Gardening leave

Having arrived back at Brinklow and seen off our friends, we were settling into a life of lakeside drinks and relaxation, when I got a phone call from Michael, a friend who lives in Arundel. He wondered if he would be able to visit the following day.

Initially we thought no, too short notice after our Ashby trip, but on second thoughts why not? So the following day Michael met us at the house and we trundled off to the boat for dinner. An opportunity that we are glad that we didn't miss, the weather was glorious, and so we took her out to moor on the Oxford next to All Oak woods for the night, winding at the Brinklow arm and returning the following day, as Michael had to be in Torquay the following day for an appointment. A short visit but a good one.

The following picture is a sight that you won't see very often. I have been sent ashore on gardening leave!

Well actually we are both rather busy about the house lately painting and generally doing face lift renovations for when our furniture arrives from storage. Jeeves has become a master painter, and Wooster the master gardener.

The garden might be rather narrow, but it is very long - a little bit like an allotment strip from the shed to the back wall. So I am landscaping it as such (borrowed a book on the subject from the library). Although it is a little late in the year for growing much now, but I can put in all the paths and create the raised beds for the next growing season.

It is jolly hard work though forking over all that soil and pulling out a couple of years worth of weeds - dug up a lot of potatoes though.

Some people might have heard or heard about a monologue that I rather unthinkingly treated those at our table and those around us on the subject of cats when we were dining at the Narrowboat Inn on the Grand Union not far from Stoke Bruene!! I will say no more about that tirade. (shurely had too much wine - ed).

Anyway when we got the house here in Rugby, I found to my horror that the garden was completely overrun with verminous cats. Worse than the cats themselves, was that smelly cat poo was being deposited everywhere; on the lawn and in the garden beds - what a smell!

Jeeves however has saved the day. She was leafing though a gardening magazine when she saw advertised a gadget called 'Catwatch', which had recommendations from the RSPB. So we got onto their website and after reading all the blurb about how these things work, we ordered one.

The thing is absolute magic, as it senses a cat walking in front of its eye, Zap!! We watched enthralled as several of the neighbour's cats sauntered around the corner and disappeared with a bang and a puff of blue smoke. . . . . Not really, it does work on an infrared sensor, but lets off an ultrasonic squawk that only cats don't like. We haven't seen a moggy or smelt their poo since.

Now the vexing thing is, what will the dog have to chase when we get one??

Carry on up the Ashby

Steve from K2 told me that the Ashby canal is rather shallow - he is right, it is and also very narrow in many places. The excuse for not posting an article about this cruise is lamentable though. We lost the connection for downloading pictures from the camera - Jeeves found it today (though I dare say that I didn't know where to look for it as I didn't put it there. . that is enough blaming others, ed).

Now, moving on, we had friends from Brenchley in Kent coming up to visit and wanted them to see some of the lovely Warwickshire countryside from the perspective of canal boating. I thought that Foxton might be fun, but sensible Jeeves said 'no' people don't want to do locks tunnels and staircase flights on their first and second day out, so the Ashby it was.

What smashing weather again! Clive and Delia arrived on the Friday evening after a nightmare of motorway tailbacks that had them taking nearly eight hours to do a three hour trip!

Anyway, we set off the next morning in the (correctly forecasted) lovely late summer sunshine, taking on diesel at Rose boats. Chap filling it said there must be only vapour left, but given that we took on 120 litres and hold 250, the fact that I could still see a reflection of my eye in the fuel hole would suggest that she was still slightly over half full.

Got to Sutton Stop early afternoon and went up to the greyhound for a couple of pints before making the right turn into the Coventry canal. The odd thing here was that there was a decrepit looking boat moored up at the locking bollards adjacent to the Greyhound. The p***es or 'pond life' as Andy E. would call them were having an on board and towpath get together which included full use of the BW facilities, a lot of beer and even a fire burning away on board.

The oddest thing was that the BW staff just sat on folding chairs outside the hut on the other side of the lock pound watching - you try mooring up there for a couple of nights and having a party. . . . .I don't think so somehow, probably something to do with having a licence, insurance, BSC, residential and mooring address and being easy to contact by e-mail.

