Great greyhound extravaganza

Just a quick post to report on our day out at the Great Greyhound Extravaganza at Newmarket. The good news is that we didn't get thrown out, although Susie was doing her level best to excel in the grumpy/bossy stakes (shame there wasn't a class for that as she would have romped home). The even better news is that lovely old Ranger claimed 3rd place in the 10 years + greyhound boys class - nothing more than he deserves and his yellow rosette is already decorating the fridge. Cue much huffing and 'I'm bored with this now' antics from the shortlisted-but-not-placed Susie, the piece de resistance being a serious amount of nose digging that left a big hole in the gardens and madam with a brown grimy conk..

However, the best was saved for last as Richard and Sue (and Lou and Blue dogs) from Indigo Dream pitched up mid pm - I hadn't even known they were coming until yesterday evening and having had to turn down their kind offer of a cruise on Sunday, it was a real bonus to get some of their company after all. Only sorry it couldn't have been for longer. As they'd actually been cruising that morning in readiness for their charity trip tomorrow, and then had to endure a very tedious drive cross-country, their dedication to the greyhound cause was all the more impressive. And impressive too was the much vaunted meeting of the two ladies...no, not me and Sue, but Susie and Lou - two growl-alikes who after an initial rumble or two (mainly on Susie's side I'm ashamed to say) seemed to settle down okay, even deigning to walk next to one another as we left. The fact that no blood was spilt or fur removed was a great result - I wonder whether they knew they'd met their match?

So this was a real step forward in my 'one day we'll do this' convoy cruise with seven greyhounds in tow...because for once, it would be lovely not to have to call premature time on our get-togethers with Richard and Sue but to have a fab day's cruising in company, have a drink or five, enjoy a relaxed dinner and then retire to our respective boats for more of the same the next day. And they'd probably not mind if we slipped a farting dog or two into their cabin....

Abroad thoughts from home

Okay, so Skipton isn't strictly abroad but it's very much in my mind as the town - and especially its environs - made such a lasting impression on us. Now we're home, back at work, slaving over a hot Mac and wishing that we weren't. Actually, I'm slaving over a hot calendar trying to work out when we can get back there, even if it's just for a work cruise. I'm eyeing up the first two weeks of July as a possibility but unless the Pennines get some rain, we won't be going anywhere particularly quickly as the L&L is a tad on the empty side at the mo. Obviously the snow and rain that fell in Yorks/Lancs over the winter is very inaccurate stuff - it somehow missed the reservoirs. Or have they all been sold off? I guess I could always ask Arthur to whiz in the cut - with his prodigious bladder, he'd have those levels up in no time.

In the meantime, I'll remind myself of some of our holiday pleasures with a few piccies...(well, pics from the first half of the hols 'cos the rest are stuck on my camera going nowhere until I can find the bloody stupid cable misplaced by a bloody stupid idiot, namely me)

It pays to advertise

So there we were, pootling along minding our own business, bemoaning the amount of traffic on the adjacent Keighley – Skipton road when what should we see but an A-board stood proudly on the towpath. ‘Bustys Baps’ it proclaimed. Now, while, yes, it could conceivably have been a mobile knocking shop, our money was on a snacks wagon so we chucked the boat in reverse, got about six feet away from the bank before we went aground and then leapt for it. It takes more than a bit of water-filled ditch to keep us away from a well-filled buttie. And we were rewarded for our athleticism/desperation as Bustys Baps was not your average layby snackateria. The proprietor proudly announced that all his fresh food was sourced from local farmers and he even had a bit of roast beef on the go with which he tried to tempt us. I’m afraid A failed completely to get into the spirit by ordering a spam sandwich so it was left to me to keep our end up (a bigger end each day) with a delicate sausage, egg and bacon breakfast bap. Well, I take my hat off to you Yorkshire farmers – it was as fine an assemblage of fried goodies as I’ve had in a very long while. So another happy, serendipitous moment in a cruise that seems to have been full of them.

