Lewes Castle

My sister's visiting, so we all went over to Lewes to have dinner in the Snowdrop. Still surreal....
.... But they have beer from Dark Star now, as well as Harveys. The American Pale Ale was lovely.

Pubs to visit before you die...

To start with last night. We went to the beer tent, but the music was indeed too loud, a right couple of belters and it was generally agreed not at all the sort of thing for this audience (I was later told that Friday night's duo were meant to top the bill on Saturday but were double booked). But things certainly turned out for the best, as we were taken to a pub, the Old Swan in Netherton, otherwise known as Ma Pardoe's, and my god, what a pub. The brewery tap for the Old Swan brewery, and the beer started at £1.80 a pint. But that wasn't the best bit. Nor was the fantastic layout, the organ, the enormous range, the amazing landlord, or the man who does the brewery tours and came and told us all about it. No, the best bit as far as I was concerned, the bit I couldn't take my eyes off, was the ceiling in the public bar. It was made of panels of vitreous enamel, patterned and featuring a central panel with the pub's name and picture of a swan, and looking as clean and new as when they were installed in the 1860s (I think). Absolutely marvellous. If I were a hisrorian I think I wouold write a paper on the innovative use of vitreous enamel in the Black Country. If you haven't been there, you just must. (I took some photos on my phone but the attempt to transfer them to the computer was unsuccessful, sorry)

The beer must have been very wholesome (although to be honest I didn'y have a great deal) as I slept the sleep of the righteous and awoke refreshed at nine, to a sunny morning aand lots of interested - and interesting - passers by. The day flew by and it was soon three o'clock and people were starting to leave, so we followed Dove and Minnow through the tunnel and back up factory locks, but decided to give Wolverhampton a miss, and our nerves (and heads and stomachs) a bit of a rest and have instead stopped for tonight at the Black Country Museum. A long day tomorrow should get us safely past Autherly and ready for a final push back to Kings Bromley on Tuesday.

It was a really enjoyable weekend, and we've met some more new people and had a wonderful time. Oh, and I've hung up my plate... Well, it was getting in the way.

Wanderers in Wolverhampton

Day 4: Wolverhampton

Well, that was too good to last; we got thrown out of the basin this morning when the supervisor arrived (don't worry Blossom, Minnow's still safe in there. We said we couldn't possibly move it.) Andway, we've spent the day on the towpath just beyond the basin and so far nothing dire has occurred. There are 'secure' visitor moorings on the other side of the canal; however, they are so secure that you can't actually go anywhere from them on foot, so that wasn't much good for as as we wanted to explore.

First though I got on with my painting and decorating inside the back cabin. I was doing the green moulding and it proved quite difficult and frustrating. I'm not at all happy with the result and there's still work to be done but you can at last get some idea of how it's meant to look. Then it was off into the town centre.

Based on a. the view from the ringroad, and b. the fact that it was widely reported to have been named by Lonely Planet as the fifth worst city in the world (although apparently this was a misunderstanding), I was prepared for Wolverhampton to be grim. But guess what - at least on a sunny September afternoon, it wasn't. In fact, looking at the city centre at any rate, it was really rather good. What do I look for in a town? A good range of shops, busy streets, a decent pub or two, and lovely buildings... well, Wolverhampton has all this for sure. Some stunning buildings, no doubt preserved through the fifties, sixties and seventies by poverty rather than appreciation of their Victorian/arts and crafts/thirties finery, but by and large there nonetheless. There seemed to be a fairly thriving market, most of the shops were open for business and we just had to visit this pub, the Posada, with its Victorian tiles, snob screens, booths and mahogony, and amazing curved windows. The beer was OK (I see it has had mixed reviews on BitE) but it was the surroundings that made it. And when we got back both times the boat hadn't been stolen/untied/vandalised/robbed, so we still think Wolverhampton is quite a lot better than it's cracked up to be.

On our way to Windmill End

Day 1: Kings Bromley to Great Haywood

I'm writing this on returning from the pub (so what's new?), the pub in question being the Fox and Hounds in Great Haywood, where the new landlord very kindly produced four roast beef dinners for us and Blossom and Dawn, despite not officially doing food on Sunday nights. Not only that but they had London Pride at £2 a pint, and Bass, as well as Bombardier and some northern stuff (Tetleys).