Anyway, enough of that, Clive and Delia brought their delightful dog, Misty with them for the trip. She is one of the best behaved dogs we have ever had on board, took to boating like a duck to water.

The junction where the Ashby leaves the Coventry canal, is set at a very acute angle when turning right when travelling north and after passing under the bridge, you have to negotiate what was once a stop lock, but now a very narrow entry to the canal.

It is from here on that you realise what a rural countryside this canal traverses (well, winds through mostly), as I mentioned before, the canal is not only shallow, but very narrow, with overgrown towpath side and reeds and bulrushes muddying any definition of a bank or indication of where water becomes dry land.

We decided that our overnight stop would be at Hinkley, where there are pubs, shops and Trinity Marina on the canal - really the only town as such that actually borders the Ashby canal.

We didn't have much joy at all in obtaining a mooring in fact until we got to the large complex adjacent to the Trinity marina. Also encountered very rude and pushy boater when trying to moor up before this point. There was one spot left for a sixty footer just adjacent to bridge 17, and the chap moored in front of us was most informative, telling us that neither he nor anyone else bothered paying the £5 visitor mooring fee, so neither did we.

I wonder if that would work on at Llangollen?

The next day, Clive and Delia did a recce on the Trinity Marina - we were told by our helpful neighbour the night before that it was alright to wind there (as marina residents they should know). Clive said there was heaps of room, so off we went on the return bit.

With no wind and millpond conditions the Ashby really did live up to it's reputation as an idyllic and rural canal.

Passing other boats at bridge holes and when the canal was narrow enough without having permanently moored boat on the canal side were the only problems faced.

The idea was to go back through Sutton stop and moor up at Ansty for the night having a barbecue. Then returning down the Oxford and maybe going past Brinklow to Newbold or Hillmorton, before returning.

As we approached Sutton Stop and the chimney of the old engine house hove into view, we saw an excellent mooring spot (Just as I had nearly passed it, of course). So, full astern and helm over, stopping broadside to the boat in from of the space. As we slowly came astern, and edged in closer, Jeeves accosted some young men walking their dog. They were delighted to catch the centre rope and pulled heartilly until Gleemaiden came alongside with the minimum of fuss. If you ever read this guys, thank you very much!

Yes we did have a barbecue on board that night - and I don't think the smoke and cooking smells impressed the wife of the boat owner behind us, but he was friendly enough. A good night was had by all of us really.

Weather the following day, nasty low cloud and ensuing rain. Have to move on though, so on go the water proof jackets and Breton cap. A pretty uneventfull and rather misty trip back to Brinklow, although the Oford was crowded with traffic coming toward us - nearly hit one twerp, but missed by inches!

It was during this part of the voyage that Clive got the hang of being steerer, in fact so much so that he kept insisting that I needed a break quite frequently! I did and enjoyed the breaks, though would have done so more so if I could have lounged around on the forrard deck drinking coffee!

Shortly before the long straight which ends at Rose Narrowboats, Jeeves said:

'That looks like 'Nerus' coming toward us'

'Rubbish!' I replied, straining my eyes through the misty drizzle.

'It is,' She cried as we drew closer, going at tick over past all the moored boats on this section.

Sure enough, it was! As we passed, we made lots of hellos to Ruth and Neil, tried for conversation, but couldn't stop because Nerus was being followed by another boat on this busy Monday canal.

Got back to the Marina in plenty of time to fill up with water sort all post cruising issues and enjoy a lovely meal at the White Lion in Pailton, before Clive and Delia decided that an evening start for home might obviate any morning traffic hassles - hope they will come for another cruise. Next time it will be locks and tunnels!

A short cruise

Well, not really, we took the boat all of about 500 yards to the pump out point and back again yesterday, and yes I know that I promised at the beginning that I would not write of such banalities, but what can you say - I know that die-hard cruisers go out in all weathers, but perhaps we are not of that ilk.

There have been many other distractions as well, with the finalising of our house purchase in Rugby (the course of which did not go well, but after a stressful time concluded satisfactorily). What followed of course was a lot of tidying up, moving in of stored items of furniture and belongings etc. There is an incredible amount of paperwork, changing of address etc involved with this.

