Bum, piddle, wee wee - in two senses

I've stuffed my back and we need to modify the poo tank arrangement before we go to France - the ideal time is whilst we're out for blacking at the beer festival end of the month so things need doing in prep for that.

But first a quick catch up; peoples were happy doing jobs when, first;

Adam and Adrian turned up on NB Briar Rose on their way through to Crick Show, so tools were downed (saucepans in my case) whilst we had tea and a catch up. Then Ian and Karen (narrowboats in a hurry on Tacet) turned up and we had our last communal dinner on MR before parting company with Sue and Vic on No Problem

So it was goodbye from them

and goodbye from them

and him

'where has Penny gone mum?'  he sat outside for several hours waiting for her bless him. Poor old Muttley no mates

eventually he gave up and crashed out on his dad

so no reason to stay after Jules filled us with diesel and our 10th bag of, 'this'll be the last this year' coal

oh, and a big Sunday boaty BBQ with old mates and new acquaintances; food not the same as Vics Sunday Roast but still good fun

we stopped on the way out of Blissworth to take on a Tesco delivery and a grand daughter

a pretty spot and very busy

still having to get used to dodging incoming traffic

and this is a dirty great whole above, and slightly to the right of, Blissworth tunnel - there are two of them which I find a bit scary (one of many reasons why I tend to go over the top of, rather than through, tunnels)

and moored just through the tunnel at Stoke Bruerne where it rained and it rained and it rained

On Friday, in vastly improved weather conditions, we set off down the seven locks to reach the services required for the afore-mentioned pump out mods - replacing hoses etc.

 

Now those of you who know Stoke Bruerne will have a good idea of just how many gongoozlers were positioned at the top lock on a sunny weekend at this time of the year. So, quick to impress my audience, I wielded my windlass with great panache to whip up the bottom paddle; opened the opposite gate to let MR out; back to drop the paddle and...couldn't get my windlass off. Wriggle it, wobble it, hit it ...it would not come off. MR had gone so I had no mallet/hammer/windlass to whack it with. Feeling incredibly stupid in front of my vast audience, I had no choice but to shut the gate, leave it there and go down to MR and fetch something to come back and whack it with. Except I couldn't shut the gate! By now furious, I gave the gate an almighty tug to rock it off and .... twang. My back went.

 

Had G come to find out where his dearly beloved wife was? Had he hell - he was giving it gab at the next lock down - didn't even notice I was missing!

I hobbled, bent double (windlass still stuck on the ratchet), slowly (very slowly) down to join him and send him back up.

 

We did reach the services thanks to Penny and David of NB Orpheus who had moored at the top and were out for a stroll when seeing the state of me and locking us down.

Thank you very much

So G was able to rip the bed to bits and do the smelly necessaries - during which he managed to shove an inevitably unhygienic screwdriver deeply into the space between his thumb and first finger. We've super glued and butterfly stitched it, but he'll be very lucky if it doesn't get infected. Not really our finest day one way and another!!!!!

Going to be a while yet before this bed is habitable so, meanwhile, I'll keep standing - sitting is not currently an option