I never get to Banbury when expected

The walls in the lounge are finally dry. Jonathan arrived, the owner of the business, to pick up the driers and test the walls. He tried to force probes into a brick, they wouldn’t go, I wouldn’t expect them to. He tried another, then a third without success. “How about trying between the bricks?” I suggested, the same as the other guys had done. Success. He might own the business, but he didn’t know what he was doing.

“When you issue the certificate of dryness can you send me a copy?” I asked.

“No problem, I can get it emailed to you this afternoon.”

It never arrived. It didn’t arrive the following day. I rang the office.

“Okay, I’ll send it to you again.” I refrained from telling her she couldn’t send it again, until she sent it the first time. It never arrived. Why am I not surprised?

It was hard leaving Thrupp, I was getting to know people and besides, it’s an area I know well and feel at home. Still, that’s the joy of boating, I can return when I’m ready.

First obstacle was a couple of hundred metres along the canal in the shape of a lift bridge. Since my arrival I had acquired a pole about 8ft long, so I moored up, lifted the bridge from the towpath side rather than pulling down on the balancing arms on the opposite side, then wedged the pole in. So much easier than fiddling around stepping off the bow, pulling the boat through, then dragging the stern back. Okay, so I had to moor before and after the bridge, but it was far less hassle. Maffi told he always did the lift bridge that way, so thanks goes to him.

Not set off until early afternoon meant it was late afternoon before I reached Lower Heyford where I ran aground on a bend, well away from the edge. I suspect it was submerged trees roots as the guy on the moored boat beside said I wasn’t the first to have problems. He pulled me off with a rope. Later the chain on my front fender broke. Thankfully it was an easy repair as it really cushions the knock when filling locks going uphill.

The advantage of starting late is that from around five o’clock I had the canal to

myself, wonderful. The disadvantage was that all the mooring spots were full, there was no other choice than to press on. Not a problem, it meant I wouldn't have to go so far to Banbury the following day.

Terry and Brian rang, they were in Oxford. Oops, I had just left! It meant a quick run to Banbury never happened as I decided to wait a day a little further up the canal at Adderbury for them to visit.

Another lift bridge first thing in the morning was well timed, a boat was passing through and waited for me to go through as well, even easier than a pole.

On a straight a narrowboat was heading towards me, clearly distracted by a mobile phone. The closer we got a collision looked inevitable unless he decided to steer the thing. Was I being impatient? How long do I leave it before yelling? He did nothing, he was coming across the canal towards my bow, “OI!” I yelled, he quickly corrected avoiding contact. How can people say talking on a phone is not distracting? If this guy would have had an accident at 3mph in a boat, what chance was there for him in a car?

Right, I’ve got that of my chest. I am turning into a right grumpy old bastard!

Leaving early I knew I would get a mooring near Adderbury at midday, last time I moored there, there were only two of us. I rounded the corner, the place was packed, about ten boats moored. Luckily I took the one remaini

ng place.

Behind me were Paul and Rosemary, names I could remember for a change, the same as my brother and sister in law.

The best bit about stopping longer at Adderbury was stocking up on sausages and duck eggs from the farm shop across the canal. Goose eggs are out of season. Poo!

New born chicks are still roaming the canal in places, what a waste of good eggs!

I'm off!

There hasn’t been an update for a couple of weeks, mainly because not much has been happening.

I moved back down to Thrupp. I like it there, nice spot, friendly people and each afternoon I can chill out in the cafe, there is always somebody to talk to. Having stayed there for the maximum 7 days, I set off north, cruising for half an hour before I decided enough was enough and moored up for a few days at Shipton on Cherwell. It’s a tough life. The advantage of a short cruise is its only a few minutes walk back to the cafe and Boat Inn. Friday evening I joined the local boating community at the pub including Maffi, Bones,

Chris Wren and his wife. Maffi and Bones were the first boating people I spoke to after I decided to buy a boat, Bones being a regular columnist in the Canal Boat magazine. I’ve been following Chris and his wife, who live on Wren’s Nest, up and down the Oxford canal for the last couple of months.

Even a short move is enough to change the surroundings. Here I’m surrounded by trees, in shade the whole day, giving a dappled light throughout the boat, making the entire atmosphere of the boat change. However, it does nothing for the solar powered radio I have recently bought.

Whilst moored and minding my own business I received a healthy whack in the side from

another boat. On going outside the hired boat was trying to moor in the space behind, so how he managed to hit me in the side and have his stern in the bushes on the opposite bank I don’t know. I stood there waiting for an apology. He never looked at me, perhaps if he ignored me for long enough he could claim it never happened, or may be it was his normal mooring procedure. His wife came to the bow, she ignored me too, then seeing I wasn’t happy said, “Sorry, that was a bit close.”

“No! It wasn’t close, you hit me. Hard!”