I am glad to say though, that mail situation is much better now that we have moved from a post office box to a street address - I did rather enjoy having a BT line to the boat though (a bit of a luxury for when we were alongside). BT didn't think much of it though, and I could never get a broadband connection there for some obscure reason. I continued to and still use the 3G+ system.

This latter has its ups and downs for example, a short time ago, I hung my dongle out of the window only to have Tally, Shila and Bandit lick the thing soggy, before I could get it back in through the dinette(!) window.

The subject of retrieving stored items reminds me of another adventure, where we went up to Belper in Derbyshire to fetch items that were kindly stored by David and Doreen Cashmore (NB Beaurepaire - see blogs passim). Of course there was far too much to pile into the hatchback Megane, so David lent us his LD Discovery to transport everything back in one go.

It isn't that I haven't driven Land Rovers before (I've owned three of them), but my gammy foot was playing up and wearing sandals instead of proper shoes - heaven forbid, I might have been wearing flip-flops! S0, the first ten miles of the trip were a nightmare of missing the clutch, hitting the brake pedal with the wrong foot and then having the said sandals catching on the floor. All this was also rather painful, so once in fifth gear and trundling down the M1 at 80, I decided to rid myself of the port side sandal and chucked over to Jeeves in what would have been an admiral Rugby pass. After this things improved markedly and subsequent visits to the house, garden centres etc went very smoothly.

Even to the extent that Jeeves no longer has a prejudice against 4 x 4s (well Landrovers anyway), and wants one. . . . as do I. You see from this that to win over the heart of a gentleman's gentl - no, lady, is the capacity of the vehicle to transport goods purchased in garden centres. In this example it was a tree and . (I think you've gone far enough with this subject - ed).

Pictures? Well, there aren't any this week apart from this one of Jeeves and a view of the back garden. Nobody really wants to see a picture of the pump out procedure do they? I do have one on file, of course.

Again, the Met has forecast good weather for the coming four or five days, which is smashing news and will be capital if, for once they get it right, because our friends Clive and Delia Taylor are arriving on Friday and we are looking forward to some excellent boating. Now, which way shall we head???

A normal week

The weather has been a bit odd lately, but I suppose everybody has noticed this phenomena - a good opportunity for an old fashioned moan, but not much fun for cruising.

As it happens, we have had a good excuse for not cruising this last couple of weeks having been in the process of finalising the purchase of a house in Rugby - not much point in leaving money in the bank to pay a dividend of 0.5% interest. Also we feel that it is about time we were re-acquainted with our goods and chattels that are still in storage. Jeeves particularly misses the figurines and other collectibles

As well as this, I have been scolded for not including some of the other amusing incidents that occurred while we were in Stoke Bruene. With particular regard to this poor squirrel that was taking a constitutional along the towpath near the tunnel when we turned up.

Unfortunately, it wasn't aware that the Blisworth Tunnel doesn't extend to a towpath and became trapped between us, the canal and a high concrete wall on the right of the path.

Eventually, it took the only option, and started up the tunnel wall, which it proceeded to climb - the wall actually slopes slightly back at an angle from the canal.

It paused to read the plaque and continued on its way up. The over the arch and up again until it reached the coping at the top. The mountaineering skills required for this overhand needed pitons and ropes, which the squirrel didn't possess. It tried though and fell off just below the coping edge!

In the next split second I wondered if squirrels could swim, but I wasn't to find out - remember the slope? Well after a fall of about ten feet, the little creature managed to scrabble a hold on some rough stones just above the yawning mouth of the tunnel. It then though better of rock climbing and scrambled across to the other side of the tunnel rampart and disappeared into the woods - I hope it had some nuts buried o that side, though if I were the squirrel, a stiff drink would have been more more welcome.

Other creatures seemed to be making the most of their surroundings as well, like this moorhen, which seemed to have commandeered a button as an interesting food source.

Then there were Neil and Ruth who joined us at 'The Boat' for a nice cool drink that we didn't deserve nearly as much as the squirrel!

Later that evening, we backed up several boat lengths (who says that you can't go astern in a narrowboat?) and winded near the tunnel for an early start the next morning. We wanted to get through the Blisworth tunnel before any boats were coming the other way and didn't wish to wake up all the other moored boats at the crack of dawn.

