Just next to our mooring near Marlow Bridge one of the big boating outfits was advertising 45 minute round trips to Temple Lock and back. Some newly moved friends had taken an evening off from sorting stuff to come down and join our merry crew for dinner: the cook decided there was time for a quick pre-prandial cruise, so we headed off to Temple Lock before coming back to our original mooring. Even managed to use the same holes for the mooring spikes. The big boys always always look as though they’re breaking the 8kph speed limit, but our little cruise took 45 minutes. Well there you go…
Mooring near a posh town centre, pros: freshly baked croissants for breakfast; cons: the locals tend to demand their breakfast with menaces.
On the advice of the local lock-keeper regarding amenable moorings, Sunday morning saw a gentle wander in increasingly splendid weather down to the picture book village of Cookham, which was pretty but mobbed. A visit to the Stanley Spencer Gallery seemed to be compulsory, and they had some significant extra paintings from other UK collections. He might be a much lauded local and national hero, but I’m afraid that the views of Biggles and his crew were rather more mixed, though we suspect Christ preaching at Cookham Regatta would have hit the spot had he finished it.
Less impressive was the local water bailiff, who came to collect the mooring fee accompanied by husband and three unruly dogs all off the lead, one of which tried to jump in via the side hatch to say “hello” to the Captain. The Captain was not impressed. Telling someone after the event that “Oh don’t worry, he likes cats…” only adds insult to injury. Why do people with dogs just assume that everyone else takes delight in their dogs bounding up to them and jumping/barking/slobbering at them. Stiff letter to council required.