Sunday.

Sunday, full English Breakfast and then feet up. Anyone who has a dog will know that that is not allowed, so we donned walking boots and set off up the towing path, Ashby mud is of a particularly clinging consistency but the Leicestershire countryside is pure English,

with that wonderful mix of hedges,

fields and farms. Narrowboaters have all the best bits to themselves, how selfish.

I found the spare battery, it was in the camera bag, silly place to put it; so lambs tails.

After about twenty minutes old fatty went on strike, she'd had enough and as I had no intention of carrying her we dragged back to the boat.

Tomorrow Jill is having her hair done, noises are being made about the state of my barnet as well, looks like the Barber of Bosworth could have another customer.