You think I’m green?
No, not that green, you idiot! I’m a grown up girl, thank you.
I mean green as in appearance. Like coming from Mars (would I be pink, if I came from Venus?).
OK, I’m green with a bit of black, to be precise.

Today she offers to do the locks, coming up from Stratford-on-Avon.
What, you didn’t know we were at Stratford-upon-Avon? Did she not mentioned that in the blog? Oh, I have to have words with her!



Anyway, I am wearing the Scottish flag, the Scottish tiller tassle, finished off with the Scottish tiller pin. Happy whistling me and Lawrance leave Bancroft Basin, heading for the first lock. A lock that, by now, should be ready to enter. To set the lock she left the Basin ages ago. But no. We see someone who makes a big show about opening it. Struggling with the paddles, windlass flying off and hitting her knee. Limping to the other side of the lock where, except for the flying windlass, the show is repeated. By the time the lock is open I’m ready for my lunch…

Of course, the whole scene completely melts Lawrance’s heart.
“You go on the tiller”, he says. “I will do the locks.”
Was that not the entire purpose of all this, I ask myself?

OK, I must admit, she’s usually very good at locks. Most times I’m in the locks before I realize it.


She keeps the right course, going towards the lock, but just as I’m close to the lock wall I’m suddenly forced aside. And although I’m going slow, of course I bump into the lock wall! And into the lock wall on the other side. And into the first one again…
By the time we’ve done all the locks of the Wilmcote Flight I’m so battered, you could fry me and call me Boat Fingers.

At Wilmcote I just refuse to go any further. I make sure there is a space, just big enough for me to moor. And, although Lawrance left another arnco barrier pin when they moored to go to Tesco, I wiggle myself onto the bank and call it a day.

Time to attend to all my bruises…

Oh, and you know what her excuse is? The by-washes. The by-washes? My ****!

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