Into Brum

We had only reached the second lock in the flight of 16 before we hit problems. Having shut the first bottom gate, it had swung open before I had walked around the close the other gate. I closed the second only for that one to swing open too. Aoiffe offered to give me a hand, but I had to work out how to do it alone. I quick look around
for something to wedge them open proved fruitless and I suspect it wouldn’t work anyway. Plan B was soon hatched. With the centre rope I tied the boat to a bollard to stop it drifting out of the lock then opened a ground paddle from the top gate sending a flow of water through the lock, then dashed to the bottom gates and closed one. Thankfully the flow of the water kept the gate shut, then raced around to close the other gate before too much water was wasted. Success, job done.

We made good progress with me doing all the work, Aoiffe being my insurance policy incase anything went wrong. We only met one boat coming the other way. It was like new, the owners having just picked it up from the paint shop 100 metres further along the canal. Mr New Paint Job did all the driving, Mrs New Paint Job was too afraid of scratching the thing and taking the wrath of Mr New Paint Job. I did my best to miss the thing and thankfully succeeded.

The locks were relentless, the closest two being no more than 10 metres between the gates, almost a staircase lock. Time passed quickly, we made it through to the top in exactly four hours, 20 minutes per lock, then stopped for a well earned lunch break, at least well earned for me, Aoiffe just sat on her arse talking to passers by and scarring the shit out of the kids in buggies. City kids are unfamiliar with friendliness from strangers, for some it was all too much. I think she saw it as a challenge to make them all cry.

The plan was to moor somewhere before the Delph flight of eight locks (photo), it was hardly appealing. You could have furnished a house from the canals contents of sofa, kids slides, double glazed windows, doors, a choice of TVs, clothing...I could go on. Standing proudly in stark contrast were four perfectly formed daffodils, so perfect they were probably plastic, another piece of junk not quite making it into the water.

I decided to go up the flight and moor a Dudley’s Waterfront, the race against time was on. I settled into a good rhythm as the locks were so close, hop off the boat before it entered the lock, dash back and close the gate on the previous lock, close the gates of

the lock we were in, fill it, run up to the next lock and open the gates, exit the lock and repeat the process for two hours. I worked up a sweat whilst Aoiffe continued socialising, this time with Ed and Katie.

“Which way are you heading?” I asked them.

“That way,” they said pointing in opposite directions. I offered them a lift so they joined us for the short journey past Merry Hill shopping centre, its car park full, queues heading out and a far cry from the peace of being the only boat on the canal.

Ed and Katie carried on chatting but turned down the offer of tea, Aoiffe must have told them how I wring out every last drop of flavour by the time a tea bag has made its sixth cuppa.

The Waterfront was perfect for a nights stop, though being mainly offices it was remarkably dead. The development, though impressive, cost a billion pounds. You don’t get much for a billion quid these days.

By five o’clock the following morning there was a guy fishing outside my beadroom, he too turned down the offer of tea, news spreads fast in these parts. Having climbed through 24 locks the previous day it was time for a rest, just a single lock and a tunnel of a mile and a half long. Being my first long tunnel it was a novelty, for the first ten minutes. The next 50 minutes were a bit of a bore! We passed a guy on foot on total darkness, splashing his way along the flooded towpath. I was happy to be on the boat.

Daylight at the other side revealed the wider Birmingham Main Line Canal, though Main Line needs to be taken with a pinch of salt as we only saw one other boat. We moved off centre line to pass each other, only for both of us to run aground.

So my home for a few days in outside the National Indoor Arena, a stones throw from Gas Street Basin. Chris visited yesterday so we went for a little spin which gave me the chance to move to a spot where I can moor for up to two weeks. My new home, though very close to my last, is not quite so classy. Here I pick up wireless networks on the computer such as Sky10888 whereas in the last place users were classier such as Cliff Richard and Mozart.

Birmingham reportedly has more canals than Venice, complete with boats taking tourists on trips and others acting as coffee shops and jewellery shop, though if I was involved in tourism in Venice I wouldn’t be getting too concerned. Birmingham’s best bit is not only very small, it is also only marginally more attractive than the worst bit of Venice. That said, I like it here and I’m easily tempted to stay for a few days, taking my time to wander the city streets I used to rush around in my lunch hour whilst working for Cap Gemini.