The following day we made it to Braunston (through both tunnels without incident this time). And who should we meet there, but Andy and Lyra, who were also out and about enjoying the fantastic weather.

Having made up time (doctor's appointment in Brinklow pending), we spent a day at Braunston, also meeting Richard and Sue who own NB Frog who keep their boat at Brinklow as well.

There was also reported to be some folk and jazz music on a the Admiral Nelson, but it turned out to be only recorded stuff, so we left that out.

There was a heck o a lot of traffic through Braunston that day - including Neil and Ruth on Nerus, who as they passed us in the late afternoon, said that they were mooring just the other side of Braunston for the night.

So, our mooring opposite the Old Mill looked less attractive (especially after some horrid music started at about nine o'clock). We therefore untied and meandered up the Oxford until we found Nerus tucked into the bank in an idylic rural setting.

A bottle of wine with good freinds and up the next morning for our return to Brinklow.

(that is enough about Stoke Bruene, and try to make the deadline in future - ed).

Enter Warwick Castle

Right, well here we are at Warwick Castle. And it is not narrowboating, but at least a lot more up to date. There has been little of the cruising since Stoke Bruene as we have been in the throes of finalising a house purchase in Rugby.

You wouldn't believe how busy the castle was for a Monday (and not even school holidays yet) but, heaps of horrid noisy brats everywhere - mind you, I suppose they were enjoying themselves as I did on similar excursions when in my youth. Also a lot of foreigners from all parts of the globe, I hadn't realised that Warwick was such a tourist attraction - Rugby certainly isn't despite the recalcitrant and probably un-intellectual student of this famous institution who got bored and ran away with the ball in 1823. O for that matter; the poet Robert Brooks; the inventor Frank Whittle.

These can't really compete for the attention deficient nature of today's child, who will only settle for falconry; jousting larks, the drama of the Trebichet and the King making exhibition which is in fact a remarkable juxtaposition of artifacts from the era; Madame Tussaud figures and reproductions of all the goods and sundries that complement a rounded atmosphere of the time. Even one of the horses had an tail that twitched electronically, and there was a horrible 'authentic' smell to the scene.

Even the children commented on this (not favourably ether - TV and Video games haven't yet extended themselves to providing olfactory stimulation to visual and aural violence). Pointedly, they weren't enamoured of it, and I wonder what the smell of blood and faeces would do to improve their Hollywood and video killing games for them. Would they gain some sense of moral rectitude? Maybe, perhaps not, but one suspects that sales would certainly decline for any number of reasons. Most people; even brats like a clean, sterile and odourless world these days and only revel in violence and sex when it is at clinical arms length so to speak - seen and heard but not touched and smelled, let alone coped with in any sort of reality.

Enough of that, let us return to the raptors. The Castle staff seem to be gifted entertainers - well they behave as though they are anyway. The birds are entertainers, not vocal, but even unwittingly, they certainly are. Eagles all; Bald headed (lots of feather though sur la pate); White Tailed Sea Eagle (huge); a juvenile from the bald headed pair (who is learning to fly properly); and another who's taxonomy I forget.

They flew, hovered, and glided their way around the castle precincts, seemingly at the command of the falconer, and were rewarded for their efforts by pieces of meat, before dutifully swooping off to land on the waiting arm of an assistant falconer.

Jeeves and I were quite enthralled. The pictures above are mostly Jeeves effort - pretty difficult really, given that these birds zooming around.

There was a sign at the small entrance to the battlements that suggested that people with weak hearts or infirm limbs should not venture any further. Some mention of 400 and something stairs. Looking up, I wondered where these stairs led to heaven? The battlements and castle wall were only about the height of a three storey house.

Well! there was no turning back, onward and upward we went - then Guy's tower loomed ahead of us. There is no turning back; this part of the tour is only one way.

Phew! Made it to the top without heart attack and not too much shortness of breath. What a view! Look, I might be turning into a grumpy old man, but why does some idiot have to be posing for a photograph, at the top exit of a zillion stairs? But sure enough they were. And there were screeching and jumping kids as well - at least they had made the effort, but anyway, I had to be a little assertive to use a battlement for photography purposes.

