The best laid plans…

With hot weather, and too much to eat and drink, it was looking like a possibly restless night, and so it proved. Having given up meditating on the undergrowth, we were woken by that unmistakeable sound of the Captain leaping aboard and giving forth with a full, open throated victory “yowl”, only somewhat moderated by the small furry rodentoid mute firmly and inextricably grasped in his molars.

Promised for Friday lunchtime, by early afternoon we’d established that due to the wonders of the wholesaler’s computer system, our part had not only failed to arrived at Shepperton Marina, but they were now out of stock and no more would be available to until at least mid-July. And I thought aircraft parts could be problematical. So much for hanging around waiting!

A somewhat testy phone call with the wholesaler elicited the information that one last pump-out cap could be located at their sub-office somewhere in Outer Mongolia, or perhaps the Norfolk Broads – I forget which. Anyway, they promised to get it delivered to Uxbridge Boat Centre for Tuesday, whom we expected to pass somewhere around then. They also promised to call Uxbridge and tell them we’d be calling in to collect it.

By now, it was getting too late to set off and expect to find moorings on a sunny Friday evening, so another chill-out session ensued at our Shepperton moorings before eventually heading off down stream on the Saturday morning.

Walton BridgeWalton Bridge

The new Walton bridge is rather fine. Wonder why they named it after the first mate.

Sad Eyed?Goodnight Irene

Just near there, we wondered if the rather grey Lady of the Lowlands was as Sad-Eyed as she looked. And the naval gun standing guard over Goodnight Irene may be the Environment Agency’s latest attempt to catch licence dodgers, or perhaps is just there to deter anyone from singing anything other than Leadbelly’s version when they pass.

Wonder what the tartan looks likeDivebombing Parakeet

We also wondered what tartan might be appropriate for this cruiser, moored near The Anglers, which really does have a dive-bombing parakeet as its pub sign, just in case anyone disbelieved us.

And so, heading further downstream, we eventually moored up right under the gold plated gates at Hampton Court Palace: we were lucky to get in there, it would appear.

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