We’d decided some time ago that we would moor the boat up for the winter in Cropredy Marina, not just because it’s the ancestral home of Fairport Convention and their festival, but because we’d had a good experience there working our way south in July. And it’s only just over an hour’s drive from home.

Our final couple of days pootling along in indifferent weather (although still very warm) saw us stopping at the Adderbury Pig Place again – not a morris dancer in sight, phew – and Banbury for shopping. We moored up for the night a little north of the metropolis in torrential rain: the first time we’d had dreadful weather while trying to shut up shop for the whole summer. Quite remarkable.

Actually, the stretch of the Oxford Canal from Heyford upwards is lovely, with lots of the iconic lift bridges (although rather fewer now as a couple have discombobulated over the summer. There’s rather a gap in the blog covering when we came down this way: rectification in due course, if only in the archive bit.

Aynho Weir Lock’s a bit odd – wedged in front and back – but a shorter boat just rattles around out of reach of the sides (such as they are).

The approach to Cropredy is particularly pleasant, especially when the sun is shining, and mooring up alongside the marina’s service wharf marked the end of a fascinating few months afloat for Biggles and his staff.

A couple of days collecting cars and sorting stuff out on the boat, and Sir was ready to head back down the M40 in his wheels to check out the home territory after his long absence.

The final few days were not completely uneventful, though. The bow thruster blew up just north of Banbury: subsequent investigations show it is a) serious, b) nothing we did, and c) will need the boat removed from the water to fix. Fortunately (if that’s the word) the marina has just commissioned a new floating dry dock, so it looks like we’ll be one of the early customers. Better than having to spend several days in the winter taking it somewhere else, I suppose.

Then the morning after we arrived,  we turned the heating on, only to turn it off fairly rapidly when it made severe distress noises. Later that afternoon we found the kitchen floor awash with water coming out from under the cupboard. Turned out the heating had undergone a major leak and dumped all it’s water, and running the boiler dry blew that up too. Piper Boats did a lot of running around to get that sorted PDQ.

We’re wondering if Song & Dance is upset at the prospect of a few months alone and not cruising.

So Biggles and staff are back home safe, and already planning the next adventure. And expecting several trips back up the M40 to sort out the various issues that still need resolving. Ho hum.

With the promise of dinner from Dick & Jo, a day wandering around Abingdon seemed in order. Having spent several days in Abingdon in the past, posing at the Russian Blue Breeders’ Association cat show, Biggles declined to explore further, but allowed us to wander around parts previously unseen.

There are some nice old parts like East St. Helen’s Street, and Turnagain Lane; the latter instantly set off a particularly persistent Percy’s Song earworm, quite apt as we’re heading for Cropredy, Fairport Convention’s stamping ground.

We were rather taken with St. Ethelwold’s House: a long house run by a Christian/spiritual charity with a lovely garden going down to the river, and a “quiet room” overlooking the river with an open invitation to just come in and relax; rooms for yoga classes (anathema to some Xian establish) and free tea and buns. A delightful and pleasant spot.

There used to be another canal here, but if they ever re-open the Wilts & Berks Canal, you’ll need to duck!

The Alms Houses next to St. Helen’s Church are rather fine…

… as is the view of said church across the river.

We rather liked Devizes when we passed through on a number of occasions in Sir’s previous motorhome transportation, and mooring up right at the wharf for a few days did nothing to dispel that. A pleasant evening at the folk club, followed by the estimable Bob Berry keeping true to his word by arriving at 09:00 the next morning demanding coffee with menaces, but crucially bearing gifts of fresh croissants…

… consumed while we studied perhaps the most exotic boat paint scheme we’d ever seen, on the quaintly named Arbuthnot Jones, moored across the canal. There was a “for sale” sign in the window: not sure how the paint scheme would affect the price!

The Wiltshire Museum provided an interesting diversion, and what looked like storm clouds brewing late in the afternoon made us wonder on whether tackling “the big one” the next day was going to work.

But it came to nothing, the morning dawned fair, and there was no getting away from it. We were going to have to tackle the Caen Hill locks. If climbing up from Reading is slow and prolonged, the descent from Devizes is the canal equivalent of falling off a cliff. Starting off on our own (and light crewed, obviously), we were soon caught up by another boat who shared a lot of the work, and we were down in about four and a half hours. Not too bad in the circumstances. Going up on our own could be a challenge – next week’s problem.

Finally, mooring up outside the 3 Magpies at Scotts Wharf – a favourite pub/eating house from previous visits – the 3.75 miles (is that all?), 29 broad locks (gulp!) and lack of lunch decreed an early dinner cooked by someone else and an early night. We appear to have had a cat-burglar during the night: CSI pawprint division have been summoned.

A wettish wander down from Wallingford to Cleeve Lock for urgent taking on of water… the water point’s large hose is too big for us, and the bigger boats using it reduced the flow from the small hose to a trickle. It takes a long time to uplift 200ltrs at a trickle.

Moored up on  the meadow just below the lock, as the dark descended the Swan team came out to play. Song & Dance fielded its best striker, who unfortunately chose to attack from the fore-deck with the cratch covers down, so cutting off his best line of retreat. A hiss and snapping beak from the lead cygnet saw Biggles taking an early bath rather than pursuing a more considered course of action. Still don’t know how he got back on board!

Still, at least his tail’s up properly now and he’s walking without a rear end limp, so he should be ready for a return match soon.

Some old friends and Abingdon dwellers  – I’ve known Dick since before primary school – joined the boat at Abingdon Lock, and were the first proper guests to travel on the boat with us. A pleasant if windy cruise down to Culham then back to moor in the middle of Abingdon’s waterfront.

Unlike many places, where towns grow up around ancient river crossings (and hence the river goes through the middle of town), Abingdon wasn’t on the Thames originally, but the river was diverted to run round the edge of town back in mediaeval times.

More recent history saw Biggles’ greatest success, at the annual Russian Blue Breeders’ Association show held in Abingdon in 2010. He insisted I put a picture of his cup and rosettes in the blog…

The Lechlade public moorings are unlit and really quite dark. The boss had nipped out to chase the cows or something, and we had just returned from dinner when there was a loud splash.

“Man Overboard” – sorry, “Cat Overboard” came the cry… and the first task in the pitch black was to locate a working torch.

Joining her on the back deck Fran was peering frantically around the boat in the dark, while I happened accidentally to point the torch down at my feet, only to see a very sodden furry animal licking himself. Somehow, he’d managed to climb out the river and get back on the boat, without making a noise.

Think he might have pulled a muscle somewhere: he walked very oddly at the back end for a while, and even after towelling down he was still doing a lot of licking around his hind quarters. Seemed OK the next morning, though.