So it was a good ending to the day which was probably rather frustrating for Blossom as Minnow's engine required stripping down. For us there was the excitement of trying to keep up with them this morning (definitely getting faster!), only getting stuck on the bottom a couple of times.

Time for bed now I think.

In preparation

Today has been a day of preparation. We started by stocking up on provisions at Morrisons in Rugeley, then visited Rugeley's rather excellent hardware shop (I finally got a proper paraffin funnel for the Primus, and some handles for the back doors, among other delights) and hit a few of the charity shops, enabling me to acquire a splendid multi-coloured mohair cardigan, obviously unworn and a rejected gift from someone's doting auntie; well, rejected no more. This will be my chilly evening party wear for the duration.

We got some diesel from Kings Bromley Marina, and finally bought a couple of bus bulbs there too - should you be looking for a source of these 12v, 15w bulbs with a standard bayonet fitting. We filled up the water and replenished the oil, and loaded the coal, bath, bicycle etc.

Then Jim rubbed down and primed the back doors, so they will soon be rendered weatherproof. We chatted with Blossom, and Brian from Harnser, who came by. Then we went back to the Old Peculier in Armitage (or is it Handsacre) to try out their menu, and it was good, and the landlady was nice, and the beer was decent (especially for Jim, as they have draught Old Peculier, as you might imagine). So now we are all fuelled up and ready for the off tomorrow.

Old walrus and the Mucky Duck

The Great Trent Thrash (interrupted) Day 8
Stenson to Fradley

It was colder today, and wet, so I lit the stove. Oh what joy. Regular cups of tea, soup for lunch and a Frey Bentos pie and tinned potatoes for dinner! And throughout the afternoon as the kettle came to the boil, I emptied it into my little 1-gallon water can, and wrapped in up in my fleecy shirt and my crocheted
blanket, and there was lashings of hot water for washing up. Just as well, as I hadn't done any for three days. There even would have been some over for washing ourselves (ditto) but it wasn't needed, because we made it to Fradley, and showers!

All clean again, and full of hot food, we decided to stroll down to the Swan for a post prandial pint. This could be such a brilliant pub, with a great atmosphere - and it's certainly popular. But once again the quality of the beer let it down, and while there are many things that should be hot and wet, beer glasses are not among them. Only slightly daunted, we stayed for a while making mutually incomprehensible conversation with a couple from the Black Country over the sound of the evening's entertainment, a man whose guitar playing was better than his singing, and whose jokes were far worse than either.

Finally, here is a cautionary tale, which I shall tell because it vindicates a position I hold very strongly (that position being standing on the step inside the hatches). Approaching Alrewas lock from below, there's quite a strong current, and to try to get into position, I was reversing, when quite unexpectedly, the rudder hit something. The tiller was forced right round with such force that I had to let go of it. If I had been standing on the counter to the side of the tiller, as so many people do (or sitting on a 'safety' rail, or one of those ridiculous tractor seats), I would without a doubt have been knocked into the water and disappeared underneath the reversing boat. But because I was standing safely out of the way I suffered no ill effects other than a moment's worry that the rudder might have been damaged (it wasn't).

For a long time I have been much exercised by how correctly to pronounce Alrewas. Today we finally settled on Old Walrus.

Long day's journey into Long Eaton

We are now the last remaining (albeit somewhat involuntary) guests of John and Sheila... over the this morning and yesterday the crews of Petrel, Lacerta, Sharpness and Bath have quietly slipped away, although their boats remain; only Sharpness with us out on the canal, the rest n the private arm. The gazebo has been packed away, the empty beer barrels removed, and no trace remains of last night's happenings except, of course, the railway track leading to the shed where the tram and its coaches now sleep. Did I dream it all, I wonder...

So today we had to get to grips with practical matters, and Trevor (owner of the steam locomotive) ran us into Long Eaton to show us where the bearing shop was. We never investigated Long Eaton last year when we were on teh Erewash; I think we might have stopped for a paper. It has the usual collection of shops in a soulless pedestrianised high street, but very few people using them - a glance through one of the alleys showed why - the vista opened out of a gleaming new Tesco Extra. Ho hum.

