Too busy

When we came up to Scotland for our working week, I did hope that we'd be able to squeeze in a bit of leisure time too but things have been absolutely manic! This van is a hive of activity, the two little worker bees cranking out emails and copy and software in a show of unprecedented energy and focus while the five doggy drones just....well sleep really. Our days have all had the same structure - wake up - walk dogs - work - walk dogs - work - walk dogs - feed dogs - feed ourselves - go to bed. And nice as it's been to be in such a pictureskew spot, it has been a little fevered and relentless. It's not helped by dogs that insist on extending their walks by disappearing into the dunes or splashing about in rock pools, showing that selective deafness that my husband also appears to be catching. What part of 'do the washing up for once' doesn't he understand?

Anyway, such has been the pace of the week that we've awarded ourselves a long BH weekend and so tomorrow, we're making an unscheduled side trip to Orkney. Judging by the winds today, the crossing of the Pentland Firth - comfortingly one of the most treacherous stretches of water in the world - should be 'interesting', and I'm not overly keen on undertaking any cliff-walking without a carabina or three. We're planning a couple of nights of wild camping - wild being the operative word - before returning to the mainland on Sunday. In the meantime, we're going to try and squeeze a 7.5m motorhome into the local Tesco car park tonight - if you see us driving along with a trolley mangled beneath the wheels, do give us a shout won't you?

Just beachy

The fact that the highlight of this morning’s dog walk was Susie attempting a ‘wall of death’ run up a vertical sand dune will tell you that we successfully arrived at Dunnet Bay over the weekend. The lowlight was me chucking the pink Frisbee left-handed straight into sea and having to go for a bracing paddle to retrieve it. I later threw it right-handed and the wretched thing, unclaimed by any of our disobliging non-retriever greyhounds, rolled annoyingly into the surf. I couldn’t be arsed with the shoe/sock kerfuffle again so I just got everything wet. Let’s hope they’re dry by now as I’m about to go out.

The journey up, though long, was without incident, except for the small matter of a fridge pack of Diet Coke falling on my head. I’d told A that things shifted in transit and to be careful when opening lockers and what does he do? And with me sitting directly beneath? Of course, it was all my fault as I should have put the box elsewhere although there was no place else for it…never mind my sore head…We overnighted at Balbirnie CC site near Glenrothes which was surprisingly only half full, before making our way to the top of Scotland on Sunday. We were greeted by wind and rain but today it’s sunny if a little blustery, and it does make for a very pleasant backdrop to work.

We’re staying until the weekend when we head a little south east to the Grummore site, by which time the dogs will be completely exhausted if this morning’s antics are anything to go by. Like most greyhounds, ours love the beach, Susie in particular, but I know that what they really want is to get up into the dunes. This happened last year and I lost Susie and Arthur for a good half hour. When they eventually deigned to show up, Susie had to have a lie down and Arthur’s tongue was dragging on the ground… She’s had one failed go this morning but it’s only a matter of time. I ask you, is this any way for a pensioner to behave?

Just beachy

The fact that the highlight of this morning’s dog walk was Susie attempting a ‘wall of death’ run up a vertical sand dune will tell you that we successfully arrived at Dunnet Bay over the weekend. The lowlight was me chucking the pink Frisbee left-handed straight into sea and having to go for a bracing paddle to retrieve it. I later threw it right-handed and the wretched thing, unclaimed by any of our disobliging non-retriever greyhounds, rolled annoyingly into the surf. I couldn’t be arsed with the shoe/sock kerfuffle again so I just got everything wet. Let’s hope they’re dry by now as I’m about to go out.

The journey up, though long, was without incident, except for the small matter of a fridge pack of Diet Coke falling on my head. I’d told A that things shifted in transit and to be careful when opening lockers and what does he do? And with me sitting directly beneath? Of course, it was all my fault as I should have put the box elsewhere although there was no place else for it…never mind my sore head…We overnighted at Balbirnie CC site near Glenrothes which was surprisingly only half full, before making our way to the top of Scotland on Sunday. We were greeted by wind and rain but today it’s sunny if a little blustery, and it does make for a very pleasant backdrop to work.

