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.

It lives!

Abingdon, 1 mile, 0 locks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impellerd Again

Abingdon, 1 mile, 1 lock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting nowhere fast

Abingdon, 0 miles, 0 locks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homeward Bound

Osney to Abingdon, 7.5 miles, 3 locks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Self-induced Misery

Osney, 0 miles, 0 locks

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

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

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

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

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

Busy busy busy

Osney, 0 miles, 0 locks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oxford!

Oxford to Osney, 0.5 miles, 1 lock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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