Ikea!!

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

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?

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!

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

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

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

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.