Last night I moored up at Crick in the pouring rain. I awoke this morning to glorious sunshine streaming through the window. Molly was eager for a walk and we set off down the towpath. On the way back we detoured to the village shop where I bought some bacon and bread having run out a few days ago. Back on the boat I fixed a bacon butty before setting off on my way.
The sun was fab all the way down to the junction. Then shortly after turning right to the tunnel the heavens opened And I got drenched. I was pissed because I could see the sunny sky over Braunston.
I entered the tunnel wringing wet. Someone was coming the other way. As we passed he asked if it was raining. “Yes,” I said. “Yep same out the other end too,” he replied!
I came out of the tunnel slowly, hoping the rain would stop. No such luck! I was thinking about mooring up until the rain stopped. Molly was a very soggy doggy and I was dripping all over the hexboard step. Unfortunately there were peeps at the lock so I thought I might as well take advantage. Peter Grey was one of the CRT peeps at the gate. I decided to go all the way down.
The rain stopped. The rain stared. The rain stopped. The rain stared. By the time I reached the bottom lock my skin was the only thing stopping my body from being dissolved by the rainwater which, by now, had permeated all my clothes. Molly looked so sad, a bit like ET in the bicycle basket. I moored up near to Gongoozlers two boats away from nb Islonian the ‘Vapes’ boat