Towards the end of the holiday there was something close to a pre-flight check before starting off. 240 volt power? Check. Mac on & webcam running? Check. GPS with new batteries, switched and locked on? Check. One result of which was a set of trails stored on the Triton mapping various days, including through Harecastle tunnel, which were later to be mapped properly.

In due course we came home and I plugged the Triton in to the laptop to be offered a firmware update. Of course I want a firmware update, I’m that kind of guy, but given that I wasn’t concentrating it would have been nice for the Magellan software to remind me that this would twat any existing data on the device. Which of course happened and all my carefully recorded trails disappeared into the ether.

I really should have known better. What a fucking dick.

And what a nice day it was, too.

In all honesty it was too cold to hurt too much and I figured optimism was the best policy – hope it’s just a bad bruise and it will be. A cold compress applied by our resident first aider kept things from getting too out of hand (I can’t believe I just wrote that – sorry) and the remainder of the journey to Gunthorpe was uneventful. Apart from the bloke in the posh cruiser that seemed concerned that we were mooring next to him (I think he though that our extra hard boat might injure his plastic one if it came loose) and after a brief tent pitch we retired hurt to the pub. This was my choice for the evening. Knackered all round we stayed sober too. I had to eat some humble pie with my burger when Mr Rescuer turned up but if he noticed the hand he ignored it. Back to the boat at closing time, a token beer for bed and that was the day.

Sunday meant the fairground at the Riverside Festival to meet the family, and prompted by a concerned wife and a procession of St John’s Ambulance people (I’d get it looked at – see the ambulance. I’d get it looked at – see Derek. I’d get it x-rayed -go to casualty) we all spent the evening in an A&E department more civilized than I remembered it with assorted football and alcohol related injuries.

The upshot of which is a broken left fourth phalange and severe bruising elsewhere. No treatment necessary, just care and a periodic amazed look at the outrageous bruising.

And it all started out so well. Pissing it down sadly, but with a party atmosphere. We managed to meet up at about lunchtime and started out at 12:15. A slight pause while we dropped off nipper Ethan F from his maiden voyage (he likes boats), and on to the Trent. A quick spin through the Riverside Festival (to be peered at by a very young life boat crew) and on to the main business of the day, an overnight booze cruise to Gunthorpe Lock. We proceeded through Holme & Stoke Locks without incident, even using the radio as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then the Ferryboat Inn came into sight. What could be better than mooring up outside a pub for a quick pint, given that we were soaking? We could make the mooring against the wall just up from the outlet pipe, partake of the facilities & be on our way. Except that the mooring wasn’t, if you see what I mean. It might have been once but within about eight feet of the wall a concrete shelf (part of an existing slipway, which might have been a clue) stopped us getting close enough to land. Or indeed back out to the river. We didn’t seem to be aground – the boat rocked, we could use the bargepole to push out the bows to deeper water (which resulted in the stern heading for the shallows), or push out the stern (and vice versa). Two bargepoles would have sorted it for us, as would the bastard in the huge cruiser that waved while he left us to it, and after about forty five minutes of struggling we were reduced to scratching our heads, spitting out foul tasting water that had found its way into our mouths from the outlet (I have no desire to know what that contained) and wondering whether to cut our losses and wade to the pub to debate our options.

At which point the NB Ugrund came into view, and while not exactly enamoured at the prospect of helping us he did so anyway. His first attempt at passing us a rope failing miserably and following the second successful attempt he neglected to stop while I tied on. For a few seconds I tried to pull his boat back to give myself enough rope but just in time engaged brain and let go – as the rope span free (trapping left pinkie in the process), and whipping my hand on its way past. Obviously I couldn’t lose cool and admit to injury so ignored it for the moment and during the third attempt tied on, got dragged free and thanked our rescuers.