I was expecting a man in a brown coat with a pencil begind his ear, but in fact the bearings counter was staffed by a woman (Sue) in a Trent Valley Bearings t-shirt, who very quickly got to grips with what we needed and told us they would get the bearings etc in for tomorrow. Meanwhile I had noticed a leaflet on the counter saying that among other things they also did machining, sso we left the shaft with them too. Sue rang back later to say that they could remake the shaft, at what seemed a reasonable price, so we have asked them to do the lot. We even popped back later with the casting so with any luck they will assemble it aall too - and that should be done by Wednesday.

With hindsight a secondary purpose of the Great Trent Thrash was o find out any weak points, and if this is the only one - and the oily exhaust is cured - that doesn't seem to be bad going.

This evening we made our way over to the New Inn for dinner. We ate there last year and found it most acceptable; this year was no different, and the beer is good too. Whilst in town I nipped into a house clearance shop. I have never seen so many pianos. I wonder f they ever sell any, or if they have just been collecting them, since about 1953. I selected six nearly new books - four of them hardbacks - and was charged all of £1.20, so was pleased with that.

Today we have been getting on with little jobs - I have done some washing and all the exterior brass (and bronze, as I now believe the portholes to be), while Jim has wielded the scrrewdriver. Tomorrow I shall finally varnish the paintings on the back cabin hatches, and get on with the interior paintwork, with the set of rather super brushes I bought this afternoon.

A funny thing happened today too... Yesterday, a boat was tied up next to us and was tied to Chertsey's mast. When moved by a passing boat it dragged the mast out of position (it's not fixed at floor level yet), also shifting the deckboard considerably. We planned to try to put it right after visiting Long Eaton this afternoon - but when we got back, someone had already done it.... Truly, Shardlow is a place of mystery.

Home on the Cheese Wharf

Well, I've heard it called that, from back in the days when this was a dairy. So here we are, another relatively uneventful four hours has brought us to Chertsey's home mooring, from where we will do a bit of a car shuffle in the morning and then set off for home... well, for the house.

Took advantage of a quiet few hours to make Chertsey a bit more homely, putting up a brass rail and curtain for the porthole, and another rail over the bed to hang things on, plus some hooks for hanging up mugs. Jim has tracked down the oil leak that has been making a bit of a mess of the engine room... he thinks it's inside the cowling, necessitating the removal of the canvas ducting I spent much blood sweat and tears on. The dynamo (or the regulator) isn't charging the batttery, so that will need to be looked at. And we probably need to shove some more packing into the stern gland. But apart from that everything is super.

We had Atherstone pies again tonight, so lit the Epping and had plenty of hot water for washing self and dishes. This time while the cabin cooled down we vistited the Swan at Fradley junction, seemed like a very nice pub, lots of beers and well kept, but lacking in clean glasses when we visited. We have also acquainted ourselves with the facilities at Fradley, as these will be our local ones.

On our way home

A couple more books to add to the list - but at least that post stepped in yesterday when I couldn't get a signal. June's boring waterways picture will, however, have to wait. We're well and truly on the way back to Kings Bromley now. We stopped in Atherstone last night, feeling completely worn out as the exertions and excitements of the last week caught up. However, a bit of a wash and a cup of tea perked me up and we set off for the drink I'd promised myself at the Market Tavern. This was a bit of a disappointment though; while still a nice enough pub, gone were the Church End Brewery beers. Haveing been too exhausted to make sandwiches, we'd checked out the various takeaways on the way up the High Street (Atherstone has loads of fast food joints, and about eleven pubs. I don't know what the population is, but it's certainly well-served) and settled on the Raj Mahal, where the man who took our order was somewhat unenthusiastic, but the food, when we returned to collect it and served it up on returning to the boat was super, and exactly what was needed. Lacking an outdoor taple, Jim took the cabin slide off and laid it on the grass to provide a base for our repast.

While waiting for the food, we completed a survey of Atherstone High Street in preparation for a shopping trip this morning. There is one shop, called Toolbox, which looks tiny from the outside, but when it was open, and its wares spread across the pavement, turned out to be an Aladdin's cave of oldfashioned hardware; still tiny inside, a warren around which only one-way perambulation was possible, where we were able to furnish ourselves with fuse wire, paraffin, net curtain wire and various other arcane essentials. Atherstone also boasts a few charity shops, where we were quite successful, acquiring (ahem) a set of kitchen scales (to take home, I hasten to add), a lemon squeezer, some shorts and a brand new pair of boots for Jim, a 1953 coronation mug (I have an Edward VIII one, so now I just need George VI) and a couple of books.