I left you on Monday evening about to go for a pint and a packet of crisps. Well, that turned into two pints and a fearsome attack of the munchies so we walked into Bingley for an Indian. And yes, before you say it, we are having rather a lot of Indians this trip, but our route has been like one long curry alley and it would be foolish not to take the opportunity to sample the spicy wares on offer. The Shama was excellent, although I’m not sure about my peshwari naan featuring a liberal sprinkling of pineapple. I’m a conventional sultanas and coconut girl, and I wasn’t overly taken with the Hawaiian pizza approach. But friendly staff, sound cooking and great value means it gets a tick in our book - plus they gave us a doggy bag of uneaten naans, so extra points. (We sold them a sob story of five little mouths to feed at home...bet that had them looking up Childline's number). Oh, and I forgot to say the other day....if you've moored up in Clarence Dock and spotted lots of coconut on the jetty, I do offer a heartfelt apology. Five dogs and one peshwari leads to inevitable spillage...

As we left the Shama, we detoured onto the towpath to sneak a look at the three rise. To be honest, coming from Leeds means that you’re quite geared up for it as you’ve already done a fair few risers and got used to the cavernous proportions of the chambers. Even the five rise was not quite as forbidding as I expected and we popped up it the following day very sedately. Barry was keeping a paternalistic eye on things but letting his colleagues and A do the work – the pace is very measured and controlled, they rush nothing and keep a very close eye on how you’re doing. There are a few sticky outy bits in the odd chamber that can catch a gunwale sometimes and a few studs on the gates that you have to watch for, but the feeling is of a very thorough, professional operation that’s leaving nothing to chance from a boater’s safety perspective. That suited me fine and we waved our thanks to everyone as we set off for that evening’s objective, Riddlesden.

And now tonight, we’re in the Yorkshire Dales proper, having passed through the self-proclaimed Gateway to the Dales, Skipton. We’re moored a couple of miles past the town as it was a little incompatible with our doggy needs – instead we’re in the middle of nowhere looking out onto sheep dappled hillsides. Doesn’t get much better than that, does it? Actually, it started to look a bit dales-y as soon as we rounded the first corner this morning. We’d found ourselves a lovely little out of the way spot just past Riddlesden and as soon as set off, we could see the countryside start to swell and roll for miles, blighted only by the sound and sight of traffic carving through the middle of the greenery. The road noise is a fairly constant companion for this section but the knock-out views and the clusters of bluebell flooded woodland more than make up for it. Ever since we got on the L&L, low water levels/dredging issues aside, we’ve thought this a simply stunning canal and one that we are already committed to return to – but why is it so underused? If we were down at Great Haywood or Fradley at the moment, I’m sure we’d easily be seeing four boats an hour – not a day. Where’s the problem? Okay, it is perhaps not the easiest road as the locks are big and heavy and the swing bridges are so many and so frequent that you need to ease up on the coffee or have a big bladder to be comfortable. But like so much on the cut, if you take it steadily and slowly, you can achieve anything – and it would be a terrible shame to miss out as it is truly god’s own country up here. And you can get a mouthful of Bustys Baps too – that’s worth the trip alone.

Toilet humour

I am writing this blog in the Ladies at Mumtaz. Yes, do read that again as it still won't make any sense. Let me explain. Mumtaz is a rather fab Indian (Kashmiri) restaurant in Clarence Dock. We went for dinner on Thursday night to celebrate our arrival in Leeds and the loos are so amazing that I've moved in. Never seen conveniences like them...there's even a bidet in here. I understand it's been blistering all weekend - wouldn't know, I've been chilling out surrounded by the finest porcelain and chowing down on a dustbin-sized peshwari naan I sneaked off a table. I wonder where A is? Are the dogs missing me? I wonder if I could nab some poppadums and a pickle tray?

