Wrenbury Frith to a bit closer to Wrenbury
Saturday morning we had breakfast and then moved Oleanna closer to Wrenbury, not far but past the worst bit of muddy towpath. Whilst Tilly went off to explore her new estate Mick walked into the village for our Saturday newspaper where it was sat waiting for him behind the counter.
Whilst Tilly surveyed her new surroundings I kept the stove top busy, first a pot of Sweet Potato Soup, followed in the afternoon by a pot of Tarragon Chicken which simmered away for five hours. Both were yummy but I think next time I do the soup I’ll try making it with just paprika, not smoked as this was a little over powering. In between chopping and stirring, I made a start to a rug for in front of our stove. Using the fabrics I’d covered the tops of our stools with I came up with a pattern and began to crochet.
Our bilge pump has been a bit active of late. The cause isn’t because the engine bay is full of water (it is as dry as it should be) but it seems that the pump likes the sound of itself, every 2min 30 sec! Quite annoying really. When it started doing this a week a go Mick tried various things finding that when he disconnected it, then reconnected it, it stopped being vocal but still worked. But today this didn’t work. So with Tilly safe inside having a snooze Mick climbed down into the engine bay to see if the pump had got gunged up. I could so help with things down in the box under the boat. I’d be able to reach all those awkward places that Tom can’t and bat things that had been dropped around until he could reach them again. But he doesn’t seem too keen on the idea.
Whilst contorted around the engine he noticed that the fuel gauge had become disconnected, so dealt with that, no wonder the gauge didn’t have a reading. Then he took the bilge pump out of it’s holder and gave it a clean hoping that this would do the job. Sadly the effort had not been worth it as the pump was still being vocal. This may have to be added to the Finesse list when they come with our batteries.
Sunday morning we woke to the sound of a wood pecker giving itself brain damage nearby. This used to be the first sign of Spring that we’d hear from our house in Scarborough. A beautiful morning just right to go for a walk, but first we decided to have a cooked breakfast with Turkey sausages to keep it remotely healthy.
When Tilly eventually returned we quickly got ready to go out ourselves. The aim of our walk was to see what lay ahead where the stoppages are and have been. Not using our common sense, or heeding from Carols experience on the Thames we decided not to put our walking boots on and ventured off wearing trainers! They were old ones. Just after reaching the swing bridge we saw our error as a sea of MUD stretched out in front of us. Back tracking a little we detoured along the road and through the church yard back to the towpath. Here the going was still sticky but passable. The next stone bridge was where a large tree had given up it’s fight against the forces of gravity in a storm blocking the navigation recently. The trunk had been cut and cleared. Much of it must have been put through a chipper, the chips/chunks left on the towpath creating a tree beach.
On we walked, out of the breeze it was really quite warm and hats ended up being removed. Mud occasionally took over and one stretch of sticky sea made us divert to the nearby road again, through a hedge.
The first of the locks came into view, empty. Below the second lock was the boat and butty that had been sold a week or two ago. We wondered if they’d been aware of the next lock being closed when they’d set off from Grindley Brook, but they’d got as far as they could as Lock 3 had only reopened on Friday. A boat was making it’s way down in the chamber, so we went to help close gates, they soon pulled in below as half a mile further on is where the bridge was still closed. We considered walking further, but as our walk had been delayed (nobody said which hour and a half I could be outside for!) we wanted to get back in day light so turned back, knowing that there would be plenty of space for us to moor for a couple of days.
A return along the road made sense, calling in at the Spar shop for a few bits of veg. Next call was at the Cotton Arms to see when they served food until.
But as we stood at the bar the plates of Sunday roast twisted our arms, so we decided to stay and eat instead of coming back later. A quiet pub with quite a few eating or drinking. A good selection of beers too. Only thing was there was no sign of a menu. Mick asked if they were doing a roast today, a choice of four meats. Two beefs, luckily I’d spotted that most plates were swimming in gravy so asked for one with little gravy.
Apart from the food being a little tepid it was very nice. The dessert menu called out to us, well we had walked and waded quite a distance. I had ginger pear and salted caramel sponge whilst Mick had sticky toffee. Both were very nice and warmer than the main course. It had been a good decision to stop. The sun was setting as we returned to Oleanna which didn’t impress Tilly as she wasn’t allowed out again
0 locks, 0.39 miles, 1 bridge lufted, 1 newspaper, 4 bowls of smokey soup, 2 chicken thighs, 6 hours, 1.5 hours a joke! 5.8 mile wade, 1 telepathic pub, 2 roast beefs, 2 sponge puddings, 2 pints, 150 seconds, 2 rows short of a rug.