But what of the boating? Well, it's becoming less eventful, in terms of groundings and collisions, and consequently even more enjoyable. Met a couple of people today who knew or knew of the boat, including one man whose parents had steered it in BW days. We didn't leave Atherstone until one (oh yes, we got pies too of course) and have stopped just short of Hudddlesford Junction, leaving a relatively short run to Kings Bromley tomorrow. Then tidying up, packing and.... Well, it doesn't bear thinking about really.

Chertsey's travels: Day 1

Stretton to Penkridge. By car, ten minutes. By boat, ten hours. But here we are, and with barely a hitch along the way. The worst thing that happened was going aground a few times - only one of which gave us any real difficulty, and we still got off, unaided, in the end. The good things - too numerous to mention. The sunshine; the engine running without a stutter, the way the boat handles - like a dream. It stops. It goes backwards. It steers going backwards. It steers in neutral. It is very responsive to 'rowing' the tiller. It goes exactly where you want it to. I nudged a couple of locks; I scraped lightly around one or two bridgeholes. But I can honestly say I didn't hit anything (except occasionally the bottom). It's bloody brilliant.

We left Stretton at about nine fifteen and just went without stopping, eating hummous and crisps for lunch and drinking juice... by the time we stopped we weren't half ready for a cup of tea. First thing was to fire up the Primus (a skill exclusive to Jim, at present) and, to avoid having to boil the kettle twice, make a big pot of tea, six teabags for two mugs each; it's a long time since a cup of tea tasted that good. Then after we'd eaten our supper sitting out on the towwpath in our new lurid pink and lilac folding chairs, the landlord of the local pub, the Cross Keys, came down, very enterprisingly rounding up trade. So we have just been in there wwhere they had a man playing the piano, and it was actually a very nice pub. I'd always had it in my head that all the pubs in Penkridge, and all M&B pubs, were horrid, but the Cross Keys proves me wrong.

So far, so.... bloody wonderful. Fingers crossed we can keep it up - it's almost too good to be true.

Change of scene

Yesterday we decided to take a break from painting and do something different. It turned out to be a lovely day, although not quite in the way that we envisaged. The plan was to go to Market Drayton, to visit a sawmill that had been suggested to us by a local chap, Andy, who was blacking his boat here (we last met him three years ago when he was last blacking his boat here). He'd already rung them up and got a quote for the wood we need for the hold floors, bearers and planks which seemed very reasonable so we thought we would go and see them, and on the way back pop into Newport where we had heard tell there was a shop selling cheap beer.

So off we went to the sawmill which is in a village called Hales, near Market Drayton. There's a Hales school, a Hales Club, Hales sawmill, Hales lodge and lots more besides. If I nipped up there in the middle of the night with a few apostrophes hidden about my person I could own the lot.

The people at the sawmill were very helpful and positive about what we were trying to achieve, which was a good sign after many frustrating phone calls to timber suppliers all over the country. We ordered the softwood there and then, and then Jim asked, could they get oak? Yes, they could get oak. Air- or kiln dried? Whichever we wanted. Hmm. Can you get iroko? We've got iroko. Ah. Could you cut it to shape, if we gave you a pattern? No problem. This seemed to bode well, but I won't put out the flags until the softwood arrives and we see what it's like... which should be in 7 - 10 days.

So very happily we trooped out, only to find that the car wouldn't start. The battery was completely dead. Bit of a mystery, no sign of any problems previously. Jim thought it might be the alternator, so went back inside to call on the goodwill of Hales Sawmill, and very wonderfully, they sent a very taciturn chap around with the forklift to jump start it. We then thought we had better head straight back as being a relatively modern engine (1988) and petrol to boot, it needs a modicum of electricity to run at all, something that hadn't quite occurred to me at the time. So we were going hell for leather, watching all the electric guages going mad, and thinking we might make it, and even stop off at the Volvo breakers on the A41 to see if they had an alternator, when we got stuck behind a tractor turning right and ground to an ignominious halt. What I forgot to mention is that neither of us had brought our phones with us! So there we were at the side of a busy road, half on and half off the carriageway, trying to look distressed, and although it seemed longer it couldn't have been more than tem minutes before a bloke in a transit stopped and asked if we were all right. Now I know that is the standard form of greeting in these parts but he really meant it. Anyway, the upshot was that without further ado he towed us to a garage in Newport (where I think he said his brother worked).

