Perfecting perfection.

A bright morning but temperatures are on the decrease at a fast rate, sweaters and jackets are being retrieved from wardrobes and cupboards. Maybe it's because we have reached further North. On the map we are on a par with Liverpool and Manchester. Middlewich is a nondescript sort of place, merely a junction for several canals, so the chances of us taking a wrong turning have got to be high. Fingers crossed. Without wishing to tempt fate I have had several fit-free days and generally feel OK, but we are getting to the point of my 3-weekly cycle soon so again fingers crossed. We got to Kings lock within minutes but Lynne had already begun baking a loaf between captain's duties. I set the lock gates and nipped into the Kings lock chandlery to tell them we needed diesel and to check the price. By the time I returned to the lock Lynne had emerged from the galley and gave me a going over for not telling her where I was going. The fact she wasn't there to tell seemed irrelevant. We needed to moor alongside a broken-down boat to get near the diesel pump,but Lynne had the sudden urge to check her bread again, leaving me and the chandlery owner giving instructions to thin air. Embarrassing or what? We filled with diesel and set forth up the Shropshire Union canal, Middlewich branch round a tight bend and narrow bridge, during which the loaf remained the most important feature. Heated words were exchanged and we managed to get through the first lock.

The first rule of sailing is that the captain should never leave the bridge during manoeuvres ( unless you are Italian and in charge of a large,fully loaded cruiser).