Profuse apologies about the list <WateryPeregrinations@tomlewis.net> not being ‘moderated’ (I did warn you about ‘old dog, new tricks’!); which was why your replies went to all one hundred and seventy of you. Actually; 170 and is quite exclusive, when you consider that I made the (b)Log offer to almost two thousand souls (e-mail addresses). Problem now fixed!

Day 1.

Having make ‘all preparations for sea’, our first day started with our departing Caen Hill Marina at 1130 (quite early for us slugabeds); on the First of May. No milkmaids, washing their faces in the dew, where espied ... but they might have been at been doing so at dawn: the prescribed time for the ritual. (n.b. ‘slugabed’ reference above.)

We had a close encounter with, and cunning escape from, an itinerant band of Norwegian chanty-singers (pictured).

They were getting in touch with their Viking heritage on a narrowboat, rather than a longship. Having almost been taken captive, we eluded them by the crafty ruse of leading them to a canal-side pub (The Barge) and taking flight (at 3mph.) whilst they were otherwise engaged quaffing, Continental lager, of indifferent quality! Ale drinkers prevail again!

Lyn: having cycled the full mileage, and working all the locks - whilst Tom looked truly majestic at Moonstone’s tiller – was quite exhausted by the end of our first day; so a visit to a local hostelry was foregone ... not the usual conclusion!

Total progress for the day was: 4¼ miles + 7 locks; mooring overnight, just below Semington Lock. Weather: indifferent!

A quiet night ensued, with ...

Day 2.

 ... no visible improvement in the weather, and still no milkmaids.

Stopping at Hilperton Boatyard, only to top-up with fuel (diesel, not beer; that’s already been topped-up) and propane (for cooking), we made the very short excursion to the delightfully picturesque little town of Bradford-on-Avon.

In the 19^th. century, the city of Bradford, in Yorkshire, was named after this town; then a famous woollen-spinning centre; but lacking the ‘on-Avon’ suffix to its moniker. On becoming one of England’s pre-eminent centres of spinning (‘centre’? ‘spinning’? geddit?) Bradford,Yorkshire, declined to add ‘oop nawth’ to its name; thus the appellation of our current quarters. The fact that there are, in England, at least FOUR rivers called ‘Avon’, only adds to the confusion! Such is the bucolic nature of Bradford-on-Avon (Stratford, by-the-by, is on a completely different ‘Avon’) electronic communications here are extremely tenuous; so posting this chapter of the b(log) may require to be adjourned until Sunday or Monday.

Total progress for the day was (merely): 4 miles + 1 lock; mooring overnight, just by the Tithe Barn. Weather: indifferent!

Now we're in Bath (more later) we're working out of an Internet Cafe. Hopefully we'll get better connections in days to come.