Down we went again, but not too far, we had more battlements and turrets to traverse, replete with more spectacular views. Durham Cathedral has very spectacular views, afforded to the intrepid spiral stair climber as well, but all in all it is much more pleasant at the top of the tower. As well as being a tenth of the price for the exertion.

Never mind, lots more to see (and you'd better, having paid forty quid for it). We head along, up and down; finally to the Kingmakers exhibition. Of which I have spoken. Absolutely smashing, but impossible to enjoy properly for all the tourists posing among the exhibitions having their photographs taken in beguiling embraces with the waxen inhabitants, along with scores of jostling schoolchildren squawking and larking about with the exhibits (thoughtfully nailed down).

The Trebichet, slings a huge stone about four hundred yards. A remarkable medieval invention. So, it was no surprise that this piece of entertainment also drew a large crowned, presided over by a theatrical MC, who was attached to a radio microphone. The banter would suggest that he had some sort of military background - anyway, I've never seen one of these in action, and it was quite spectacular.


Probably the most interesting from our view was the 'Royal Party Weekend' exhibition. Some very helpful staff were also on hand to explain and expand on the exhibits at hand. Fascinating for example was a sideboard crafted and carved in the 19th century from timber that was hewn, sawn and carved from an oak tree that grew from and acorn planted by Queen Elisabeth in the 16th century on the estate of Warwick Castle.

In this part of the castle there are numerous rooms, medieval and Victorian, but I will not render this posting too tedious, given that most of you readers have a healthy interest in narrowboats.

Stoke Bruene Pt 5

I didn't think that you could get sunburnt in the Midlands; but you can. A heatwave Summer has been forecast, it seems that we were getting a taste of that on the Grand Union I can only say that I don't want it to get any hotter than this (it hasn't of course, and we have had some welcome rain since then).

There was a discussion about cats at the Narrowboat pub which I have been told to leave out and never repeat.

The next day saw us heading toward Blissworth Tunnel; another cracking day and passing Gayton Junction we were tempted to turn left and head up the Nothampton. The cool darkness of the tunnel beckoned though.

The silliness then started to creep in.

The first bit was my fault; I was reading the board adjacent t0 the entrance and forgot that I was also making a slight starboard turn into the stygian gloom of the tunnel.

Bang!! I sideswiped the railing on the port quarter. Crunch!! the stern scraped the starboard side. Then steady as she goes, but No!! to much port and then too much starboard.

Jeeves took over the helm - much better eyesight than mine, and she seemed to adjust to the darkness better. So there I was holding the torch to give some close reference to wall proximity, when Jeeves shouts:

'For God's sake Wooster, I've lost her -quick!!'

'What??' Came the inane answer.

'You'll have to take over. . Now!!'

The torch clattered to the deck and somehow I managed to stumble onto the counter and grab the helm. Too late!

We wanged into the right hand side of the tunnel and heeled over heading for the left side. Somehow, managed to get her back into mid-stream again and with increased revs, we continued to cruise through the third longest tunnel in the country. My eyesight had finally adjusted.

Passing boats in the tunnel was an interesting experience - but imaging the poor steerer on the boat pictured, when the flash went off. We do apologise to whoever that was, but. . . . . Jeeves gets enthusuastic with the camera sometimes.

More later plus pictures - have to make a phone call. (that was a bloody long phone call -ed.)

Stoke bruen Pt 4

After mooring up near Norton Junction for the night, we set off at a respectable hour the next morning to tackle the Buckby locks. Blimey but wasn't the weather getting hot! Neil and I were breaking out in a sweat just watching our crew winding away at the lock paddles and pushing the gates (we did manage to assist in the gate pushing bit as the locks were descending).

Also passed two of the narrowboat icons of the system - steamboat President and her butty Kildare (named after a famous America GP, I was told).

Very thirsty work in the hot sun and therefore had a welcome break at Wilton Marina for lunch and a bit of shopping in the chandlery. It is amazing to see the waterfall cascading over the bottom lock when a boats are entering the lock. Nobody had a sensible reason for this phenomena, but I suspect that the lock gate is just a little too low for the water flow from the pound above.

