The night before, we had held a committee meeting and decided that (a) we would go on to the River Nene after visiting Sidmouth, and (b) that the Northampton Marina at Becket’s Park on the Nene was more convenient than Gayton Marina for transport arrangements when it came to fetching a car to transport all the crew back home. Even though heading down the Northampton Arm from Gayton meant 16 or 17 narrow locks to reach any kind of suitable mooring, we were going to have to do those to get to the Nene anyway, and there was plenty of time before needing to head Devon-wards.

First thing on the Wednesday morning, it was clear that – ear mites or something else – the Captain urgently needed to visit a vet. Google being our friend, we could either get a taxi to Towcester, or try and get down to Northampton (yes, all 16 locks) that day, and take it from there. Even though the weather was forecast to get seriously grotty, we opted to head downhill again, and see how we got on.

But first, we needed to visit Gayton Marina to tell them we weren’t going to leave the boat there next week, get a key for the River Nene locks (it’s an Environment Agency waterway, not a CaRT one: different keys!), get a piling clip to replace one dropped in the deepest part of the canal, and hopefully a guide to the Nene.

Turning into the Northampton Arm there seemed to be boats coming in all directions, but the marina is just a few yards down, and it’s a big one to boot.

Our cratch and rear deck covers came from Wilson Covers in Kinver, as did our reclining chairs (from Ralph, who lets his sons do the covers, and just handles the furniture side of things these days). The cratch cover had needed a minor repair from about day 3 on the Caldon Canal last year, and since the same crew member took a large lump out of Aynho Bridge in the strong winds this spring it needed rather more serious surgery or maybe even replacement. There were also some minor issues with the chairs.

As a result, we’d been meaning to take the cover to Kinver for inspection or condemnation when an opportunity presented itself, and discussions regarding the chairs had tailed off into boat-induced lethargy on our part. We’d seen a Wilsons van in the Thames & Kennet Marina in Reading back in the spring, but failed to track their chap down there, and he didn’t respond to the message we left asking him to contact us before leaving Reading. Ah well.

And then, just as we were approaching the marina’s visitor moorings, what should we see but a Wilsons van being driven alongside the canal. By Ralph Wilson, no less. And a long way from Kinver! Frantically waving him down, mooring up at the same time, and throwing our last caltrops in front to slow him down, we asked if he would mind taking a look at our cover to see if it were repairable. “Yes it is” he said, before he’d even got out of the van. So the cover was quickly removed, and bundled into the back of his van. while the chief cook bearded him about the foot stools.

The other errands at the marina quickly accomplished, the rain was starting when we reached the first of the locks, signalling a precipitous descent down into Northampton. Various people said it took about four hours to get down – not including a lunch break. The Captain took one look at the flight and the renovated-out-of-all recognition (or new) lockkeeper’s cottage, and jumped ship, and the likelihood of getting into town in time to find a vet seemed to be receding rapidly.

Sloshing around in the rain, a few locks down they were dredging the canal, adding fun and games and delays to the exercise, and we moored for lunch right by the M1 crossing: a glorified if huge culvert. At least they were narrow locks.

For once, things went to plan! We’d established that (if we could get moored there) there were probably suitable moorings just shy of the River Nene lock, seemingly just a ten minute walk from a veterinary surgery that could fit us in if we got there before 18:00. The rain eased off a bit, and we reached the moorings about 17:00 – seemingly quiet, virtually no dog walkers, and overlooked by some posh new waterside flats, so little likelihood of the area being a vandal’s training camp. Only 5 minutes walk from an Asda, 10 from a big Morrisons and 15 from the town centre, we couldn’t understand why there was only one other boat there. He’d been there several days and confirmed it was a most amenable spot, albeit not overly scenic.

So Biggles was bundled into his carrying box for a quick walk down the road, and a nice vet lady confirmed that he did appear to have a nasty ear mite infestation, did the biz, and sent us away with some drops.

The Captain appears to prefer ear mites and nasty suppurating scratches on the forehead to ear drops… battle will commence daily at 18:00.

And Song & Dance does look rather naked without the cratch cover…

A long day: we all slept well that night.

