That's All Folks

Good Morning from Norbury Dry Dock

Not a lot of boating has happened this week as we've been high and dry in the boatyard, having our bottom blacked. No jokes please – I've temporarily lost my sense of humour! The lovely sunny weather has been wasted on us this week, as we languished in a shed where the skylights were so dirty that no light has penetrated through them since the last century. You may remember from our last blacking that the boat is floated into the dock and then the water is pumped out leaving the boat marooned on cradles in the middle. It's quite difficult to get on and off the boat so the boatyard provide a gangplank from the walkway, across the 10 foot drop and onto the front deck of your boat. An arrangement of scaffold pipes supports a handrail, to prevent Mr and Mrs Boat Owner from falling into the dock – it's not very pretty but it works. The thing is, it must have been designed by a relation of Jack Spratt as the width of the gap between the handrails was set at 'Skinny' and I spent four days shuffling sideways across the plank every time I needed to go ashore, dusting the handrail with my overhanging parts as I went. Even the luxury of an electric hook-up for the duration couldn't compensate for being stuck up in the air with every light on down the length of the boat to overcome the gloom. I found myself watching 'Homes under the Hammer' on Friday morning – am I the only one who thinks those smug purchasers lie like crazy about how much they spend on their renovations?

There's no public transport from Norbury, so we were very happy to have a trip into the nearest small town of Newport with our friends Richard and Melanie. I should have known there was some plotting afoot when Richard told me it was 'Buy your husband a guitar' week. Was it a coincidence that Newport has a Sue Ryder charity shop? It wasn't until we were through the door that the penny dropped, by which time it was too late. Carl and Richard headed straight for the guitars and began tuning them up and strumming away while a worried looking lady stood guard. When Richard started playing the 'intro' to Pinball Wizard, the whole shop stopped and heads swivelled to watch this unexpected entertainment. I heard one of them say to him afterwards 'Are you someone famous?' He got a round of applause from customers and staff and of course, Carl did buy another guitar for how could I object during 'Buy your husband a guitar' week?

We continued to explore the town, arriving finally at a lovely old black and white timber framed tea shop. We went in and ordered Lavender Shortbread, Flapjack and Toasted Tea Cakes from the tempting display. The tea shop was a delightful mix of Local History and Craft items. Mel and I bought some unusual buttons and found a hand knitted tea cosy shaped like a highland cow amongst the hand-made cards and local artworks. An old gentleman introduced himself to us as Maurice and asked if we watched Emmerdale. I haven't watched it for years but that didn't put him off as he whipped out an envelope of postcards and passed each one to me with a pause so that I could identify the actor. He was thrilled when I picked out Seth and Jack but I'm afraid I was a disappointment to him where the rest were concerned. It seems that he was a coach driver in his younger days and took coach parties on the Emmerdale Trail, although I don't know if he ever met them or just bought the postcards as a souvenir. He was a lovely man, and I bet his guided tours were a lot of fun.

The morning mist cleared by the time we left the boatyard this morning and we were bathed in warm sunshine which was very welcome after that gloomy shed. Tricky almost wagged her tail, she was so happy to be back on the hatch and Carl and I resumed our morning routine with a nice mug of coffee and a Penguin bar as we chugged through Gnosall towards Wheaton Aston. (I can't look at a Penguin bar now without seeing that flaming basket sinking into the canal last week!) It's so good to be back on the water. This is our last week afloat for this season and we'll be whizzing back to our winter mooring on the Trent and Mersey. The weather forecast is looking good so I'm hoping for a last glimpse of summer before Christmas comes sneaking around the corner. It's also my last Jotting of the year so I thought I'd end by saying how much I've enjoyed writing to you and getting your replies back. We do love our boating life but now it's time to moor up and check if I can still remember how to drive the car so that we can start catching up with our families and friends – I wonder if anybody missed us?

That's all folks

Love from
The Floating Chandlers

Should Dogs Eat Runner Beans?

Hello again. Now, I know what you're thinking “Oh, no, he's going to rant on and on about other boaters ramming him and narrow bridges on sharp bends and toilet rolls unrolling and so on”. Well, let me tell you right now that I'm not. Although the toilet roll did unroll itself again the other day, I won't rant on about it. There may be a few other incidents that will get a mention, but they'll be described in a nice, feel-good sort of way.

To begin, then. We left the Llangollen canal for the Shropshire Union canal last Monday morning, dressed in waterproofs against the drizzle and heavy showers that had been forecast. Drizzle did fall from the heavens, followed by heavy showers, so we were glad to have dressed appropriately.

Nantwich was our first port of call; we moored just beyond the aqueduct there around lunchtime, so we decided to have our usual cheese sandwich. Later, on leaving the boat, we saw a sign telling us that the towpath was closed, which left us in a bit of a quandary, as we needed to use it to get into town. Luckily, we didn't take any notice of the sign and found that the towpath was still open for business as usual. The sign was probably some form of Health and Safety exercise. Either that or the Department of Aggravation had been meddling.

There are two busy crossroads in Nantwich, both of which have a set of traffic signals and pelican crossings that synchronise in a rather unusual way. At regular intervals all the traffic signals on every junction and every approach change to red at the same time, regardless of whether or not there is any traffic around. Bizarrely, instead of changing to green, the lights for the pelican crossings also stay on red, warning pedestrians not to cross. Any traffic unfortunate enough to approach queues pointlessly at these crossroads, and crowds of unsuspecting people can find themselves aimlessly milling about waiting for a green light. The locals on foot ignore this bemusing arrangement altogether and just stroll across at will, with barely a glance at any traffic that may or may not be waiting. Maybe the Dept. of Aggravation designed the above system.

