It was a chilly start
this morning as Tricky and I set off for our morning walk along the
tow-path. If the sun came out later, as promised, it would be warm,
but right now I needed 3 layers, and a coat on standby, even though I
was urging Tricky along on at marching speed. We had moored
overnight in the lovely village of Cosgrove, mainly to escape from
the hordes of boaters that came haring out of Leighton Buzzard on
Saturday afternoon. Our normal routine is to cast off as soon as my
first cup of coffee has kicked in – say about 9 or 9.30 and be
moored up again for Jeremy Vine at 12 'o' clock, that's a full days
boating for us. Things haven't gone according to that plan lately,
we had breakfast in Ikea one morning, which meant a very late start.
On Saturday we set out at our usual time but then we met up with
fellow boater Allan, who makes and mends cratch covers. There was a
convenient mooring spot right behind him so we pulled in to ask him
for a quote to repair the rip that has been stuck down twice and
keeps curling up. Allan is a very sprightly 82 years old and still
boating, working and inventing things. We had a nice long chat about
the terrible state of the cover and just when we began to think it
was beyond repair, he said he thought he could do something with it
and offered to do the work there and then. I'm happy to say he did a
great job and our cover will, hopefully, get us through another few
years without disgracing us. Whilst we were waiting for the work to
be done, there was a constant procession of hire boats coming by to
keep us amused. The nearest hire base is at Leighton Buzzard so most
of them had been running for a few hours and had lost that worried
frown that goes with not knowing which way to swing the tiller. The
majority of the boats dropped their speed as they passed us and I
waved and smiled at the happy boaters. Of course, there's always a
few who have set themselves the impossible task of getting to
Birmingham before the pubs close. They came roaring by, hooter
blasting to warn oncoming boaters of their intention to charge
through the bridge ahead, taking no account of moored boats or
fishermen along the way.
It's never a good idea
to make snap judgements about the people you meet – not all hirers
are clueless. I had nothing but admiration for the crew we met on
Monday – all had whistles hanging around their necks, to blow if
there was a problem. There was also a lady in the bows overseeing
the operation and giving instructions to the crew. She spotted me
with my windlass ready on the paddle gear and I heard the whistle
blow – I was politely asked to wait for the signal, before raising
the paddle. For a moment I was a little offended, I would never be
so discourteous as to start without a signal from the Captain but of
course, they didn't know that. How refreshing to meet up with such a
professional team – I was so impressed that I asked Carl if he
thought we should have whistles but he looked at me like I was from
Mars and uttered a line from 'Ello 'Ello which I'm not allowed to
repeat!
If ever there was a
week to go boating then this is the one. The hawthorn is in full
blossom and the canals are looking positively bridal as we chug along
through clouds of tiny petals which cascade down on us like confetti.
The birdsong is deafening and I try to identify each one as I hear
it. Blackbirds and wrens I know, robins and chaffinch too but we
hear one that neither of us have ever heard before and we've
christened it the 'Banjo bird' until we can work out what it is.
Swans and their cygnets are everywhere, some are so tame that they
tap on the hatch to be fed. Geese swim busily by, always in a line
with mother goose at the front, little goslings in the middle and
goosey gander bringing up the rear. How did they work that formation
out? I also wonder how the heron knows about waiting at the bottom
of a lock for a boat to come out. The Grand Union herons are very
bold, they perch on the bank and dare you to walk by and then flap
limply away as if they can hardly be bothered to move. I'm feeling
quite poetic as we chug along the sparkling water in the sunshine –
the scenery is so beautiful and I feel very lucky to be a boater with
this watery world on my doorstep.
This week we have
travelled from Marsworth Junction back to this quiet mooring at the
foot of the Stoke Bruerne locks. By mid morning, I had resorted to
putting a coat on and was considering gloves and scarf. The sky
remained stubbornly leaden and we passed a few of the hire boats from
yesterday- they were moored up with the heating on and I don't blame
them a bit. We were extremely happy to reach Stoke Bruerne and find
a place to tie up and get inside out of the cold – really, I'm not
exaggerating, it was really that cold. As soon as we lit the stove
at about half past twelve, the sun came out and it went from Iceland
to Thailand in just a few moments. Just as the logs were taking hold
and throwing out enough heat to boil the kettle, the sun came pouring
in through the cabin windows and within a few minutes we were at
Regulo 5.
Twilight is setting in
and the sun is sinking behind the locks – I'll be racing up there
tomorrow and then onward through the Blisworth tunnel to Gayton. I
wonder if the car is still in the hedge where I left it?
That's all for this
week – more ramblings as usual next week
Love as Always
The Floating Chandlers
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