventually becomes the River Trent. The junction is T shaped, with the canal going one way and a strange straggly bit going the other down to Loughborough Wharf. I'd hoped that I might be in Loughborough before 4pm, because I'd heard that there was a Sainsbury's right next to Loughborough Wharf, but by the time I reached the T-junction I'd missed it by 10 minutes. I headed down there anyway to see the lay of the land and wished I hadn't. Apart from the basin being an awkward shape, there's barely enough room to turn Oothoon's 67 feet around, let alone a 72-footer. Even then, it was only possible because the wharf was empty: if there had been boats there, I'd have had to reverse out. My advice: unless your boat is short and you need the pump out/water point/showers that are there, give the place a miss. Of course the wharf is overshadowed by a modern-looking block of flats and whoever did the fitting out must have chosen soft stone for the wharf edging because it looks nice. I don't think they've realised that the limited room means that boats will inevitably crunch into the sides and the edge is badly damaged and tatty.

After mooring outside the Albion (which was closed) I had a look on Google Maps to find out where everything is and whether there's an Aldi. Turns out it's the other side of the car park that's over the little stream thing that runs past the back of the Albion, or a few hundred yards away. I think I know where I'm going tomorrow then.

Dinner should have been pasta with prawns and pesto, but after talking to my friend Paul I was in the mood for chicken. I wandered back towards Loughborough Wharf because I'd seen a Carvery there, but it turns out that that's only in the afternoon on a Sunday. The rest of the time they have an amazing range of tribute acts appearing, all for a reasonable price and including a carvery. Next up: Cher, on 27th September! I eventually ended up at the Thai Grand. Not what I was after exactly, but nice enough. I tried to get the same thing that I'd had with Cliff at Paulino's and think I managed it, although I can't remember what it's called.

On the way back to the boat I realised that the Albion was open, so I popped in for a pint. All very friendly and with four ales that I'd never seen before. After asking which was a good one to go for, it was recommended that I try all of them, although I could give the 'weak' one a miss if I liked. First off was Albion Special, brewed specifically for the Albion by the Wicked Hathern Brewery. This is quite malt-y and very nice. Next was, er, an ale from Cornwall that was of similar alcohol level but more hop-y. Finally there was, ah, something from the Leatherbritches Brewery that I really can't remember the name of, but it was 4.4% and was very good. By then it was closing time so I bought a couple of bottles of the Albion Special to take back to the boat (in case of an emergency). I hope my head is going to be okay in the morning!

Coventry!

2008-09-20T23:58:00.006+01:00

Birstall, 0 miles, 0 locks

Having got through Leicester without incident I was looking forward to a nice quiet day's boating up to Loughborough today. I'd got ready, got the engine running and made my flask of tea, and I was just looking at my poor wretch of a phone when it dawned on me that I had a spare—an old K800i that I'd used before I got a 1st generation iPhone last year. I figured that although the old phone was ill, the SIM was probably fine and I 'd just dug the old phone out, connected it to the computer and sync'd it up, when it went mad, bleeping and burping as a load of text messages and voice mails came through. One of these was from Brian Duffy from the Modified Toy Orchestra, to say that he was speaking at a Delia Derbyshire 'thing' in Coventry. I gave him a quick ring to find that he was just about to set off, so I accepted his offer to put me on the guest list and said I'd see him later.

Delia Derbyshire, for those of you who don't know, was a musician and composer of electronic music who worked at the BBC Radiophonic Workshops. You might be familiar with her work through the creepy sound effects and electronic music used in, for example, Dr Who. Indeed, while Ron Grainer is the composer of the Dr Who theme music, it's Delia Derbyshire's rendition of it, using tape loops and electronic oscillators amongst other things, that is what we know. Her final well-known piece of work is the score to the film "The Legend Of Hell House", which was a 1973 horror film starring Roddy McDowall. Of course I know her best as the artist who did 'Quest', also known as the "Love theme" from Wordsearch.

The journey to Coventry took ages. There's only one bus an hour from Birstall to Leicester, even though it's only 3 miles away, but fortunately a passer-by pointed out that I was on the wrong side of the road (thanks to a strategically placed roundabout) and that I'd be better off walking up to the A6, where there's a bus every 10 minutes. Of course the busses go into the bus station, which is nowhere near the train station, so there's a walk between them, then you get the Birmingham train to Nuneaton, which seems to run only once an hour, and that doesn't connect with the Coventry train, so there's another 50 minute wait. Or–long story short–after leaving Oothoon a little after 12, I arrived in Coventry at 3:45!

