Signing Off

So its the last blog from the Reluctant Sardine.

You'll probably be relieved that those short, sharp emails instructing you to read the latest missive of life aboard Fandango are finally ceasing.  But before I reveal whether the Reluctant Sardine remains reluctant I must complete our tale with news of our final few days. 

We left Fenny Compton to get back to Priors Hardwick where that evening Ros had arranged to meet with friends from near Oxford. She had been in touch with Hilary and had suggested meeting for dinner at the nice looking pub we had seen on our walk round the village.  Know it well, Hilary had said so we happily booked a table. Being another lovely day we decided on a 6 mile walk through to Wormleighton. We met the local farmer who kindly directed us across his fields (he had to as he'd ploughed up the footpaths!). A really nice chap it transpired and we had an interesting chat about the pressures on the land around here.

He owned some 600 acres was a tenant on a further 1000 or so which he leased from Earl Spencer. We had remarked how beautiful this part of Warwickshire was and he told us it was one of the largest unspoilt tracts in England with no motorways, railways or A roads crossing it. Yet the canny Earl wanted to erect ten 120 metre high wind turbines, HS2 was planned to cut right through it, applications were in for clay extraction to be followed by rubbish infill, and a new giant marina on the canal was under consideration. You really got a sense of a chap under siege as he saw his beloved countryside up for grabs. 

The walk to Wormleighton was well worth it as it was an old manorial village retaining a sense of privacy with chocolate box houses clustered around the remaining one wing of the old manor house. Originally home to the Spencers, the manor was once bigger than Althorp but was abandoned by the family when partially destroyed by the Royalists in the civil war - bit of a mistake too, as the Spencers were on the Kings side! 

That evening Hilary and Paul arrived promptly at the scheduled meeting time of 6.30 which was pretty amazing as they had to locate the boat and had marched across the wrong field but they were clearly very keen to meet Fandango. Bringing champagne to toast the imminent end of our adventure we settled down after a guided tour of the vessel to a welcome glass of bubbly.

Not a good start however when the captain managed to tip a full glass all over Hilary's smart top and then Paul asked if we knew the Butchers Arms where we were headed for dinner. Sounding ominous, we replied that all we knew was that it was the closest pub to this section of the canal. Well, its a actually a well known restaurant and the last time we ate there it was over three hundred quid for four of us he noted wryly. It even has its own helipad he added knowingly.

Panic. Not quite what we had been anticipating and clearly explained why dogs weren't welcome but the champagne gave us Dutch courage and we went anyway. Well, it was extremely smart (I'm not wearing the right clothes bemoaned the captain) and we were greeted by an extremely gushing maitre de who was obviuosly Hilary's long lost best friend. After an innocent comment on the House of Commons pin he sported on his jacket lapel he proceeded to tell us all about his A list celebrity patrons - well, perhaps not A list, most of them were politicians like Heseltine, Brittain, Linda Chalker - a veritable who's who of Maggie Thatcher's last cabinet.  He can't have been wearing his glasses either as he asked what my daughter wanted to eat. Not quite the pub dining experience we had been anticipating. 

The good news was that they had an affordable set menu and excellent house wine so we didn't need to sell our kidneys. A thoroughly enjoyable evening it was. 

And so back to where it all began. Wigrams Turn Marina at Napton.  We found our allocated mooring spot and began the mammoth task of packing up. A final pub dinner at the Old Kings Head (which did welcome dogs) and we went to bed for our final night's sleep in Fandango in conditions so different from our first - no central heating needed this time.

Next morning the boat was left spick and span and one of the WHs arrived to collect us and our mountain of kit. MN appeared on time to complete the handover (and I discovered he was not the Nick who had sent me messages with information and advice about canalling - who is it please?) and so our three and half months of life in a sardine can came to a sunny close.

And what a three and half months. We have covered 691.5 miles passing through 668 locks which means one hell of a lot of paddles and grinding. I calculate at least 2500 paddles to be wound a minimum of 10 turns each.  That's a lot of effort I can assure you and may help explain my reduced waist size. We've crossed 189 aqueducts, manhandled 79 swing/moveable bridges of various sizes and types and have travelled through 7.53 miles of tunnel. That's a long time to be underground. 

We started with snow and ice on the ground, have seen downpours and drizzle, hail and sleet, gales and gusts strong enough to blow you over but we've also had sunshine and balmy summer evenings that so quickly make you forget the misery of locking down a flight of the stiffest locks imaginable in grey overcast skies in torrential rain. In other words a typical British spring and summer.

This has been a journey of adventure exploring parts of this country of ours we would never have seen had it not been for those who built the canals and the enthusiasts who fought to save them for future generations to use for pleasure and recreation. We've been joined by friends and family who have all thrown themselves into the experience and helped us realise how privileged we are to be able spend so much time on this adventure. We were fortunate to have a lovely boat that provided the necessary creature comforts and kept us warm and dry and never failed to start or to turn heads. 

Your reluctant sardine has learnt to respect and indeed admire the wide and varied types of people who love this activity called narrow boating (NOT barging). At times it can be the most relaxing and enviable way to travel and view the countryside. Would I recommend it, yes. Am I a convert, not quite. But seeing the joy my wife got out of her 97 days afloat I now understand better what the attraction of this activity is and whilst not keen to repeat it I will never forget it and will cherish some very special and happy memories.

So thanks to Ros for her drive to make this happen and to plan it so carefully and imaginatively; thanks to Nick for risking his pride and joy with us for three and a half months; and thanks to Fandango, our home away from home and without whom we would never have achieved so much.