Category Archives: Biggles

A Most Excellent Balti Blow-Out

We’d had a loose arrangement to moor overnight with Excellence Afloat at Valley Cruisers’ wharf just on the outskirts of central Stratford (IYSWIM), but had failed to get back in touch with the chap who’d said it would be OK. So, with some trepidation, on Sunday morning we moved less than a mile down to their wharf, where the place looked closed, there were loads of seemingly permanently moored boats, a few unoccupied hire boats, and the only space seemingly available was on the public water point. We tied up, and deciding that if nothing else we’d take on water, even though diesel was a more pressing concern, let alone catching up on the laundry.

Wandering along the line of boats, a friendly chap with a paintbrush came up and said “Can I help?”, so we did the “David said we’d be able to moor here tonight with an electric hook-up – is he around? He’s not answering his mobile.” routine. “That’ll be because he knows I’m here…”

Seemed he was in Coventry, but our new friend said, “Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be alright… just wait a bit while I move that boat there, and that one down there, and that one into the covered dock… then you can slide in there and…” and after some considerable shuffling involving several other chaps who appeared, we were tied up, hooked up, the washing machine was running, and there was a promise of diesel in the morning, so all seemed well. Except that our friend, who’d run around sorting all the moorings out quickly so he could watch Lewis Hamilton in the Spanish Grand-Prix then spent the afternoon looking miserable because Hamilton took out Rosberg and himself on pretty much the first corner. So we’re told.

Meanwhile Biggles seemed quite happy, despite the fact that there were seven dogs running around the wharf, including a lurcher, a recently retired greyhound, a whippet and a bichon frise. Definitely time to practice his whippet baiting techniques. The sizeable mongrel that smelt his food, jumped aboard the front from another boat and rapidly emptied Sir’s food bowl got a shock when Sir, asleep on a chair near his food, woke up, stretched out and smacked the dog around the head with extreme prejudice.

A quick wander later on to get some milk found – less than ten minute’s walk away – a pleasant looking Balti House with a special offer: a starter, a main course, a rice dish and a nan all for £9.95. It seemed rude not to eat there! It was a different menu to the full a la carte one, but perfectly comprehensive; the food was excellent, we felt more than stuffed, and still had a Peshwari Nan left over to take home for tomorrow’s lunch. The Maître D admitted that the portions on the special were slightly smaller, for which we thought “Thank Heavens” before tottering off back to Song & Dance to sleep it off.

The next morning Mr & Mrs David turned up, along with some returning hire boats to turn round; it was all a bit chaotic but we were diesel-ed, pumped out, bought some new fenders, had managed to get most of the washing dry, and were ready for the long haul (1 mile and 2 little locks) into the middle of Stratford by lunchtime. Although his diesel was a bit expensive, it was only after we had left that we realised he didn’t seem to have charged us for the mooring and hook-up. Excellence Afloat indeed!

Aqueducts and Arden

Saturday morning, and as Anglo Welsh didn’t want to sell us any diesel, we left their basin via the Wooton Wawen aqueduct, which unusually has a lowered towpath, like a couple of others on the Stratford Canal. “Why don’t you go ahead and take some low-level pictures of Song & Dance crossing the aqueduct…” said the chief cook.

 Aqueduct, Wootton Wawen BasinAqueduct, Wootton Wawen BasinAqueduct, Wootton Wawen Basin

A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind something-or-other, but just as the money shot was coming up, a certain Captain of our acquaintance announced that he’d left his reading classes behind, and was going back to fetch them. So we had to reverse out and moor back up again while he sorted himself out. The moment had gone.

Edgestone AquaductEdgestone Aquaduct

A little later comes Edstone Aqueduct: a much more serious affair if not quite in the Pontcysyllte league. Edstone’s the longest aqueduct in England, and the helmsman stood firmly to port and bravely gritted her teeth avoiding looking at the vertiginous drop to starboard.

Edgestone AquaductEdgestone Aquaduct

Mooring up at Wilmcote, we headed into the village for provisions. Mary Arden’s Cottage on the way to the shop has always been firmly on the Shakespeare Heritage Trail, but it seems to have metamorphosed into “Mary Arden’s Working Tudor Farm” and become a small theme park in its own right. Not wishing to stump up the extortionate fee to wander round, we retired to The Masons Arms for a proper pub lunch.

Mary Arden's Farm, WilmcoteMary Arden's Farm, Wilmcote

The cottage itself still looks splendid from the road, for cheapskates like us.

Mary Arden's Cottage, WilmcoteMary Arden's Cottage, Wilmcote

Mary Arden's Cottage, Wilmcote

Suitably refreshed culturally and alcoholically, we re-joined the Captain and continued down the Wilmcote flight of locks, which end just outside Stratford-upon-Avon, and moored up at the bottom. We’re slowly getting better at guessing whether Sir likes a mooring spot or not (and it isn’t always obvious), and he seemed most content with this spot, despite being close to a major road.

