Well, there’s one advantage – dammit – in not having our Captain to command our cruising. It means that relocating everything from winter quarters to the boat is rather easier, and we can get everything in one car load, rather than shuttling too and fro twice.

As the ship’s Morris Dancer is – yet again – dancing at the Oxford Folk Weekend, the initial plan is to high-tail it down to Oxford and spend the weekend in Jericho, doubtless with our friend/Morris dancer Sue in residence too. This is rapidly becoming a tradition…

Mind you, this plan is in severe jeopardy, as with all the rain the Thames has been on Red Boards (un-navigable) for weeks; we had exactly the same problem a couple of years ago (see The Best Laid Plans  and Jericho Woes).

Anyway, leaving home late Sunday morning, we were buoyed with the promise of nice weather later in the week. But until then, the unremitting dull, damp and cold weather continued unabated. It was Tuesday morning before we were remotely ready to set sail (as it were) and had said our “goodbyes” to the Marina chappies. By which time the promised nice weather now might arrive on Wednesday, but Tuesday was cold, intermittently wet, and a stonking Southerly wind was gusting around.

The marina is a large open chunk of water aligned  North-South. Song & Dance was moored on a pontoon facing West; to exit the marina required an Easterly course through a narrow channel. This meant somehow backing Song & Dance (a 58ft long sail in these circumstances) out into the middle of the marina, then turning it 180 degrees to attempt to exit the marina.

Broadside on in the middle of the open water, a gust caused the boat to heel over enough to hear crashing crockery noises from the galley, but somehow turning around and heeling the other way seemed to put everything back – at least nothing was found broken.

We finally made it out of the marina onto the cut, where it was a bit more sheltered, and hoped that things would improve…

To add insult to injury, as we approached Cropredy Lock five minutes down the cut, the wind dropped briefly and the sun came out for all of two minutes.

As we start to prepare for the 2018 Grand Tour, it seems that the travels and travails  of 2017 were never completed in this Blog. For which, humble apologies are due. It was probably the emotional aftermath of visiting the the Russian Blue Breeder’s Association show so soon after losing our Captain, and the one who this Blog is named after.

Well, clearly we made it back to Song & Dance’s winter quarters at Cropredy. f

And an attempt will be made to fill in the gaps, if only for our own benefit, when we come to look back on our meanderings around the canals of England.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible…

Leaving the newly-weds to their own devices, we headed back up the Grand Union, stopping again at Weedon. This time up the far end near the station, where there is a useable pub for dinner, and more importantly in the circumstances, a Tesco Extra. Both proved useful.

Then it was back up the Buckby flight – or nearly. We’d spotted some pleasant mooring spots between the top lock and the next on the way down, so aimed for there. They were right by the towpath shop that sells those brightly painted watering cans (called Buckby Cans). The shop had just closed for the night, so we wandered up to The New Inn at the top lock for sustenance (where the cans originated many years ago).

On the way up we passed some nice houses and gardens; autumn colours were definitely starting to show through.

Rather puzzled by the New Bridge – it looked pretty old to us – perhaps it was named after the pub.

We were equally puzzled by this house, which had railway signals and large statues of animals overlooking the cut. Oh well, it takes all sorts.

With a Buckby Can already in the saloon, we eschewed any more, and setting off on the Wednesday morning we stayed on the Grand Union Canal at Norton Junction, and made our way through Braunston Tunnel, then down the Braunston Locks to tie up right in the middle by early afternoon in pleasant sunshine. Just time for a peregrine hunt, and maybe a beer…

Yesterday, we’d been faced with either just working Watford Locks, and leaving a lot to do on the Friday, or carrying on down Buckby locks and leaving us very little to do (after the second lock it’s not feasible to stop halfway down). Opting for the latter, we had loads of time to get to Bugbrooke by close of play, and were soon tied up above the church at Weedon Bec, which is tightly sandwiched between the canal and the West Coast mainline, both of which loom over the churchyard on high embankments.

The “Bec” is customarily silent, as in Tooting; both place names derive from a mediaeval abbey in Normandy that owned lots of land around both areas.

There are two ends of town; the old part is lovely, with warm sandstone and brick houses and occasional thatch, albeit with a distressing surfeit of aberrant apostrophes.

The other end, where the soon-to-be-rerouted A45 will shortly become the Weedon and Flores Bypass, is rather different. There’s a major road junction with the A5 surrounded by antique shops, pubs, restaurants and a Tesco. Between the two lies a boatyard, and the remains of a short arm into a one-time Royal Ordnance Depot with an interesting history. It was supposedly going to be a secret bolt-hole for the royal family if Napoleon crossed the channel.

The last time we were here, you couldn’t go into the depot, but they’re gradually turning it into a destination for the general public. Unfortunately the short arm connecting the basin to the canal has now had a shiny new housing estate built over it. However, with a huge second-hand bookshop equipped with comfy sofas and a café, it was definitely time to tarry.

Belatedly we set off again, down a pleasant if railway-noisy chunk of the Grand Union, and reached our destination of Bugbrooke by about 16:00 on Friday afternoon: right on time! Time to explore…