Waving goodbye to Hopwas, we headed for Fradley Junction to join the Trent & Mersey Canal. Making good progress on a sunny Sunday, we stopped for lunch at the end of the farm airstrip near Streethay Wharf that we discovered last time we passed this way.

Those sad enough to while away long motorway journeys by spotting offerings from the various “logistics” companies will find canal travel highly unrewarding, despite the frequent proximity to railways, motorways and main roads. However, there are one or two notable stretches where one can indulge this harmless eccentricity, one of these is just past Streethay Wharf, where the canal runs extremely adjacent to the A38 near Lichfield for a mile or so. In the twenty minutes or cruising along, we spotted 1 Eddie, 2 Norberts, and got a bonus point for a Fire Engine hammering along with full Blues and Twos.

With a gloriously sunny Sunday afternoon in full spate, Fradley Junction was predictably mobbed with people and boats, so we pushed on up through the locks chaos as quickly as possible. On the way in to the junction we noticed a load of parked cars out in the sticks with a sign saying “Fred & Ethel’s wedding”  or words to that effect; passing the Kingfisher Holiday Park car park, that was wall to wall with shiny motorbikes all sporting yellow ribbons.

Once clear we were on our own, and twenty minutes later locked up through Wood End Lock to find we had the place to ourselves. Perhaps the ghost of Biggles knew we were coming and had scared off everyone else for the day. Anyway, with weather significantly better than when we scattered his ashes it was a pleasant and peaceful spot to raise a glass or two to the memory of our much missed late Captain.

Monday morning was equally sunny, and realising we were very low on milk, we decided to walk the mile or so back to Fradley Junction, and see if we could purchase some: there used to be a small shop there. Seems the shop only opens at weekends…

Still, a Guinness at the Mucky Duck, and first lunch at the Kingfisher Cafe (decent sandwiches, but just one Harley Davidson today) set us up for a wander round the conservation area / lake / converted side pond / fishing spot, which set us up for second lunch at the CaRT Visitor Centre Cafe (good cakes). No milk to be had anywhere, though.

On the way back, we noticed a rather fine Caterham sports car, and a Morgan that attracted Fran’s attention, both with “taps aff”, as our Scottish friends would say. It was certainly the weather for it.

Getting back to the boat late afternoon and milk-less, the only thing to do was put on some more sun cream, and raise another glass or two to Sir, with something that didn’t need milk added…

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.

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.

We knew wanted to go back to Slimbridge, were 99% certain we weren’t going to head down the Severn Estuary to Portishead and Bristol even though weather conditions had been clement, and we needed some milk… Sharpness was calling. The cruise down alongside the River Severn didn’t take long, and we were soon moored up at Sharpness Junction. That’s where there’s the old arm that leads to the original basin and lock down onto the river. Proceeding any further would have taken us into the docks themselves, and needed 24 hours notice (presupposing we were heading down the Estuary).

Here’s the old basin and lockkeeper’s cottage, and a photo looking down the old lock exit. The river was at high tide and running fiercely. If you click on the picture and enlarge it you can see the flowing area. If we ever needed confirmation that this wasn’t the place for a unseaworthy narrowboat without a qualified pilot, this was it!

Although little large ship traffic goes up the canal to Gloucester these days, a wander round the docks showed plenty of activity.

This is now the lock / basin leading down to the river from the docks proper: the gates at the far end can only open around high tide, so all movements have to be planned. It all makes Song & Dance look very small.

Not sure why this boat carries its own helicopter… it would be more useful if had some rotors. Perhaps it’s a early prototype for the Super Puma (he said, cruelly). And while we often see electric fences for keeping animals in place, this one seems a bit OTT.

Having located the shop and pub (miles from where we were moored) and purchase the milk, wandering back Fran decided she’d found the perfect hanging basket for home. There also seemed to be a crane factory, as well.

And when Song & Dance hove back into view, we’d clearly been long enough for the tide to go out.

We’d heard, anecdotally, that most of the 60 or so small boats that transit the estuary per year did it from Bristol/Portishead to Sharpness. As such a trip may well involve waiting days for the right combination of tides and weather, we now understand why, and resolved there and then that if we were going to do it, we’d start from the Kennet & Avon. With nothing to keep us at Sharpness, we turned the boat around and headed back for Slimbridge and Gloucester.