We’re staying until the weekend when we head a little south east to the Grummore site, by which time the dogs will be completely exhausted if this morning’s antics are anything to go by. Like most greyhounds, ours love the beach, Susie in particular, but I know that what they really want is to get up into the dunes. This happened last year and I lost Susie and Arthur for a good half hour. When they eventually deigned to show up, Susie had to have a lie down and Arthur’s tongue was dragging on the ground… She’s had one failed go this morning but it’s only a matter of time. I ask you, is this any way for a pensioner to behave?

Cheshire cat - and dog

Linda the lockie was on duty when we came up Hurleston on Friday and it was a chance for a natter and a catch-up. Of course the big news is that she and partner Mark have taken over narrowboat hire outfit Cheshire Cat – so while shepherding boats safely and considerately through the flight, Linda is also fretting about whether her customers are having a good time. She desperately wants them to enjoy themselves and to have a positive experience of the canals so you can only imagine her reaction when she got a hysterical call from one of their first hirers – “we’ve crushed the dog between the bank and the boat”. It transpired that the dog – as is their custom – had attempted to follow its owner as he jumped off the boat but didn’t make it. Poor pooch then got walloped by the boat as it thrashed around in the water but proving that it’s not only cats – Cheshire or otherwise – that have nine lives, the dog escaped albeit with a broken leg. I’m pleased to report that the vets in Trevor promptly attended to the limb, the patient is now doing well and the hirers, on their return to base, said that they’d had a fantastic time notwithstanding. Now that’s the spirit, isn’t it? Makes you wonder about the odd miserable sod you see cruising for whom travelling our wonderful waterways seems more like a penance than a pleasure.

How can you not love doing this?

The pig and camel

No, the pig and camel is not some outré new gastro pub that we hit upon as we wended our way back home; no, it’s simply the easiest way to sum up the long weekend that has seen us return to first base (by boat) and second base (by car).

The pig is the large sow, accompanied by her nine piglets (surely that makes them nonolets?) that had broken out of the farm below Minshull Lock and was making muddy merry on the towpath. From the state of the grass they’d obviously been rootling for a while and having a damn good time while they were about it. Apparently, according to the blue shirts who had been summoned to the scene, it’s not the first time it’s happened but unfortunately the farm owner has been watching too many Scorsese films and considers himself the local godfather. We heard all sorts of lurid tales which I won’t repeat here for fear of waking up with a horse’s head next to me tomorrow morning.

The camel is the large humped beast that we found chowing down on the local village green this morning. In fact, it was two camels and they had two mates which looked remarkably like zebras. Had my latte been spiked with some hallucinogen? Maybe the pig farmer resented me taking pics of his porkers and had already wreaked a terrible revenge and I was dead and in some Dantean netherworld? Actually, it appears that the circus has come to town and they thought the lush village green would be a lovely place to peg everyone out in the sun. Llamas too apparently…

So you can see we’re back to ‘normal’ after the perfect execution of the Friday/Saturday cruise plan. So often when we’ve promised ourselves an early start, we’ve simply thrown the alarm clock on the floor in a hail of throaty invective and gone back to sleep. But the threat of Middlewich madness had us walking the dogs at 5.30 (their expressions all said the same thing: what time do you call this?) and pulling the pins bang on six. It all went off very well until Wardle Lock, when a stream of Andersen/Alvechurch/Middlewich boats decided to come down, with one turning the lock in our face so blatantly that A was in danger of having an apoplectic fit until the nice lady behind them came and calmed him down. Let's just say, if he'd had toys, they'd have been out of the pram...and probably shoved somewhere very painful.

I was just hoping that we’d be able to moor up close to John and Fiona on Epiphany and sure enough we slotted in right in front. Yes, get the kettle on, you two! It was really lovely to see them both again after what must be at least a couple of years and I only wished we could have chatted for longer. They have exciting cruising plans ahead of them and I’ll certainly be following their blog with interest. This was yet another meeting (following on from the likes of Caxton, Indigo Dream, Seyella, Contented Souls etc) that demonstrated once again what a diamond bunch of folk there are out there on the waterways. Yes, sure, you get some muppets but you get them anywhere, but on the cut you do seem to have more of those precious encounters with people you quickly realize will be friends for life.

The rest of the cruise back to base was uneventful apart from the Beatrix Potter-esque interlude at Minshull and here we are at home…until Saturday when we take off again for some work-cum-motorhome adventuring. Poor old Arthur….just when he thought he’d escaped the whiz-bang-clonk of the boat, he’s got to cope with the flying baked bean tins and falling ladders in the van. Tune in again next Monday to see just how many Costa outlets it is possible to visit in one trip up the length of the A1.

