Creeping through the clag.

'twas a bit thick this morning, lock eleven was just visible through the murk

but twelve was totally lost.
Undaunted we set off for Coole Pilate, that is pylatt not peelahtees, it has nothing to do with any exercise system. The name means a croft growing pill oats and even Wikipedia doesn't know what they are or were.

We stopped at the services on the old wharf for water and to ditch the rubbish and it seemed to be clearing as we went down lock thirteen

by the old lock cottage, but by the time we had cleared the last of the locks and were crossing the aqueduct

over the infant River Weaver it was closing in again.
Safely tied up on the S.U.C.S. moorings the sun is just starting to peer through the clag. The satellite dish is set for the rugby and owing to the proximity of these moorings to the mast at Hack Green Secret Bunker we even have a belter of a mobile signal.

Watch this space.........