Didn't go a hell of a lot further that day, but moored up just short of Bridge 26 where there is a handy water point and beyond the bridge, a beautiful and very well appointed pub called the Narrowboat.

Having rested and sorted the necessary to freshen ourselves up we headed to the said pub for dinner. Not exactly a reasonable price to pay for pub fare, but excellent quality and the view was superlative - overlooking the canal and surrounding countryside.

Just before we sat down to eat, the haunting sound of a steam whistle sounded and I thing most of the patrons sitting outside in the garden were canny enough to recognise an approaching steam - it was not likely to be a steam train on a canal; so we all waited with baited breath and were rewarded by the sight of President sweeping around the bend in the canal, towing Kildare on a 70 snubber.

There was a lot of waving and cheering from the garden of the Narrowboat, genially returned by the crews of both President and Kildare. Also accompanied by many more shrill blasts on the whistle. One may be a little cynical, but could they possibly have anticipated an audience at the Narrowboart? Anywary It was a magic canal moment at any event.

Stoke Bruene Pt 3

I should add that we both fell in love with narrowboating back in 1997 when we were holidaying around the country by car. Seeing the canal at Oxford, we decided to follow part of its course to Birmingham. It must be over forty years since I read LTC Rolt's 'Narrowboat', but the names of the towns were firmly wedged in my memory. So there we were sitting at a table in the beer garden of the Admiral Nelson, watching the boats locking up and down through lock no. 3 that we thought 'wouldn't that be a great way to get around the countryside'. Well it is; and with a little deja vu, we locked up through the Braunston Six and came face to face with the yawning mouth of Braunston Tunnel.

Now this is not the first tunnel that we have been through, but apart from the Newbold, is the first that we have to negotiate two way traffic. Personally I like the slam of the garage door behind you in the Harecastle or the friendly green lights of the Foulridge, realising that there is not going to be a boat coming the other way.

It is interesting to see how much the bank has collapsed at the entrance to the tunnel, but there is still plenty of room to slip into the darkness without bumping the sides.

Ha! but not for long! Whichever god granted me my eyesight must have suffered from gross moral turpitude; given that I can see enough to make life wonderful, but not enough to negotiate a 60ft boat in suddenly changing light conditions. To put it mildly, with Nerus following, I whanged into the side about 100 yards in. Jeeves was furious and took over the tiller until we were near the end. Thank god for that!

At least we didn't have to pass any boats that day - more on this subject later.

After the tunnel, we made another early stop so that the stalwart lock-wheelers were ready for the Bucky flight the next day. And Whew! Apart from the passage through the tunnel, it was getting to be awfully tropic.

Looking back at the exit of the tunnel, one wonders how effective the ventilation shafts are - well they are pretty good for dropping a curtain of water on the steerer anyway.

Stoke Bruene Pt 2

It was Neil and Ruth's suggestion that Stoke Bruene would make a good destination for a shortish cruise and we jumped at the chance to tag along. So, on a bright Saturday morning we made a left hand turn from the marina and headed off toward Braunston fully aware that the Working Boat Festival was still in full swing. We had already visited this event prior to the occasion (see blogs passim), now we were going a week after the definitive weekend!



The weather proved to be splendid and Jeeves was resplendent with parasol in one hand and the helm held 'steady as you go'.

Needless to say, we had no intention of trying to moor up in Braunston, so decided to stop when the spire hove into sight over at bridge 87, but seeing a lot of boats moored up even before we got that far, decided to pull over way before that. There wasn't any particular hurry and being right out in the country is lovely on a hot summer's evening.

Working boats there were aplenty, the next morning as they thumped past us during breakfast (actually before that, you lazy bastards -ed). And off we set, prepared for the canal equivalent of a motorway tailback. It wasn't though and with a bit of care and patience, our entry into the town was completely stress free.

We did have the pleasure of seeing some wonderful working boats - motors and butties and some under way, with the butty following silently in the wake of the motor. Personally, I am quite ambivalent when it comes to the love of old boats (by this I mean owning and living on one). Both of us would be over the moon to have a Russell Newbury, Lister or Gardner pushing us along the cut, but on the other hand, how could we do without all the mod cons like Travelpower generator, fridge/freezer and (oh so sad) the dishwasher? Anyhow, it is great to look and dream.