Wootton Wawen Wander

Friday morning saw a gentle wander down to Wootton Wawen, where a farm shop, café, garden centre, out-of-town farmyard shopping centre and – more importantly – some diesel beckoned. Unfortunately Anglo Welsh had almost run out, only had enough for their hire fleet, and weren’t getting a delivery until Monday. Ah well. And the Captain moaned that there hadn’t been enough pictures of him, so for a quiet life, here’s one of him checking out the crew’s boat handling skills.

Biggles in Command

The café was fine, if busy, the farm shop a little limited, and we had no need of Bridal Ware, expensive horological items or French antiques, so we wandered into Wootton Wawen village itself in search of the local shop that “sold everything”. Except those items that SWMBO wanted: Waitrose or bust it would appear.

Wooton HallSaxon Sanctuary, Wooton Wawen

Wootton Hall looks quite fine, except that it’s the headquarters of a major park homes and caravan company, and the place is surrounded by an enormous and sprawling park/mobile home/caravan site. Next to it sits St. Peters, a rather fine Saxon church: the oldest in Warwickshire. Externally, the rather barn-like lady-chapel addition seems a bit out of character, but inside it’s a fascinating place to potter around.

Saxon Sanctuary, Wooton WawenSaxon Sanctuary, Wooton WawenSaxon Sanctuary, Wooton Wawen

The original Saxon sanctuary is rather fine, and we can’t recall seeing buttresses quite like this before.

Ancestor?Multiracial Britain

In the graveyard, a gravestone commemorating someone who probably isn’t an old relative, and back at the boat, a reminder that we really are becoming a multi-racial society…

Goldcrest & Pump-Out

After the hard work of Hatton Locks, the short and lock free cruise to Kingswood Junction/ Lapworth (where the Grand Union and Stratford Canal meet up) came as a pleasant change.

Entrance to ShrewleyTunnel

A brief stop in Shrewley for provisions (the village is on top of a long-ish tunnel, and completely invisible from the canal. The canal and the village wouldn’t even know the other existed if it wasn’t for the canal navigation guides.

Goldcrest & Pumpout

We diverted into Kingswood Basin on the Stratford Canal to pick up some water (there’s a prime candidate for “slowest water tap on the system” if ever there was such a competition), and watched entranced as a Goldcrest tried to make out with his own reflection in the shiny steel case of the pump-out machine control box. Spent about 15 minutes before getting (even more) frustrated and going elsewhere.

Then back onto the GUC for 200 yards or so to moor up right immediately opposite The Navigation at Lapworth, a well known canal-side watering hole – the fish pie comes highly recommended…

Meanwhile, the next boat up had an unleashed whippet, giving the Captain an excellent opportunity to practice his whippet-baiting skills. It’s a hard life.

Dashwood Deja Vu

River Cherwell near ShipstonDragging ourselves away from Annie’s, the weather remained fine, so we were soon braving the raging currents of the River Cherwell again, gingerly letting ourselves on at Shipston Wier Lock. It’s another one like Aynho Weir Lock: lozenge shaped, and absolutely super if your boat is 70ft long, or shorter than about 35ft. Anything in between and it’s a real PITA.

Getting back onto the canal at Baker’s Lock, fortunately all the moorings at the Rock of Gibraltar pub were taken, so we had no excuse to tarry. We’d called in there on the way down to Oxford for a spot of lunch (aka Guinness) : the visit before that had been nine years ago, when Jackstraws danced there as part of their 30th anniversary celebration.

And so we were soon back above Dashwood’s Lock: a highly pleasant spot to moor up for the night. As well as observing how much the oil-seed rape had bloomed in the past few days, there was plenty of time for a crew bonding session in the sunshine.Above Dashwood's LockCuddle Break

Morris-less Oxford Musings

After the previous night’s tribulations, we decided that (a) we needed to decide where we were going next, and (b) when. The boaters waiting for the Thames to become navigable were grumbling as most of the river went down to yellow boards, while the short initial stretch through Osney Bridge where the Oxford Canal joined the Thames remained resolutely red, and the lockkeepers noticeably absent. (We subsequently discovered that this stretch is always the first to go onto red boards, and the last to come off). One or two boats came up off the river having braved things up from Reading, including a hire boat! Ah well.

Anyway, after a gentle lunchtime stroll round a pleasantly Morris free city, and stocking up the larder, we seemed to have decided to abandon Plan B (going down the Thames) and head back up the Oxford Canal. We’d call in at Cropredy and repatriate the car back home, and then aim for Liverpool. Or Leeds. Or Lancaster. Or maybe Llangollen. Probably via Leamington. That’s what we like… a firm plan.