When I got to the venue, they had just started showing episode 2 of the Dr Who adventure "Inferno" (featuring Jon Pertwee as The Doctor), This was chock full of strange noises and electronic sounds, including fragments from Delia's composition "Blue Veils and Golden Sands". Brian hadn't given his talk yet, but nothing was going right either: they'd told him that the projector could only accept an SVGA input so he'd left his 'presentation' laptop at home and was using his older one, whose battery wouldn't keep a charge and which couldn't show movies from within Powerpoint without dropping every other second of video and losing the sound completely! Always the consummate professional he managed to give the talk anyway and wowed us by having the same model of green lampshade that Delia was so fond of (which does give an absolutely amazing sound if you hit it right). Afterwards there was a brief presentation by the chap who now lives in Delia's house, who was showing some 'Delia' artefacts such as her gas mask. There was then a section on Delia's work on White Noise and Electrosonic, although I missed some of that because I popped out to Ikea with Brian to get some coffee (Ikea being slap bang in the middle of Coventry, on floors 3-6 of a nearby office building).

We returned to hear Pram give a live performance using three generations of tape machine (reel-to-reel, 8-track and cassette) which is the kind of technology Delia used to use. This started by them coming round with a box of tape strands which the audience picked at random. These were then spliced together into loops while the audience listened to an except from a quadraphonic 8-track cartridge (done properly, with a speaker in each corner of the room). They then put the spliced tape loops onto an amazing contrivance of blocks of wood with tape spools nailed to them and finally through a reel-to-reel tape machine, while they improvised over the top. The arrangement was such that all of the improvised sounds were added to those already on the tape, building into an amazing layered soundscape. From time to time the loop would be changed and during this time they jammed against stuff recorded on cassette. I should also mention a thing that I don't even know a name for: if you imagine a cylinder about the size of a baked-bean tin, mounted on a shaft which is rotated by an electric motor. Instead of the label there are umpteen loops of magnetic tape and these are played using a ring (the kind that goes on your finger) that has a tape recorder's playback head attached to it. The musician can touch the tape head to the cylinder to play stuff back off the loops and by moving the head from one loop to another you get a different recording. It was amazing and I couldn't believe the sounds that came off of it.

The last item of the day was a showing of the film The Legend of Hell House. This was scored by Delia and such is the quality of her work that, for example, she managed to take an ordinary scene of someone standing in a corridor and make it absolutely terrifying using sound alone.

I had to leave before the end with some misguided idea that I was going to catch a train. How wrong I was. Turned out that the train had been replaced by a bus (only I didn't know that) so I missed it and had—you've guessed it—an hour wait for the next ~~train~~bus. To pass the time I popped into the Indian restaurant opposite the station, which was heaving, but they managed to find me a table for one next to the cloakroom. After this the bus duly arrived and I set off for Nuneaton.

At Nuneaton station, I somehow got talking to young man from Ghana. He was telling me about his country and particularly the politics. He was coming to the UK next year to study in Edinburgh then I think he was going to go back and shake up the political system. Talking to him was a very pleasant way to pass the train journey and it just shows that you never know who you're going to meet.

Got back to Birstall to find that everything was okay, but the lights were looking a bit dim. Hmmm. Wonder if I'll get the engine started in the morning?

Tonight we've got a triple-bill for you: all three parts of Wordsearch, featuring the music of Delia Derbyshire! In case you're wondering, Quest (the theme music) is on her album Electrosonic.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Leicester—and on a boat!

2008-09-19T22:15:00.002+01:00

Kilby Bridge to Birstall, 11.5 miles, 16 locks

Was a bit achy this morning so missed my 9am projected start time and actually set off about 9:30. I think I'd expected there to be other people heading for Leicester today but in fact I've only seen three other narrowboats moving—two coming from Leicester and one that started in Newton Harcourt and caught me up at Freeman's Lock. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The main memory I have of today is how terrible the locks are on this section of canal. The paddle gear doesn't work well and it is often stiff or completely broken. The gates don't work well and veer between opening by themselves on a whim and needing two people to push them open. The locks leak terribly, which means that you often can't open the bottom gates unless the paddles are up and even then with difficulty. Finally—and this is just my personal opinion rather than the matter of fact of the above—the lock gates are often treacherously thin at the top where you must walk over them. A lot of the time an extra beam has been added at the top, to make it an extra 3-4" wider; sometimes two beams; and one gate even had two railings on it, which felt really safe; but sometimes you find a gate where you're literally walking on the width of the gate itself—perhaps about 6"—and it just feels so dodgy and unsafe.

