To blog or not to blog..........

I thought I was reasonably computer literate but some aspects of Blogger are defeating me.
Why does it turn some landscape photo’s on their side? Why does it suddenly alter a section of text to a smaller font even when there is no discernible difference in the original text? Why when I try to publish drafts that have been sitting there since the last time Blogger defeated me does it put it all in a February archive and not allow me to move it? Why does it think I have posted at 4.20am when it’s actually the middle of the afternoon, does it think I’m in California (I wish)? Why can’t I find my way back to alter fonts/style on headings? How do I alter ‘posted by’ (after all I might want to blame somebody else for this rubbish)? Why is Help no Help at all? Why am I doing this? What is the meaning of life?
Shirley Conran once said ‘life is too short to stuff a mushroom’.  I probably have time in my not particularly hectic schedule for a bit of mushroom stuffing but I’m beginning to think the life is too short to blog.

London

It rained all day Sunday and turned to snow overnight. Monday was bleak and drizzly and I only got off the boat to get coal.  Tuesday was cold and gry and the smattering of snow that had settled stayed put.  So did I.  Wednesday was the same with more snow forecast.  I had to go to London for a couple of days work on Thursday and Friday so, because of bad weather forecast, I decided to book a hotel for the nights of Wednesday and Thursday. It was wonderful: comfy bed: TV: hot shower: central heating: big fluffy towels.  I could get used to this, much preferable to boats on cold grey rivers. I was in Richmond, I wouldn't mind living in Richmond, it has a river and hills, wide open spaces and interesting old architecture, lovely pubs and restaurants.  One of those little terraced houses behind Sheen Road would suit me fine.  Now where did I put that spare million quid.

Then the second day of work was postponed because their server had not been configured correctly. The sun was shining and it felt warm.  The sort of day it is good to spend on a riverbank but I went to Kew Gardens instead of going straight back to the boat.  In the olden days I used to go to Kew Gardens a lot and it only cost a few pence to get in.  The price has increased dramatically since then but even so it is worth the money.  The glasshouses, old and new, are stunning, the exhibition of sculptures by David Nash are beautiful although sometimes I felt his wooden sculptures were outclassed by some of the magnificent trees that stood around them. There was an exhibition of orchids. Orchids en masse were garish blocks of colour (that’s OK I like garish) but when you look closely at the flowers they are delicate and exquisitely beautiful.  Even the planes coming into Heathrow etched against a clear blue sky seemed part of Kew’s performance.  I had a lovely day and wondered if I should leave the isolation of the river and move to London. Then two hours stuck in traffic on The North Circular put paid to that idea.

New Year Resolution - January 2013

I’ve decided that I’m not going anywhere in 2013. I’ve always said that the point of having a boat is so that I can move around but I’ve spent most of 2012 not moving because of the weather.

I decided not to head off for the canals in April because water shortages were causing stoppages so I went East and promptly got stranded at Elton for three weeks.  So I came back and left at the end of May got through to the Middle Levels with the waters of The Nene rising behind me and Strong Stream imminent.  In July I set off on two occaasions then got phone-calls to say The Nene was once again on Strong Stream. I left my boat at Clayhithe and went away for a couple of days but came back after a couple of hours because of the Cam flooding. In August Denver was closed because of low tides.  In September I got stuck at Alrewas and then at Sawley because of The Trent in flood. Then the River Soar was on red boards so I was stuck there.  In October I was in Northampton waiting for the The Nene to be navigable. So I’m fed-up of being stranded and I’m not going anywhere this year.

The moorers here are very happy with my decision.  Not because they are looking forward to having my company over the summer but because they reckon that every time I move the heavens open and the river rises.  They think if I don’t move then the weather won’t misbehave.  I don’t think they know their cause from their effect.  I am affected by the bad weather I am not the cause of it.  However if I think back I remember I have always had bad luck with weather.  I took a coach trip from Alice Springs to Uluru and couldn’t see out of the window and marvel at the desert because a thin rain obscured the view.  On average it rains twice a year in the desert. There was a drought in Italy but my sister told the locals ‘don’t worry Steph’s coming here next week so it will pour down with rain’. And it did. So this year I’ll stay moored firmly to the bank and maybe the sun will shine.

