Setting off first thing on Saturday, we were soon passing through Polesworth. We’d stopped last time for some shopping and were rather taken by the town, but couldn’t think of an excuse to delay progress this time.

On our way in, we saw a peregrine passing overhead. Not sure if we’re getting better at spotting them, or there are more around. We’d like to think the latter is true: Braunston, Coventry, Leamington Spa (apparently) – healthy population at the top of the food chain implies underlying ecology is doing better.

On our way out, we spotted a very odd duck, which on closer inspection proved to be a wood pigeon trying to swim. Even closer inspection showed it was struggling, almost certainly with a broken wing. It had more-or-less made it across to the towpath side, so carefully backing up we fished it out with our Biggles rescue net (oddly never used in anger), and some passers by put it on the tree lined bank, but we rather suspected it would not survive for very long.

Further along, She Who Must said that we’d passed through the historically interesting Fazely Junction on the outskirts of Tamworth many times, but never stopped to look around…

Actually, the old parts are almost entirely hidden by modern buildings and alterations, although someone was rather taken by the fine house at the junction (apart from the roar of Watling Street adjacent to it).

Even the old mill seemed pretty derelict. Shame.

Rather disappointed, we carried on to Hopwas, and consoled ourselves with dinner at The Tame Otter. Saturday night, excellent three course meal each and a “free” bottle of wine for £50 – pretty good these days.  We’d eaten here on the way up last year: Biggles was very interested in the car park and all the outside tables and diners. We were moored right outside, and he took considerable coaxing to come back on board. No problem this time, unfortunately.

With all the diversions delays and so on, the need for two trips to shuttle everything – including the boss – to winter quarters, and some pre-departure chores to do, it was mid-afternoon on Easter Tuesday before we finally set sail. Not helped by the Captain disappearing and taking some time to locate, rather confused, a long way from the boat. That “marina orientation” course looks even more necessary!

Despite the plan to head North, we started by heading South for reasons that really aren’t mentioned in polite society. It was a glorious sunny and warm April day, with a few scattered fair-weather cumulus and very little wind. We’d been serenaded during our departure preparations by a Reed Bunting and a Blackbird in the hedge by the boat. The omens were good, and it was nice to back on the cut again.

As seemingly usual, as we passed Peewit Farm by Slat Mill Lock, a mile or two south of Cropredy, there wasn’t a Lapwing in sight, but, as usual we heard and saw a pair of Curlews bubbling away. Still seems a little odd hearing them in rural Oxfordshire, even more so now they’re on the Red List of endangered species. They even gave us a fly-past – the omens were good.

Reaching Banbury late afternoon after a few locks had exercised muscles that had atrophied over the winter, we moored up close to the centre in Spiceball Park. We could have moored right in the middle of the shopping centre, but the boss prefers some greenery to hide in or explore. And there we made a tactical error.

Quickly scanning TripAdvisor, we headed for a highly regarded Italian Restaurant for a celebratory dinner, and having failed to take on board the comments about portion sizes, both of us ordered a starter and a main. The starters were both large enough to be main courses for two, so although the food was excellent, we failed at the second hurdle. Asking for TWO doggie bags is a first for us. Perhaps the portents for our usual summer exercise-led weight loss programme weren’t as good as the cruising omens.

We staggered back to the boat, to find the Captain, fresh from bothering the hedgerow birds in the park, sitting on the back deck with an accusing eye.

Still, at least we’re afloat.

…or more particularly has been unwell (unlike Jeffrey Bernard, who was always unwell). Now 15+ years old, and still standing his ground when faced by whippets, the boss is still foolish enough to get into a scrap with the neighbourhood unneutered toms. In the New Year he developed a nasty abscess on his head. We took him to the vet, who decreed that in addition to the foul smelling wound and infection, he was seriously dehydrated, had lost a lot of weight and was proper poorly. There followed a long period with blood tests, being kept on a drip, antibiotics, a second mortgage, special diets – you know the drill. Basically, with chronic and occasionally acute pancreatitis and chronic kidney disease he was reaching the end of his nine lives.