Leaving me with this comedy hand …

To be continued …

One day before the second booze cruise, and one week before we start the Four Counties Ring, we have power issues. Someone who will remain nameless (Debs) managed to drain all the batteries – starter and domestic – and it appears that now the shore power isn’t charging properly, at least as far as the starter battery is concerned. There are quite a few permutations of the various switches and circuits, what with shore / onboard power, at least four on / off switches and a bridging circuit between domestic & starter batteries. As it stands the starter battery won’t charge properly, either because it’s shagged or because we’ve got part of the configuration wrong and somehow prevented the charge getting through. What I do know is that we can start by using the emergency parallel switch (at the moment), and once the engine’s running the alternator is putting out whatever it needs to.

So I’m treating this weekend as a bit of a test. If the five hours to Gunthorpe charges the battery then it’s either the settings or the charger, if it doesn’t I’ll swap one of the domestic batteries with the starter one & see if that helps. We need to get this sorted before we leave our base for two weeks, obviously.

Such things are sent to try us.

One day before the second booze cruise, and one week before we start the Four Counties Ring, we have power issues. Someone who will remain nameless (Debs) managed to drain all the batteries – starter and domestic – and it appears that now the shore power isn’t charging properly, at least as far as the starter battery is concerned. There are quite a few permutations of the various switches and circuits, what with shore / onboard power, at least four on / off switches and a bridging circuit between domestic & starter batteries. As it stands the starter battery won’t charge properly, either because it’s shagged or because we’ve got part of the configuration wrong and somehow prevented the charge getting through. What I do know is that we can start by using the emergency parallel switch (at the moment), and once the engine’s running the alternator is putting out whatever it needs to.

So I’m treating this weekend as a bit of a test. If the five hours to Gunthorpe charges the battery then it’s either the settings or the charger, if it doesn’t I’ll swap one of the domestic batteries with the starter one & see if that helps. We need to get this sorted before we leave our base for two weeks, obviously.

Such things are sent to try us.

We’re a couple of weeks away from the big two-week cruise of the year, & we’re torn between the Four Counties & the Leicester rings. The former offers 110 mile & 94 locks estimated at 55 hours cruising and at a fairly leisurely six hours a day should come it at well within the allowed fortnight. The latter is listed as 157 miles & 102 locks and at about 75 hours means we’d have to keep pushing to make the distance in the time allowed. The Four Counties also offers a 3000 metre tunnel which might be the decider.

I’ll have a look at what each has to offer by way of attractions, bearing in mind that the girls are insisting on at least one night in a hotel during the holiday.

Time to consult Google, I think.

Following the first ‘do’ we were left with the boat moored outside the pub, and by some judicious planning we both had today off work. A brief errand followed dropping the kids off and the rest of the day was our own. We retrieved the boat, took it for a quick spin to a winding point (where we met the only other boat of the day at a blind corner – bloody typical) and back to the marina. The return part of the journey was spent in company with Mr Near Collision who was traveling solo and had a singular outlook, not really caring who or what he hit or indeed who or what hit him. It was refreshing in some respects, since I do worry about other people’s paint jobs, but stressful in others. It almost becomes a competition about who cares less. His boat diagonally across the lock? No problem, a quick shunt from mine will soon straighten it up. He was however very happy & friendly, and more than helpful. He even let us go on our way & insisted on tethering his boat & sorting the lock without us.

Followed by a bacon & tomato sandwich on the deck watching the world go by.

One day, every day will be like this.

Since Debs is on the way to pastures new (9 days, 3 hours and counting) there have been several leaving dos planned. Today was the first, which involved me leaving work early and ferrying the newly clean boat (which was not trashed by the booze cruise, I hasten to add) the twenty minute journey to town to be enjoyed and surveyed by various primary education  lecturers.

The first batch were duly impressed by Debs’ skillful and casual stance as we moored, and I left them to it to retrieve the girls.

Debs looked very pleased with herself, and I retrieved 72p that I believe we dropped last week while enjoying the sights.