Homeward bound

I think today can be summed up as follows: we’ve been passed by more boats in one afternoon on the Trent & Mersey than we have seen in our entire two and a half week sojourn on the Weaver. We just want to go back down again…Actually, it’s always nice to renew acquaintance with this stretch and we’ve had a good run down, stopping just short of Bramble Cuttings on the rings on the right hand side. We had earlier shared the lift up with Adagio on the 11.45am passage and once again were struck by the calm efficiency of the all the staff there (you can give the café coffee a miss though…)

I think the dogs were relieved to get back on the shallower canals as mummy had made them rather nervous with her speed trials – well, I thought I’d use the run from Barnton back to the lift to see how fast the old girl could go as I’ve always had this suspicion that she’s a bit underpowered for some reason (there’s a growing consensus that we should take a serious look at the prop – size, type, manufacturer, with Crowther being the name consistently popping up). Now maybe it’s because I’m a woman driver but I’ve never felt the need before to ‘see what she can do’ and take her beyond her usual 1500-1700 revs but again, my ‘advisers’ said that this was barely scratching the surface and to test her out I should really crank her up to 2400 or so. Well I did and we certainly did seem to shift a bit but A shot out the back wondering why we were making a sound like a torpedo and that if I didn’t slow down and return the noise levels to normal, poor Arthur would hyperventilate into an early doggie grave.

So the results were inconclusive….just for the record, the speed/power thing is not to burn off other boats but for peace of mind if we ever need to punch a tide or cope with strong conditions. Deep down, I feel a 57 footer powered by a Beta 43 should have a bit more grunt on her, in fact a lot more grunt on her…the prop is 18 x 12, the size specified by Beta, but again I’ve been told that three same size props from three different manufacturers could give you three different results. I don’t know if there’s any truth in that, the whole thing is a complete mystery to me in fact, but I may well put in a call to Crowther and see what they say. Shire Cruisers, our likely summer home, recommend them so maybe if there is some work in that department that needs doing, they can do it for us before we return Midlands-wards in the autumn.

This evening we’ve been fortunate enough to find a safe field in which to let the dogs have a run (just by bridge 176) although they all seemed more interested in eating grass. They eventually got going, charging about the place for ten minutes or so before running out of puff - we even felt plucky enough to let Monty off, with me standing with the rest of the dogs at the field exit/entrance and A hand-slipping Monty like in his old schooling days. The question was, would Monty run straight towards us? Yes. Would he try his usual trick of dodging around us and carrying on into the far yonder? No. Would he wait patiently for mummy to come and put his lead back on? Yes. And he got a big warm hug from said mummy who was mightily relieved that he did stop and didn’t tank right into us as he was going at a fair old lick, I can tell you! But it was wonderful to see him in full flight, it really was. We’re just hoping his legs don’t swell up as they’re wont to do after vigorous exercise. Frankenpaws we call him...

We’re looking to make a very early start tomorrow as we’d like to get through Middlewich before any scrum develops, leaving us free to saunter across the arm and back to base in time for a Saturday am getaway home. Home…funny that, as this feels like home now. Actually, it feels like a greenhouse because we lit the fire at teatime and it must be 90F in here!

Spamalot

Today has been a bit curate's eggy. We awoke to the sound of rain on the roof so promptly pulled the duvet back over our heads, only finally emerging when our need for tea outdid our need for sleep. I was struck once again by the barometric sensor that seems to exist within our dogs, which has them quiescent for ages whenever it's a damp and miserable morning, but squeaking and sticking their noses in my face from 6am when it's fine and sunny. Who needs seaweed or BBC Weather? Just look at Susie - is there any sign of a raised eyelid or not? Is her bum still in her blanket?

Thankfully the rain cleared away by about 10.30am, and the arrival of a boat below Dutton was our signal to get going and save the lockie the trouble of penning us through separately. We took it slowly to Saltersford so that we'd time our arrival for the end of the lunch break, but lost our companion en route who was seduced by the two for one offer on at the Riverside pub. A meanwhile was seduced by the Spam that I'd bought for the dogs. Why did I bother getting Sainsbugs' Taste the Difference Wiltshire Cured Ham for his sarnies when all he wants is bloody Spam? And the dogs' corned beef looks as though it's been tampered with too...

