Entertainment last night and a soggy day's boating

As I expected, we had a very good meal at the Samuel Barlow last night, as well as entertainment. This takes a number of forms in that pub: first off there are always a few dogs about, last night including one of those cheeky terriers that comes and stares at you. It looked mostly like a Dandy Dinmont and clearly had a very high opinion of itself.

Next comes the chat from the bar staff who are both friendly and helpful and finally there's always your interview with the chef patron, who seems to have dedicated himself to supporting the popular image of Aussies everywhere.

It was after we'd scoffed our grub (slow roast breast of lamb for Sheila, smoked haddock and cheese fishcake for me) that he emerged from the kitchen for a natter. In the course of this he vouchsafed that:

• They don't serve starters because "this is a pub, not a bloody restaurant"
• He plays golf on a Monday, so they don't open that day, except for Bank Holidays.
• After golf, he goes and gets drunk, so "to be on the safe side, we don't open until four on a Tuesday"
• They don't serve sandwiches, "Because I can't be bothered" (actually he didn't say bothered, but this isn't an 18 rated blog)
• "I go to Portugal to play golf in January, so we don't open at all"
• The dog menu of two kinds of meat is available every day, free, though donations to the RSPCA are encouraged
• Each September (the 14th this year) they make an attempt on the Guinness Book of Records for the most pub meals served to dogs in one day. Last year they served 151 dogs, who each had a meal of roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding.

We got there at six last night and only just got a table – in future we'll book by ringing 01827 898 175.

Despite all that, we still got up at six this morning and were boating by quarter past, using our usual routine of Sheila starting off and me relieving her after I've eaten. The weather wasn't too bad at first, but deteriorated as soon as I'd taken the helm, so that it was really quite unpleasant on the approach to Atherstone, wet and windy.

After that it picked up a bit again. We passed the flotilla of four boats from Strawberry Island Boat Club who'd tied between locks ten and nine. They set off to chase us up the flight, but we soon got ahead and didn't see them again until after we'd tied for the day.

All the locks were with us, so it was just on ten as we cleared the flight. I nipped off to get a paper from the local shop as Sanity Again rose in the top lock, leaving Sheila and the volunteer locky to see her through.

The moorings at Hartshill were deserted, the first time I've ever seen that, I reckon, and we've come on just a bit further to the Anchor, by which time I was feeling cold and weary.

The Squirrel's blazing away now and the sun is managing to peep through; there's some hope of a pleasant day tomorrow, though still quite cool.

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.