It rather looked as though Biggles wasn’t going to go boating again: twice we took him to the vet, not expecting to bring him back home, but somehow he pulled through, perked up, started eating us out of house and home, put some weight back on and generally seemed to be near to his normal self. Much to his pleasure, and the astonishment of the vet, even though he seems to have developed an addiction to the pussy equivalent of Complan. And with the next-door neighbour’s cat still putting sir’s nose out of joint, he seemed happier when on the boat, so, against all the odds, it looked as though some more boating adventures in 2017 were on the menu.

Hence it was back to cruise planning mode after all. With an old friend passing away unexpectedly, involving us in some tracking people down and sorting out stuff exercises, we were a bit busier than we were expecting to be, but did manage to squeeze in a visit to the nearby Savill Garden one sunny afternoon, one of the deputy gardener’s favourite places.

So here are some pictures. Nothing to do with Biggles or Boating, but you can’t have it all!

The tulip border was magnificent, and the big lilies were gearing up for the season.

The rhododendrons and azaleas are always lovely here, and most of the magnolias were in their prime…

… as was the head gardener and her chums.

We thought there’d been a snowstorm here, but it was just more magnolias.

Really  must get down to getting ready to take Biggles boating again.

Ascending the Atherstone Flight of 9 locks on Monday morning, having lost another chip from a tooth, the chief navigator complained of toothache, which was getting worse. And it was the one that had been causing trouble earlier in the cruise. Tying up at the visitor moorings above the top lock, a dental appointment was secured for the Tuesday morning. By early Monday afternoon the screams of pain were getting the Captain and Chief Cook down, and the dentist’s receptionist suggested visiting immediately. By the time the dentist had taken an X-Ray, the pain was wearing off; he could find nothing untoward, and suggested it might be a sinus related issue. Having shuttled in agony between doctor and dentist several times with a similar problem some decade or two ago, raising two fingers to the medical establishment the chief cook’s emergency supply of antibiotics was raided, and no further problems occurred.

Skirting Nuneaton without ever really seeing it, and turning off Coventry Canal onto the North Oxford Canal at what is variously known as Hawkesbury Junction, Sutton Stop or The Greyhound, the journey home continued without much drama, decent weather or anything else of note. Sutton Stop was quiet, unlike the first time down this way, and for some reason no photos – midsummer and busy – were posted last time. Such an oversight will be rectified in due course, particularly as we suspect we’ll be heading back this way in the spring.

The North Oxford canal itself is quite pleasant cruising, apart from the fact that the edges are (a) shallow and (b) rock infested, so finding suitable mooring without needing a gangplank is problematical. Rugby was similarly skirted, and the “dual-carriageway” Hillmorton Locks negotiated without problems. By Friday lunchtime we’d reached the outskirts of Braunston, and were pleased to see that a pair of peregrine falcons were still in residence on the church steeple.

Finding space in the prime mooring place (just above Napton bottom lock) on Friday evening, we rewarded ourselves with dinner at the splendidly quirky Folly pub, and a visit to the splendid Napton Post Office for coffee and fresh bread the next morning.

Crossing the winding summit of the South Oxford Canal is always pleasant, even though by now well familiar. Obligatory photos of the Napton water buffaloes were taken.

Finally stopping for Sunday night just above Claydon Top Lock, one away from our final destination, we knew there had been problems earlier in the summer with the lock, but on Monday morning we weren’t sure whether to be appalled at the state of things or admire the ingenuity of the “temporary” repair. Armco would be proud!

And so, by Monday lunchtime our 2016 cruise had come to an end, and Song & Dance was safely tucked up in her winter quarters at Cropredy Marina, next to a boat called Catflap (which was a misnomer, as it didn’t have one).

With a car to fetch from home and a boat to pack up, we stayed overnight. We heard Sir exit his catflap early in the morning, presumably for a constitutional. Later, there was a very heavy and prolonged outbreak of rain, and when we got up, no sign of the boss. Despite calling him, he failed to appear. Sometime considerable time later, mid morning, walking to the marina office, a very wet and bedraggled cat emerged from under the recycling bins – some 100 yards from the boat – and moaned mightily. A lady in the office said she’d seen him under the bins about 7am, and was going to feed him if he was still there later. We don’t know if if fell in somewhere, or just got thoroughly drenched by the rain, but he had clearly failed to find his way home. Think we’ll need to send him on a marina orientation training course before next year.