We moored up for the last time in Barnton Cut and I made arrangements with helpful local cabbies, Twinz Travel, to pick me up in Nantwich later in the afternoon. I then recovered the car from Barnton and drove it to Nantwich in readiness for Saturday's return home, eventually meeting up with the lovely Kev from TT; he drove me back to the boat while demonstrating that it was indeed possible to talk incessantly for 55 minutes without pausing for breath or having your passenger leg it at the lights just for some much needed respite.

Tomorrow we're due to leave the Weaver and it'll be with heavy hearts I'm sure. It could be a couple of years before we're back but back we will be, if they'll have us. Thanks for a great time, RWN - we'll miss you.

Easter snapshot

Now where were we? Ah yes, planning a Saturday ‘from bottom to top of the Weaver’ cruise…Well, that was always going to happen, not. We got seduced by the sun at Barnton and pulled over onto an empty mooring at 2pm, whipping out the chairs for a bit of reading, dozing and footie listening. Our plans had earlier become unraveled anyway as we couldn’t fit under Newbridge swingbridge, forcing us to turn well before Winsford. The compensation was that it was a glorious morning and although it became noticeably busier at Hunts Lock and Northwich with boats heading Vale Royal-wards, there was still a free spot on the town quay that enabled me to do a quick bit of shopping. Then we were off again, with revised intentions of going to Dutton but as I said, the siren call of the grassy bank at Barnton meant that it was a foreshortened cruising day. However, we reasoned that we could equally well go to Weston Point and back to Dutton on Easter Monday, as we had a lunch date with friends in Nantwich on Sunday. And as luck would have it, the car was only parked up in the village so it did all work out for the best really.

Sunday’s strategy was to take the dogs on a mammoth walk before we left them for the afternoon and after 2 1/2 hours tootling along in warm sunshine, they were absolutely shattered – well, not so shattered that they didn’t take a good close look at Neo the Great Dane who was frolicking by the boat on our return. But a look seemed to do the trick as you could see their little doggie minds all realizing the same thing at the same time – he’s very big and I’m very tired, just let me by please. They were still in a fairly somnolent state when we returned a few hours later, which made seven of us actually, as we both had eaten far too much and were just aching for a lie down. In fact, after dinners and wees (dogs), everyone just drifted off to bed and the boat’s complement was asleep by about 9pm. My slight gastro-discomfort, which is still lurking 24 hours later, I put down to my wanting to be a good guest – well, if your host has gone to the trouble of cooking two roasts and enough veg to feed a battalion, it would be a mite rude just to help yourself to half a sprout and a mange (pas) tout. And to refuse a chocolate torte as well….I’d never get asked back.

So for today’s trip to Weston Point and back to Dutton we have been well fuelled, I can say that. Turkey, lamb, roast pots, parsnips, sweet potato, babycorn, greens, carrots, etc etc, they’ve kept me going throughout and I daresay will see me through to tomorrow now too. (Oh and the Cadbury’s mini-eggs we had with coffee afterwards were soooo tasty…all the better for not having had any for months, methinks!).Obviously this was my second trip to the northernmost stretch of the Weaver but A was very excited to see it for the first time, and thanks to a new floating pontoon that’s been installed since last weekend at Marsh Lock, we were able to have a good recce of the Ship Canal too. The dogs weren’t impressed with the pontoon though, its odd surface causing much clawing uncertainty and a couple of 4 fault refusals. Eventually though they all made it up safely and we went off for a look-see-cum-wee-stop.

Now whether it was the wind that’s been with us pretty much all day or the salt in the air (there must be salt, given the briny nature of the whole place!), we’re both sitting here with crusty old sea-dog faces – you know the sort, when your eyelids feel gritty and your face is all reddy-brown bar the white wrinkles round your eyes. It’ll no doubt prompt the usual question when we get back home, oooh look at the colour on you, where have you been? The Carribbean?, to which I will reply, with a perfectly straight face, no, Runcorn.

Easter plans

If all goes to plan, tomorrow we'll complete the full length of the navigable Weaver in one go. We'll turn in the flash and with a fair wind, we'll hopefully get up to Weston Point, enabling A to finally enjoy what I had a foretaste of in his absence last weekend. We'll then backtrack, probably as far as Dutton, leaving us well placed to go and retrieve the car from Barnton on Sunday morning. We'll need that to get to our lunch date on Sunday and we'll probably take the dogs with us - a Dutton to Barnton trek should seem them pooped for most of the afternoon so it should all work out rather well. We'll probably stay on the Weaver until Thursday, as we really do love the peace and solitude down here - I know that we'll take our leave with heavy hearts but we'll certainly be back.

