Poppy fields

We wondered at first whatever the helicopter was doing. As it came low overhead it threw up fifty times as much grass cuttings as a CRT strimmer, and blew a fender off Erin Mae's roof. It was as it landed in the field opposite that we realised it was an air ambulance, and that there had been an accident on the road bridge just back from where we had moored at Wightwick. We heard later that, sadly, there had been a fatality.

After that it was a quiet night (apart from watching more referendum debate on Question Time), and this morning we continued on our way to Kinver. As red as the ambulance, though of a slightly different shade, was a field of poppies.

Seeing them through the trees out of the corner of my eye (all attention on my steering, of course) I'd taken them for a long, brightly-coloured industrial building, until my best beloved said "Did you see those poppies?" My incredulity was matched by her desire for a piccy, so I pulled over and walked back to see. She was quite right!

On to the Bratch – this extraordinary feat of water engineering that has three locks very close together, with the pounds between only a few yards long, but leading off to hidden ponds where the water is stored as you move up or down. It's a most attractive and well-kept site, and a favourite place for students of industrial architecture to visit.

It's a bit more complicated to operate than normal, so Philip was on hand to make sure we did nothing disastrous!

He also gave a welcome helping hand with his windlass as we dropped down over 30 feet.

This morning Erin Mae was dry even though it had rained very hard in the night. We travelled in the dry,  but it's hot and muggy and pouring again as I write.