Monday afternoon, and the rumours were increasingly strong that the Thames would be OK on Tuesday, so it seemed a good plan for us to move as well, before the parking wardens noticed how long we’d actually been in Jericho (there’s a 48 hour limit). The Captain agreed, but undeterred by Sunday night’s shenanigans, still seemed to spend a great deal of time out partying somewhere on Monday night, although he did come home unaided before breakfast…

Love Rat Biggles in Skinny Dipping Foursome Shock

Depending on where we are, the Captain usually likes to go out for the occasional constitutional at night, so always has free access to the big wide world. Sometimes he’s out for a quite a while, but he usually stays close to the boat; when it’s cold he often just sneaks into our cabin and curls up on the bed by our feet.

Sunday night / Monday morning was cold, and he snuck in soon after we went to bed after the hard day’s Morris watching. At about 06:00 we realised he wasn’t on the boat, and probably hadn’t for been for some time. A quiet call and whistle unusually had no effect. By 07:30 the towpath rush hour was in full force: lots of noisy trains, lots of people rushing to the station on foot or bike, joggers and dog walkers too – exactly the sort of thing he doesn’t like. So, thinking he might have been confused by us moving the boat, we got up – at 07:30!! – and quietly trawled the towpath and undergrowth for a couple of hundred yards in both directions, to no avail. Even the friendly local winos (or more exactly cideros) already camped out on the bench hadn’t seen him.

By 08:30 and another trawl, there was no sign – not even blackbird alarm calls, usually a reliable indication of his approximate whereabouts – and we knew something was definitely up.   Wondering if he’d somehow got aboard another boat, we decided it was still a bit early to go banging on cabin doors.

At about 09:15 there was a knock on our rear cabin door: a young lady walking her dog, (with whom we’d passed the time of day several times before) said “This might sound like a funny question, but do you have a blue cat?”

“Yes!” we said, whereupon she said.

“Is it on board?”…

Moored about 100 yards down the cut, it turned out that at about 02:30am she, her partner and their dog were woken by a pitiful yelling noise, and found a small grey and rather thin drowned rat wailing on their rear deck. Taking him in, drying him off a bit and giving him some chicken to eat, the dog sensibly kept it’s distance, while – normally reticent with strangers – Biggles climbed up on the lady’s shoulder and nestled into her neck the way he only does with people he loves and trusts. And then, after a little doze and further drying session on a hot water bottle, he  sneaked under the couple’s duvet for more love and affection, while the dog watched on jealously.

Once back on Song & Dance, Biggles was so appalled at the possible risk to his reputation that he went straight into celeb mode, and applied for a super-injunction to try and keep the names of the couple out of the papers (“to avoid causing them any more embarrassment”), but the judge refused to grant it.

The paparazzi are rumoured to have some photographs of his night on the tiles, but they have yet to reach this august publication… if they  do surface, rest assured we will publish and be damned. Any emails concerning this event sent to biggles@softair.co.uk are assured of confidentiality.

In the meantime, our thanks to Kara (Cara?), her partner and dog on Dragonfly for being so understanding with our small grey love rat. He doesn’t seem to be any the worse for his skinny dipping night on the tiles.

Actually, we were rather impressed with the Dragonfly crew: even though expecting their first able-seaman/seawoman trainee in June, they had boated from Cambridge to Oxford in 12 days. It took us 6 weeks just from Ely, last year. Must try harder!

Plumbing, Pizzas, Warps and Farewells

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny as promised, but instead of the early start, 10:00am found the first mate scouring Banbury’s DIY sheds for the requisite plumbing bits to solve the dirty dishwater flood, while chief cook was washing all the dirty towels used to mop up last night’s floods. Fortunately, we still had a car at Cropredy, and the sheds were the near side of Banbury, only a few minutes away by car. However, after masterful plumbing instruction from Biggles, by lunchtime, we were ready to resume departure preparations, settle up our account, and say farewell to the helpful and friendly Marina people.

Smart new Warps

For Christmas, the Captain had generously bought us some fancy new red white and blue mooring ropes (apparently known as warps), to match Song & Dance’s colour scheme. They look very smart compared to the old black and rather travel-stained ones with which we ended last year. Wonder how long they’ll look smart given the mud and crud they inevitably pick up. Still, it was a lovely thought!

Cropedy MooringMoored next to Red Kite

We said “goodbye” to our starboard neighbour, who’d been keeping an eye on the boat for us: Michael’s doing his boat up, and is one of those interesting people you meet on the canals. Once upon a long time ago he was soundman for Joe Strummer and The Clash; moving to New York he became heavily involved in the recording of Paul Simon’s Gracelands; he is now working part time in Banbury’s Oxfam record and book shop, while doing a PhD in Italian Renaissance Gardens at Rome University having turned down Oxford’s offer; he is good mates with all the Fairport / Cropredy crew and about to set up a radio station for the local Banbury Patriots footy team. You couldn’t make it up.

