Very much on familiar territory now, leaving the environs of Kings Sutton we were soon in the middle of Banbury for lunch and a whizz round the shops. The Captain had decided it was time to call it a day (for this year), so we aimed to moor just short of Cropredy on the Wednesday night, and make it into the marina pretty promptly on Thursday.

On the way out of Banbury, there’s an odd place which has cornered the market in old tyres. Never seen anyone mooring there, though.

Even odder, it also has a large picture of the residents Dink and Malc on the outside wall: click on the picture if you don’t believe us. They’re always in their conservatory and they always wave at passing boats.

The plan worked and we moored up by Peewit farm. We remember mooring here on the way down the Oxford Canal last summer, when the only bird we heard was a curlew. Perhaps they should rename the place.

And so to Cropedy, and Song & Dance’s home for the winter. Lots of packing up and sorting out, and in the end Biggles was ferried to his winter holiday home. The staff will doubtless be back in due course to finish readying Song & Dance for the big freeze, but for the moment, it’s back on dry land for a few months. That’ll be different!

Monday morning dawned grey damp and miserable: a short cruise brought us to the familiar environs of (Lower) Heyford, where provisions and newspapers were obtained, followed by lunch at The Bell. The church apparently has some fine stained glass. It was shut and locked.

Mooring up near Deep Cutting Bridge (where a deep cutting is noticeably absent), things looked rather better the next morning.

Unusually, the towpath just goes along the edge of an open field, with no hedge or fence – all very pleasant with the sun shining, and some fine blackberries to pick.

It’s just down the water from Somerton Deep Lock, which is deep. More worrying is the sign, visible from the railway, which suggests that the weather on this stretch can get very un-canal-like.

Suffering from a minor blackberry-picking delay, we arrived at Somerton Deep Lock to find rather a queue, and a helpful boat full of holiday trippers on their first day who – claiming to be in no hurry – moored at the front of the lock landing while they watched and “helped some other boats through”.

The best help they could have offered was to move their boat off the lock landing.

We stopped at Aynho Wharf just long enough to pick up some very cheap diesel and a newspaper. Sir jumped off, disappeared for a while, then returned just as the fuel tank was full, jumping on board with a smile. He’s beginning to make a habit of this…

With the Adderbury pig place still closed, we moored up just above Kings Sutton lock. Kings Sutton looks interesting on paper, and the moorings are very close to the village, but the River Cherwell and the railway are between the two, and the only feasible access is via bridge further up, about two miles out of the village, so it will have to wait for another time.

Monday morning, and with a need to check out Biggles’ Berkshire winter quarters, sort out some keys for an American visitor, and an ever growing pile of dirty washing, we made a dash down Claydon Locks in the wet, then moored up in the marina for a night or three. The bo’sun caught a train, then returned by car ready for the eventual disembarkation at the end of the season while the quartermaster fed the washing machine. Sir grumbled at being moored on a pontoon and having to put up with noisy ducks and hull-peckers.

The Brasenose Arms was welcoming again, but we were sad to see that the nice little coffee and cake shop was now an antique shop. Never understood how it could have made financial sense, so no surprise.

Errands and chores completed, washing dried, Song & Dance’s needs attended to etc. etc. and a fair weather forecast to hand, Thursday afternoon saw us leave the fleshpots of Cropredy for the open countryside again, and the promise of some music over the weekend at Banbury Folk Festival.

Saturday morning, and the chief cook had some chores to do on the boat, so there was time for a quick walk up to Napton Post Office for a Saturday paper and a freshly baked croissant for second breakfast. The chief cook then went walkabout to collect apples and blackberries from the hedgerows – guess what we’ll be having for pudding soon. By the time she returned, of course, there was a queue for the Napton flight of locks.

Once we got underway, everything went smoothly, with pretty much one boat coming down each time we approached a lock, leaving it in our favour. Apart from the bottom lock, that is, where the volunteer lockkeeper had a large and untethered dog that barked like mad every time a gate was moved, and raced at high speed along the lock sides and over the gates. Locks are dangerous enough places without the addition of a mad dog hurtling around barking the place down. Oh well.

Napton is known for growing water buffalos. We’d sampled the buffalo burgers last year, and the (excellent) buffalo milk ice cream yesterday, so herewith picture of said herd, halfway up the locks on a gloomy Saturday.

For some reason, every top gate sported a small knitted rosette: we’ve no idea why.

The sun came out once we reached the summit pound, and mooring up it was clear that autumn colours were starting to break out in earnest.

A sunshiny Sunday morning, and off again: the summit pound follows the contour like a demented snake (or a textbook illustration of oxbow lake formation), in this case with a radio mast taking the place of the Didcot cooling tower on the Thames as the object that keeps appearing from different directions. Here’s a view of Napton on the hill: not far away as the corvid aviates, but over a day and a half away by canal.

When you eventually pass the mast, you promptly reach a hairpin bend, and soon find it passing down the other side of the boat.

Anyway, we managed to reach The Wharf Inn at Fenny Compton – pub, restaurant shop, camp site, hairdresser, music venue and generally welcoming establishment – for lunch. Mind you, after chilli cheesy nachos and cider at 6% ABV, it was clear SWMBO wasn’t planning on boating much further that day.

The Admiral Nelson is a canal side pub towards the bottom of the Braunston flight, and we’d have stopped for a “just past the yard arm” Guinness had we not been working the flight with another boat.

Happily tied up at the bottom, we went for a late afternoon wander before putting the dinner on: the lady in the local chandlery suggested that The Admiral Nelson was not only the nearest pub but the best in Braunston and renowned for it’s food, so we continued our wander back uphill, eschewing ice creams at the well known Canal Shop just above the bottom lock.

The Grand Union may be a wide beam canal, but the house on the lock here is decidedly narrow…

…and we found yet another p**s-take of the Rosie and Jim rag doll children’s TV programme, rather in need of a new paint job.

The Admiral Nelson was indeed a delightful pub, with plenty of room in the sunshine for that delayed Guinness, comfy sofas, a posh restaurant and friendly staff. A quick glance at the menu, and all thoughts of cooking back on the boat went by the board. If we weren’t too disreputable, scruffy and boating stained we were going to eat in their restaurant, despite filling the boat with half of Tesco and Waitrose. We passed the sartorial inspection.

And while waiting for what proved to be absolutely superb sirloin steak and to-die-for cod and chips, two immaculate Stanley Steam Cars turned up to decorate the car park. A better day!