Our business in Nantwich concluded, we set off the next morning for Audlem, with it's flight of thirteen locks. The journey was pretty straight forward, except for a boater that we saw approaching in the distance. He was on the wrong side of the canal. I expected him to steer across at some point. He did seem to make an attempt, but aborted this. As he came closer he started to weave about a bit and then looked in our direction for a second or two. Against the accepted wisdom of travelling on the correct side of the canal, which seems to work pretty well most of the time, he aimed straight at us. At the point where I began to take evasive action, he suddenly veered off to his side of the canal and skimmed by us. As his stern shot by we caught a glimpse of the iPad on his hatch and the riveting film he was watching. From the little we saw it wasn't actually a film about riveting. It looked like some sort of Western, Linda said. Speaking of films, I must watch Zulu again soon. A brilliant film. I always think any film is best enjoyed sitting down, though, not when you're driving twenty tons of steel boat along a narrow waterway.

We only came up the first three locks at Audlem; there was a good mooring available outside the Shroppie Fly so we decided to call it a day. Linda promptly disappeared into the Craft Shop and was in there for some time, she said she was only chatting but I think another bag of wool came back with her.

The next morning, after negotiating the eleven remaining Audlem locks, Linda brought my attention to a field of sheep on our right. The sheep were all lying down under a hedge in a mathematically perfect straight line. They all faced the same direction, and wore a look of “don't ask” on their faces. The mooring that night was at a quiet spot, in the middle of nowhere, just below the Adderley flight of locks - the 'shooting star mooring' for those of you who read the jottings on a regular basis.

Part of the regular mooring routine is to mop the stern deck and gunwales (pronounced gunnells) with my sweeping brush. It's ideal for the job, nice soft bristles and a long handle to dip into the water. I shook the broom over my shoulder to dry it off, and the brush flew off and into the canal, where it sank without trace. Oh, dear, I thought. Another sacrifice to the canal gods!

Market Drayton was the next stop. We were both smiling when we got there. We'd just seen two dogs enjoying the fruits of gardening. Enjoying the vegetables, actually. There was a nice crop of runner beans growing up some canes, and the dogs were standing on their hind legs, reaching up and plucking the beans with their teeth. Once they'd got one, they would then run across the garden, looking ever so pleased with themselves, and sit and eat it with great relish.

I needed a new brush, so we headed into Market Drayton. As we were hungry we stopped at a cafe for some lunch. We were the only customers there, which should have told us something. We walked through the door and a waiter nodded to us from behind his paper. We went over to a table and, sitting down, looked through the menu. I decided to have the steak and ale pie, chips and veg; Linda wanted the scampi. After a minute or so the waiter slowly ambled over, somehow making it look like we should feel honoured at this great gesture of him going the extra mile. “You ready to, like, order?” he wondered, in a not particularly interested sort of way. Then he asked us what we wanted to drink. We told him two teas. “Two teas” he repeated distastefully, as if two coffees would have been the correct answer. “Yes please, two teas” I answered, displaying my amazing gift of being polite. Off he went to the lad in the kitchen. Just as we began to over-hear some rather interesting muttering, it was drowned out by Led Zeppelin on number 11, which is obviously their music of choice when preparing food. We both like a bit of Led Zep, but I would have preferred Deep Purple or Black Sabbath. They go so much better with pie. Still, you can't have everything. When they arrived, the meals were not very rock and roll. My pie was good, but the peas were tinned. The tea was hot and the white builder's mugs seemed genuine. One particular bonus was that when I poured the tea, the teapot poured straight into the mugs, and not all over the table and into my lap, as has happened in the past. As we were leaving, a very elderly couple made their way in. “'ello John”, said the elderly man to the waiter. “Like, 'allo George and Lofty. You sitting over there or what?” said John the waiter, falling over himself with joy at the appearance of these two regulars. “We've like got some nice pies today what Tony has done” he went on. As we passed out onto the street the last thing I heard was George saying “Not with my teeth”. We probably won't go back there again. We wandered back to the boat, forgetting all about my brush.

Linda here again - I couldn't let you go without telling you about our evening cruise on Saturday evening. It was sunny, pleasantly warm and still as we set off.  We chugged under the first bridge, both of us on the stern deck, with Tricky in her usual place on the hatch. Carl said to me 'Have you got the microwave on?' Daft question really - we never use the microwave, so how could it be on. That's when I remembered that I HAD used it earlier that day and it was just possible I hadn't switched it off. In order to understand the full implications of this, I should first tell you that the microwave is my secret stash for 'treats' and I had recently stocked up with peanuts, penguin bars and a large block of milk chocolate - for emergencies you understand. Earlier that day I'd used the microwave and as soon as I'd finished, Carl switched off the power in the engine room and, without thinking, I put the plastic basket of goodies back inside and closed the door without returning the timer to zero. When we set off for our cruise, Carl switched on the power and the microwave hummed into life and started to cook the goodies - we were both happily chugging along, totally unaware of what was happening. Thankfully, Carl noticed that something was 'ON' and using a lot of power, that's when I realised what I'd done. I ran down to the galley and I could smell burning and there were flames flickering behind the microwave door. Luckily, there's a large amount of water outside the boat, so I opened the hatch and pulled the turntable out of the microwave and tipped the contents into the water. They sort of floated about for a while and then sank leaving just a sad Penguin wrapper floating, until it too gave up and disappeared. It was a sort of viking funeral for our guilty secret. It's hard to believe it, but there wasn't a single soul around to witness this drama and I'm sure you won't tell anyone will you?

So that's all for now, folks. We're going into Norbury for blacking this week and then we'll be on our way home. Have a lovely week everyone

Love from

The Floating Chandlers