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That magical rare confluence of events had occurred, the rare triad of me having annual leave over half term and Keith being off for a week between shifts – hurrah a family holiday we will take!

We get the boat ready on Saturday, taking mountains of food, clean linens and towels, hoover through and gently but firmly evict the same spiders I evicted only the week before. We are renovating the boat and started in the back cabin – I’m using the royal ‘we’ of course, Dad is doing the majority of the work with some mild to moderate interference from me. Anyway, one thing we were keen on was using her and cruising whenever we can, so the boards are stacked against walls and beds are made. We have a leisurely cruise planned, up to Rugeley, swing round just before Wolseley Bridges and back to the marina. Sounds easy right?

Day 1 goes to plan, we load up the boat with dogs and a mildly grumpy teenager who doesn’t look up from her phone as she steps onboard, and off we go. We pump out the loos before leaving the marina and then go through the same rigmarole as usual turning right onto the canal. It’s a touch windy and we had already completed an entirely unnecessary circle coming off the pump in the marina in the wrong direction, but peoples lives would be much less rich if they didn’t have my boating skills to judge. We arrive at the water park in Branston (gems.bulbs.remain) after an easy few hours cruising, take the dogs for a walk and sit down with a beer.

The night is not a settled one as I build up the river section in my mind. There is no way to get to Alrewas from here without going on the river 😱. I’m quite sure it is a raging torrent that will sweep away my little boat and all of the souls who reside on her into the depths, forcing us over the weir to deliver us to the leviathan, waiting for the boat wreckage and our battered bodies to sink down to it…

I am aware that the leviathan classically lives in salt water, however, I’m sure sea monsters would make a special effort just for me.

Anyway, before then is my favourite lock on the system, Lock 9 Tattenhill Lock (jacuzzi.exhaled.thread). The lockhouse is a B&B and there is an old working boat moored just past the lock. It’s tipping it down as we approach the lock and some boater has unhelpfully moored on the lock landing. We come up the lock and past the quarry, through the bridge that I always think I won’t fit through and onto the bit of canal that runs right next to the A38. I’m talking myself into stopping on this noisy stretch as I am scared of the river section, mainly because the huge carp will eat my dogs when the boat is overtaken by waves and sinks. I get a grip on myself and, being a big brave girl put the boat into Wychnor Lock (oppose.call.inserting). Leaving the lock, I hold the boat while Keith closes the gates and hops back onto the boat. I’m not going down on my own, I’m taking him with me! The dogs are resplendent in their lifejackets and are on the stern with us, to give them a chance against the carp, and Millie has been forced out of her cabin to join us. We pass boats moored on our left and aim for the right side of the approaching bridge (the left is too low to allow passage). I am only pottering along, barely 2 miles an hour, when a hire boat comes flying round the bend, misjudges the tricky little turn into the bridge, hits the bank, bounces the side of the boat into the metal piling by the bridge (there, I suspect for this very eventuality) and puts the boat straight into the reeds in front of us. There is now no way that the boat can move to allow us to pass and as I’ve pretty much stopped we can’t help him, so we watch him flounder for a moment while he gets free from the reeds and he passes us, staring fixedly straight ahead.

I’m beginning to settle into the river section, it is calm and quiet, noticeably deeper and wider than the canal for the most part and the signs are clear. We have passed this way a few times, in hire boats and when we came from Norbury to Willington, however, I still get quite panicked at the idea of the river, despite having traversed it successfully in the past. We pass the weir and I’m surprised at how small it is. I am sure it was much bigger when we came down a few months ago. And there are no killer seagulls giving us the dead eye this time either, maybe they’ve gone south for winter. We approach the lock and have a bit of a bicker about whether the lock landing is on the right or left, it comes into view on the left, once again reminding Keith that I am always, always right.

We pressed on, as we had arranged to meet Nan and Grandad at Fradley – we haven’t seen them for ages and they have not yet visited the boat. There is enough room on the back of our boat for them to sit and be socially distanced from me at the tiller, so they are meeting us for a little ride through a couple of locks. Coming into Fradley, I am aiming for the mooring outside the pub as I exit the lock, as if by magic, Nan and Grandad drive past at that very moment. I moor up outside the pub and collect the grandparents. Nan, bless her, thinks that I had planned coming out of the lock at the same time they were passing the lock in the car – imagine what I could do if I had that sort of logistical skill! Sitting them down on top of the gas locker, Keith unties the boat and I move her out. Fradley is a busy junction and there are boats moored right up to the lock landing. A boat is leaving the lock we are heading towards, so it requires a bit of careful handling to avoid hitting any of the boats on either side of me and to put our boat elegantly into the lock. Keith has walked ahead to set the lock, although with the volunteer lock keeper there already he only has half a job to do. Nan wants to know where Keith is, at the lock I say. Not on the boat? No Nan, it’s just us. So who is going to put the boat into that lock? Me, Nan. Without Keith? Yes, Nan. Are you sure you can drive it in? Yes, Nan. It’s a long boat, comments Grandad, nodding towards the front of the boat. Nan is looking doubtfully at the lock we are about to go up, the gates are open and I am nudging my bow into the entrance. Are you sure it will fit? Yes, Nan, quite sure, I’ve got a good 6 inches either side! We planned to stop for the night at the top, after the last lock. Kindly, the volunteer at the first lock had checked if there were moorings for us above Shadehouse Lock (positions.flipper.hosts). We moored here and Millie and I walked Nan and Grandad back to their car. It was so lovely to see them as we haven’t been near them since February, even though it was a very short visit🥰

Keith and I love Fradley and the canal around Woodend. It is beautiful, surrounded by ancient woodland. There is no light pollution and on a clear night you can map the stars and get annoyed by the noisy owls. The trees had been marked for destruction by HS2 but were still there at this point and the mooring spot was perfect. I got back to the boat to find we had moved backwards a few feet to accommodate a cute little stone cruisers boat. The lovely Toby and Gina gave us lots of posh cake for moving that few feet to allow them to moor, I’m looking forward to doing them an actual favour!