In the ten minutes or so at the side of the road Jim had a closer look and identified the cause of the trouble - a wire had come off the alternator; the battery hadn't been charging for ages. It seemed odd to thank our lucky stars for breaking down there, but better than on the way home, on the motorway. The Tan Hill Garage (big plug, lovely people) fixed the wire and supplied a new battery, and when I went to pay the bill, all they charged for was the battery, and that wasn't dear. Our knight in shining Transit wouldn't take a drink either. This is why the day was so good - meeting the sort of people who really do, in the words of the cliche, restore your faith in human nature.

And it wasn't over. While they were sorting out the car we went off to find the cheapo shop (I hate supermarket shopping, but I adore independent cheapo shops where you never know what you're going to find) and it didn't disappoint. In fact it was so good we had to go back and get the car before filling our trolley with lots of beer (proper brands from 99p for a 500ml bottle), Pataks curry pastes in obscure varieties you don't find in Somerfield, thai curry sauces, wasabi paste (trust me, I told Jim, you'll love it), an air bed and pump for the guest accomodation and a crisp white cotton sheet for my Chertsey bed, socks and lots more besides.

And that's still not all, because on the way to the shop we passed a chip shop where the most lovely couple (very exotic looking (Cypriot, apparently) but broad Black Country (well, she was, he didn't speak but he smiled a lot) were lovely and friendly and sold us really nice chips for lunch.

So yesterday was a lovely day, marred only by the fact that come the evening I had developed a really annoying cough that kept me up much of the night and left me feeling quite wretched despite the splendid old fashioned cough mixture I bought in the cheapo shop (It's called B&M and it's where Woolworths used to be if you want to seek it out).

Today is very hot indeed, too hot to paint so I am going to settle down and read a book about the Gloucester and Sharpness Canal which I am reviewing for CanalBoat. It's nice and cool in Chertsey's cabin though, despite the blazing sun. One of the benefits of wood I guess.

Punting on the Cam

As it turned out, we didn't go back to Ely yesterday. We were so enamoured of Cambridge that we were happy to stay another day. This fitted in with our need(!) to go shopping in Ely again and the tides at Denver. We'll now be heading for Ely this morning, to arrive early afternoon, and then on to Denver for the four o'clock tide on Saturday. So I sent the Ducks a text yesterday morning saying that we were still here, if there was anything they wanted to do... and Amy replied 'James would like to go punting, if you're keen....'

Well, would you believe me if I said such a possibility hadn't crossed my mind, despite it being something I've always (of course) fancied doing. So we definitely didn't need asking twice. And best of all, not for us the exorbitant commercial punt hire of the tourists, but a quiet word with the Porter, the payment of a very modest fee, and the the keys for the Clare College punt (wittily named Clare Buoyant) were in James's hand. Having collected pole and a few cushions we made our way down to collect it from its own little lay by and were soon off. James (and I'm not just being flattering) is really skillful at punting and we were able to sit back and enjoy it just like in the pictures. We could certainly see why you wouldn't want to bring a narrowboat up here in the punting season - in places it was more like a dodgem rink - but everybody was good humoured and having enormous fun on this first properly sunny day of the year. For the first time yesterday I also suddenly noticed that all the trees had burst into blossom at last... It was all perfectly idyllic.

It didn't take long to get away from the crowds and we headed upriver first to Darwin College, where it was very quiet, before turning round, coming back through the crowds, and going down as far as Jesus Lock (just below which Warrior is moored) where we had an ice cream and our joy was complete. Can't thank Amy and James enough for being such wonderful hosts - we wouldn't have enjoyed our visit to Cambridge one tenth as much without them.

In the evening, the Ducks having gone off rowing, we retraced our steps to to Devonshire Arms for a few more pints - Nero was off this time but Jim enjoyed the Minotaur dark mild, and, it being rather quieter than last night, we chatted with the landlord and assorted local characters.

And in an hour or so, we will reluctantly leave Cambridge, but we will certainly be back.

