Of Untold Tales Of Cruises 1

 Okay, I admit, I'm getting worse at this journaling stuff. I've been out a few times in recent weeks and have travelled the River Nene as far as Alwalton and the River Great Ouse as far as Bedford.

The first trip on the Nene was a bit of a revelation. Never in my wildest imaginings would I have described Peterborough as "beautiful" but seeing it from the river shows the city in a completely different way. Once past the Embankment and under the town bridge one soon encounters parkland and wood and the river is mostly wide with occasional bits narrowed by fallen branches or whole trees and, of course, the inevitable water plant growth. I passed barely any other traffic as I made my way. Being well-past mid-day and in need of some provisions I moored at Orton Lock and retrieved my bicycle from the engine room intending to cycle to a supermarket and a health food shop to stock up on vegetables, fruit, pulses, nuts and seeds. Thankfully the voice on the map app on my phone instructed me in the route to take and it mostly proved useful. I would not have found the way without it had I needed to refer to a paper map. I'd probably still be there having to stop every hundred yards or so to check my directions. In my youth I could commit to memory pretty much an entire route at a single glance - times certainly do change!

I stayed at Orton Lock overnight, lulled into slumber by the sound of the weir adjacent to the lock and the constant traffic on the flyover crossing the water. The alarm clock in the morning was unusual. It sounded like a steam engine, which it turned out to be. I was close enough to the Nene Valley Railway to hear the chuff of an engine and the shrill call of a steam whistle very clearly. Clearly that would need further investigation another time! I set off through the lock with a view to finding the mooring in Ferry Meadow. From my map it was the next mooring and seemed to be located in a far corner of Overton Lake. The lake is accessed via a tree-lined channel through beautiful woodland. It took me a moment to work out where the mooring was and I headed slowly across the open water. The mooring was close to the Ferry Meadow Visitor Centre and was actually three jetties stretching out into the lake allowing mooring from both sides. I was very happy to see that the nearest and easiest mooring to access was unoccupied and that's where I tied up. I would imagine it is normally very peaceful there, but on this particular Saturday there seemed to be a lot of activity happening. As I made my way to where it was all going on it seemed to be the first day of a two-day community celebration with many tents for performers and, refreshments and local organisations and businesses. They really didn't need to go to all this trouble to help me celebrate my birthday, but I decided to stay and I'm glad I did. As I approached one tent I was surprised, although I suppose I shouldn't have been, to see my friend of many years, the storyteller, John Rowe, with his Gandalf-beard and dressed in his distinctive colourful clothes and top hat. We have worked together at many similar events over the decades and it was lovely to catch up  before he took to the stage with his mix of poems, stories and riddles. I talked to many interesting people and thoroughly enjoyed the two days I stayed there. When I arrived back at the boat I was presented with another surprise and another John. This John is a model railway enthusiast who often tows a small butty containing his model railway which he sets up at gatherings of people interested in such things. I was delighted to meet their new puppy, a lurcher with a very bouncy attitude. Naturally we needed time to catch up.

Moored on the Overton Lake public staithe in Ferry Meadows

A rather poor photo of another aspect of Overton Lake

On the Monday I headed back towards the Middle Level. The discovery at the event of cold cans of Guaraná, drunk by everybody in Brazil apparently, was a pleasure to the taste buds and appears to contain surprisongly few additives. My son and Brazilian daughter-in-law confirmed that Guaraná was indeed a popular drink in her native land.

As enjoyed by "all Brazilians"

Now as a post script and following up on my failed bread shown a few posts ago, not all my loaves turn out to be as mis-shapen as that one. This one looks much better!