On Sunday at silly o’clock John and I pitch up for more crewing duty. We wanted to get an early start but Reg ( a man after my own heart and not an early riser) would join us for lunch at some point further down river – exactly where yet to be decided.
Dave didn’t get a lot of sleep it seems – too excited. How well I remember that feeling – the first night aboard my very own boat – even though it was six years ago now. Seems like yesterday.
Another lovely day, less wind, so let’s get going says John – tea/coffee on the move. The first lock of the day is just around the corner so John walks on to set it filling while Dave and I slowly trickle Bella forward. Gates are still shut when we arrive so my pupil, given the choice of tying up again or hovering, chooses the latter – good man – and pulls it off like a pro.
Just three more locks put us on the Lea – a much wider river where we should be able to ‘put our foot down’ a bit. And with luck/the law of averages we might just get a few locks set in our favour – to date they’ve all been against. As we turn on to the Lea, the first lock looms and…yes! A boat just coming out so, at last, straight in we go.
We trundle on with Dave mostly at the tiller, me and John enjoying the view and recognising places/landmarks along the way. Funny, it feels so familiar – like home ground – well I suppose it sort of is now.
One lock in particular sticks in the memory – Carthenagena – see below for why. 
Someone clearly loves this place. It makes for a lovely sight on approach and, whilst I do appreciate the feat of engineering involved and their serious old age, a pleasant change from the norm.
There’s a few live-ons hereabouts and I suspect it will be down to them – frustrated gardener/s in their midst maybe.
You may have noticed, though probably not, that I have re-arranged the roof. I can’t bear stuff that gets in the way and is a trap for the ropes to tangle on so John has shifted the plank and poles all forward. Much better. I do so hate a cluttered roof.
We soon reach the agreed rendezvous point, The Crown at Broxbourne (or Frogspawn as we like to call it), so we pull in and wait for Reg. The delicious aroma of roast pork wafts its way through the garden and down to the river and succeeds in sucking us in. We are still only three so call our no. 4 who is still in bed on his way, stuck in traffic so don’t wait. The pork by now was disappointingly sold out so we did a deal and had the beef for the same price. The waitress sold us cauliflower cheese as an extra (we’re all big fans) but the chef must have run out of cheese as there wasn’t a trace. So, cauliflower in white sauce then.
They were very busy and there was a bit of a kerfuffle with the old dears at the next table, complaining we had been served out of turn ahead of them, which in truth we had been. Thankfully, their meals turned up quick quick so any awkwardness was avoided but it makes me glad I’m on the receiving end of service these days. I remember all too clearly how difficult the great British public at large can be from my years at The Star.
By the time we were all fed and beered it turned out to be a longer than planned lunch break. We would be running till late though….OK justified.
As we leave The Crown and round the bend we dodge hire boats, rowers and pedalos – blissfully unaware of our existence.
John just loves to invite people aboard for a ride (usually from one lock to the next) and a nosey downstairs inside the boat. And today was no exception. He spotted a couple of lads on bikes (Orthodox Jews from America on a visit it turns out) and has them stow their bikes on the (previously decluttered) roof.
They were a nice couple of lads and, once I managed to convince them it wouldn’t end up on Youtube, let me take their photo.
An unusual look but each to their own. They seemed to enjoy this little interlude, especially when let loose on the tiller, although a teensy bit puzzled by the accomodation. But, I think we may have made their day…happy to oblige.
The river had been quiet but then we found the gongoozlers..
It wouldn’t be the same without them and John does love to chat…
And I love the way the kids are so fascinated…
Anyway, before you could say clutter up the the roof again why don’t you, John has found more bikes for temporary stowage thereon and victims enthralled passengers to entertain till the next lock.
A very snazzy number in pink..
And its proud owner.
We’re not opposed to a little child labour help along the way, kids are so willing and eager to take part. 
“G’wan…put your back into it laddie..”
From the serene…
To the beautiful…
To the downright….
There was the obligatory shopping trolley… if you look hard
A fight with a fish…
That the fish… finally won.
And I witter on about a cluttered roof….. !
An interesting abode and check out the plantlife.
The pylons march along with us..
And cyclists are ever present on the splendid towpath that is newly ‘done up’ ready for the Olympics.
John went for a spin with a local lad on his old tub..
As he went to turn around..
Before he joins us…
In the lock.
Reg misjudged the speed of the boat as he jumped on the roof…
But he moved a bit smartish when I told him about that bridge coming up.
And he was feeling the cold at Enfield..
Or perhaps just trying to blend in.
We ended up at Tottenham Hale at 7.30pm. Dave’s friend was training in so this was a convenient stop, though John and I would have liked to have carried on a bit further – keen to see how our money had been spent in the name of the olympics since our last visit to this neck of the woods.
Still, we’d had another brilliant day and made pretty good progress, considering.
We had planned on a day three but when we rang in the morning, Dave was full of confidence, had a mate with him and it was raining…..
So we had a lovely lie in instead.
We are in constant touch by phone/text and our man’s doing fine, just like John said he would be. My Mother Hen instinct wanted to give him another day or two but it really wasn’t necessary. By last night he had reached Hemel Hempstead on his way up the Grand Union. Even managing to do locks on his own now. Clever cloggs.
He was due more help from other friends today, swelling numbers again to four, and hoped to reach Stoke Bruerne by Friday with enough time to spare to take in the museum there.
We are hoping to hop aboard again along the route – maybe the Nene and/or the Denver crossing – and will tell it here if/when we do.
I know he has a birthday coming up in a matter of days so would like to think we’ll get an invite to the party, which will take place on a river somewhere soon…
Boatbird
Boatbird 
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