There’s a gap in the boats on the far side where our sister boat Toulouse normally resides, so we guess they’re out on the cut somewhere: the owner introduced himself last time we were up and was especially interested in how much we paid for Song & Dance… modesty forbids: it would only upset him!

And despite several visits over the winter, we have never met the owners of Red Kite, our port-side neighbours, even though we nearly T-boned them the first time we headed down to Banbury, back in 2014.

It was early afternoon by the time we got away, the sun had gone in – shame – but we had a pleasant and undemanding trip down to moor at Spiceball Park, pretty much in the middle of Banbury. 10 minutes by car. Several hours by Song & Dance. After the trials and tribulations and a long day, a visit to Pizza Express for a discount offer meal and bottle of wine seemed well deserved.

And funnily enough, without conscious effort, we’d set out on our summer cruise on April 10th, the same day as last year. Another omen?

Buzzards, Banbury and Dirty Dish Water

Just noticed that two backdated posts haven’t shown up in the news feeds: Biggles says that they are Moth-eaten Moggy-Part The First and Moth-eaten Moggie-Part the Second (a.k.a. “Taking The Piss”) if anyone is interested in his well being (or otherwise).

Just before packing the spring and summer boating essentials for a trip up to Banbury and Cropredy to prepare Song & Dance for departure, we noticed a Buzzard orbiting the winter quarters. An fairly unusual sight in Sunningdale: Red Kites are often spotted, Buzzards rather less so.

Saturday morning, loading Biggles into his charabanc for the journey North, we noticed two Buzzards orbiting over the garden, and another nearby being mobbed by a Ring Necked Parakeet. An omen?

Despite best intentions, we were rather late departing, but Sir remained remarkably unperturbed; on arrival at Cropredy Marina he jumped out of the car, strolled nonchalantly across the access road, then jumped aboard Song & Dance to start checking out that his essentials were where he expected.

Thinking this was a good omen we started getting everything ready for an early-ish Sunday morning departure, only to find that on emptying the large bowl of post-dinner dirty washing up water down the drain, most of it had escaped on to the kitchen floor, and was making a bolt for the bathroom and bedroom floors too. Something had clearly gone horribly wrong with the under-sink plumbing…

So much for a good omen, and the early night in preparation for an early start on Sunday, when lovely weather was forecast for the morning. That’s the glamorous life afloat…

Moth-eaten Moggie-Part the Second (a.k.a. “Taking The Piss”)

Another month, another – non-skiing – vet, another blood test, another large bill. “We think he’s got a kidney problem (as well?). Please can you provide a urine sample…”

Do they have any idea of the difficulty in getting a urine sample from an outdoor cat?

They make a special kit, it would appear. Just (just!) replace kitty’s normal cat litter with thiss pack of special non-absorbent plastic beads, then afterwards use the supplied pipette and sample jar. And we’d like it as fresh as possible… Yeah. Right.

Locking the cat flap at crack of sparrows and showing Sir the location of his private daytime bathroom facilities elicited a baleful stare. Proper morning dawned bright and grumpy, but no sample. Lunchtime and Sir was pacing up and down cross-legged. Late afternoon he was growling, and hissing if he was picked up and shown his litter tray. As the time came when it would be too late to get anything to the vet’s surgery that day, we relented, and quietly opened the back door. There’s clearly nothing wrong with his hearing, and reaching Mach 2.1 crossing the threshold, he dived for the nearest patch of earth; without further ado he performed with a quantity and duration that would have done a large horse proud. Then nonchalantly strolled back in and stuffed his nose in his food bowl.

Needing the human bathroom at 5am the next morning, a bleary eyed check showed that Sir had decided at long last to cooperate in his own inimitable manner. And so, it transpired he had a kidney infection. Antibiotics for a change. Cheap at twice the price…

And so, as we approach the time for us to depart on Sir’s summer cruise, another shave, another blood test, confirmation that Biggles has lost quite a lot of weight, and as well as pancreatitis has chronic kidney disease. The latter’s absolutely no surprise with a cat of his age, and given the availability of these new tests for the former, that may not be a surprise either. Deciding that the kidney problem is more serious, Sir is now on a different special diet, supplemented by some medicine that costs only marginally less than a month than an MP secretes away in the British Virgin Islands bank account. He’s been told to enjoy himself, and come back for another shave and large bill in three months. He’s still more or less his normal self, just maybe a bit peaky.

“But what about his MoT and Booster jabs”, we asked.

“That’s the least of his problems… at his age I shouldn’t worry about that unless you’re taking him abroad…”

So, second mortgage notwithstanding, a decidedly moth-eaten Biggles is boat-ward bound again, even if the canals do sometimes feel like a different world. With the increasing decrepitude of his crew, we should make a fine team!