Bridge of Sighs and size of bridge

What a super day we had yesterday. A late start saw us waking to drizzle (again) but undaunted we set off to meet Amy for a spot of charity shopping. We visited at least seven different charity shops, randing from the very chi-chi and expensive, to the wonderfully down to earth Salvation Army one. I succumbed to a new bag, with rather nice embroidery and a pair of what will be forever known as my Cambridge Pixie shoes, in lovely soft green leather and with the suspicion of a pointy toe. Very Cambridge.

We took a break half way through for lunch, and afterwards met up with James, who had been to Ely on a wild goose chase after a tin of Hammerite primer that Jim had seen in the pound shop but that wasn't there when he got there.. Sorry James.

Having done Commerce, the late afternoon was devoted to Culture and Amy and James took us on an unofficial tour of the University taking in the splendid University Library and some of the colleges, including their own (Clare and Selwyn), and St Johns, which we had a particular reason for needing to visit.

Where we are moored now, below Jesus Lock, is the normal limit of navigation, but the head of navigation is a little further upriver. Between April and September, powered craft aren't allowed beyond Jesus Lock because the river is thick with punts, but outside that season, it is possible, with permission, to take a boat through. The other problem is that there are some pretty low bridges (exceptionally pretty in fact), but James reckons that Warrior's low profile is perfectly suited to a trip along the Backs and up to the Mill Pond, so we went to have a look at the lowest bridge, the charmingly named St Johns Kitchen Bridge - which was best viewed from the Bridge of Sighs - a copy of Venice's famous landmark. Jim reckons it'll be fine!

Having been on our feet for the best part of the day - it was by now nearly seven, and we must have walked miles - we made our way back to the boats having agreed to meet up at eight at the Fort St George, before going on to Cambridge's newest and most wonderful (and that's against some stiff competition) real ale pub. So, a quick dinner of sardines on toast, get the fire going for later and to dry my boots, slip into a clean t-shirt and my new shoes, and off out again, to see not only J&A but also the legendary Big James and Emma from Kestrel, for a quick pint before pressing on again.

Another long walk brought us to the Devonshire Arms, recently reopened in an entirely new incarnation by new owners the (local) Milton Brewery. The bar staff were wonderfully knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the beers (and cider) they sold, and it was all fantastic - just what I like beer to be (northerners look away now) crisp and clear with no head at all, definitely not fizzy, but not flat either, but a sharp, cleansing liveliness; glass filled to the brim, and no trace of foam or scum clinging to the sides on the way down. I started with the hoppy, golden Icarus, which was lovely, and then tried the Pegasus champion best bitter - which was also great. Jim stuck to the Nero stout which even I - not a lover of dark beers - could tell was lovely (but I couldn't eat a whole one). We also tried to convert Amy with the lighter Tiki, which for a not-so-strong (3.8%) beer had masses of flavour. And finally we shared a half of the 8.8% Caligula, smooth and sweet and scarily drinkable, although fortunately for me not quite my cup of tea. I fought Jim for the finishing of it though, and won.

Amy falls amongst real ale drinkers

And then - last orders being at midnight - we finally made our way back through Cambridge's deserted midnight streets to the river, and bed, where we slept the sleep of the virtuous who have spent the day in wholesome exercise... and awoke this morning to bright sunshine and the prospect of a pleasant trip back to Ely later.

Yesterday's news

Melaleuca (the Moominboat) approaching Denver Sluice

Here is yesterday's news in full. The Great Ouse from Denver Sluice to Ely is indeed very boring. It was also cold and windy, so I stayed inside.

We got the chance to see the shiny new, very expensive looking, lock gate at Salters Lode and all its impressive shiny hydraulic pipework. It was the replacement of this gate that ran over schedule last year. Though it's very shiny and stainless, it has loads of protuberances that it would be easy to get a front fender caught on... the lock is manned, so we must assume that the lockkeeper can prevent this occurring.

We got to Ely mid afternoon and were greeted by the Ducks who took us off for tea at Peacocks, 'Britain's Best Teashop'... or so they claimed. It was incredibly pretty, the Platonic ideal of teashop, but there was a sense that they were doing you a favour be allowing you to be there, and, far more unforgiveable, the tea was weak. Not Jim's - he ordered builder's tea - but my Assam and Amy's Cornish grown tea were both incredibly weak, in as much as they simply hadn't put enough tea in for the amount of water - and Assam, at least, in my view, is not a tea to be drunk weak. So minus points for that, but still a nice experience. Terribly nice, in fact.

