Leicester Ring Day 2 - Tuesday

After the traditional first night of fitful sleep (it takes a day to get used to the gentle rocking of the boat, whilst precariously balancing on a two foot wide bed) I awoke at 5.40am to the pleasant sound of the dawn chorus and muted daylight creeping through the curtains.

Having showered last night I took the option of pulling on clothes and boots to head up on deck. The first thing I noticed (apart from how unforgiving the metal roof hatch is to a half asleep persons head) was the steady drizzle. This was not unexpected given that the weather had accompanied us through our travails yesterday. However, behind the clouds there was at least the hint that the sun might finally have it's way today.

The mooring spikes came out of the ground with a little persuasion from my size 10s and with the ropes safely coiled back on board I started the engine. I pointed the boat out into the cut, then decided I needed my baseball cap to keep the mizzle off my face. This was my first mistake of the day. I had forgotten the boat's insistence that left to it's own devices it prefers a definite swing to the right.

I can't have been below decks for more than 15 seconds, but it was enough that when I returned, the boat had veered violently back toward the bank, which was slightly obscured by another boat full of sleeping occupants. Wrestling for control I missed the slumberers boat by less than two inches.

I decided to pay attention. Moments later chap appeared and quickly organised the first round of hot drinks. He took the tiller whilst I dipped below decks to rustle up some porridge. Together with a glass of smoothie, this constituted our first breakfast of the day.

We meandered our way toward Crick tunnel and the first opportunity of the day for loud classical music. For the uninitiated, canal tunnels and loud classical music are made for each other. The long enclosed space making the perfect ambient echo chamber. We (and anyone at either end of the tunnel, for the sound carries over water extremely well, far better in fact than the constant thrumming of the engine) enjoyed, among others, the Sorcerers Apprentice - which was nice.

On beyond Crick tunnel toward the Watford Gap (which has been the preferred route between north and south for many years something to do with the lay of the land and... sorry nodded off there for a second). We passed beneath the M1 (just north of Watford Gap services) and moored whilst I went in search of the lock-keeper.

A very nice retired gentleman and his wife were ahead of us to go through the flight and whilst we waited for a rising boat to clear the top pound he engaged me in conversation about his boat and a discussion ensued about stretches of canal we have loved (I'm good with the olds... I very nearly am one)

It was my turn to work the flight whilst chap took the helm. We worked our way down the staircase in reasonable time and then I took the tiller while chap made use of the kitchen facilities (and the cupboard, of which more from him anon).

We moored briefly at Norton Junction whilst much eating of breakfast was observed. Three beef and ale sausages, egg, two rashers of back bacon, baked beans and three small shriveled objects which used to be black pudding.

We pushed onward, chap back at the tiller whilst I cleaned up the kitchen, and so to Braunston Tunnel. Having been reasonably happy with the music at Crick, we took steps to improve the volume by rigging the music above deck, and further classic classical chunes were offered.

Through the tunnel and out into improving weather. The sun was out, time for the sunglasses, and for the first time this trip, removal of jumpers. Ahead the broad locks at Braunston. Thus far the locks had been narrow and very easy to deal with, broad locks present a different challenge for a two man crew, it's not possible to step across the boat in broad locks, so much more running round and crossing of gates is necessary.

The flight was busy, with boats in the opposite direction at pretty much every lock. Lots of opportunites to say hello and exchange snatches of conversation with complete strangers as boats passed mid-pound - one of the nicest parts of the canal experience, the community, the sense of shared love and experience of the waterways.

Fresh from working off his breakfast, chap took the tiller as we approached Braunston turn, on our way toward Hillmorton and the ever present radio masts at Rugby. I took it upon myself to waste the best part of an hour of my life trying to create harmony between video camera, bluetooth phone and laptop in order to post to my blog.

The north Oxford canal is by turns very meandering, then long straight stretches where the original 1760s canal was straightened in later working life to shorten the boat journey times from Coventry to London. We arrived at Hillmorton locks in bright sunshine.

We made our way through Rugby, which is a town of contrasts. Having moored up for a short time while chap yomped off in the direction of a Tescos to get basic provisions, I took the following snaps.



Nice Rugby


Not so nice Rugby

I am at pains to point out these are views in opposite directions from the same mooring place.

As we got underway we noticed a total twot trying to turn his boat around in the winding hole (pronounced as in the wind that blows) and failing miserably. We were then stuck behind him for half a mile after which he had another go and f**ked that up too.

Eventually he must have taken note of the acid glare coming from our boat and he managed to wedge himself sufficiently to one side to allow us to pass. We crawled onwards until nearly 8pm where we have moored up for the night near a village called Brinklow.


Your author expressing his dismay at people who are too f**king stupid to own a boat

Chap (copilot): More about Brinklow shortly. Firstly I must mention one key point about this tour so far that for some reason has gone mostly unmentioned. The cupboard.

I'm guessing whoever designed the interior space on this boat was a woman. No man in his right mind would ever think of putting two toilets on something as small as a narrow boat no matter how many people it sleeps.

For those who have never set foot on a narrow boat it might be useful to point out that a narrow boat is narrow. Seven foot narrow to be precise. Therefore, the master bathroom if you want to call it that, is very narrow. Then comes the cloakroom. In most houses a cloakroom is no bigger than a large cupboard or walk in wardrobe at best. On a narrow boat you might expect it to be slightly smaller than that. You'd be Wrong! The cloakroom on this boat is smaller than my sock drawer at home.

To pee standing up requires a certain amount of care and a great deal of skill. Men reading this will understand the need to stand with legs apart during the urinating process for general comfort, freedom of bollecular swing and freedom of prostate operation. Therefore, peeing with your legs tightly closed does hamper the process slightly. Sitting down in the 'cupboard' is a completely different matter and I haven't even gone into the complexities of wiping your @rse!!! Therefore, the cloakroom has become known as the cupboard.

Back to Brinklow then. So, we failed to make it to Ansty as planned so Brinklow, as the Nicholson Guide invitingly explained, offered 3 nice pubs and a fish and chips shop just a small walk from the bridge. That'll do. So we moor up and we walk down the hill to Brinklow which quickly established itself as a village filled with people who thought themsleves way to posh to live in Coventry or anywhere near and, although pretty and filled with quaint thatched and timber framed houses, did feel like the sort of village that would feature in an episode of Miss Marple , Dr Who or the Tomorrow People. We found two of the three pubs, neither of which offered food and both of which were full of locals who stopped what they were doing the moment we opened the door and looked at us like we had several heads. So what did we do? We did exactly what any normal middle aged men would do. Bought fish and chips and sat on a bench eating them and looking very suspicious into the bargain. Then we got out of there rapidly for fear of being eaten or used for experimentation.

My final words, before cracking open the pack of cards, go to the stinking bishop.

This is the rather impressively smelling cheese that has so far not made it into the fridge. It did however make it into the boat while we were risking our lives in Brinklow and upon our return, greeted us at the door with a large, aromatic slap around the face. I think it might end up outside again tonight. On reflection it might keep the warlocks from the village from cutting us up into little pieces. It cetainly keeps the flies away.

Your author again... For the plan-junkies amongst you, we are approximately four hours ahead of schedule, which may allow a lie in in the morning. This may be a good thing because port and a deck of cards are giving me their best "come hither" eyes.