Hedgerow Jottings: Three In A Bed

Chainsaw Carving

What a very convivial week it’s been here on the Lady Aberlour. We met up with the Naga Queen and our friends Pat and Malc and travelled from Norbury to Brewood with them. We immediately resumed our usual routine, trotting down the towpath every evening to chink glasses and discuss everything from the latest political shenanigans to the price of Calor Gas (exorbitant!) Tricky was overjoyed to see her old friends again and jumped aboard, without any invitation, for a bowl of 'magic' water, snacks and a snooze on their snip mat - that dog isn’t as daft as she makes out! It's been a very happy week and we were sorry to wave them off this morning. There are a few more bottles than usual waiting to go out at Autherley services and I have to admit that there was a bit of loud singing last night when we got the ukuleles out. We did a rendition of 'Rocking All Over The World' and 'Ghostriders' if you're interested. Carl plays loudly to cover my mistakes, bless him and the rest of us sing loudly, because we can (smiley face emoji.)

Mile Marker

We approached Tyrley Locks on Monday morning and I left Carl holding the boat on the lock landings while I went to get the lock ready. There was a boat just about to leave the bottom lock and he mentioned to me that he was worried about negotiating the bywash at the next lock. I could see that it was foaming white and did look extremely fierce, there had been heavy rain overnight and the rushing water would be hard to steer through. He set of from the lock at full revs and his wife and I watched in horror as he missed the lock entrance completely and clanged straight into the lock wing wall. The stern was flung around until he was broadside across the lock entrance and his wife galloped up the tow path to see what damage had been done. I set the lock for Carl and once he was settled and rising up the lock, I went to see if they were OK or needed help. Miraculously, the boat was undamaged although their dog was traumatised and their TV was smashed to pieces. The next 3 boats coming down were all very nervous and each one struggled with the rushing water. By the time we got to the top of the flight, my nerves were frazzled and I was ready for coffee. We chugged along towards Woodseaves Cutting and of course, we met boat after boat, coming towards us. I felt sorry for the boater ahead of us who was already having a bad day and I hoped that he was clear of this section before he met anybody. There have been some particularly bad landslips along here and two boats can hardly manoeuvre past each other at the best of times. We scraped our hull on submerged rocks in several places and oncoming boats played chicken with us to see who would move first but Captain Carl held his nerve and we reached the end unscathed.

Tight Squeeze

The moorings at Goldstone Wharf were busy with boats so we went through the bridge and moored in a place where the bank has been reinforced with concrete. It was an ideal place for Carl to start the repainting process. Since we left Market Drayton the towpaths have turned into a wilderness, uncut and abandoned. It's very nice to look at as you glide by in your boat, but makes mooring treacherous as the tall grass hides holes that are just waiting to trip you up and break your ankle. The boat is full of ‘bits’ that blow in or come in on dew-wet shoes and paws. Housekeeping on a boat is a thankless task, no matter how often I sweep up, the floor is always covered with straw! The view from the hatch more than makes up for that small inconvenience. A moorhen busies by with her chicks. A tiny toad pings up suddenly, scared into moving by Carl hammering in the mooring pins and hops into the safety of the undergrowth. Later on, we catch a turquoise flash as a kingfisher streaks by and we walk Tricky along the wild tow-path, thick with clover and the towering stems of hogweed. Through the hedge we glimpse the ripening glow of barley, no longer green but yellow and buttery in the dusk of a summers evening.

Summer Barley

Tiny Toad

We moored at Gnosall overnight Wednesday, had a meal in the Navigation with Pat and Malc and caught the bus into Newport on Thursday. It was a lovely sunny morning and we picked up some bargains in the charity shops including a wind up, chiming mantle clock which has merrily chimed away every few minutes since we got it home. I don’t mind it during the day but it’s a nuisance at night - Carl says it will wind down soon but if it chimes again tonight, it might meet a watery end!!

Fuelling up at Wheaton Aston - a garage on the canal

And finally I must tell you about Cecil, the ugly brute, who came aboard uninvited one night last week. We don’t know how he got in past Tricky, our alert guard dog – I have a suspicion that he hitched a lift in with her! I was putting the kettle on for our morning brew when I heard Carl suddenly shoot out of bed, like a rocket on the Fourth of July. I was mildly surprised as it's not Carl’s normal morning routine so I rushed up from the galley to see what was occurring. Carl was sweeping fiercely at the bedsheets and then produced a black SLUG which had slimed itself on board and was clinging to Carl's back. How shudderingly awful, I can only just bear it for Carl - imagine if it had been me that found it!!! How on earth did it get there? What was it doing in our bed? Needless to say, I won’t get into bed now until we have done a complete inspection of all crevices and nooks in case Cecil’s friends have come to join the party. Urrrrgh.

Goldstone - A Great Place to Paint

It’s been a very pleasant week, idling along to the end of the Shroppie, tomorrow we will be up early and pushing on towards Stourport and the River Severn. Its just turned 8pm so I’m sure you’re all tuning in to watch England play so I’ll say goodbye till next week.

Take Care Everyone

Love from

The Floating Chandlers

PS An afternoon walk sounds pleasant enough doesn't it? so I didn't take my boots and a machete when we intrepid four (and Tricky) set out following a footpath sign. Pat was our gallant leader, breaking a path through the nettles and briars as we followed a trail last trodden by the Vikings. Those are the joys of rambling in the English countryside.