Apart from the terrible locks, the other main memory I have of today concerns bollards. In no particular order: the weird 'L' shaped bollards that they have here where you can't reliably wrap a rope around because they twist off; the weird pole bollards that they had at one lock, where nothing would stay attached because they had no 'top'; the inconsistency in number and placement of bollards within locks; the omission of bollards just after the bottom gates where you'd tie your stern rope to while you nip back and close the last gate; and finally, the bollards that are completely absent—not just a few missing, but none at all—outside of locks, giving you nothing to tie onto while you try and operate the lock. Oh, and one for Granny Buttons: I saw a single wooden bollard, albeit rounded and tapered at the bottom, that was next to the gates of one lock for no clear reason.

Can I just put in my 2d to complain about lock ladders too. BW are saying that they're putting in extra bollards to stop people mangling the lock ladders; let me tell you that I can see their point!

If you ignored the locks, the bits in between were very good. This part of Leicestershire has some amazing countryside and quite a lot of it is right next to otherwise scummy parts of town. Even Glen Parva—apparently most famous for its young offender centre—was stunning if you go by canal. Once the canal meets the River Soar at King's Lock it gets more interesting and the canal and river swap places a few times as you go through the city, but the vista of Leicester City football ground with a huge weir in front was an unexpected treat. This is Freeman's Lock, where the couple I mentioned earlier caught me up. They'd stayed in Newton Harcourt the night before and stopped at Kilby Bridge to take on water, which just goes to show how much faster you go if there are two of you (see below).

Once you leave Freeman's Lock something wonderful happens: you're still on the canal (the Soar taking a rather low-rent route round the back) but it's river-wide and expansive, and feels exactly like you'd think the River Soar should. This is the bit of canal that was built for flood defence and after the confines of the 'normal' canal, which often has so many reeds growing from the bank that fully half of the navigation is unusable, this was like a breath of fresh air. With no other boats as far as the eye could see, I opened the throttle and let rip. I was loving the space and freedom, and from the way she was handling I could tell Oothoon was too. I'd forgotten until that point, how she'd lapped up the non-tidal Thames last year and it brought back happy memories of our journey back from our enforced stay in Oxford last year.

After the joy that is the 'mile straight' (as the locals call it) the misery of returning to the regular canal is brought home by North Lock. This can only be described as mean spirited and ugly, and it goes out of its way to ruin the joy you've just experienced by having nothing right: the towpath is almost at head height, there are chains along the walls of the approach that scrape your paint or catch on anything that projects, the gates have narrow tops, the far side is barely wide enough to hold the balance beam, the lock gear is stiff and the gates immovable, and it exits under a bridge with a railing preventing access to the towpath until your boat is well out of sight of the lock. I had decided that, for once, I wasn't going to go back and close the bottom gate, figuring that for anyone arriving at the top, the closing of the gate was almost as nothing to everything else that is nasty about this lock, whereas for someone arriving from the bottom, they'd be overjoyed that they didn't need to moor their boat out of sight of the lock while they set it, At the last minute I relented and asked a passing emo if he'd close it for me. As I chugged away, I watched him trying to figure out how to do that (given that pulling on the amazingly stiff balance beam's handle had achieved nothing) and I think he walked off in disgust leaving it open.

After North Lock I was entering familiar territory: this is the bit of towpath I'd walked a couple of times in my recent visits to Leicester and I knew that if there was going to be trouble it'd be at Limekiln Lock, which is the next lock after North. Sure enough I could see people sat in the seats next to the lock and as soon as I got near, one of them was up and by the boat, telling me to throw them a 'lock key' and they'd sort everything out. This was Wes, apparently from Leicester but brought up in Bolton (or something) who was in his thirties or forties, slightly tipsy, and who claimed to be a water gypsy and a well-travelled-by-canal 'water rat'. When I approached the lock with my windlass (which is what a 'lock key' is actually called), he took it and offered to show me how to do the paddles the water gypsy way. This, I was bemused to find, involved unlatching the pawl that normally stops the rack and pinion of the paddle arm from falling back, then turning the windlass the wrong way. His lady companion had joined him at this point, asking all manner of awkward questions and in the end I said I preferred my own technique and took over from him. I've no idea whether he really was a water gypsy or had any actual experience on all the canals he name-dropped to know whether he was a water rat (aren't they something to do with the theatre?) but he satisfied my dread that I'd run into a n'er-do-well in an entertaining and charming way. By the way Wes, if you're reading, I took your advice about The Plough only to find that it was closed because it's gone bankrupt—perhaps selling beer so cheaply wasn't such a good idea after all—and you were right about The Mulberry too: expensive; plus they'd stopped serving food by the time I got there.

