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| After the rain |
Morning All
We'd made it to Gnosall (apparently pronounced 'knows all') by last Monday afternoon. Tricky had been having 'women's problems' for a few days, so we'd made an appointment with a local vet. After an examination, she confirmed our suspicions and prescribed some HRT tablets. I'm happy to report that her violent mood swings are settling down, and Tricky is also improving.
We liked Gnosall so much that we stayed there the next day and caught a bus into Newport for a taste of the bright lights. The bus fare was £6.10 for a return ticket, or £2.70 for a single. Damned clever, these ticket price planners.
On arrival we popped into B&M for some paint brushes, frog tape and other bits and bobs for the ongoing battle with the paintwork. While queueing at the checkout, where the lady was changing the till roll, I watched some customers in a longer queue at the self service tills. Here, a harassed young shop assistant was jogging hither and thither, sorting out unexpected items in the bagging area.
In another shop window there was a poster advertising a new brand of shampoo. Apparently, so the poster told us, 90% of one person agreed that the shampoo was so mild that, no matter how many times you used it, your hair still remained dirty.
From Gnosall we had a pleasant little cruise to Norbury Junction, where we tied up late on Wednesday morning. Our mooring was plagued by noisy generators and excessive engine runners so we moved to the other side of the bridge, which proved to be much more peaceful. A pleasant evening followed in the Junction Inn, where we were treated to dinner by Claire, Jess and Reece, who live close by.
The next day found us wending our way to Shebdon Embankment, where there were impressive views westward towards Wales. Just the sort of place to settle down with a good book, a comfy chair and a cup of tea. So that's what we did. The weather was still being kind, with warm, sunny intervals and winds light to variable. The first of the 'nuisance' flies appeared in our boat this day.
We left Shebden Embankment early on Friday morning, our boat moving through misty waters, with shafts of morning sun playing on the still waters of the canal. The approaching clouds were threatening rain, so we decided to moor up earlier than we had planned. We chose a spot near to Woodseaves Cutting. The ground here was very soft and boggy, and finding a firm spot to hammer the mooring stakes into was problematic. However, tenacity won through in the end. Our weather observations were correct, and within the hour the rain was hammering down. That set the scene for the rest of the morning, with many prolonged, heavy bursts of rain.
That afternoon, the clouds cleared and the sun came out and I was forced to enact the great 'Battle of the Flies'. The little blighters had invaded our boat and were, frankly, taking liberties. Our in-house spiders were cowering in a corner, clearly out of their depth. While Linda and Tricky were outside enjoying the sunshine, I stalked to the end of the boat and unlocked the fly swatter cabinet. I chose the Webley Hawk MK2 super-swat with extra zing. Then Zap! Swish! Bam! Just like an episode from that wonderful sixties series Batman, I pranced up and down the boat, flailing the swatter like a whirling dervish. The battle raged back and forth. Eventually, gasping for breath, I managed to get one of them. Perseverance was the name of the game though, and eventually they were overwhelmed.
We had a flight of locks coming up the next day. These are the Tyrley locks, just after the Woodseaves Cutting. As the cutting is seriously narrow, and goes on for quite a distance, we wanted an early start the next day, to lessen the chance of meeting anything coming the other way. We weren't the only ones with this idea, hence we were woken at six-thirty the next morning by a boat chugging by us. By the time we were ready to cast off, a second boat went by. We untied then and got under way, creeping through the dripping trees and spotted a Kingfisher as a reward for our early start. We met no boats in the cutting, and got to the first lock to find a bit of a queue. One boat was coming up, and the boat in front of us, was waiting at the lock to go in. The boat coming up left the lock and drifted slowly by us. The man at the tiller was beaming all over his face, and waved happily as he went by. He shouted something to us, which sounded like "Hi! My name is Mr Ahab, and I'm having a whale of a time". (Note from Linda – he just said 'Good Morning-nice day' – Carl can't hear a thing over the engine noise!)
Descending the locks was a slow business but it was a nice morning, the sun was warm and we weren't in any hurry. It wasn't long before another boat caught us up, it's crew filling and emptying locks as if it was some sort of race. Before long they were treading on our heels. As we waited for our next lock to be ready, they seemed to think that we should somehow magically get our twenty-odd tons of fifty seven foot narrowboat into a half empty lock with all the gates closed, so that we wouldn't be in their way. We haven't met many dolts on our travels, but this one really was a nincompoop, with a hint of prat thrown in. We left them behind after the last lock and, as a bonus, enjoyed a particularly pleasant cruise into Market Drayton, where we stopped for the weekend.
That's my lot this week, dear reader, so adios for now.
Best wishes from
The Floating Chandlers
PS And now it's time for a correction. A couple of weeks ago I wrote that I'd turned the boat hard to starboard to get onto the Staffs & Worcester canal. Of course, I should have typed "hard to port". In my defence I had been up all night shaving, due to the full moon, so I was really tired.
