Aliens, Aircraft, Jabs and Otters

Waving farewell to all the activities at Trent Junction, we chose our path carefully, and headed off down the River Soar. Initially very winding, with loads of fat bottomed girls and not a few Dutch barges too, we soon got to Redhill. The alien invasion seems to have temporarily stalled East of the river, but it’s still worrying.

Aliens at Redhill

This section of the Soar is right under the final approach for East Midlands Airport, and even if RyanAir were cancelling flights left right and centre, they were still piling into East Midlands. Actually that’s an unfortunate choice of words, as Kegworth, where we intended to stop for the night, was the scene of an infamous disaster that eventually caused major changes in commercial aviation training and operations.

The few moorings at Kegworth Flood Lock were occupied. Some people were returning to their two boats – Joss and Corniche – after visiting the shops, but were staying put to watch the Grand Prix (whatever that is). They were quite happy for us to breast up while we went shopping.

Needing to fill some prescriptions as well as the fridge, we climbed up the hill to the village, ducking each time Michael O’Leary’s finest swept overhead so low you could count the rivets, and we popped into the smallest Boots we’d ever seen. The delightful pharmacist didn’t need to check her stock – she knew immediately she’d got what we needed (we couldn’t easily return to collect if out of stock). And then said “while you’re here, would you like a flu jab – I can do it immediately”. We thought we were going to have to wait until we got home, or somehow make an appointment somewhere en-route. And then she sorted out a minor problem for SWMBO with something cheap and cheerful. Made a real change from some of the grumpy ones you come across.

Returning to the boat, somewhat concerned that it was getting late in the afternoon, and on some rivers suitable moorings can be difficult to find, we untied from Josh and carried on down a delightful section of the River Soar.

The chief otter spotter – a bit out of practice as it’s a while since we’ve been to Mull – was delighted to spot one just when we needed to. It seemed an opportune time to call it a day, and go for something to eat before watching the planes landing just a little behind us.

The OtterRiver Soar

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