Dinner was the leftovers of last night's lasagne, but not before I had to change the gas. To do this I put on the navigation light at the front of the boat and nearly blinded two lads in a fibreglass cruiser who were trying to find a mooring. I could hear all this shouting but didn't know where it was coming from until I switched the light off. I'm now officially running on Herr Aldi's fridge, so expect flat batteries all round tomorrow morning.

One final thing: yesterday I set off from Harborough at 11am and arrived at Kilby Bridge at 9:30pm (albeit with a delay for a dunking and a stop for a spot of lunch); today I left Kilby at 9:30am and finally moored at 8pm (thanks to a flask of tea and some sandwiches so I didn't need to stop). These long days are clearly not sustainable and are also inconsistent with the timings that Canalplan AC is giving me, so today I've timed myself doing locks. Under ideal conditions—that is to say a lock with a good approach, good exit, good gear, good gates and which is already full—I can do it in 21 minutes, starting as I approach the landing bollards and finishing as I start to leave the lock behind. If the paddles, gates, approach or exit are rubbish, but the lock needs no filling, I can be through in 25 minutes. If the lock is 'wrong' and needs filling too, you're talking 30-35 minutes. On that basis, it's actually quite impressive that I've done as well as I have, but I'm guessing this will drastically alter the timings for my journey to Llangollen and not in a good way.

Progress at last!

2008-09-18T22:15:00.001+01:00

Market Harborough to Kilby Bridge, 14.25 miles, 12 locks, 1 tunnel

Finally left Market Harborough, after first emptying the loo and the bins (again!) and checking that the Soar and Trent were being well behaved. Although my previous plan called for me to retrace my steps and go back down the Leicester Section, then up the Oxford and Coventry canals, I'd much rather explore pastures new, which means going north at Foxton Locks and through Leicester and Loughborough.

The Market Harborough arm was pretty—I'd not really had time to appreciate it on the way in as the light was failing—and all was going well until I got to bridge no. 4, which you may remember is an offside swing bridge. Last time I was lucky enough to find a volunteer to operate the bridge, but today the only people around were two men who were peering into either a telephone or cable TV distribution box a little way beyond the bridge. I was going to have to do it myself.

Having not previously approached the bridge from this end and being unable to see a mooring bollard on the 'swing' side, I pulled over to the towpath. Once there I could see the mooring bollard and decided that the solution was to simply give Oothoon's bow a shove and let her carry me over to the bollard. So I gave her a shove and...somehow didn't get on board quick enough. I don't know whether there was still a little bit of forward momentum at that point and she went off diagonally rather than straight, but the next thing I know I'm sliding down the side and in the water, dangling from the rail in the well deck at the front. I've often wondered what I'd do if I somehow ended up in the canal and how I'd get back on board (because various people have told me that narrowboats are fiendishly difficult to climb onto from the water). I figured I'd throw my leg up onto the gunwale and somehow hoist myself up, or if I was round the stern and the propellor wasn't going round, I'd use the two ribs round the hull and the rear fender as steps, or if she was moving I'd try and direct her towards a crash landing on the shore and climb out of the water there. But none of these take into account some harsh realities:

1) I'm not actually strong enough to lift myself up at the best of times

2) You weigh an awful lot more when your clothes are wet up to your arm pits

3) The edge of the well deck is about 2.5 feet above the waterline, so my arms were fully extended

4) Canals are shallow, but (except maybe at the edges) that doesn't mean you can touch the bottom

