Up Bosley

We were very glad that we stopped at Hall Green last night, for we had a very good meal at the Bleeding Wolf. It's a Robinsons pub, a brew of which I didn't have particularly good memories from when we used to drink it in Wales, but they must have raised their game quite considerably. There were three hand pulled ales on tap, of which Unicorn was the best bitter and very good it was too.

The pub itself has been decorated in rather olde worlde style, with mock wooden beams with apparent adze marks on them, but it's not too over the top, and made a change from the modern stuff we've been seeing recently.

The menu was quite extensive in a trad english way, and the food we had was well cooked and promptly served.

Today we set off again before seven; it will be quite strange to get back to lazy starts over the weekend. Sheila steered whilst I breakfasted, once we were through the swing bridge, number 89. This was the one which was such a hassle last time through, as the towpath side has dropped and fouls the abutment. It was swung open today, and we suspect that folk have given up trying to use it.

After I'd fed, I relieved Sheila and took us along the pleasant run to Congleton. The weather was gloriously sunny, but a cold wind kept it from being very warm. We stopped briefly at the shopping mooring in Congleton whilst I nipped up to the Post Office in Hightown in search of you know what. Unfortunately, the most left wing periodical they could offer was a Daily Telegraph, so I have had to do without.

On we chugged; the canal is much shallower than the T&M, so no chance of breaking the speed limit. We were the first up Bosley, and the first five locks were with us, giving Sheila an easy time. I took over to do the top six, most of which were full. That's the luck of the draw, I guess, or at least that's how Sheila put it.

The wind rose with us, and by the time we reached the top just before midday was becoming a serious problem. Bunnies Warren is much more wind tender than Sanity Again, being much lighter and shallower drafted, and Sheila found herself rubbing along the side of one of the boats on the long term moorings above the flight.

There was nothing she could do; the bow thruster was useless against the wind pressure. It's always seemed to me to be a damn silly place for moorings anyway; the channel is very narrow, and any queue for the locks soon runs back onto the moored boats.

I got some lunch as we went along, finishing my sandwiches just in time to take over for the Royal Oak swing bridge. Presumably this was the original name of the Fools Nook pub where we intend to eat tonight.

Happily, the forecast is for much less wind tomorrow, so we should have a very pleasant final run into Poynton.