Water - November 2012

Tonight the moon is full and accompanied by his side-kick Jupiter.  It shines a silvery light almost as bright as daylight onto the river which rushes passed. A river in spate is hypnotic, especially by the light of a full moon.  In fact a river in spate is interesting at all times.  The way it’s gushing over the lock gates, the way it’s turned the hotel car park into a weir and is coming in through the tradesman’s entrance and flooding out the front door.  From the gate at the top of the hill there is a view of endless water, where once was green it is now a wet grey.

Lock Landing

 

The Environment Agency call to say that the lock landing at Lilford has escaped and is heading in our direction.  If it comes motoring downriver at a great rate of knots and slams into the boats on the bend it could cause serious damage.  But are the boaters worried? No, they’re pleased. They have all sorts of plans for a good solid fifty foot floating lock landing, the chances of the EA getting it back if it washes up here seem to be slim. In fact they can think of so many essential uses for it that it makes one wonder how we had ever managed without one in the first place.

All the plans come to nought because the lock landing doesn’t arrive.

Flooding - November 2012

The water has been coming up gradually as it seems to rain every night. First it’s coming up near the walkway, then it’s over the saggy bit in the middle of the walkway, then covering the walkway.  AB brings a milk-crate and I can put my wellies on, climb out onto the milk-crate then onto the flooded walkway slosh through the water and reach dry(ish) land.  I come home after midnight on Saturday concerned that I may not be able to get back on board but the river hasn’t risen any further and I can slosh and climb my way back onboard.  It doesn’t rain during the night but somebody pulls the plug in Northampton and the river rises another couple of feet.  On Sunday morning the milk-crate has been washed away, AB is upset because evidently it was a very useful milk-crate. My herbs have been submerged and I can’t get off the boat.

The rescue party arrives at midday carrying a planky thing covered in chicken wire with rails attached and with a great deal of skill and ingenuity (more commonly known as trial and error) aided only by coffee and beer and words of encouragement from the boat and by utilising a bit of child labour for the nasty cold bit of securing bolts under water they cobble together an escape route.  Now I can get off at the back, walk along the gunwale, lower myself onto two concrete blocks which have been piled on the rear platform, slosh through water, step onto the contraption of rails and ladders and chicken wire and concrete slabs and then once again I am on dry(ish) land

Northampton - Oct 2012

Two nights of heavy rain and one look at the volume of water in Bugbrooke are all that is needed to know the River Nene is likely to be on Strong Stream. The C&RT workers at the bottom lock on the Northampton Arm say The Nene isn’t on Strong Stream the recorded message on the EA alert says it is. We progress up The Northampton arm, trying to discern the results of the month long closure for repairs.  A bit of new infilling of brickwork, maybe the gates are a bit easier, or maybe it is just two months on the canals that have raised fitness levels.  Definitely no sign of any weed clearance or dredging.

 At the second to last lock on the flight a narrow boat is coming down but seems to take an inordinate amount of time, I stroll up and find he is stuck in the lock.

‘This lock is very narrow’ he says.  It may be the narrowness of the lock that has jammed him in but I suspect that his large blue fenders, the type more commonly seen on cruisers, may have more to do it.  We manage to drag the boat out, lift the fenders and Hey Presto it goes in with inches to spare on each side.

After we leave the Rothersthorpe flight we’re scraping along the bottom and getting snarled up with weeds.  At the top lock the red flags are flying and the flow on The Nene is strong so we stay on the canal. 

The next day the flow has eased, my crew member is going home and I take the boat to the new Northampton Marina because I have a couple of days work in London and don’t want to leave it by itself on the Town Quay.  The marina is lovely, a clean launderette and showers plus the luxury of a landline.  I look for electrical items to plug in but I’ve slung everything that won’t work from the batteries power and apart from having a fully charged phone and computer I can’t find anything with which to take advantage of the landline.  I’m tempted to go into town and buy a hairdryer and kettle so I can utilise all the free power.

