The winds of change ...

Day 8

Climate change? What climate change? The political barometer has swung, violently, to the right. The British (well ... the English and Northern Irish) electorate have voted in favour of even more punishment for those disgusting poor people, and much greater opportunities of enrichment for the millionaires ***. This despite the fact that living standards and average wages; over the past seven years; for the poorest eighty percent of the British population, have fallen, whilst; during the same period; the wealth of the richest ONE percent has doubled! (*** I refer here to Conservative Part Prime Minister: David Cameron; being returned with an increased, and outright, majority of Members of the British Parliament. Meanwhile; the Scots have repudiated both Labour and Conservative parties; voting for 56 Scottish National Party MPs, out of a total of 59 available Scottish seats in the U.K. parliament. They now become the third largest force in British politics! This election might well be the precursor to Scotland opting for independence, severing its constitutional ties and leaving the (dis)United Kingdom.)

 ... and this first leg of our grand canal adventure had been going so well! Both of us are almost physically nauseated by the announcement of yesterday’s election results.

Anyway ... you’re not reading this to hear me whining; so ... here is the cruise!

We departed the environs of Kaynsham immediately after a leisurely breakfast, almost immediately working through the penultimate lock, on our route to Bristol. Due to the greater depth of water in the river (relative to a four-foot deep canal) we can maintain a speed of almost 5mph, compared to the 3 – 3½mph we usually achieve. Greater speeds on the canals result in an unacceptable wash; which can result in canal-bank erosion and instability of G&T glasses on moored boats. The above mentioned, almost meteoric velocity, got us to Bristol in just over an hour. Our first rendezvous was with the lock-keeper: John 

(pictured with his office – defunct lock-keeper’s cottage – in the background; who monitors traffic into and out of Bristol Harbour ... this with the aid of his brindled hound: Dylan. We didn’t snap Dylan ... must do that when passing thence. John is a well-travelled Mancunian (native of the city of Manchester); spending the evening of his working life in an enviable position. John and I immediately struck up a warm friendship; he being of the same socio-political stripe as myself; and an old ‘folkie’ to boot! We sat in his office harmonizing a duet of The (Ewan McColl song) Manchester Rambler. Leaving him, smiling and waving, in our wake (figuratively, not in the river!) prompted Lyn and I to enter the port and harbour of Bristol singing rousing union and ‘social protest’ songs. Our melodies engendered much approval and encouragement from the harbourside. (Did they all turn out to vote yesterday, I wondered???) John had directed us to convenient, centrally located moorings; where we are currently tied up. My daughter: Jane; and her husband: Max; are driving down from Bath to indulge in a session of mutual commiseration ... though I suspect Max is not such a hard-line Trotskyite as are your author and his female offspring. Still ... it could be worse ... she could be married to a Tory!!!

Total progress for the day was: 7 miles + 1 (open) lock. Weather: bright overcast, with occasional light drizzle.

Day 8

The floating pontoon to which we are moored is neither sturdy nor large; and considerably shorter than Moonstone (58ft.) That, combined with blustery overnight weather, made the mooring noisy and unsteady; so sleep throughout the exceptionally stormy night was very spasmodic for us both.

The morning portended unpromising weather but, by lunch-time had brightened considerably. We rode our bikes to a point below the famous Clifton Suspension Bridge, then trekked up the steep path to the bridge and its Visitor Centre. I have long been an admirer – nay, a fan – if Isambard Kingdom Brunel; the Victorian engineering genius. We spend a couple of hours in homage, then collected our bikes and pedalled off to another of Brunel’s iconic artefacts: the S.S. Great Britain. 

Unlike Cary Grant, I.K. was not a Bristolian by birth, but the city celebrates him as one of their own. By the time we were heading back, the weather had a ameliorated to such an extent that we indulged ourselves with an ice-cream cone (shared) whilst sat on the sundrenched cobbles of the harbour wall. Tomorrow we retrace our route back to Wiltshire.

Total progress for the day was: 9 miles ... all by bicycle. Weather: varied.