A late start, SWMBO’s knee still a bit iffy, and nine wide locks out of Apsley and we’d had enough, mooring up as far as practical from Mr Branson’s Incredibly Noisy Trains – the promised delights of Berkhamstead would have to wait for another day. First up the next morning were Sewer Lock and Bottom Side Lock, and we were seriously wondering whether we should worry about the water quality. And then some more locks and we finally staggered into Berkhamstead just before lunch.

The promised moorings right next to the shops proved much more secluded than we’d dare hope: the Captain was most impressed. A most splendid café lunch in the busy high street, a mooch around the shops and the obligatory visit to the cook’s favourite grocery emporium preceded a late afternoon nap for the entire crew. (Well, to be honest, there aren’t many daylight hours when Sir isn’t napping).

Too late to start cooking, an evening walk along the towpath in pleasant sunshine worked up an appetite for dinner – two meals out in one day! Shock Horror!

We’re not sure why a canal-side block of flats should sport an (apparently genuine) totem pole.

This old building seems to have jumped the gun on that nice Mr Osborne’s threat or promise to allow vertical home extensions without planning permission.

And while this towpath residence seems to have cornered the market in blue plant pots, it also seemed to be home for another friendly feline.

But most important of all, the proximity to Waitrose’s entrance meant one could indulge in that rare treat (on the canals, at least) of a second breakfast of croissants still warm from the baker’s oven, to go with the free coffee. Definitely a result.

The various “authorities” are a bit vague as to the maximum beam (width) available on the Grand Union Canal (but then it was built in several different sections – there’s a clue in the name). Up to Berkhamstead the locks seem to accommodate barges up to 14’6” – certainly we could get 6’8” wide Song & Dance into a lock with only one gate open without any problems. Beyond there the locks seem a tad narrower, and just using a single gate more of a challenge. Mind you, some of the bridge holes seem even narrower – even a 12’6” wide-beam might be struggling. Still, not a problem for us.

Anyway, leaving Berkhamstead, we had another seven of those wide locks to surmount before reaching the Tring summit pound. We eventually exited the oddly named Cowroast Lock and moored up outside Cowroast Marina, wondering when exactly it was that the Argentinian Polo Team held one of their infamous post-match barbeques in the Chilterns.

Sherpa Bigglesworth had originally proposed a little celebration at successfully dragging his 16 tonnes of steel cat basket uphill through 35 miles and 57 broad locks, but just as we pulled alongside the bank the skies absolutely opened. With no option other than to complete mooring up in the sudden torrential rain, without any chance to tog up in waterproofs before the boat was secure, it was then necessary to batten down the hatches and indulge in a complete change of clothes, shoes etc. and find somewhere to dry the old ones. By which time all thoughts of ceremonially planting a flag at the summit had passed, and he’d gone for his lunchtime nap.

Going uphill through broad locks largely without a companion boat or even just one extra crew member to share the locking is quite hard work. The climb up from Brentford is fairly unremitting with the locks averaging less than a mile apart so there’s not much chance to rest in between! Still, for a couple of old narrow canal hands, it seemed quite an achievement.

Someone (can’t remember who) at Apsley had asked how far we’d come this year. So far, since leaving Cropredy just after Easter we would appear to have covered approximately 300 miles, and passed through 209 locks to Cowroast. Wonder how much further we’ll go this year – last year our total was 522 miles and 372 locks.

By all accounts, we were definitely lucky to find a space on the popular Hampton Court Palace moorings late afternoon on a sunny Saturday, even if the local trip boats made it seem more like New Orleans. Pretty sure the paddle wheels are not used for propulsion though. If you look carefully (click on the pic) you can see us moored towards the back, right near the shiny golden gates. Shame they’re rather hidden by the grey-painted security railings. You can also see in the distance some of the preparations for next week’s flower show – the entrance (or at least the “wheel-chair collection point”) is down there.

It being late afternoon, hot, mobbed with tourists etc. etc. we opted to make a proper visit later in the year, but did take shufti around the Rose Garden area.

Fran decided once again that what she really really wanted for her birthday was a south-facing brick wall, while one of these pictures couldn’t but remind me of an old Robbie Burns song.

A stroll across the bridge for provisions (a garage selling M&S Cheescake, no less) and a dose of café culture in Molesey’s main street (one of the last outposts of the ruling colonial elite , it would seem from the jolly posh British accents), and back via the palace entrance to check on the Captain…

… who was quite happy sunning himself on the quayside, while all the tourists walking along the path above stopped to tell him how wonderful he was.