Only had little lie in today, up before 8am. Had three locks before breakfast, and passed two highly amusing boats. The first one (boaters from Toronto), had an interesting notion of doing things, with one crew member standing on the bow as they entered the lock, pointing left and right. A good idea in principle perhaps, other than the minor detail that person in bow can’t actually see what the other sixty foot of boat behind him is actually doing, which will explain the spectacular banana manoeuvre the boat performed all the way into the lock. The man they had at the top gate struggled to close it, and got it about halfway shut when his compatriot arrived at the bottom gates and, without looking to see how top gate was doing, opened the paddles. Strangled scream as top gate guy got run over by the beam slamming shut.

Second boat was full of Nova Scotians. They had, I think been educated in the operating of locks, and were determined to leave the lock as it should be. An attitude I applaud. Their downcoming boat was meeting our upcoming boat between locks that were maybe a hundred yards apart and in full view of each other. My job was to go ahead to the next lock and prepare it for us, and upon seeing their boat exiting the lock, became smug with the knowledge that I wouldn’t have to do anything, as normally boats will leave the gates open when there’s an opposite boat leaving the previous lock. They started closing the gates. I raised my windlass and asked them to leave the gates. ‘Are we allowed to do that?’ asked one. ‘Yes if you can see an oncoming boat wants to get in,’ I said. ‘We’re leaving the gate on the lock we’re leaving open for you.’ ‘oh, wonderful’ they said, ‘saves work all around doesn’t it?’. I beamed, always glad to help.

As I got onto the lock, however, all the Nova Scotians had departed except one. Who was on the top of the top gate, bent double to hold onto the handrail embedded there, and taking very wobbly pigeon steps to get across the lock. I watched, somewhat bemused, and hoping she would fall in the upper side as I didn’t fancy jumping into the empty lock to rescue her. When she was safely on the other side, I asked, from my position at the other end of the lock if the walking shelf was not there, and she said that yes it is, but looked unsafe. I thought it must be in dire straits if she thought pigeon stepping across the top of the gate was safer. I needed to cross the lock my self, so I investigated. The shelf was indeed there, and looked thick and robust and actually a little wider than usual. I poked it with my big toe and it seemed firm. I stepped on it and it seemed positively solid. I walked to the middle and jumped up and down a few times. It didn’t so much as creak in protest. In fact a short while later a man with a push bike crossed it with his bicycle on his shoulder and it was perfectly fine. I’ve head rumours about Nova Scotians not being quite all there…

There are many elements of etiquette to be followed, and people get quite uptight for good reason if they are breached, and become quite friendly if they are adhered to. A couple of examples from today.

Bridges are often blind. It is therefore courtesy when passing through a bridge to inform any oncoming boats if there are any more boats behind you. The lack of such information may generally be taken that there is nothing behind. Therefore, when Twonk passed through bridge towards us, and said hello with no reference to other boats, we took the bridge as ours. As our bow went into the narrows, at the bow we spotted the bow of an oncoming boat. Fortunately both our helmsman and theirs were quick on the brakes. Dad suggested to Twonk that adhering to etiquette was the thing to do and was told loudly and categorically to Foxtrot Oscar. The following boat advised us that he’s learned to be cautious behind Twonk because of his lack of courtesy and that he was additionally a prat, going very slowly and holding everyone up. Or to put it another way, we were all PO’d although we all managed to enjoy a short bitching session which as we all know is good for making us feel better.

On the other hand, on blind corners, or when you spot a bow heading at you, it is polite to give a hoot to let them know you are there, because with sixty or even seventy odd foot of boat, the helmsman at the back can’t necessarily see. We spotted bow of a British Waterways barge over the top of a corner and hooted. We didn’t actually need to do so in this case as they had a point man on the bow who had seen us. But still, it is courtesy and one cannot rely on persons who happen to be on the bow communicating with the helm. Man on bow hooted back with his voice as apparently their horn hadn’t been fitted yet. We all laughed, they all laughed and the boat behind us laughed. In other words, we were all happy bunnies.

At lunch we moored up, finding that we were all of a sudden surrounded by other Ownerships boats. Four moored bow to stern along the same bit of piling coincidentally for lunch.

Passed through the last three locks with Ownership boat Huxley. These were the only locks that were wide and the gates and paddles were all very heavy. Good job two crews were manning! Mum was quick to remind us that she did those locks all by her own-some on Hawksmoor’s first cruise, and it was howling a blizzard and this was all back in the days when all you had to wind up the paddles was elbow grease and a bit of duct tape. Or something.

Arrived at the marina and Hawksmoor performed graceful pirouette before queuing up to diesel, water, pump out and pack.

Met marina man’s labrador, Jack and spent quality time debating the uses of old bread. I thought it made good duck food, whereas he made an exceptionally good argument for using it as dog food, demonstrating by catching chunks I threw at the ducks.
In the marina Huxley moored up next to us. Now Huxley has on board three Shelties (sp?), miniature border collies who are very good natured and very smart. A boat further down the marina, Sonata, was cooking and one of the dogs, a black one named Trixie Trouble, decided she liked the smell coming from Sonata and went to investigate, entering uninvited at the stern. After much shouting from inside Sonata and many apologies from Huxley’s skipper, Trixie appeared on bow of Sonata with bacon sandwich in mouth. After a couple of tricky jump over bows, she returned to Huxley and proceeded to munch. The other two Shelties were last seen at Sonata’s stern contemplating the same trick.

Dad painted again and had increasing difficulty telling the difference between his paint and his wine.

Went to The Blue Lias for dinner, which was lovely.