A couple of days later I opened the lift bridge to save a guy from dropping off crew. He ignored me too. His wife stuck her head out, said, “Thanks,” and disappeared again. What is wrong with people? Men normally stay at the tiller while the women operate locks, bridges etc. Those I speak to at locks claim they like the social side. Is this the real reason men stay on the boat, they have no communication skills. Okay, rant over, so it’s only the minority, most men are sociable.

The idea of boating was to move around the system, so I have been increasing frustrated at being stuck for so long in an area I already know well, mainly due to the ever problematic house sale. I’ve had enough, I want to be on the move, so this week I am off. Hopefully I will have more to report on soon.

Back at the house the plaster has been stripped off the wall in the lounge, a drier has been in for a week and should be removed tomorrow. Once its gone, I’m off! My estate agent and solicitor are charging a small fortune for doing absolutely nothing, I suspect they are all the same, so if I wait around nothing will happen, when I am more than a days bike ride away they will be desperate for me to come in and sign something.

Thrupp has around 29 houses in the village, Shipton about 60. In the cafe I was warned of the risks of mooring in such a large urban conurbation.

“So you’ve moved down to Shipton have you?” asked Martin. “Got anything off your roof?”

“No.”

“Good,” said Maffi, “coz they’ll nick it. When I was moored there I heard some

body on the roof during the night trying to steal my bike, so I chased them off. They came back and tried again half an hour later.”

“They don’t bother me,” added Martin, “the main problem maker doesn’t like dogs and I told ‘im I would let me dog off the lead if I ever see him near my house.”

“I was moored in Oxford once and somebody stole a clip holding my lamp on the back.”

“That’ll be the Shipton lot,” said Martin.

Now here’s a tip for those living on a canal. After a very hot day, if you have a light on in the evening, don’t leave the nearest window open. I did exactly that last night and had hundreds of bugs buzzing around the light, enough to make me duck down when passing. Orrible.

Suicidal Birds

There was somebody knocking on the side of the boat, it sounded urgent. Typical, I was in the shower. I guessed correctly what the problem was, a boat had passed too fast causing the rear mooring pin to be pulled from the ground leaving my back end drifting across the canal. By the time I was dressed my new neighbour was already pulling me back towards the bank.

As I have cruised around this spring I could hardly help but notice the duck chicks, hundreds of them. What is surprising is there are still so many newly hatched chicks about, while some have already reached adolescence. It’s also noticeable that as the size of the chicks increase, so the numbers of the brood reduces. Perhaps they are eating each other! The biggest are reaching life size, all of which look as though they are females. They can’t be otherwise Mallards are about to go into decline, so I suspect the males feathers change colours at an older age.

Whilst on the subject of young birds I have to say I have seen so many suicidal birds this year. I have already mentioned the pigeon I rescued from the canal, then when I last went to my house young fat crows sat on the ground, heads buried in feathers, waiting for the cats to find them. Then riding back to my boat parked near Banbury a bird on it’s maiden flight flew into my front wheel, no mean feat given the Brampton has such small wheels. It lay flapping in the middle of the road, so I returned. I picked it up, held it in my hand to calm its futile movements and sadly watched the life drain from its little body. Very sad. I felt a little happier leaving in the undergrowth rather than lying in the road to be hit by a passing car.

I made my way to Banbury to spend a few days there. The intention had been to go there in a single day from Lower Heyford but it never happened, I became side tracked and stopped in the middle of nowhere in spots I liked the look of. A single days journey took four, three of travelling a couple of hours at a time. That’s the beauty of living of living on a boat, you can stop anywhere you like, even if its only half an hour from where you were last moored. On a holiday you would feel compelled to push on and use your time

boating. The main reason for going to Banbury was to empty the loo and fill up on water. The loo was just about full, though I suspect there was water left, but 17 days between after last service stop is by far the longest I have been, by about 10 days. You can guess from that I haven’t had any visitors recently.

I rang at Bodicote, a pleasant ring of 8, on the Sunday and joined their practice the following night. I have to say they are not only a good ring, they are good ringers and sociable as well. For me the highlight was the atmosphere in the pub afterwards, I was welcomed with open arms and made to feel one of their regular ringers. When I am in the area I shall certainly return.

Wandering around Banbury I passed a company called Thomas Cakebread. Bakers you might think, but no, they are Monumental Masons. They have probably changed their name from Thomas Brownbread. They are highly thought of and rarely make a mistake, but when they do its a monumental cock-up!