As for the Easter Sunday lunch, I shall be celebrating the end of my diet with the biggest scoff-out that I can possibly manage. Not edifying I know, but boy have I been hungry and I think I deserve a little treat...And on Monday, the hard work of keeping the coal sack off begins...

Emergency ward quay

Well I’m sitting at the dinette and things are back to normal. A is scowling at his laptop, threatening it with violence and the dogs are vying for ‘nearest the Squirrel’ supremacy, with Miffy close to opening the door and hopping in. I, meanwhile, am basking in the afterglow of being a good citizen, having come to the rescue of an epileptic on the quay at Northwich. Lots of flashing lights and flagging down of ambulances, much hand-holding and sympathetic words and at last Tony was taken off to hospital, the paramedics perhaps more concerned with his cider consumption that morning than the small fit he’d had. Unfortunately that left Tony’s friend Alan all alone with his cider bottle but actually he was more in need of someone to talk to – cue a fascinating life story (or possible Walter Mitty complex) that involved being recently diagnosed with stomach cancer, getting home one day with Tony to the house they shared with Tony’s girlfriend to find her dead and being subsequently charged with murder, although she was declared to have died of natural causes. And for good measure, there was the confession that, despite denials to his friend Tony that he was not having an affair with the girlfriend, the girlfriend had in fact thrown herself onto him as he kipped innocently on the sofa in his jimjams. He relayed verbatim what the girlfriend asked him to do next, at which point I coughed and made my excuses, citing limited passage times at Vale Royal Locks for my impromptu haste to get away. I mean, you couldn’t make it up could you?

After all that drama, the afternoon’s cruise down towards Winsford could have been a huge anti-climax but was saved by the wonderful workings of the two locks we went through. Unlike the automated locks at Saltersford and Dutton, Hunts and Vale Royal need manual working – not so bad on the diddy Hunts Lock but a real physical effort at the big Vale Royal one. They have to wind up these massive paddles which have steroidal gear and handles and then, to open the gates, they have to walk round and round and round with what looks like a butty ‘ellum stuck in a slot. Then they have to reverse the procedure, open the paddles at the other end and before they can let you go, they need to wind open – by hand – a bridge that rather inconveniently spans the chamber. They earn their money do those boys!

At Hunts I was reunited with lovely lockie Chris who had seen me on my way through Saltersford on Saturday and when I rang to alert them to our approach, he remembered me and asked me whether I was still on my own. He had a colleague with him as both these locks are two-man working and he was just as friendly, as were the two at Vale Royal. In fact, the Weaver lockies are some of the very best BW employees I’ve ever come across and it’s such a shame they don’t get to work more boats through…although the Vale Royal chaps may be pleased about that…

We moored up in a strengthening wind and immediately released the hounds who had a mad gallop about the place – we can see along the towpath either way which is a real boon – and that small amount of exercise seems to have done for them. Which makes for a peaceful boat, well at least for another 30 minutes or so until Ranger’s dinner alarm goes off…

Also enjoyed some retail therapy in Northwich prior to Casualty, flexing the plastic in the marvellous Bratts cookware shop. I didn’t think it would be long post-inverter project before we succumbed to a toaster because our grill is absolutely hopeless, you may as well ask Monty to breathe on the bread…and a girl has to have a decent grill pan…and a big sauté pan for home…and a sharp grater….and, okay, a lemon zester too, but honestly, I haven’t done any serious shopping for weeks!

Tomorrow will probably be a stay put and mooch day, although we'll definitely walk back up the cut and see the work going on at Vale Royal small lock, and I'm in a foraging for firewood mode too - the adjacent embankment looks as though it could contain untold riches. Now all I need is for A's laptop to work properly and I'm all set for a heavenly Easter. Have a happy and safe one wherever you are.