 
When I arrive back at Northampton station late on Thursday night, in the rain, lugging a heavy computer I decide to get a taxi for the short journey and ask to be taken to Northampton Marina.

‘I take you on Ring Road to Billings’
 
‘Not Billings Marina the one in the centre of Northampton’

 ‘OK. I take you to Gayton’

'No Northampton Marina’

‘You mean other at Gayton’

 ‘Oh sod it, just take me to Morrisons and I’ll find my own way there.’ Is the Marina Northamptons best kept secret?

To Leicester and beyond - October 2012

Leaving Sawley Lock
A motley collection of boats are moored up.  Herons on the bankside and a flock of Canada Geese in the field.  Cows and calves grazing on the water meadows. Wide open stretches of water that moves swiftly.  Yippeee I’m back on a river!

Kegworth

A smart vegetable delivery van is parked in a layby.  The wording painted neatly next to the back door says ‘There are no cabbages left in this vehicle overnight’

Foxton

I like going through Foxton Locks. I often find that being at the helm of a boat progressing up a flight of locks is rather tedious.  I get bored and get off to help and muck up the routine of the workers, I lose concentration and bang into things, I grumble because everything takes so long. But here at Foxton progress is quick due to the help from volunteers, as the boat emerges from the depths of the locks there are plenty of people along the towpath to chat to. As we move on up the view opens out into a vista across the fields. Then when we moor up at the top there is a boat selling books and a shop selling ice-cream and down at the bottom there is a pub and the sun is shining.  What more could one wish for?

Captain Splendid - September 2012

We put the boat into the fourth lock on the Aston flight and the gate won’t close fully. We poke behind the gates with the boat hook, sweep the boat pole in the deeper water around the centre but don’t dislodge anything.  We faff about a bit, have a chat with a woman from a following boat who has come up to see what the delay is and think about ringing C&RT.  They’re not far away and it will give them something to do.

But fear not faint hearted boaters help is on the way! On the tow-path a t-shirted crusader can be seen in the distance on his trusty two-wheeled steed.  He’s hunched over the handle-bars, knobbly knees working like pistons, grey hair streaming in the wind and under his arm he is carrying a boat pole as if it is a jousting spear. It’s Captain Splendid! The only thing missing is accompanying music of The Ride of the Valkeries.  We were just getting into a conversation about the performance of Michael MacIntyre who the crew of the following boat had been to see the previous evening. But Captain Splendid has no time for small talk, he has a mission to accomplish, he has an itinerary to stick to, he can’t waste time with jammed lock gates.  He ignores us and vigorously pokes around near the lock entrance and locates a solid obstruction.  Deciding that it needs more equipment to dislodge it he jumps back on his bike and pedals away furiously to get said equipment.  I lean on the lockgate so as to continue the conversation about Michael MacIntyre and it closes.  So we put the boat back in the lock and go on our way.

Drab - September 2012

A dead black and white puppy is sharing the water with the Tesco’s bags, plastic bottles, empty cider cans and myriads of unidentifiable rubbish. The bottom of the boat scrapes on debris hidden under murky water. The derelict canal side buildings are daubed with graffiti. On another day I might have been interested in all the old industrial architecture but on a day of cold relentless rain I just find the journey into Birmingham depressing.

 

Hatton - September 2012

A sunny Sunday in September on the Hatton flight, the walkers and watchers are thick along the lock sides and I’m the side-show.  Give me an audience and I can be relied upon to entertain them with my incompetence.

 ‘She’s never going to manage to get into the lock with only one gate open.  Yes she is. Yes she is …… oohhh dear what a shame…….’

‘Is she meant to thump into the gate like that?’

One of my crew gets off leaving the windlass behind and I sling it over to him.  It bounces back and lands in the canal.  We get the sea magnet out and start fishing. For a while we only manage to catch either the boat or the metal piling.  Spectators gather.  A toddler is getting perilously near the edge. If he falls in and is wearing old towelling nappies held together with large safety pins we may be able to fish him out with the magnet.  If he’s wearing Pampers then he’ll sink without trace.  The windlass is suddenly fished out.  It’s not my windlass but it will do.

