Through Nuneaton

Our choice of the Barley Mow last evening worked out OK, though we were the only customers in the restaurant at half six (they start serving at six during the week). The food was fine, but I had a lousy pint of beer for my first one. I've managed to forget the name of the brewery (Woodfield, perhaps?), but the beer was cloudy and yeast bitten. My follow up pint of Old Speckled Hen was fine, so it may just be an unpopular brew and I'd got the first one out of the pump for the evening.

We can especially recommend the pies, genuine home made wedges in a variety of fillings.

It was the standard flying start this morning, except that the first hour had to be taken very steadily because of the fog. Sheila had the headlight and nav lights on for a good three hours. Once the visibility opened up a bit, we were able to get a bit of a move on, and got to Hawkesbury Junction just after eleven.

Once round the turn and through the narrows on the Coventry, I made Sheila a mug of soup and had my lunch. I took over as we started through the grim stretch of cut that is Nuneaton; can nothing be done about Nuneaton, perhaps ship it out wholesale to some unsuspecting developing world country, as the inhabitants appear to want to regress to a pre-civilisational state?

The water is full of rubbish, BW have taken to marking the larger obstructions with orange can buoys, one of which has been set adrift, and all vertical surfaces including the signange is covered in graffiti.

It's always a relief to get to the bit of offside mooring on the north side, and to know that you are more or less clear.

We got to the Anchor pub just after two, and the sun made a brief appearance. For the third day running, I've lit the stove in the saloon; the damp raw cold is too much for the Webasto to keep at bay.