To go or not to go. That was the question. Whether it is nobler to stay at Wilmcote or to take arms against a sea of locks and go down to Stratford and risk not getting in the basin. Aye, there’s the rub.
What if there was space in the basin and we missed our chance? That would be the unkindest cut of all. So we caught the train in to have a look. Space there was. Well one anyway, but there was no time to bring Herbie down on Friday, yet there is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea we decided to float and take the current down the canal on Saturday morning or lose our ventures.
Not to waste time on Friday, we booked in to see Julius Caesar at the RSC and very fine it was too. Set in African costume and music it works. Though this is madness, yet there is method in it. I suppose because Africa is full of dictators and rebellions. Plus Kath and I love to hear a good Kora player and there was one.
Rising at 7.30 this morning we set off down the 16 locks into the basin. Contrary to some opinions ventured by others, I thought they were lovely and on the way back I resolve to take some pictures to prove it. Ok some of the locks are hard but the course of a true canal never runs smooth.
We arrived in the basin, and yes there was room very close to a statue of Hamlet with his head in his one hand and Yorick’s head in the other. Alas poor Herbie, he knew us well.
As for Bill Spokeshave he had his back turned to us. I would have protested but the better part of valour is discretion and I decided to hold my tongue. Kath is usually the complainer but methinks she doth protest too much.
It is very busy here and we are continually being gongoozled. One American lady asked me if Herbie was for rent. I regret now not having stung her for a fortune. There are more Morris dancers here than you can shake a stick at, although they are all shaking sticks at me it seems. Most of them are not as good as they should be although entertaining enough. Once a man has seen Gloucester Old Spot Morris (circa 1975) nothing else comes close.
I like it here very much and could go on,but brevity is the soul of wit.