Today, we fought with the voices that proposed we stayed put in our bed all day. But we are made of stonger stuff, and when the fight was over, we set off from Sutton Lane, pretty much first thing, at 12.30pm.
For a change, the electric swing bridge at Oakgrove behaved, and then after lunch we dug deep for more strength, and after moving all our plants to the bow, for better visibility of locks, we set about descending the 12 Bosley locks.
The flight was serene, flower filled and beautiful as usual. When we were in Sutton Hall for dinner last night, a collection on the bar reminded us that Bosley, the village, was only recently the scene of a major industrial disaster. The details of which are reminiscent of Dickensian mill fires. Difficult to contemplate such a tragedy in the 21st century.
Mr Jones had never seen a lock before, and as we passed through the locks, we experimented with him (a) tied up near the lock (b) tied up on deck (c) in the boat with hatch open and doors shut. None of the options was especially succesful, but maybe (a) just came out as the least worst.
We are now tied up in late evening sun at the bottom of the locks and on the river Dane aqueduct.
As usual, all three of us are knackered. But only Jonesy is allowed to flake. We have fresh pea and mushroom risotto to cook for dinner, showers, and a fire to clean out before we can put our feet up.
Only then can we revel in the special type of fatigue you get when you've been out all day in the country air and sunshine.
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