Back through rain and wind and mist...

13th & 14th December

Despite it being really not very nice at all out there, Sheila made a flying start yesterday. (She's a real boatwoman: if the water's there...) It was wet and rather windy, but not particularly cold. We got to Hillmorton Locks following the tug Progress towing a butty marked as hailing from the Aire and Calder Navigation (though they were going to Brinklow Marina).

They were making hard work of getting down the offside lock of the pair, so we followed another boat into the nearside one. He was single handing, but coping rather better. It being my turn to lock wheel, I had a busy time helping out wherever I could. Fortunately the layout at Hillmorton makes it easy to lift a paddle on the opposite lock, so we were able to ensure that Progress had an full lock to come into each time.

It had rained very hard all night, in common with most of the rest of the country, and the fields draining off into the cut meant that there was an awful lot of water trying to get down the flight, in addition to what we were bringing down ourselves with all this locking.

The spare water had long since overwhelmed the by-washes, and water was pouring over the tops of the gates, even when the lock was full. This came to a head (ho, ho) at the bottom lock. The guy in front didn't want to go down it, but had kindly set it for us. The only problem was that there was now about a foot of water over the top gate, and it was flowing round the paved quadrant and pouring down the towpath.

It took two of us, almost wading over boot depth, to shove the gate open so that Sanity could enter the lock. Filling the lock alongside helped a bit, but as we finished, it was apparent that there was still too much water in the flight.

These days, of course, even significant flights like Hillmorton don't have a lockie about at the weekend, so there was no one to let the excess down in a controlled fashion. It continued to tip down as we made soggy progress to the Brownsover mooring in time for lunch.

Gloves and boots were sodden, except for Sheila's nice new boots, which being proper leather had kept the water out very well. As I write, our heavy gloves are still hanging up to dry, more than 24 hours later. The outer layers have dried off OK, but the inner woolly bits will take a bit longer, methinks.

We did a good shop in Tesco after eating; by now the rain had mostly stopped, so at least we were able to use back up clothing without soaking it as well. Back at the boat, Sheila steered to Newbold whilst I packed away the goodies.

This morning was mild and misty, and we made a fairly relaxed start, not getting away until half nine. I steered whilst Sheila lurked below taking advantage of a good internet connection (some of the time) to do various bits and pieces of her financial wizardry (new ISAs, I'm told).

It was just on twelve as we passed through Ansty, so I got her to drag herself away from the high finance to take over the tiller whilst I ate lunch. I then relieved her, and Sheila had almost settled down to eat as we arrived at Sutton's Stop.

I pulled onto the water point on the North Oxford side of the stop lock, and She was able to finish eating whilst I started the washing machine running, filled the water tank and took a load of rubbish and recycling to the bins.

When all this was done, we worked down the lock, and I had a go at emulating Sheila's achievement the other day of passing through the junction and turn without touching the throttle.

It can't be done in that direction, at least that's my excuse. Some rapid astern had to be applied, and even so I touched the opposite bank with the bow. Sheila, meanwhile, had found a space on the visitor moorings, and we tied and closed up, leaving the engine running to finish the wash load.

Sheila got back to work on the net to finish her financial stuff, then, having run the Eberspacher whilst the engine was still on, so that the bedroom and bathroom were nice and toasty, took a shower.

I, meanwhile, claimed the steerer's privilege at the end of the day and loafed in the saloon reading the paper. I was deep in the Independent on Sunday's nominations for Most Ridiculous Briton when I heard a voice outside the side hatches saying "Bruce? It is Bruce, isn't it?"

This turned out to be Dot and Derek of Gypsy Rover, so we had a good natter through the hatch whilst Sheila finished her ablutions and came and joined us. It's always good to meet fellow bloggers, especially highly sociable Kiwis like Derek and Dot. It seems quite possible that we'll meet up again around New Year in the Great Haywood area, when quite possibly Sue and Vic on No Problem will be about too.

Any preferences for wine, folks?

Tomorrow, we'll plod on to Hartshill, then probably Atherstone on Tuesday.