Trent Lock to Turnover Bridge 19, Beeston Cut

‘Girl’ the comic, Marie Antoinette, Processed water, Singing washing machines and the Life of Brians were all discussed this morning on the Geraghty zoom.

Plenty of puddles to play hopscotch with this morning along the towpath back to the start of the Erewash Canal. Over the very steep footbridge to Mills Dockyard. The place had a jolly hub hub of activity and some very beautiful things to look at.

Mills is quite an historic boat yard. Founded by Amos Mills in 1895 concentrating on wooden barge building, houseboats and rowing skiffs, the company has been passed down through four generations and is now run by Amos’s Great Grandson Steve Mills. Steve restores wooden boats as well as offering services for more modern boats.

Outside lay two rather wonderful skiffs. The woodwork varnished to such a glorious finish. Restoration works had been carried out on these boats and my they were gorgeous. Rattan backed seating. Leather upholstery, pristine coils of rope and polished engines.

More boats sat indoors, a wonderful beaver stern playing out from a beautiful pram hood.

Then under cover were two cars. Or where they? One with the body of a boat and wooden mud guards. I believe this will be exhibited at the NEC later this year. Then behind was Burglar Bill, Matt Black, evil gangster style speed waiting to be unleashed on the neighbourhood.

History filled walls, the chandlers showed off traditional painting. A one man band sang, played his banjo and hit his suitcase held in place by a toad. Clog dancers clogged and people enjoyed cake and cuppa all under the Sunday sunshine.

Time to wind and get moving before the river levels start to rise after the recent rain fall. We chose our time to push off between the sailing dinghies racing at the club opposite.

There were plenty of people enjoying the beer festival by Cranfleet Lock. The level not wanting to equalise again to open the top gates, so I enlisted a chap to help push, he thought the beer was exceptionally good, it certainly wasn’t helping with his diction!

A cruiser zoomed to join us in the lock. However their width was just a touch too much for us to share. Two people appeared at the bottom gates, one starting to lift a paddle before the top gate was even closed, they soon stopped. Mick closed the off side top gate and I could see what was about to happen. The crew at the far end started to whip up the paddles, without checking first. Mick still on the bank, we both shouted to stop.

Thankfully they stopped. Once Mick was actually on Oleanna we gave them the go ahead. I walked down to chat. ‘Sorry I shouted’ I lied. He said, ‘I’ve had a boat for 7 years, so I know what I’m doing!’ I refrained from, in my mind, stating the obvious that he really didn’t! If he’d have waited for the go ahead from the skipper and for the skipper to be on the boat, we’d not have had to shout and he’d have known what he was doing. Helpful people are not always helpful and they could well have been drinking since the bar opened this morning!

Once down, we were on our way, zooming with the increased flow on the River. No sign of the boat we’d helped to rescue a few weeks ago. But where he’d been stuck there was now a cruiser seemingly stuck. No-one on board that we could see, so no-one to help should they need it.

At Beeston Lock we worked our way down the lock with help from a white haired chap who was made up when I said he could open and close gates. A top up of water then we needed to find somewhere to moor.

No space alongside the road anywhere. I counted 18 motor homes parked up. Through the next bridge. Gosh when we’d come the other way there had only been a couple of other boats along this stretch, today it looked chocka. One possible space which we manged to shoehorn ourselves into, the nearest neighbour impressed that we’d guessed right.

I had a walk to check how far the station was, I’m on an early train in the morning. Then I carried on crossing the railway again and returning to Beeston cut via the Attenborough nature reserve.

Mick had been under instruction to pop a joint of pork in the oven before I returned. I’d left it uncovered in the fridge for most of yesterday to help dry the rind out, the plan worked and we had very good crackling. The joint big enough for four meals for the two of us and some sandwiches.

2 locks, 5.5 miles, 4 beautiful boats, 2 extraordinary cars, 7 years! 1 unimpressed cat, 14 minutes to the station, 68 brisk minutes walking, 1 beer, 1 joint of pork, 1 camera charged, 1 bag packed.

https://what3words.com/slick.miss.dizzy