On our hollies

We have left the Ashby, joined the rest of the network and are heading for the pie pub. Tonight we made it to Ansty between Stretten Stop and Hawksbury Junction and very pleasant it is too. Lisa says it's just like being on holiday. The gennie is humming away (as silently as a unsilenced 3Kw generator can be humming) and the stew is on the boil. The local pub, the Castle and Rose, looks inviting and waiting for our visit later.

Hawksbury was full of gongoozelers just waiting for me to make a mistake doing the 180 wind outside the Greyhound pub (it was as if they had all turned out specifically for my appearance). Well I fooled them all and was, in the end, very little entertainment value at all. They might as well have all stayed at home and had a well cooked Sunday lunch.

The weather was fabulous but the towpaths on the way here were in a dreadful state and other than a couple of gravelly bits, it was quagmire all the way. But I don't care. I'm not walking them. I'm on a boat amusing myself at the towpath walkers expense. They don't pay anything to BW and have no grounds to complain. Even the mountain bikers were walking their bikes through the swamp, much to my amusement. "That doesn't look like much fun", was returned with a scowling glare that could have sunk ships. Let's hope it's not going to be mine. Just in case I'll keep my big gob shut in future and adapt a concerned look that sympathises with their predicament. There again...