It all happens in Stratford

It’s Friday morning, when the next chain of events starts to unfold. A fire brigade truck enters the recreation grounds and parks close to the river.

Fire brigade

Out come four guys. They put on life jackets, and take one hose out of the truck. The hose gets straightened up, and both ends are blocked off. One of the guys gets a gas cylinder and fills the hose with a gas. Then the now inflated hose is put in the water, one side first, so blocking the passage for any boat.

Then I hear someone say: “A fire at Birmingham Road.”

The hose comes out of the water, gets deflated, life jackets put away, and with blue lights and siren the truck is soon gone.

Fire brigade going

Just after that nb Brindley moors in front of us, to top up with water. We have been at the same spots for the last week or so. You can see just their bow on this picture from Luddington Lock.

Luddington Lock

When we mention us going bowling yesterday, the guy says: “Oh, if I had known that. It’s something I always wanted to try.”
Just at that moment Peter opens the gate of the Bowling Club. So I ask him if there would be a chance for Community Bowling today.
Well, no, not really, but in the end there will be a private lesson at 1 pm.

In theory we need to go today. We have a full cassette, and absolutely nothing to eat. But we work around that. An easy meal, with ingredients from the small Sainsburys in town, and we think we’ll manage with the cassette.

Bowling again

So at 1 pm there are four boaters, on the bowling green. The weather is nice, the scenery is beautiful (the church, all the weeping willows) how good can life be? Even Tina, who certainly wasn’t going to play, is playing (she didn’t get a choice) and enjoying it!

She only came to watch him play

And what did I say? Yes, it all happens in Stratford-upon-Avon, in the UK. Although at a certain moment, earlier this day, I had to shake the cobwebs out of brains and eyes:

Venice-upon-Avon

Oh, and I also get a phone call from Pat. Her and Stephen are moored at Glascote Locks. Pat sees a boat passing them and thinks: Oh, I like that boat. Wonder what the name is… Well, as you probably guessed already, that name is Wea-Ry-Tired. I can basically see the look on her face when her brain says: ho, wait a minute. What’s going on here?
End result? A call from Pat, and a text from Christine.

Wea-Ry-Tired is a horrible name anyway (sorry WRT, I don’t mean it that way). Almost 99.999% of the people who pass WRT say the name out loud. So while sitting inside you here Weary Tired, a minute later We’re retired, another minute later We Re Tired, another minute later…. etc, etc.
It almost comes to the point that, if anybody will mention the name out loud again, I will commit murder. YES, WE KNOW THE NAME OF OUR BOAT!

Anyway. Another great day. But everything comes to an end, and tomorrow WE WILL MOVE ON!