 

I watch three children try to open a lock gate before the lock has filled.  They heave and push and push and heave and go purple in the face.  Then the water equalises and gate swings open and they cheer because they have been strong enough to shift that nasty old gate.

At the café four children stand at the edge of the canal eating ice-cream and we decide we want an ice-cream too.  I throw the centre rope to the crew member and … ‘F****k….’  

Don’t be shocked dear children F****k is just a technical term us boaters use when we have knocked our best china mug and the Nicholsons Guide into the canal.

 

At the last lock the crew are happy to have got twenty locks behind them and have sight of the pub on the hill above. They get a new lease of life and have a paddle speed winding competition.  First P’s paddle is ahead and the boat slams into the lock wall on the left, then J gets ahead and the boat slams to the right. I shout succinct instructions at the winders which they ignore. The spectators gather and wince at each hefty slam of boat against lock wall. As the boat emerges from the depths they peer in the windows and I can tell from their expressions that it’s not a pretty sight in there. Books and pictures are all scattered across the floor.  The wall clock is spewing it’s innards over the worktops and the cupboard doors are open and their contents falling out.

 

We leave the lock, moor up, the crew wends their weary way towards the pub and I follow after I’ve restored the boat contents to their rightful places. I buy them both a drink but I’m not talking to them.

I got up this morning and went out with the camera.  It was early but men with strimmers were out and the rubbish was being collected.  The area around Hatton is well kept and attractive.  I loved the picnic tables constructed from old wooden pilings.  It is a reminder that the canals are not just for boaters in their pretty painted boats but for the cyclists and the walkers and the watchers (I hate the word gongoozlers). It is the inheritance of everybody in this country and although us boaters might pay more for being there we also demand more in the way of maintenance and facilities.  I can moan with the best of them about the high salaries paid in the upper echelons of C&RT and don’t get me started on the subject of fishermen but it is a difficult task keeping the interests of all the users of the canal system satisfied when the funding is diverse yet limited. 

Going Home - August 2012

 

I leave March early giving me plenty of time to get to my booked slot at Stanground for Ipm but progress is slow. The drains I’m traveling on are shallow and weedy, I have to stop twice to remove weed from the propeller.  When I get to the lock at Whittlesey I can’t find the key to unlock the padlock on the gate on the fence surrounding the lock. Maybe I never had one. This means I definitely won’t make Stanground by 1pm so I call the lock-keeper, she tells me there are two boats heading in my direction and they’ll open the gates for me.  I suspect I know the occupants of the two boats.  I’ll get a lot of flak for not having the right equipment.  They arrive: I know them:  the derogatory comments flow freely. I decline the invitation to turn around and join them on their travels  because I’ve vowed never to go through that tidal stretch of The Great Ouse again. 

 

I overnight at Whittlesey, get to Peterborough in the morning and head off up The Nene more or less uneventfully, except at Stibbington.  I’m stung on the back of my leg and it hurts, I’m level with an EA mooring when it happens so make a quick decision to stop and slap some anti-histamine on the sting. I turn in and am about to get off, think I’m a bit too near a river cruiser, put the boat into reverse and then get off.  Despite a history of making silly mistakes I have never before stepped off the boat leaving it in gear. I blame that nasty critter that stung me. It took a few seconds to realise why the boat wasn’t going where I was pulling it. In those few seconds it had progressed far enough from the bank for me to be unable to get back on.  I panicked had flashes of the boat crashing and overturning and causing general mayhem.  I wrapped the rope tightly around a bollard, the pontoon rocked violently, momentarily I thought boat, me, pontoon and cruiser would all be heading towards Peterborough then the boat came in and I was able to hop on the gunwales and put the gear into neutral.  After that it was plain sailing apart from mis-calculating the distance between Yarwell and Elton and having to travel in the dark for half an hour before I reached my night-time mooring.

