It ends

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.