This week we've taken a
luxury mooring on the Union Wharf in Market Harborough. The water
point and services are close by and we have mains electricity hooked
up to the boat. We have a splendid view over the mooring basin and
there have been lots of boats coming and going to keep us
entertained, especially now the winds got up! The 'Gin and Fizz'
restaurant is just by our stern doors which means that Tricky has an
audience every time we take her ashore for 'emptying'. Her normal
exit is through the bows, but we have reversed onto the wharf here
and tied up to a short 'finger' mooring - the bows are well away from
the bank. The only way ashore is through the stern doors and off at
the back deck - Tricky is far too much of a lady to want to use the
tradesman's entrance, so she has to be carried ashore waving her paws
to the customers in the window seats. Of course, this is only a
temporary arrangement and we'll soon be back to 'roughing it' on the
cut and to be honest, I much prefer the tranquility of a tow-path
mooring.
On our first night
here, I realised that there was a weird groaning noise overhead when
we went to bed. I tried to ignore it, but it groaned intermittently
throughout the night and woke me every hour until the dawn chorus
took over about 4am. Those of you who are related to me, or have had
the misfortune to share a breakfast table with me, will know that I'm
not at my best in the mornings. If you add 'lack of sleep' into the
equation then you might wonder how the Chandlers are managing to stay
afloat! Carl, not wanting a grumpy wife, solved the problem by
changing the whining centre line for another piece of rope, which was
older and much more co-operative and hardly moaned at all. This is
especially good news because the wind is blowing even harder this
evening and is gusting so much that it almost blew the fire out. We
had turned a bit chilly so Carl was trying to light the stove when a
great puff of wind blew down the chimney and smoke poured out of the
stove into the cabin and set off the smoke detector. I rushed around
opening hatches and windows and tried to waft the smoke out of the
back doors (more entertainment for the dining crowd in the Gin and
Fizz) while Carl battled to get the battery out of the smoke alarm.
By the time we'd cleared the smoke and the stubborn fire had got
going, the cabin was at least ten degrees colder than it was before
we started. Luckily for us, the wind has dropped, the stove is
glowing nicely and peace reigns once more in the saloon of the 'Lady
Aberlour'.
This week we have
travelled from Norton Junction, up the pretty Watford flight and
through the dripping wet Crick Tunnel, along the Leicester Arm of the
Grand Union Canal towards Market Harborough. We moored overnight at
the top of the Foxton flight and were the first boat down on a
chilly, grey morning. There are volunteers helping with the locks
and, for once, they are friendly and chatty and help me with the
gates. As I set off from the bottom lock to open the swing bridge on
the Harborough Arm, I spotted a chap with a huge white beard sweeping
up at the cafe. I was so fascinated by the hairiness of his beard
that I wanted a closer look and, if he had been willing, I would
probably have had a chat to him, he looked like an interesting sort
of person. Unfortunately for me, he wasn't feeling very sociable and
turned his back as I approached, leaving me no opportunity to wish
him a 'Good Morning' and start a conversation. I glanced back over
my shoulder and saw that Carl was out of the lock and halfway across
the basin heading for the swing bridge and I wasn't even halfway
round to open the gate. I hurried up the steep, slippery bridge and
my feet flew out from under me and I came a right cropper. As I lay
there, flat on my back, looking at the grey sky, all I could think
was – 'how the heck am I going to get up'. I was OK folks –
nothing damaged, but I cursed my new boots with their super grippy
tread, which weren't up to the job.
As soon as we arrived
in Market Harborough, I went off into town to have my hair cut and
get my eyebrows tamed. I had a bit of a wait for an appointment and
spent a good few hours wandering around the town, drinking coffee and
resisting cakes in a delightful Italian Cafe and browsing through the
vinyl 45's in the Oxfam shop. When I eventually staggered out of the
hairdressers, face red and stinging, grey hair sheered and mauled
into a quiff with some waxy stuff, I couldn't face the long walk up
the hill and decided to catch the bus. 'Do my eyes deceive me' I
thought as a little Yorkshire Terrier ,wearing a pink and white
spotted coat, got on the bus, apparently by itself, and came running
up the aisle. It jumped up onto a seat and stood looking out of the
window until a little old lady got on, pushing a bright pink
pushchair - it was all decked out with blankets and covers and had a
matching bag hanging from the handle. She parked the little buggy
and got a pink fleece blanket out and made her way down the bus to
her doggie, which was dancing with delight to see her. She sat down,
put the blanket on her knee and her little dog hopped on and snuggled
up on her lap. It made me smile to see the pair of them and I'm still
smiling now. It could only happen in England!
That's all for this
week my friends. I hope you find something to smile about this week
and don't forget to share it if you do.
Love as always
The Floating Chandlers
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