 

In the two days on The Nene I didn’t meet any boats in locks, just passed a couple of cruisers on the open river.  Then at Aston I pulled up at the lock, decided to make a coffee and grab a late lunch and suddenly there were boats to the left of me boats to the right of me all wanting to know why I had stopped there.  ‘Was I going to be long?’ ‘Did I know I shouldn’t stop at a lock?’ ‘Was I intending going through?’  Oh bugger off the lot of you I just needed a break.

 

Back to Denver - August 2012

I intended to leave the Ouse in the middle of July but when it was convenient for me to leave The Nene was on Strong Stream and when the Strong Stream was lifted it wasn’t convenient. But now the sun is shining my sister is here so I have crew for the journey across the Middle Levels and down the Nene. We’ve progressed to Denver and it’s my birthday. We’re having a bankside BBQ with friends the sausages are suitably burnt, the wine suitably cold and I’m chilled out.  Then a passing man says ‘Did you know Denver Lock is closed for the next five days?’  ‘Whaaatt…!’

In this summer of excessive rain it transpires that bloody Denver Lock is closed because of lack of water. Low tides and high sandbanks make navigation of the short tidal stretch of the Ouse impossible.  So my sister and I tie up the boat and go to the seaside for four days and have a lovely time and then she goes home and I go back to the boat.  Crewless.

On Wednesday the lock is open, I decide I’ll watch todays batch go through on the high tide and see how difficult it is to get round the sandbank. It is difficult, one boat gets stuck and has to pole off, another reverses out, only one gets out perfectly but he has a bow-thruster so that’s cheating. I’ll go through on Thursday.  On the early morning tide on Thursday a Fox’s hire boat gets stuck on the sandbank. That gives the bridge based spectators something to tut tut about and puts the fear of God into me.  They get the boat off on the evening tide but there’s little time for other boats to go through.  I’ll go on Friday.  Friday is wet and windy. I’ll go on Saturday.

On Saturday morning I’m waiting on the lock moorings, the filling in the sandwich between two other narrowboats.  They have crew and bow-thrusters and they’re worried. I have neither and I’m very worried. I’m not sure what use crew would be apart from being there to mop my fevered brow but a bow-thruster would come in very handy. The first one leaves without a problem, the boat coming from Salters Lode comes in efficiently and then it’s my turn.  Into the lock, wait for it to fill, then nervously head out.  I heed the advice of the lock-keeper (unusual in itself) and don’t run aground although I’m a bit nearer the sandbank than I intended to be. I get into Salters Lode neatly (more good luck than good judgement involved there) and that’s it. I’m on my way home.

 

Trolling - August 2012

A sign on The Great Ouse says.   ‘Trolling Banned.  Penalty £1000.’ Be careful Billy Goats Gruff roistering on that rickety rackety bridge could prove expensive.

Schadenfreude Saturday - July 2012

Isn’t it a bugger when you don’t see another boat for days and then when you do something stupid two come along at once.

We rounded a bend on The Old West River with a cruiser in impatient pursuit and there crossways across the river was a narrowboat. They were trying to turn a fifty foot boat in a forty eight foot wide river and surprise, surprise it had got stuck.  The woman is on the bank heaving at the bow rope the man is at the tiller revving the engine for all it is worth (it’s OK it’s only a hire boat) and the boat is jammed at both ends: the bow in the pilings the stern in the reeds.  He shouts at us not to come too close (we weren’t intending to).  They swap places she sits at the stern revving he pulls at the front.  He is panicking, it’s bad enough getting your boat stuck but getting it stuck with an audience….. He leans over to pull at a different angle and falls in the river.  I’m not laughing, honest I’m not laughing and my crew-mate Karen isn’t laughing either, we've stuffed hankies into our mouths to make sure we're not laughing. As a frequent faller-iner  I have a great deal of sympathy with him. Honestly it’s not at all funny. 

I send Karen to the front to ask if they’d like a push.  The lady says ‘Yes Please’ so I gently push against the side, that doesn’t work.  I reverse, give a bit more throttle, hit the side nearer the stern with a thump and suddenly they are released like a cork from a champagne bottle.  We wave cheerily and go on our way leaving the gentleman to dry off and regain some dignity.