As we left we saw the Moomins approaching, and they tied up to the Duck. Long discussions ensued about whether we would all go out to eat together, complicated by the fact that we thought that the pub that did food didn't do beer, and vice versa. In the end off we went first to the Cutter, where the food was reasonable and there was in fact beer - Woodefordes Wherry, Adnam's Broadside and Greene King IPA - albeit very cold. But we were still determined to sample the delights of the Prince Albert which Amy had very selflessly researched for us, despite not being a beer drinker herself. We took a rather roundabout route to find it, which was a great opportunity to see some lovely buildings, including the Cathedral, and when we did, it was empty, the landlord enjoying his dinner - turns out they did do food after all. By this stage we had been joined by Alex, a Canadian scientist Jim met on the Nene last year, and we enjoyed quite a lot of very nice beer, with the Ducks, us and Alex staying on to midnight closing time and beyond. A great night with good company.

Today's plans are to have a wander round Ely before seting off at more leisurely pace for Cambridge. The Ducks and the Moomins have already left, and hopefully we will see them tonight at Midsummer Common.

Beware the pubs of March

Well here I am, sitting on Warrior, safely(?) tied up on March Town Quay. I came up by train (Peterborough must be the most unhelpful, information-free station anywhere, even when it isn't besieged by Newcastle fans) and arrive this afternoon, obviously bringing the sun with me, and a little while later we were joined by the splendid marvellous wonderful Moominclan (they said I was to write nice things about them).

Then in the spirit of scientific enquiry and purely for the public good, Jim and I set off to investigate the town's hostelries. Well. I know this is the Fens, and one must recalibrate one's Grim-ometer (TM) to avoid it constantly going off and draining the batteries, but still.

We began by looking for the Oliver Cromwell Hotel, well spoken of in the Good Beer Guide (2009). When we found it however, a modern low brick building with uPVC windows and those coloured lights in a tube around its menu, not even the promise (surely empty) of four real ales could entice us to cross the car park. So then we moved on to the Griffin Hotel, which had a nice interior with some fantastic oak carving. Here we had some bottom-of-the-barrel Bombardier and lapped up the atmosphere (large screen football and youths wearing their trousers fashionably below their buttocks (they stopped doing that in London years ago) but not the beer which smelt like the spirits of salts that Jim put down the bath plughole last week and we couldn't go in the bathroom for hours. Next, to the Red Lion, an Elgoods pub which looked unpretentious and quite rightly so, not actually having any cask beer at all, Elgoods or otherwise, but a distinct smell of damp and three pissheads, being the entire clientele, propping up the bar, and jeering as we left at our foolishness in coming into a pub seeking beer.

After that, The Acre seemed an improvement, having only one telly, and two sorts of Greene King beers. So we had a pint of IPA and looked at the menu, and were going to order some unambitious pub grub, but it was only six o'clock and the kitchen didn't open until seven, so we said we would go off and check out the Ship, right above our mooring, and then maybe come back.

At this point things looked up considerably. The Ship, which was previously a right dive, just reopened last Thursday after a complete refit (including of the clientele) and was really super, with three real ales and at last some local ones. They didn't do food yet (come back in eight weeks) so after a pint we set off to look for some chips, but were sidetracked by the Mamma Mia Italian (no, never!) restaurant right next door. They could fit us in provided we could eat up within an hour and a half, so we did and it was very good too with super service. Now the Moomins and Jim are back in the Ship while I do my blogging duty, but I'm off right now to join them. The lesson of this tale is that it pays to conduct extensive research.

Beer for Bones

Yesterday, I didn't quite go to the North London CAMRA 'London Drinker' beer festival at a packed Camden Town Hall, as I had just spent lunchtime in the almost as well supplied Bree Louise, and I had to go to a meeting. Having been reminded by seeing a poster that the festival had just started, I did however contrive to get a glass and T-shirt. What I don't know yet is the rationale for this year's poster design (last year Tarporley was the festival's nominated charity and the posters, T-shirts etc featured a very un-Tarporley like narrowboat.)

However, with its combination of skellingtons and motorbikes, it is clearly a match made in heaven for Bones, and had I only but known what size, I'd have got her a T-shirt too. Sorry Bones.