The Final Wind Down

Well, that was lucky.  

 

Despite entering one of the most rural and thinly populated parts of the country we managed to find a good signal for the ladies final (sad for Lizicki, loved the eccentric Bartolli) but were getting desperate on men's finals day.  We struggled to find a spot with any signal at all and when we did it seemed every passing aircraft (and being a weekend there seemed to be an inordinate number of recreational flyers) whether a jumbo at 35000 feet or a micro light at 1500 feet would disturb it and the first hour or so was very tense as I leapt about attempting to adjust the aerial. It finally settled and we saw history being made - at long last. But as the Guardian pointed out (thank you Alison B for bringing this to my attention) we haven't waited 77 years for a British champion. We've had several British women winners since the much quoted Fred Perry as late as Virginia Wade in 1977.  So to be absolutely accurate members of the press, we've waited 77 years for a British MEN'S champion.  Ok sisters?

 

We really are entering the final phase of our great adventure and having achieved the spreadsheet's objectives of going as far south as Tewksbury and as far north as Skipton, we have done remarkably well.  It's not been a daily slog either as we've regularly stopped and enjoyed the sights and have rarely been underway for more than 3 to 4 hours a day. But passing our home base of Napton Junction where it all began on the 8th of April it felt to me a bit like job done and really like the start of a holiday so we just cruised very gently down the Oxford Canal enjoying the magnificent weather (finally, typical eh?) and rediscovering how fine the landscape is in the forgotten county of Warwickshire and in north Oxfordshire. 

 

Braunston was very busy as was the Grand Union canal so we saw many more boats, especially rental boats who were suddenly out in force, than we had so far and I was reflecting on some of our fellow narrow boaters. Is there a "typical" narrow boater? Is there a uniform? Are there any unwritten rules for the activity?
 

A few things have struck me. There is an obvious difference between owners and hirers. In the main, those who own a boat understandably have a better skill level and can manoeuvre their vessels at little risk to others.  Hirers tend to drive too fast especially round corners (and suffer the consequences, crashing into the bank as they discover these beasts can't be turned at the last minute) and have less respect in the locks bashing the gates with their boats and letting paddles drop rather than be wound down.  Owners are more respectful of going slowly past moored craft. 

 

But there are also two types of owner. The live aboard who has chosen to make the narrow boat his permanent home and the owner who holidays or spends extended periods afloat. The permanent live aboards have to be pretty hardy. I can't think its much fun in the winter living in a tin can floating in freezing water with all that cold dampness permeating your living space. Especially if your mooring does not have electricity you can hook up to meaning you have to run your engine to generate any heat. I was quite surprised just how many permanent moorings there are on the canal side without any services at all although a few more of these do at least have a water connection. 
 

There seems to be greater pride in the look and maintenance of the "casual" owner boat as well. These are often bedecked with flowers; rooftop mini vegetable gardens; shining brass additions of every kind; pristine paintwork protected by fixed fenders; and since the sun has come out you see the garden furniture and umbrellas appear as they colonise their own piece of the towpath (shears and  clippers are on hand to clear a space). Permanents boats however often need a coat of paint; are some of the more obscure, ie peculiar, designs; have the weirdest paint jobs and bizarrest names; have piles of wood and coal on the roof; tend to have more animals especially dogs; and where they've got a canal side private mooring have either created a mini suburban garden or have accumulated piles of rotting 'stuff' with no apparent relationship to boating.
 

And as for a "uniform", well I observe a certain style emerging most often defined through headgear. The favourite is the fedora type hat, often made of leather and frequently accompanied by a matching leather waistcoat. Now summer is finally here, straw versions are appearing but rarely a baseball cap. Check shirts seem preferred especially in the cooler weather and as I've noted before shorts seem to be adopted May 1st and worn whatever the conditions presumably till summer is officially over. Many of the women have that latter day hippie look with long greying hair and floral tops again with sensible shorts. We have seen a large number of men with dreadlocks which might have something to do with the challenges of bathing. 

But enough musing, final travelogue required before I sign off with one last blog. You must all be as relieved as I am!

 

 

Being in holiday mode now we lay picnic rugs and lingered and lounged in the sunshine beside open fields and strolled around the few villages accessible to the canal. Priory Hardwick was a delightful place with its warm stone houses and magnificent mature deciduous trees. No shops though and only a smart bistro pub we will return to for a final hook up with friends. We went as far as the bottom of the Claydon locks (Ros was getting withdrawal symptoms without a bit of grinding) where we turned round and then had a scare about water shortages on our way back up the locks (all happily sorted after we went up a couple and brought some water down). 

 

 

And can you believe it? Finally relaxing about the need for a pump out with so few days to go what should happen but an overflowing toilet. Well, not overflowing into the boat thank god but absolutely full. I blame those reluctant visitors who preferred to make use of our facilities rather than their loo tent!  Mercifully we were near a boatyard with the necessary machinery. Phew.
 

Now with only 3 days to go, you find me finally caught up and sitting in a pleasant pub with wifi uploading penultimate blogs and enjoying the shade.  Ros is doing a final launderette (didn't pack enough T shirts or shorts and it is hot here) and Phoebe is recovering from her first fall into the canal. Yes, after nearly fourteen weeks she finally slipped at the entrance to one of the locks and had to be hauled out.
 

Oh, and of course she wasn't wearing her life jacket.