Caroline joined me for a days boating, the idea being to give a bit of boat handling experience so she could join me later in the year on the Hatton flight. Before hand she told me how she lacked spacial awareness. I didn’t have much hope for her. My fears were confirmed as we zig-zagged along the canal at the start of the day, but to her credit she picked it up quickly, gained confidence and was perfectly able to handle the boat. She surprised me doing very well overall. As with every beginner, myself included, the direction the tiller needs to be pushed to steer can cause confusion. I have seen it so often, a learner pushes

the tiller the wrong way, then as the boat turns in thewrong direction they push it further making the bow head straight for the bank. At one point my neck was scratched by overhanging brambles we were passing, my fault entirely for not looking. I became distracted looking at a man’s legs. There’s an admission, though his long skinny legs were sticking out of the shortest shorts I have ever seen, and Caroline didn’t even notice them. Our late lunch was timed to perfection as rain, mainly from a single heavy showers, came down for the only time all day. By evening we made it back to my favourite spot at Somerton, pointing in the other direction. It feels so strange pointing the opposite way looking out expecting to see an open field to be greeted by trees. You can’t do that with a house!

The Big Breakfast

I picked the up boat at Braunston on the Grand Union and pootled about for a day there, had a walk, did a bit of ringing, all the usual stuff. Down the road were Midland Chandlery who stock the wall light I had broken a couple of months back, so I now have a replacement, all I need is the connectors. I would have bought a spare if they hadn’t been so expensive.

After setting off on Friday morning it was a bit of a rush to be back in striking distance of home in three days to keep a few appointments, one being at the doctors.

I rang the surgery in April to book an appointment with my GP. “I’m looking at the end of May and there are still no free bookings,” the receptionist told me.

“End of May! I might be dead by then.”

“If it’s urgent we can book you in earlier.” That’s a relief!

“No it’s not urgent, but I might still be dead and if I am, I’m really concerned I wont be able to cancel it. I’ve seen the notices in the waiting room, I know you hate it when people don’t turn up to appointments. Perhaps they are all dead. I think you should check it out.”

So I was on a mission, if I didn’t turn up they would probably inform the police. Progress along the Grand Union was swift, not a single lock to be negotiated. Once on the Oxford Canal the Napton flight were looming. I flew through the nine locks, hardly stepping on dry land. Each lock timed to perfection, a boat exiting as I arrived, one arriving as I left. Kind assistance wasn’t always well thought out. As I sat in a lock two people opened both ground paddles fully at speed, from the back I could see the front of the boat rise at an alarming speed, seconds later it was hurtling backwards towards the bottom gate, forward thrust saving me whacking the gates, then as the water reached the back of the lock it threw the boat forward, this time reverse was not enough to save the situation and I hit the top gate hard. In future I will be firm with well intentioned assistance.

I so often see boats in locks, somebody at the tiller engaging the boat in firm forward or reverse to maintain the position in the centre of the lock, yet when I am by myself using the paddles gently as nobody is on the boat, there is almost no movement. People often wonder how I manage alone, “It must be really difficult,” they say. It’s not. Follow a simple procedure and it’s no more difficult than with a crew, it just takes a bit longer.

It’s a great time to be on the canals, ducks and their squadrons of kids lurk

around every corner. Some of the kids are split from mum as the boat passes, panic sets on, their little legs go like the clappers as they tear along like a speed boat in a vain attempt to get around the front of the boat before they give up knackered.

On entering Banbury there was a big commotion in a tree ahead, a number of birds fell out hitting the water, one remained there flapping in distress. Once past I could see it was a young pigeon, so I fetched my net, went into reverse and saved the thing by putting it on the back. It probably died, it certainly would have done if it used the same doctor as me, but at least it had a fighting chance of survival on dry land. Job done the boat blocked the canal, wedge against a moored boat at the front. I walked the gunwales and pushed myself off, a passing walker saying, “Those boats are difficult to handle aren’t they.”

“Not really, I got into a mess trying to rescue a bird from the water.”

He said nothing, he didn’t have to, “Yeah, right,” was etched across his face.

On Sunday evening I moored at Somerton. I could have gone further, but I love the open field and cattle there, it’s my favourite mooring, this was already my third visit.

I cycled to my meetings on Monday. Rumour had it contracts would be exchanged on the house. “Oh really,” said my solicitor when I saw her. It had been a rumour.

Dampness has already arrived back in the lounge of my house where it was flooded in December. Next was a joint call from the insurance company and the company who did the drying. The driers blamed 18 inches of damp course which is too high.

“Is that right?” I said sarcastically. “So never having a problem in 15 years and following the driest spring since records began,

water has seeped in and reached the ceiling, but it has nothing to do with hundreds of gallons of water running down the walls from a burst pipe.”

They paid a second visit to drill holes in the wall and poke probes in. “It’s because of the water butt,” they told me. They are desperate, I assume they are going to have to pay for re-plastering and redecorating if they are found culpable. I am not a happy bunny.

I’m heading back for Banbury. Unfortunately there are few water points and no elsan disposal between Thrupp and Banbury, so having not filled the former or emptied the latter for two weeks it is becoming priority. I stopped at Adderbury opposite a farm making their own sausage, so ventured in with no intention of parting with cash. I walked out with home made sausages, two duck eggs and a goose egg. Don’t worry, I did pay. The goose egg was a whopper, boiled for 12 minutes for breakfast, a perfect soft boiled egg, highly recommended.