Aunt Sally

Thursday 25^th August; Claydon Top Lock to Cropredy

We saw the water flowing strongly past us before 8, so we knew Derek had arrived and was on the job.  So we had breakfast, and moved along to the lock landing.  The paddles were closed now and the ‘lock closed’ sign had gone, so I walked down to find him and check we could start.  The first boat waiting at the bottom (having arrived, like us, a little too late yesterday) was already reaching the middle lock.  Dave meanwhile had been chatting to our neighbour, who was the last boat up yesterday, about solar panels – this should be the first big job to be done on Bonjour. 

Starting down

We made speedy progress, passing two boats on their way up, and arriving at the bottom before the scheduled opening time.   Two CRT chaps were busy discussing how to deal with a damaged part at the top paddle stand, while a third was checking and tightening bolts on the bottom gates, and looked after the offside gate for me.

It was cool and overcast as we passed Clattercote Wharf.  Dave thinks this is a spooky place, and ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ comes to mind – slightly ramshackle farm buildings, and never anyone to be seen.  Just the sweetcorn and squash … though I did glimpse a plaid shirt crouching in the corn (probably weeding) and a pair of dungarees lurking by a shed (feeding the hens). 

Nobody lurking here

There were two boats waiting for Elkington’s lock, then Varney’s was clear.  Both these locks had warning notices displayed asking people not to let water down overnight.

At Varney's lock

The queue was there again at Broadmoor lock, which only had one paddle working at each end.  It is also susceptible to draining overnight, which explains why boaters have been running water down – there is a line of permanent moorings in the pound between the locks.  ‘Repairs being planned’ ……

At Broadmoor lock

As our turn finally came, the engineers had come along to look at one of the non-working paddles

And removed and took away the wooden housing from the gate.

We went on through Cropredy lock, and moored just before the bridge to visit the shop.  It started drizzling, so we had lunch, then I popped over to the bin area where there are three glass recycling bins, so at least there is a bit more space now for the rest of the recycling!  The drizzle returned, quite heavy drizzle, so we decided to stay put and maybe eat out later.  Later, I walked Meg, and Dave started looking at the ‘tank full’ indicator for the loo tank, to see where the electrics run.  The indicator panel appears not to be connected to anything, so it's not surpring it doesn't work.   Then the sun came out after a damp day, so we strolled round to the Red Lion.  Unfortunately they don’t have a chef on Thursdays, but we took our pints of Butcombe bitter into the sunshine in the back yard – I won’t call it a garden, as it’s all concrete with a few tired-looking tubs, and a strange-looking framework covered in a blue tarpaulin.  A little while later, a chap came out with a blue mat, and another came up to the bench near our table with a bag and brought out what looked like a short fat skittle – but no.  It fitted onto a metal support ready for the evening’s match – of Aunt Sally.

Aunt Sally waiting for action

It’s a popular pub game in Oxfordshire, Northamptonshire and parts of Leicestershire (I think that’s what he said).  Pub teams compete in leagues, as in darts.   The rest of the Red Lion team arrived to get some practice in before the opposition turned up.  You have 6 sticks which you hurl at Aunt Sally, and each team referees the other – hitting the post and dislodging the target doesn’t count, you have to hit poor Auntie fair and square.

Good shot!

By this time we had decided to have another drink (it was an excellent pint), so we watched them practice.  

And another

Meg was whining more and more loudly – not because she was scared, but she was desperate to chase the sticks! 

Why can't I have a go?

We left before the opposition arrived, and had a fry-up back on the boat.  The canoe club had been out, so we watched them tidying up as the dusk fell and the bats came out to hunt.

3 miles, 9 locks