On The Grand Union

Checked that the Anglers Retreat in Marsworth was still alive (there are so many dead pubs along the canal) and would be showing the FA CUp.  Made the short journey there, disposed of the crew, I was sad to see them go because we’d had fun and I got a lot of help.

When I settled down to watch the football Hull City were two goals ahead, it was the first time I’d watched Hull City play for nearly forty years and they must have been so shocked by my sudden support that they never scored again and managed to concede three goals.  The Arsenal supporters I sat amongst were very happy and as by the end of extra time I’d drunk rather a lot of Thatchers cider I didn’t care anyway.

 

 

Sunday was an early start (well early for me) down the flight of locks and onto the wooded cutting of the Tring summit.  A fishing match was in progress, the first fisherman in line shouted to me ‘Don’t slow down, just drive at them, those poles are expensive they’ll soon lift them.’  I wondered  if he was trying to contrive an unfair advantage by getting me to disturb the fish.

I did slow down and got smiles and nods from 80% of the fishermen and only 20% avoided eye contact.  No shouts or waving of fists. That was a pretty good ratio of smiles to frowns for disturbing a fishing competition. It must have been the weather that did it.  It was a day of glorious sunshine with the light filtering through the trees and dappling the water.  The smell of May blossom in the air, the birds in full throttle, a day like that must have cheered the grumpiest of canal fishermen.

Lots of boats moored along the canal side and in the marinas but very few on the move, the ones I did see were mainly single-handed young men.  Shared Cowroast Lock with one and his Rottweiler dog that leaned over and slobbered against my leg.  He said ‘don’t worry, she’s as gentle as a kitten’.  Most kittens I have known aren’t in the least bit gentle, they’re all teeth and claws and spend their days honing them for a life-time of disembowelling small furry and feathery creatures.

At Bushes Lock we meet our first comer uppers a pair of Fellows and Clayton working boats with putt-putt engines came through.  A man dressed as Charlie Chaplin complete with grey spats and bowler hat was taking a photograph of them.  He probably  wasn’t travelling with the boats because historic boats are usually manned by men with oily rags, not immaculately dressed Charlie Chaplin look-a-likes.

 

Through Berkhamsted where the canal side pubs were heaving and spewing customers across the towpath.  At The Rising Sun lock groups of drinkers peered in the windows. I knew I should have made the beds and washed up. Stopped for the night a bit further on alongside back gardens with the smell of barbeques and sounds of children playing cricket and Virgin trains screeching passed.  Maybe not the prettiest stopping place but further along was Sewer Lock and that didn’t sound very appealing and it was close enough to Berkhamsted for me to manage a wander around.