Imminent return

Wow, I keep having to remind myself that I'm married. I haven't been apart from the crew for this long in years - but thankfully he is due back after lunch and I'll celebrate in my normal fashion with a big shop in Tescos. Well, may as well make use of the car while it's handy...Apparently A hasn't really eaten since he left me - pathetic really - so I will whistle up a fave Thai red curry tonight to bolster his flagging spirits. And tomorrow we'll start our Easter hols early and set off, at last, for Northwich (sidetrip to Costa) and Vale Royal, Winsford etc. We are really looking forward to just relaxing and chugging, cruising and chilling for a few days as it's been a busy old time of late. And it will be very nice to actually see the rest of the Weaver - it's like Tantalus at the mo, all the goodies just out of reach, but we'll make up for this extended stay-put by going up and down a couple of times for good measure. The dogs will certainly be pleased to see their master - Monty has taken to snuffling down inside the bed on A's side, rearranging his pillow, and trying not to get too upset when he rushes into the saloon only to find mummy coming through the door. I wouldn't mind but who feeds and walks him? There's gratitude...

Flat cat

I forgot to share this with you and I must because I don't know whether it makes Arthur really clever or really thick. We were walking back along the towpath yesterday, me, him and Miffy and he suddenly stops dead in his tracks. He's turned his head and is looking intently at this boat Annie. And I mean really intently, standing-stock-still-and-not-moving-a-whisker intently. I follow his gaze and there's a cat on this boat. But not a 3D live cat posing on the gunwale...but a 2D painted cat adorning the cabin side. A very lifelike painted cat obviously but Arthur would have been a long time waiting for it to move...

Good dogs, naughty dogs

Choosing to walk the dogs in two shifts each time (while we're on non-home territory) must be doing wonders for my waistline - and it's also opened up a whole new world of the 'walk without fear'. Allow me to explain. When I go out with any combination of the toppest of top dogs Susie, anxious, fragile Monty and the greyhound world's answer to Frankie Fraser, Ranger, I am always anxious. I'm probably overly anxious and it's my own fault for not dealing with the issues at source but I'm constantly on the lookout for 'problems' - problems largely being innocent, nice dogs hoving into view on the horizon that might, just might, come close enough to get my lot kicking off. Now it is limited to kicking off...well, it has been thus far..so maybe I just need to accept I've got a mouthy crew, but it's a shame that I don't feel that I can let my dogs mix and mingle as dogs should (and which would no doubt address the fundamental issue, that they are not fully socialised). But I just don't want to take any risks...

So how nice it was today to take out Arthur and Miffy on their own and not to have to worry about a thing...they are pretty bombproof these two, but obviously in a pack of five, three baddies always outgun two goodies. But on their own they were a delight, enjoying an off lead romp and rummage along the towpath as we walked from Barnton Pool back to the Lift. They behaved impeccably when they met a young pup - they ignored it actually - and came back when called and didn't hare off to find the nearest road...the perfect recipe for dog walking bliss. So Arthur and Miffy are now officially the A team and Susie, Monty and Ranger are...well, it begins with B, and ends in uggers. Still love 'em though. And I shouldn't really blame them for their mummy's mistakes...

Upside down world

I shouldn't laugh but this evening I had a call from my absent crew who is 'languishing' at home. I use the word advisedly because a) the broadband's gone phut, b) there's no water as someone's gone through a main down the road and c) there's no heating due to b). I, on the other hand, have hi-speed internet access via my T-Mobile dongle, lovely hot water thanks to the engine and a warm toasty interior courtesy of the Squirrel. Houses? Who needs 'em? Apparently, he's about to put half his worldly goods on eBay in a fit of pique...

Lonesome pine - not

Okay, maybe this is a naughty thing to say but I've had an absolutely fab weekend as a single girl! Yes, I have missed A, who is still stuck down south, but I've also been able to please myself to the nth degree and it's been great!!! Yes, I've been helped immeasurably by the excellent weather admittedly, but I think what really floated my boat was just having me to worry about and me to indulge for a change. (I know, I know I've got five dogs to care for but they're much easier than a husband!).

So what have I been up to then? Well, Saturday morning seemed to pass all too quickly in two dog walking shifts, a trip to the shops and a coffee break, meaning that I only got away at lunchtime. Having been moored in one place for almost a week, it felt weird to be on the move again, weirder still that I was alone but for my canine crew. However, despite it gusting up once I'd dropped down Saltersford Lock, I made unfettered progress towards Dutton, and tucked myself neatly on to the visitor moorings below the lock with a show of boatmanship that impressed even me. I took everything deliberately slowly, was extra careful with my footing and simply maintained the sort of circumspection that's sensible when you've got just five dogs to rely on, not one of whom can chuck a life ring or give you mouth to mouth if you need it. No, actually, given Ranger's vigorous lickage of me this pm as I had a lie down, mouth-to-mouth is quite possible now I come to think of it.

