Making the best of it.

When, years ago, all keen to enjoy the delights of the waterways, I signed up to be a narrowboater, days like today were not what I had in mind! Much as I love the river and the rushy bends and the herons and the odd kingfisher and all that, it's hard to enjoy it with a face full of rain.

Luckily we had a cunning plan to alleviate the suffering and after an hour or so we stopped off at Kelmscott to pop round to William Morris's place at the manor. Sadly, he was not in on account of having died in 1896, but after greasing the attendant's palm with silver we were let in to admire the wallpaper and tapestries and the like. The gardens were cute too. Morris was a great advocate of keeping old buildings going by maintaining and "mending" them sympathetically. Well as it turns out, the building was in such a poor structural state when the current owners ( a charity) took it over that it was a wonder it hadn't fallen down. I think it was a good job he put up all that thick wallpaper or maybe it would have.

We couldn't resist wandering on to find the old Plough pub in the village. Forty or so years ago we used to camp for weekends across the river at Eaton Hastings and we'd cross the little wooden footbridge and walk to the Plough, which was small and rustic and had bantams wandering in and out. The beer was served through a hatch. Now of course it has a restaurant and wifi and sandwiches cost £8.50. I confess we were weak with hunger so we splashed out. My hot roast pork baguette with apple sauce and onions and a decent helping of chips was very good so I'll let them off.

Returning across the field to where Herbie was clinging nervously to the crumbling river bank we set off again in the rain. At Grafton lock we were (not ) entertained by the most taciturn lock keeper we have ever encountered. Saying nothing to us,he only emerged from his hut for seconds at a time, to wind up a sluice or close a gate, then scuttled back inside each time to shout angrily at his unfortunate dog. I doubt he'll make the shortlist for the current vacancy in the Chuckle Brothers.

Pressing on in the increasing rain we eventually reached the meadow above Rushey weir and called it a day. A nice little herd of, I think, Dexter cattle came over to inspect us and seemed to give us the ok, so we're here for the night. Little do they know that at midnight we shall become outlaws because our Thames Visitor Licence will have expired. We can buy an extension at the next attended lock.

Second confession of the day: We have resorted to heating the boat. Goodbye summer. Our stove is put of action because I pulled out the old rope door seal then bought the wrong size replacement. Doh! So it was back to the dear old Eberspacher to try to dry our wet gear for tomorrow and to warm us through. Tomorrow morning the weather is supposed to be worse, so the plan is to set off after lunch and make a dash for the Maybush moorings at Newbridge.

Until then, as the French say, "Reservoir".