Woke up to three locks. Met a boat coming the other way that had to turn around because they’d been given the wrong directions. One of the crew came from the Cayman Islands and he was having a blast with the canals and locks. He was lovely, but felt the need to comment that he thought he might be glad I wasn’t on his boat cuz otherwise he’d never get to do anything fun, not that I’m bossy or anything… (cough!)

Dad rescued a baby magpie from the canal. She looked very poorly and sat by our hatchway in the sun while we were moored. She dried out and started hopping around so I think she was okay. And she seemed to enjoy playing ‘Magpie Behind The Tree’, trying to hide around the opposite side of the tree from me and Dad. Probably because she was scared, I hear you say. I sat down and when I didn’t materialise around her side of the tree, she came around to mine, sat down beside me and we sat there communing until Mum and Chris got back from the supermarket, at which point she hopped off to parts unknown.

Made lunch, and three of us ate it while Dad was to busy nattering to the boat down the canal with a large beer in his hand.

Plenty of swans with cygnets to be seen, and even one group of Canada geese with their goslings. Everybody go ‘Ahhhh….’)

Chris steered and didn’t hit anything. I steered and also didn’t hit anything.

Managed to walk across a junction the wrong way which meant walking back again. No great shakes you may think. However I was in a bikini and the bridge I paraded over several times had a full audience courtesy of the local pub.

Stood on the bridge by The Greyhound pub with large glasses of wine and watched a Canaltime boat attempt the 180 degree turn that Dad managed to do in one clean shot. Four shuffles, three rammed sets of pilings and a very loud argument later, they managed it. And then went on to successfully demonstrate to us and the audience at the pub their complete lack of knowledge as to how to operate a lock. Especially amusing as this was a stop lock, with a six inch water difference; therefore their first argument was whether or not they actually needed to do the paddles because they couldn’t see a water level difference, closely followed by their second argument where they couldn’t work out why the gates wouldn’t move.

Went to dinner at The Greyhound, and sat at very nice table with a view, slightly squiffed and anticipating the promised culinary delight. Mum decided to go to the ladies. Whilst in there, the soap dispenser fell off the wall, and the hand dryer failed to work. Thus, it was clearly her fault that the power died in the pub and surrounding five mile radius.

With tummies rumbling and alcohol infusing hungry bloodstreams we watched other tables slowly decide to go else where to eat. The cook was going to shut the kitchen if there was no sign power coming back on by 21.15. At 21.10 I did not think power was likely to happen, but Dad remained faithful. At 21.14, the power came on and shortly afterwards food began appearing. A very nice dinner was had, despite mutual squiffiness abounding that sent certain people’s vocal volumes up to very high levels (Clue: I am not referring to myself, Chris or Mum, here). Especially when remarking upon the size of passing ladies backsides.

Dad and Chris both had ginormous mixed grills. Both looking like stuffed walruses, they swore not to have another mixed grill for the rest of the holiday.

Went back to boat, went to bed and crashed out.