The river cruiser uses the fact that I am now slowly scraping along in the reed bed to overtake me on the wrong side at a bend.  Huhhh….

Cambridge - July 2012

Stop Press: Lunching Ladies Save a Drunk from the Drink

Three middle-aged ladies reported they were having a late lunch onboard a narrowboat moored in Cambridge when they became aware of an altercation taking place between two men.  They had noticed that one of the men had been sitting on a park bench for a few hours sharing bottles of strong cider with a blonde woman.  Another two men arrived and an argument broke out.  One of the new arrivals started swinging punches at the man on the bench.  The man on the bench didn’t retaliate only backed away, this scenario continued for a few minutes before the new arrival grabbed hold of him threw him in the river. The two men and the woman then left leaving their victim in the water.

The three women on the boat left their half-eaten lunch and strolled over to aid the drowning man.

SL said ‘I grabbed the boat hook in case I needed to haul him out.  I had done a life-saving course but this was many years ago and I had only saved a brick from the bottom of a swimming pool not a drunk from the bottom of the river. I seemed to remember that when diving in to save a life it is essential to wear pyjamas but I didn’t have time to put them on’
 
MG said ‘I pointed out my blouse was dry clean only so I wasn’t going to dive in the river to rescue him and if he needed mouth to mouth resuscitation I most certainly wasn’t going to do it’

CC said ‘When we reached him he was holding onto the ropes of a boat.  I asked if he could swim and he said he couldn’t so I told him in that case he better not let go of the ropes. I suggested that he move over to the back of the boat where he could climb on the ledge and get out but he said he’d broken his ribs and just wanted to rest for a few minutes’

 
SL reported that after some time the man decided to try and get out. Keeping hold of the rope he lifted his legs on the bank but this tipped him over and his head started to disappear under the water.  Two of the women grabbed a leg each and the other grabbed an arm and they managed to pull him out.

 The ladies were asked if they called an ambulance or sent for medical assistance.  They said he was a drunk and they didn’t want to get involved so they just left him on the bank to dry off and went back to their lunch. They felt that they needed a large glass of wine each after all that drama. 

SL did say that she thought of taking him a mug of hot sweet tea but he did look rather unhygienic and she didn’t want to risk contaminating her best mugs.

Denver - June 2012

The first time I did the tidal stretch from Salters Lode to Denver Lock it was straightforward.  I made a slight error when I started to turn left instead of right but the lock-keeper shouted from the bank ‘Are you planning on going to Sweden? So I did a handbrake turn and glided effortlessly down to Denver Lock on an incoming tide.  Six months later from Denver to Salters Lode I glided effortlessly from Denver Lock to Salters Lode Lock on an outgoing tide.

 This time the sandbanks have arrived. Going from Salters Lode I have to wait for the tide to fall sufficiently to allow the boat to get under the bridge and then I have instructions to keep to the right and await signals from the lock-keeper at Denver to tell me when to turn and avoid the sandbank.

‘That current looks strong’ I said to Salters Lode lock-keeper.

 ‘Yes’ he said non-committedly.

 As I leave the lock he says ‘when your stern clears, gun it.’  That sounds a bit ominous. Then  my stern clears and despite gunning it the strong tide and the stiff wind get hold of me and I’m traveling faster on my boat then I’ve ever done before but unfortunately  I’m going side-ways in the wrong direction.  I envisage giving Kings Lynn a cheery wave as I pass by heading crabwise towards the North Sea. Gradually the bow turns and I come back pass Salters Lode and acknowledge, with my best Queen-style smile and wave, the cheering spectators standing on the bridge. Nearing Denver I couldn’t make out which of the figures on that bridge was the lock-keeper.  When I eventually identified him he was waving furiously because I’d gone too far down the Hundred Foot.  I turned, bounced into the channel and then bounced into Denver Lock.  I got into trouble from the grump on duty for taking too long ‘there’s other people waiting you know’ he said.  When I got through I moored up and went straight into the Jennyns Arms for a stiff drink.