Okay, okay, that's wishful thinking on my part. I've actually been melting all weekend at Apperley Bridge, where we stopped, hot, bothered and very tired on Friday evening. Mind, we had done our good deed for the day - cake rescue. Don't ask, because you'll only say I made it up. But where else other than the British canals could you be approached by a man on bike saying that he'd lobbed a bag of cream cakes at his friend's boat (moored on offside), they'd missed, landed in the cut and could we now please rescue them for him? Why would anyone want to throw cream cakes anywhere - they're quite delicate things aren't they? Now not only had they endured a lobbing, but they'd also had an unexpected immersion which probably wouldn't have done much good for them either, and now they were going to get speared by A as he hung off the side of the boat with the boat hook primed and ready. But by jove, he did it first go, and the cake bag was duly returned to its owner with his grateful thanks. Apparently, there was an apple inside the bag too. Don't you just love it? Cream cakes and an apple. That's like ordering half a dozen doughnuts and a diet Coke.

Now today, Monday, has been one of those little gems in the old cruising diary where everything has just plopped into place. After a weekend of total indolence and over patronisation of the wonderful Bridge Street Café (a classic Greek-run greasy spoon with a great line in lattes and bacon sandwiches), we finally set off this morning, still in bright sunshine, getting up the Dobson riser before stopping at the Apperley Bridge services for the always satisfying ‘empty, empty, full’ routine. I was even able to swap a duff BW credits card for a working one, and buy a spare – not sure the pump out machine there had the best suck as it was still going when we ran out of time but I think we’ve hoovered out enough to get us through the rest of the week. Then it was onward, ever onward, through the Field riser where a blueshirt helped us through, and then to Shipley. There we were helped out at swing bridge 209 by a lady from an adjacent snack wagon who was obviously used to lending a hand judging by the way she took charge – A just looked on like a spare part, eyeing up her menu (she was a pretty blond so it says a lot about A that he was fixed on the eats rather than the cook!) Whether it was a clever promotional gambit I don’t know as we’d been eyeing up her wares before she stepped in but her kindness sealed the deal, and we traded helping hands for bacon and sausage sandwiches. Then in Saltaire, we came upon the ice cream boat – ah, pudding! So another quick stop as I ordered two 99 cones and the race was on to eat them before a) they melted and b) we got to the next lock as there’s no windlass belt I know that can take a handle, a handcuff key and a cornet.

We decided to call it a day early and the final part of the jigsaw fell into place with some handy bollards and a decent depth under us for once just outside the Fisherman pub at Darley Gap. There’s no food on Monday evenings but a couple of pints of Timothy Taylor’s and a bag of crisps should hit the spot right enough. We’re pleased to get moored in a reasonably semi-rural spot to be honest – the VMs seem to be mostly in towns and the depth at the sides make casual mooring out in the country almost impossible. Despite some appealingly piled lengths and mown banks, there’s no way anything except the lightest plastic cruiser could get in – I’m assuming dredging has just been a casualty of the cash crisis but it makes you wonder what happens in busier times as there’s only so many VMs to go round and not everyone wants to be in a town. But that’s my only whinge about the L&L so far – everything else has been great. Plenty of facilities, plenty of blueshirts on the ground, fab scenery, hugely entertaining locks and swing bridges (entertaining for me watching A work up a sweat and humphing about this and that), it's been just swell.

The run out of Leeds city centre which we did on Friday was very surprising – attractively sylvan, the towpath well used by walkers, joggers and cyclists and no obvious reason why BW have an advisory on this stretch, to clear Leeds to Newlay in one go and not to moor overnight. I couldn’t resist asking and it seems that it’s no different to many urban stretches, so I’m curious as to why it’s picked out for special measures – apparently at weekends you get large congregations of youngsters and too often they cross the line, moving from plain old high spirits to something a little less savoury like harassing passing boaters. But during the week, especially in the morning, you shouldn’t have any problem at all so don’t let the rather dramatic BW advice put you off. There’s loads of BW help on the ground too – they’re in constant touch with one another, managing boats and water levels, and most of the risers will have seasonal blokes on to help you through so you won’t be wanting for assistance.

Right, I’m off for a pint and a packet of cheese & onion – Bingley tomorrow and A gets to be bossed around by Barry. Can’t wait.