After struggling for what seemed like a long while, but which was probably only a few seconds, I did the sensible thing and yelled "Help!" Then a second later I did something even more sensible and yelled "Help!" as loud as I could. As I did this, one of the men from the distribution box vaulted the rail of the bridge, landed on the far bank and climbed into the well deck. He first attempted to pull me out of the water by grabbing my arms and pulling—like they do in films where someone is holding on with the fingers of one hand. That didn't look like it was going to work. Thinking fast, I suggested that he push the boat over to the towpath side so I could try getting out on the bank there. This he did, and after another vault over the railing and a quick sprint, he was waiting for me when I arrived. Although this initially seemed like a good idea, I suddenly realised that I was now in the rapidly closing gap between the boat and the bank—not a terribly sensible idea—but fortunately my hero grabbed the boat and stopped it crushing me. As I was now at the edge I gingerly put a foot downwards and found that at full stretch I could reach the bottom. This was good, but still not enough to get me out of the water. Then I realised—the gangplank I'd bought a few weeks ago was basically a ladder with a bit of wood on it, so I asked my rescuer to climb on the roof and get it, which he did. After removing the plank, we lowered the ladder down and rested it on the bottom, and I climbed out, surprised to find that instead of the man who had saved me (who was still on the roof), there was a kindly Dutch gentleman with an enormous beard who was telling me to hold his hand so I wouldn't slip. Once I was out again and the boat was tied up (no idea who did that), my saviour gave me a cheery wave and went back to his distribution box; and the Dutchman and his lady companion continued on their stroll. I went below to get changed out of my wet clothes and dry myself—hurrying because I knew that I was taking up the mooring reserved for operating the bridge,—so you can imagine my surprise when I'd done all this and stepped outside again, to find that the bridge had 'vanished'. Turned out that another boat had come along behind me, with more crew on board and one of them had just opened the gate and was waiting for the boat to come through. Asking if I might pop through too, the bridge-man said yes, and so I did. They were stopping for a spot of lunch immediately after the bridge, so I proceeded on to bridge no. 1, which is also an offside swing bridge. Fearing the worst (and not wanting another ducking) I approached the bridge slowly, but then a woman jumped off a Canaltime boat that was moored nearby, ran across the bridge and opened it for me. Wonderful!

Swing bridges and the Harborough arm behind me, I decided to moor at Foxton and have some lunch. I was very worried that shock might set in and if it was going to do so, I wanted to be moored and fed. There are nice moorings at Foxton and after making Oothoon secure, I headed for the pub Bridge 61. Who should be sitting outside having a Ploughman's but the Dutchman and his companion. They enquired whether I was okay and I enquired about the Ploughman's, then after ordering a 'mixed cheese' Ploughman's and some tea, I sat next to them and we chatted. They were both very nice and quite concerned about my wellbeing, but I had to agree with the Dutchman that the Ploughman's wasn't the best. It's basically a sub roll, three types of cheese, a tub of Branston, two tubs of butter and an apple. However it is all bundled in a gaily coloured napkin/tablecloth, which wouldn't look out of place on the end of a stick if you were leaving home, the apple is a nice touch, and I rather like Bridge 61 as a pub, so I'm being much more forgiving than you might expect. After lunch it didn't look I was going into shock (unlike my poor phone, which has taken quite badly after its dunking—oh well, I was looking for an excuse to buy an iPhone) so I headed for the next hurdle of the day.

A BW work boat passed me as I set off from Foxton and roared away into the distance. I followed behind, at what I thought was a quite pacey 3.7mph, but could only catch them up when they slowed down for moored boats. Eventually I caught them up properly just before I got to the tunnel—looked to me like their propellor had dropped off! Saddington Tunnel is 880 yards (0.5 mile/0.8km) long, is wide to allow wide-beam boats through, straight and relatively benign. I was convinced I'd seen a boat in the tunnel as I approached, but by the time I'd turned my lights on and entered it, there was no sign. I'm pleased to say that nothing happened in the tunnel. No oncoming boats, no engine bother, no electrical bother, and nothing supernatural. Which is good, because I was still a bit worried about my mental state.

After the tunnel there's a short section of canal before you hit the first set of locks at Kibworth. As I approached the top lock, I could see another boat between it and the next lock. I didn't know if they'd seen me, but apparently they had, because as I was operating the lock the captain of the boat approached and said that they'd thought they'd seen me entering the tunnel as they left (which cleared up that mystery) and that they were waiting for me at the next lock. We did all of the Kibworth locks together through to Crane's Lock, then they were stopping for the night—as they put it "in the middle of nowhere". I decided to press on, because I had it in my head that I had to be at Kilby Bridge or my chances of getting through Leicester in a day would be dashed.