The rest of the day was passed in a tableau of dog walks and paper-reading, culminating in an evening 4 miler from Dutton to Acton Bridge, up to the Trent & Mersey, along the canal towpath and back down to Dutton via the convenient footpath that joins the two navigations. With all bar one of the Black Prince boats out at Acton Bridge, you can tell the holidays are here. Not that you'd know it if you remained within the confines of the Weaver, mind. I've only seen a handful of boats all weekend and this despite the fine weather. One look out the porthole at seven this morning saw me make one of those executive decisions that you don't regret, well, not until much later when the early start revisits you with a migraine. The mist on top of the water, the still beauty of the day, the promise of meandering delights, it all had far too much of a siren quality about it so no sooner had the dogs done what dogs need to do than they were bundled unceremoniously aboard and we were off. Now, amazingly for me, I'd actually thought ahead about what I'd need during the morning, as my plan was to get to Weston Point/Whites Bridge and then return to Sutton Swing Bridge, where I would stop for a dog/human comfort break. So there I was at the stern complete with thermos mug (full of coffee), thermos flask (full of coffee), two packs of chewing gum, my fleece coat, my radio, my camera, my phone, my Nicholsons, my Weaver guide, my binoculars, my phone charger...You couldn't see me for all the crap I was surrounded by and the only thing I really wanted during the trip was a pee...

It was a grand day though, and apart from the occasional flurry of crews from the Runcorn Rowing Club, I had the river to myself. Mafeking was duly relieved when I made it back to Sutton Swing Bridge, where I also took the opportunity to forage for some wood like a proper liveaboard, and then it was back up river, through Dutton and Saltersford, which were both manned by very obliging relief lockies, to finally draw stumps at Barnton Cut. Ahh, back home..I'm now sitting here with the vestiges of a headache and a very hot face, wondering whether my scurvy crew have earned their dog tack....

Taking root

I think we're in danger of putting down roots in Barnton Cut because we're still here, our earlier attempt to move down to Dutton thwarted yesterday with the news that a paddle in the big lock had bust. Obviously as the small lock hasn't functioned since Noah was a lad, this left us with the difficult decision - not - of sitting it out in God's enchanted England for another day. This morning we were going to get up nice and early and, in expectation of the lock being fixed by the industrious team from Blackpool that had arrived in a blaze of oxy-acetylene, set off for Weston Point. Well, a call at 7.15am put the kybosh on that and the long and short of it is, is that I've lost a key member of my crew as he's had to travel down south to fix a major problem with a system somewhere. So I'm sitting it out, enduring the sunshine and the peace and quiet and the lack of grumbling from the other side of the dinette, half tempted earlier this pm to cut loose and do a bit of single-handing but opting for walking the dogs in shifts instead. It's a nice life...wonder how A's getting on?

The key to happiness

Don’t you wish you could bottle some experiences? Like our trip down the lift yesterday. Like our five mile walk in the warm evening sunshine today. Like the peace and tranquility we’ve been luxuriating in for the past 24 hours. This is a wonderful spot down here on the Weaver, and with a booming 3G signal we’ve been able to get on with our work uninterrupted but for interludes of dog-walking – oh, and my successful search for a tin opener. Thanks, M&S Convenience Stores, my dogs’ pilchards have been liberated!

However tempting it is to stay here, tomorrow we will move on down to Dutton for water before pushing onto the northern terminus of the Weaver and break new ground in so doing. We plan to be back at Barnton Cut for the weekend and then spend next week on the southern reaches of the river. We were going back to our mooring in time for Easter but sod that, we’re enjoying ourselves too much so we’ll take a cab to our Easter Sunday engagement instead. I guess we’ll have to tear ourselves away at some stage but I’m not thinking about that yet…too many more experiences to bottle.

A propos of absolutely nothing, greyhounds and stiles do not mix. Under, over, under over, they just couldn’t make up their mind. In the end, they squeezed through the middle, just to be really contrary…

And a tip for marital harmony...don't discover your BW key has been 'misplaced' after your hubby has gone to all the trouble of foregoing his elevenses, untangling the hose and shifting the coal sacks to unscrew the water cap...Note to all careless spouses: spare keys can be bought at the Anderton Boat Lift.