Home sweet home

I cruised slowly past a group of moored boats, my day had only just started. The boat at the end pulled out in front of me, forcing me into reverse. Why couldn’t they wait? A guy tending to his mooring ropes looked at me. “Do I look like I give a fuck?” I called out. His head dipped as he laughed cheekily, for the comment wasn’t aimed at the boat blocking my way, he was the owner of the boat ‘Dilligaf.’ I have seen another one since, they are as common as muck!

Other interesting boats were passed, such as the ‘Mobile Bike Shop,’ complete with brand new Brompton’s. Bike shops are never there when you need them.

I arrived at Napton top lock on the Oxford canal. I was back to narrow locks which seemed to small and easy after their heftier, wide relations nearby on the Grand Union. As I filled the lock a female mallard pranced around all agitated, quacking as though it were going out of fashion. A British Waterways guy stood at the bottom gate peering at something as water

poured in from the top gate, but my little brain still didn’t compute. Having opened the top gate I hopped back on the boat, only then realising around ten chicks had enjoyed a turbulent fairground ride from the bottom to the top of the lock. They enjoyed a bit more turbulence as I put the engine in gear and moved off. They tried to squeeze their way between the gate and the lock wall...no chance! I later heard from following boats they still hadn’t found a way out.

A series of locks had to be worked through before reaching the summit and a ten mile cruise through rural countryside where open pasture ended at the waterside. Here there were no trees or hedges to spoil the views, the grass had been trimmed low by the grazing cattle and sheep, their lambs bouncing around in the warmth of the early afternoon.

I reached the downward locks the following day. Progress was so slow. I seemed to arrive at every empty lock as a boat approached from the other direction. It’s etiquette to give priority to the boat to which the lock favours, so I opened the gates and waited for them to enter and fill the thing. Everybody was so slow. It’s early season and early holidays meaning folk arrived at locks hardly knowing what to do, opening the paddles so slowly it would have greatly speeded up the process if I had peed in the thing! I remained patient for you don’t live life on the canal to be in a rush, but it wore thin as the process was repeated at each lock. I watched a guy on a 25 foot boat as he gave the side a healthy whack as he entered the lock, “That’s the first kiss of the season,” he called out. I doubted it would be the last. As he was exiting the lock I warned him of another boat coming down causing him to immediately stop. He couldn’t work out what to do until I suggested it might make more sense for him to go and wait nearer the next lock so that I could enter this one.

As I was leaving another lock a boat was coming towards me no more than a 100 metres away. A woman appeared with her windlass above me, “There is no need to close the gates, there is another boat coming.” Do I really look that stupid? (No need to answer that.)

I stopped the night at Cropedy, a few miles above Banbury. I cycled over to Mollington to ring, then struggled to find the church. I asked a guy the way as he entered his house. “What’s the best way for you? Oh, you are on a bike aren’t you?” I didn’t bother to answer because if the cycling shorts and helmet weren’t a big enough clue, then surely the bike I sat perched on was. “Yes,” he added staring at me. Oops! I think I was supposed to answer the question. Perhaps I really do look stupid and he was making sure I realised I was on a bike. I suppose anybody cycling a Brompton looks a little balmy. I have heard it said the advantage of cycling a Brompton is that you can’t see how silly you look.

Nick and Lesley brought their daughters Jessie and Molly over, along with an Ipswich Town mug. They bought is specially knowing I am a Norwich supporter and found it hilarious. I didn’t. Norwich play Ipswich tonight and I shall have a celebratory drink from it this evening if we win. The girls were a mini riot as we cruised down to Banbury, Molly sounding like a stampede from inside as she raced along the roof.

Having arrived in Banbury I cycled back to pick up their car. I used to think cycling slowed me down but a boat is far worse. I crawled so slowly out of the car park gates as though I were manoeuvring the boat around an obstacle. On the open road I put my foot down, “Whoa, this thing goes more than three miles an hour!” I parked in the car park a few yards from the boat.

My laboured cooking ealier was wasted as they took me out for a meal and a pint in the evening. As they departed Nick made me feel good by saying it had felt more like a holiday than a day out. There departure at nine o’clock was a slow one for I had parked in a car park that shut at eight o’clock. I recommend it though as it makes the car very easy to find.

I spoke to a women at Banbury Quakers on Sunday morning, “We used to have a women

who lived on the canal who regularly brought her dog along,” she told me. I assumed it would have been parked outside, but by pure coincidence at that precise moment another women arrived with a dog which was taken in for the meeting. It ensured there would be no silent meeting as it growled and barked at all the late arrivals.

The canal was getting busier, there were queues for the locks. As I was about to pull out at the start of the day I could see another boat approaching in the distance, so I let it pass as I was in no rush. As I then pulled out another boat pulled out in front making me third in line, a theme that remained for the day.

“You can’t be very happy at the moment,” I said to a lad wearing a Sheffield United jersey as we waited at a lock.

“If they want to get relegated they have to lose the next game,” he told me.

“I don’t suppose they are planning on being relegated.”

“In which case they have to win a load of games.” I was right, he wasn’t happy.

I moored opposite the Rock of Gibraltar, home at last. Come evening I ventured in for a pint. Of the three cask beers only one was left. “Is that all you have got?” I asked.

“Unless you want this last pint with a large head. You can have it for the price of a half.” I didn’t need to be asked twice.