Hedgerow Jottings: Three In A Bed

Watford Locks on a Sunny Morning

Morning Jotters

Another wet Sunday but this week we're not letting that bother us. We moored at the end of the Welford Arm this morning and went straight to the Wharf Inn for a' light lunch'. We were joined by our friends Richard and Mel for the 'All Day Carvery' and after consuming rather large portions of deliciousness, we staggered back to the boat for coffee and a warm by the stove. Mel was a little on the chilly side so Carl stoked the stove, opened all the available air vents and got a good blaze going so that we were all roasted into submission. It may be wet and chilly outside but in here it is definitely tropical!

Richard, Mel and Carl on Stratford Bridge

We left Braunston on Wednesday morning, glad to be on the move again and especially glad to leave behind the mud bath that is the towpath through there. We'd arranged a day trip to Stratford on Tuesday with Richard and Mel - apparently it was 'Buy Your Husband A Guitar Day' again but luckily for the holders of the purse strings (me and Mel) they couldn't find one they liked. There was much discussion about frets, necks and pick ups and some terrifically loud snatches of heavy rock riffs but nothing made the grade. (Sad face emoji). We crossed the rampaging Avon back into town for lunch, the water swirled along through the bridge and completely covered the river moorings - a terrifying sight. A river in flood is bad news for a flat bottomed narrow boat and every time we see pictures of narrowboats surrounded by flood water, we shudder and hope that it's never going to be us. In Stratford town centre, the day was sunny, warmish and heaving with tourists. We looked over the wall into the Bancroft basin where there was plenty of spare moorings and we wished we could wave a magic wand and be back here. Our friends drop us by Braunston church and we dive into the rucksacks for boots and over trousers to protect our 'best' clothes for the trudge through the sheep field back to the boat.

Avon in Flood

There was some discussion about setting off on Wednesday morning, it was drizzly and looked like it was setting in for another wet day but in the end, we decided to go for it. We needed to get out of Braunston and try and find somewhere with less mud. The broad locks up to Braunston tunnel were busy and we paired up with a hire boat and I looked hopefully for some of their crew to assist with the lock gates. At first, no-one came and then eventually a young lassie of about 11 came along. I helped her close the gate and we both opened our respective paddles to let in the water. Dad was on the tiller and at the next lock, a very grumpy looking teenage boy got off and reluctantly helped his sister with the work. I was worried he would trap his lip in the lock as it was drooping so far down. His girlfriend got off soon after, looking equally miserable and together they slouched along the towpath, dragging their exquisite designer trainers through the ankle deep mud and tracking it into the boat at every opportunity. It was soon left to the young lassie and me to do the work and get the boats through the locks - she was happily skipping along and chatting about her holiday, a delightful companion and I felt sorry for her and her Dad who were lumbered with that pair of hormone-ridden party-poopers.

Crick Tunnel

It's nice to be back on this part of the Grand Union - it's the Leicester Arm with the Watford Locks at one end and a long summit pound to Foxton Locks at the other end. Watford Locks are surrounded by the M1/A5 and a railway line but the locks are peaceful ad secluded, you can see and hear the world rushing by, but you're chugging along in a parallel universe. Luckily for us, it was a nice morning when we got to Watford as we were stuck at the bottom waiting for 5 boats to come down. I chatted to the lady on the boat behind and together we worked the bottom gates to get the descending boats through and then we started our ascent up to the summit pound. I talked to a lady on crutches, she was a boater herself who was waiting for an operation and was missing boating so much she had hobbled along to Watford for her 'fix'. She waved us off as we headed for Crick tunnel and I wanted to scoop her up and take her with me. I hope she gets back on her boat soon.

A Dry Tow Path at Crick

I'm sure my regular readers will remember that Tricky and I really don't like tunnels - Tricky has to sit on the step, right under Carl's feet, and if we meet another boat and there is a bit of a clang then Tricky gets very worried and I have to sit under the hatch with her to reassure her. That's lucky for me as it means I get to stay in the dry while Carl stands out on the deck getting drenched. Some tunnels are worse than others but the recent rains mean that torrents of water pour down from the tunnel roof. Carl wears his Indiana Jones bush hat which is looking very battered these days, but it does the job and keeps him dry until we finally emerge into a sunny Crick. It's a joy to find a tow-path with grass instead of mud and a carpet of tiny purple violets on the wooded slope beside us. What a result!

Hyacinth at Crick Mooring

Our mooring spot last night was a reminder of the reasons we fell in love with boating in the first place. We found a very quiet, rural spot, just us, no other boats in sight – that's getting to be a rare occurrence these days. When I set off this morning, walking with Tricky as usual, the air sparkled with the sound of the larks and the distinctive trill of the yellow hammer. A cheeky chaffinch flashed her feathers and hopped deeper into the hedge and flew out the other side and a posse of long-tailed tits scarpered before I could get too close. The hedges are still bare although the blackthorn has burst into flower and the pussy willow makes a citric green splash against the dull brown of the still water. A perfect start to our boating day.

It's getting late and Carl is riddling the stove and putting the boat to bed for the night so I suppose I should sign off now. Have a good week and do drop me a line with your news if you get a minute.

Love from

The Floating Chandlers

PS I stripped the bed this morning and picked up an armful of sheets and pillow cases to put in the washing machine. It was then I spotted the biggest, blackest spider I have seen for quite some time. It wasn't in any hurry to extract itself from amongst the folds and I suspect it was quite comfy and warm. This is the question that I can't get out of my head – was this monster roaming around in the bed last night while I slept soundly? I think I may have trouble sleeping tonight!

PPS Carl caught the bus from Crick to see his Dad. It was a marathon journey – well over a hour meandering through the little villages. He came back with a pack of timbers that he'd found going for a song and hauled them back on the bus. I had visions of Eric Sykes and The Plank but Carl isn't admitting anything