As it happened, Braunston was indeed busy, but turned out to be a breeze. We arrived at the bottom lock with no bumps or bangs and lots of 'hellos' to boaters and gongoozlers alike, where Neil found that there seemed to be an unofficial winding hole! At first we thought we would have to turn around and go back, but all was sorted and we followed Nerus into the lock. I really wonder if you could wind here, it would prove to be quite handy!

Ante Stoke Bruene

Quite a bit was going on at Brinklow before we set off for the epic voyage to Stoke Bruene:





Firstly; there is pond life again.








Then there is hard work. . . . . . .







This poor Typist was very tired having spent so much time with her busy master. Being ng a 'Girl Friday' she had brought the tea and biscuits. Seen here Tally is relaxing with afternoon tea on Gleemaiden before atttemding her massage appointment.






And then the pre cruise to Warwick to assess the damage passing narrowboats could inflict: Jeeves asseses the castle and other unspoilt parts.

Right that is enough for the moment.

Two tunnels and an historic village Part 1

The historic town of Stoke Bruene is known to all who travel the inland waterways of this country, so there is little to add, apart from our observations during the journey and whilst visiting Stoke itself. We also visited Towcester (now there are a good deal of pseudonyms and puns to be had with this one - indeed I popped up there. [No more towcester jokes -browned off]). I was of course in my element in Towcester, sandwiched between beautiful black and white buildings one minute, then springing forth through the narrow apertures behind chrome street facades, visited Waitrose and bought necessities such as butter; marmite and that sort of thing.

Well this is a long way from where we set out so I think it is time for a different posting. I do also apologise for the complete lack of pictures or recent postings. The 3G+ signal here is abysmal Anyay, I will try again in a couple of hours.

Sounds from the saloon would suggest that the Ashes are on - think I'll watch for a bit. Try and upload some pictures later.

Ah well! thanks to Neil and Ruth from Nerus, here is one picture that I have manage to upload - so now I am going to continue with the rest of the diary of the journey. Cheers!!

Notes from a small village

Haven't been any where in particular for a few days - boating that is, apart from Braunston on Blow It'. But I think that I am getting fitter through some of the activities that we undertake. Campanology for example.

Bellring per se is probably exercise enough - especially if you ring at a couple of churches every week and throw in a service or two, but winding the clock at St John's in Brinklow is a definite work-out.

The instrument for winding the mechanism is sort of a cross between a lock paddle windlass and the starting handle for one of those vintage cars that didn't have starter motors (or they did, but the battery was flat). The end of this handle is fitted over the winding spindle, (which is a bit like that on your mantle mantle time piece, only huge), and wound anticlockwise until the respective weights (there are two of them) climb slowly from the floor level of the ringing chamber to the height of the pulleys where they provide the motive power for the clock mechanism over the next seven days before reaching floor level again.

The small one is a doddle and can be wound using one arm - but the heavy one is a beast! I'll say one thing - the clock is pretty accurate for an old timer (enough clock jokes, ed). And hopefully when the mechanism is moved to make way for the new bell installation, the whole thing is going to be fitted with an electric motor to wind up the weights (or will it be given a spring).

Jeeves and Aunt Agatha attended the Pagan festival at Combe Abbey Woods mentioned before and took a couple of photos of the manor house and lake. I am told that the Solstice bit went very well indeed with wholesome food; a breaking of bread and passing of wine (sounds rather fishy to me - geddit? ed).

One of the photographs from the pond of those elusive blue damsel flies actually came out. The image also shows a couple of other dragonflies in the vicinity - Jeeves is pleased, but I should imagine that clicking on the picture on this blog will be necessary for those like me who are occularly challenged.

The mating pair of swans finally turned up with their cygnet, so she hadn't left him after all. I am surprised that there is only one cygnet as this would appear to be fine breeding ground, and I can't think of any predators that would be prowling around the marina.

I have been wanting to jump into bed with a Staffordshire lass for years. . . . . . . . . . . .

But imagine my surprise when a four legged one jumped into bed with me - and proceeded to sit on me!