They ("They", being the Met. Office.) have promised us a fine weekend. I wonder what odds I could get off William Hill?
Yesterday, between the showers, we sauntered up to Thatcham town centre.
The whole place is just one huge post war housing estate, even the town centre is a modernist nightmare, virtually no original buildings left. On the plus side, there are three Co-ops, take your pick, and a Waitrose, plus a butchers. Handy if the victuals cupboard needs restocking.
This morning we set off for Newbury.
We had been moored just below Monkey Marsh Lock, the other turf sided lock still extant on the K&A.
The greenery in this lock is rampant, definitely no turf.
Three little landing stages each side, so it's a case of lasso the top of one of the uprights and hang on as the lock fills.
Jill looking thankful that we made it through without mishap, or perhaps just glaring at the swing bridge about a hundred yards upstream.
So we are now at Newbury, Just above Greenham Lock. Jill has gone up to the laundrette with the weeks dhobying and left me boat sitting, so it's feet up and blues playing loudly on the dvd player. Right now it's Junior Wells blowing harp on "That's alright Momma", my dear lady is not overly fond of the blues so I must make the most of her absence.
Watch this space...........
No comments:
Post a Comment