Stranded - April 2012

 

I was planning on carrying on to Peterborough but we stopped at Elton and carried on into the pub instead.  Then one crew member flew back to Italy, one went North and I went South.  It rained.  It rained and it rained.  I have a mooring on The Nene and know that it goes up and down more often than a tarts knickers so I had moored against a high bank, tied the stern rope to a tree and left plenty of ply in the ropes. Still while I was away I worried about the boat.

 I came back to the boat four days later, aware that the Environmental Agency had issued Strong Stream Advice.  The floating pontoon for the lock was being buffeted by the torrent of water coming through the lock and swans nests and debris zoomed passed.  When I saw a telegraph post hurtling downstream I decided the EA’s Strong Stream Advice was justified.  The boat was very high but dry, unlike the bank which was sodden and wouldn’t hold the plank safely.  The best way to get on was to go half way along the boat, stand on a solid bit of bank, then fall towards the boat, catch the rail, step onto the gunwale and walk along it.  Reasonably easy in daylight less so in darkness when I couldn’t work out what to do with the torch and when I put the torch somewhere I thought useful it shone in a useless direction or shone in my eyes and blinded me.

There was only one other boat stranded at Elton, a river cruiser and the occupants wisely spent most evenings in the pub so if I fell in there would be no-one to hear me scream.

The rain continued and it was three weeks before the locks were returned to their rightful position and the river deemed navigable.  By then I had better things to do than spend another four days travelling to Ely so I turned around and the boat and I went home.

A Short Journey - April 2012

I picked up two friends in Oundle, neither of whom had been on a narrowboat before, and we set off towards Peterborough. I showed them how to operate the locks and between us we developed a routine. Admittedly it wasn’t a slick or pretty routine but it sort of worked, sometimes.

As we approached Warmington Lock we could see that somebody was lowering the guillotine gate.  I assumed there was a boat coming through the lock, I couldn’t see one so it must have been a small boat.  We decided that I’d moor up and the crew would go to help.  I went into the lock landing a bit faster than usual to compensate for the cross wind and strong pull from the weir, over-compensated and No1 Crew decided I was going too fast, didn’t want to risk been catapulted onto the bank so sat down instead of getting off.  I pranged the lock landing and got pulled across the river by the wind and the draw from the weir.  Five minutes later after much huffing and puffing on my part and grinding and roaring on the part of the engine we got back onto the landing and tied up.  There was a woman operating the lock and gesticulating at us but I couldn’t see a boat in the lock and there was none in sight. Why? Did she enjoy a work-out on the guillotine wheel? Did she have a lock fetish? Was she mad? The crew went warily forth to see what was happening.  Dog-phobic No 2 Crew was not helped by the presence of two large black Labradors. She was told to take the windlass and close the paddles.  Not used to being given orders she went into dumb mode ‘Windlass? Oh you mean the windy thing. What should I do with it?’

The lock opened and I pinged in (I wasn’t having a good driving day).  The Lady of the Lock took my bow rope and tied it to the bollard. I shouted to No1 and she untied it took the centre rope and according to our now established (but still not very pretty) routine she looped it round a bollard and passed the end back to me. No point in being tied securely when you have a crew that are prone to stand and chat or wander off to look at the wildlife and totally ignore the boat in the lock. The v-gates closed the crew went to the wheel to raise the gate.  They were told off for doing it too quickly.  The Lady of the Lock obviously didn’t realise that after the first few vigorous turns of the wheel they’d run out of energy and would lay gasping on the ground for the next ten minutes. At this point she must have deemed my crew to be incompetent because they were summarily dismissed and told to wait on the lock landing. Unexpectedly obedient they did so.  Excuse me lady, might I need my rope unwrapping before my crew are dismissed? Lock empty: gate open: no crew: deep lock: Lady of the Lock looking into the distance and I’m down there attached to a bollard.  So I climbed on the roof and unwrapped the rope and got back at the helm. Then I managed to drop the rope into the water and had to walk along the gunnel to retrieve it.

Then I went to collect my crew.  ‘What kept you they asked?’ And still we don’t know why a lady was operating a boatless lock in the middle of nowhere.