By the time I'd reached Newton Harcourt it was just after 6 and my GPS had already told me that sunset was about 7:15, so I thought about stopping there. At least I'd be fresh and could make an early start in the morning. At the top lock I talked to the artisan who was decorating what used to be the lock keeper's cottage, who told me that the village didn't have a pub, didn't have a shop and didn't have a post office either. While none of those things were essential to me, being stocked up for a day or two thanks to Herr Aldi, I did fancy a pint. If I wasn't going to be able to get one, I might as well press on a bit further as there'd be less to do in the morning. I figured that I'd get as far as I could before sunset, then stop. The first two locks were a chore, but as I came out of the second one, I met a boat coming the other way who were sorry that they hadn't seen me and so hadn't left the gates open on the next lock, but that at least it was ready. This was fortunate, because apart from not having much in the way of towpath to moor next to, the lock also didn't have any bollards, making it tricky to stop Oothoon drifting off.

I eventually got through the third lock and after that was a half-mile straight to the next lock. I figured I could see well enough to get me down the half-mile and I'd moor at the next lock, but when I got there the gates were open and it was ready to go. Not wishing to look this gift horse in the mouth, in I went and started to operate the lock. Not far away was the next in this set of locks, also with its gates open, so after I'd finished the first lock, I went into the second. By this time I had my lights on and was being a lot more careful. Once that lock was out of the way, I realised that Kilby bridge was one mile and two locks away. Nothing! So I decided that I'd take my time, go carefully and reach my target after all.

Can I just take this opportunity to once again mention that out in the country, when the sun goes down, it gets really dark! Fortunately it was a clear night and the moon came up, glowing bright orange before turning its more usual white, otherwise I suspect I'd have been stuck. So, even though I've done it before and gotten away with it, my advice is: don't do locks in the dark. Can I also just mention that the countryside is full of animals, some of which are quite noisy and rather surprised to find you and your boat there. Having said that, I did go carefully, took my time, made sure all my movements were deliberate and not hurried, and somehow got through them. Now it was just a matter of finding my way through the rising mist and hoping that there'd be somewhere to moor.

I needn't have worried: I could see the lights from a distance away and the moorings were clear and excellent. I pulled up, moored and went inside to the lasagne that was to be dinner tonight. As a special treat and in homage to the Large Hadron Collider, I broke open a bottle of Atom Smasher, brewed by the City of Cambridge Brewing Co. Ltd. Very nice. Shame I'm probably too knackered to get up early tomorrow though—I'm supposed to be going through Leicester!

More work

2008-09-17T23:36:00.000+01:00

Market Harborough, 0 miles, 0 locks

Back to work on the train again, only this time my host and I managed to meet up. We chatted for a while, but after the conversation fizzled out he went back to reading Motorcycle News and I back to Great Expectations. It's all getting very exciting now, with Pip having left his life as an apprentice blacksmith on the marshes to be a Gentleman in London and to follow the path of great expectation that has been laid out before him. I'm sure that there's going to be some love interest chucked into the mix any minute, as his life is far too straightforward at the moment.

Work went okay, with me deciding that if I didn't figure out why everything was broken within an hour, I'd abandon it. In the back of my mind there were some assertions I thought I better check and in doing so the root of the problem was discovered. After that it was straightforward to fix things and by not long after the end of the hour it was all working and the new functionality—which was the point of the change—was all in place.

A few more problems got knocked down during the afternoon, including one which I managed, but which is too slow to be usable. It requires a restructuring of the database schema and the reversing of some annoying datatype decisions to really fix this one. In my former life, I'd done this on a couple of occasions and each time it had made a significant difference to search performance.

We reached a convenient stopping point by the end of the afternoon and everyone seemed very pleased with what I'd achieved. There's a suggestion that they'd like me for another day either next week or the one after, so I've said that I'll work out where I'll be and let them know.

Getting home was less good. I'd just got on the Underground when they announced that—due to radio problems—all service on that line was suspended. We all got off the train and trooped out of the station, then headed for the nearest alternative. The queue there was crazy and—remembering that there was a third station nearby—I walked there instead. Unfortunately it was closed for refurbishment and rebuilding, so it was back to where the crowds were. They'd thinned a bit by now, so it was a bit less crazy, but it meant that I got back to St Pancras just in time to watch my train depart. Fortunately the next one was 25 minutes later and it was just after 10pm when I got home.

No posh dinners or leftovers for me tonight: I had fish fingers and Heinz multigrain Spaghetti, washed down with a cuppa. Need a decent night's sleep as well: boating tomorrow!