Today was supposed to be hot, but someone forgot to tell the big black clouds they weren’t supposed to be there, so a bit chilly about the cheeks.

Attacked a swing-bridge and three locks after breakfast. Chris and I earned brownie points whilst helping a lone gentleman through the locks ahead of us, and the brownie points were gained for taking care of his boat by opening the top paddle half and half instead of going the whole hog which usually floods the bow. Halos duly polished.

Lots of obstacles in the way today, mostly Canaltime boats (these are the poor guys who get told, ‘here’s a boat, there’s the canal, go play’ with no instruction on how to operate a lock, the concept of speed restrictions or etiquette etc.), with the odd single lane tunnel that has no way to see if anyone’s coming the other way. And Dad managed to deal with them all without hitting anything.

Mum and Chris went shopping and came back with toffee and pecan Danish pastries. For some reason they seemed to think that we should share them between the four of us. I had other plans for each and every one of them, but unfortunately they know me too well and locked them away. Pah!

For scenery, we had not only beautiful countryside, atmospheric woods and hedges of bright pink rhododendrons, but also that icon of aesthetic beauty, the loo factory. Piles upon piles of Armitage Shanks most popular product all available in any colour as long as it’s white.

Saw my boat, or should I say a little fibreglass boat with ‘Candy’ on it. And it was parked outside ‘The Plum Pudding’. Chris walked three miles by himself along the towpath and saw two herons and two hawks hunting.

While Dad helmed, Mum and I did one little lock as Chris snored indoors, and all three of us did the next little lock with a handful of small people kindly assisting with the gate.

Mum and Dad saw a lapwing whilst sitting up the back in the rain, and Chris steered a lot, and even managed to moor up. So if we wake up to find ourselves not in the same place we went to bed, we know who to blame (usually it’s me…).

We went to the pub for food. Mum was given very strict instructions not to go to the loo until after food had arrived at the table.

As we were in Salt, home to our maternal great grandmother's family circa 16th century through early 19th century, Mum had scheduled a stop at the village graveyard in order to rediscover some ancestors. Unfortunately neither the graveyard nor the churchyard yielded any results for families Salt or Burton. Chris and Dad, armed with imaginary machetes bravely forged through uncharted territory in search of the village pub, while Mum and I went in search of a key to the church.

The first recommended place of acquirement did not have anyone home, and finding the alternative place of acquirement was a bit of a challenge. Mum was ready to give up in disappointment but I suggested going to all the houses up to the delimited sign that marked the actual end of the village. Lo and behold, the final house just by the sign was the place we were looking for. And they were in. And they gave up the key upon request. After some discussion however, it turned out that the church was not built until 1843. The Salts left Salt in 1820. Mum did however leave with clues as to where her search might lead her next.

We were therefore happy to follow the intrepid explorers into The Holly Bush in search of food.

Mum did go to the loo before food arrived, but this time the power didn’t die.

And the food was lovely. Steak and Ale pie with lots of steak, yum! Dad and Chris both had mixed grills…