Approaching the end of the holiday now, sad to say, and also one day closer to me having to reveal all on a story my Dad (ahhh... my Hero) maybe'd rather I didn't tell... a tale of muppetry and of failing to take one's own advice. Do as I say, not as I do, and all that, but that's for tomorrow. Tonight I am full of the leavings of an allotments barbeque (dubious lamby kebab things, chicken, burger) and rather sleepy, so I will relate only one day's worth.
We were, you will recall, moored under the big impressive railway viaduct in Gauxholme. We must chug gently down through Todmorden, where the gang all disembark to shop, leaving us tied up under a rather inpressive fishy "muriel" - big stainless steel fish on a wall made from "gambion" baskets (baskets of rocks). You can get to the other side of the canal to photo this wall by a rather nifty horse-tunnel let down through the drop from the guillotine lock (Lock 19, Todmorden Library Lock).
Shopped out, we chug on to Hebden Bridge for another quick halt, where all the Silverwoods vanish in a suspiciously orchestrated exit seeking milk shakes, leaving Mum with baby R and a rather noxious nappy to change. Coincidence? The Bio-hazard squad in their space suits did not think so.
It's mid afternoon by now and the bright sunshine sadly gives up on us. In scenes reminiscent of last year, Dad is in his poncho (still keeps the straw hat on though) and Mr S in his Liverpool FC rainwear, while all the women and we dogs are indoors, as the rain comes down in sheets. We moor up in Brearley just as the boys, all very wet and chilly by now, are starting to lose their senses of humour.
Another good day.