Calamity

Yesterday, as many will know and some will have experienced, was windy. Very windy. Not ideal conditions for taking a narrowboat out and about. But today was expected to be wet. Very wet. And we had to be at Fazeley by Friday. We had a choice – wet, windy or both.

Of course, if I hadn't broken a filling, or we hadn't decided to go south to get it fixed, and arrange for a haircut for my best beloved, etc, etc, we could have set out earlier and simply found some quiet spot to hole up for a day or two. As it was, we had a limited time-frame. So when yesterday's rain had relented and the worst of the wind was supposed to be past, we left our berth – around 4 p.m. I managed the tricky business of getting out of the marina fairly well – the wind is always in the most complicated direction! Then we set out down the Trent and Mersey, to get at least a couple of hours in before nightfall. Once we were travelling, the wind was manageable. But around Little Haywood, disaster struck.

We always collapse the pram hood canopy when on the move – it folds forwards very neatly. To do so I remove the side panels, fold them and put them on Erin Mae's roof weighted down with three spars that I "just happen to have". The wind was flicking at the edges of the panels but, as we were passing a few moored boats, a strong gust blew them off the roof and into the canal. I put the engine in reverse immediately, hoping to be able to fish them out of the water, but they were sinking rapidly. As any boater knows, having your engine hard in reverse when there's clutter in the canal is a recipe for getting all sorts of things tangled round your prop, so as we came level with the sinking panels, I had to go into neutral, and then reverse back gently to where we thought they were. But twenty minutes of fishing with a boathook produced no results, and in the end we concluded they had gone – probably to catch round some other boater's prop at a later stage.

Having the pram hood cover fitted had been a great decision. It had provided both protection over the stern from the sort of weather we've had today, and a extra degree of security. I was concerned that we would not be able to replace the panels with the same material, but when I rang Keith Wilson today he implied that it might be possible. It all means that after our weekend at Fazeley we will need to return to Great Haywood straightaway and arrange with him times and places for measuring and fitting this new set of clothes.

I was extraordinarily upset yesterday about it all. It felt as though something very special had been irrevocably spoiled. But then I thought of so many going through real trauma. For goodness' sake, I chastised myself, how does this misfortune compare with a dozen situations you can read about today on the BBC website? Death, disease, bereavement, torture, the effects of the wind in the Philippines and America – how can losing a pram hood cover compare with such things. Of course, it was my calamity, which is bound to make a difference. But it's good to get things in perspective.

Expectations

This morning I took to our local garage our malfunctioning car engine (along with the rest of car, of course). That was when I discovered I would have to pay an extraordinary amount just to have it tested on the special diagnostic machine. All to do with the extraordinary cost of the machine, apparently, but not what I was expecting. I have good reasons to trust this particular service centre, so I bit the bullet. While the driver ran me home (part of their service) we discussed the evolution of engines, comparing the one in the car to Erin Mae's Isuzu 42. He was well-informed. He even knew exactly what it was like for some friends to help me change the engine in the Triumph Herald I had in the early 70s.

Later the garage rang to say that one of the pipes linked to the turbo was split – the origin of the whooshing noise we'd heard. They'd also found a coolant leak from the temperature sensor – one of those situations where the replacement part (an O-ring) costs peanuts but the time to change it costs about 100 times as much. Oh, it all makes work… It doesn't make any sense not to do the work, of course – it would eventually result in a failed MOT.

Later again they rang to say there had been a problem with the computer inventory and they couldn't complete the work today. So while we were expecting to get back up to Erin Mae mid-morning tomorrow, it will now probably have to wait until after lunch, too late by the time we get there to set out towards Fazeley. Meanwhile, I'm left to ruminate on how much more than expected I'll be out of pocket. Perhaps it still won't be quite as much as I'm going to have to fork out for dental treatment in November.

Nevertheless, adding to what I said on Thursday – double ouch!

Hand protection

My best beloved's hands are normally protected from the risks entailed in paddle-winding and handling line operations by a nice pair of sailing gloves. Unfortunately, when we passed through Norbury Junction a couple of weeks ago, they were inadvertently left in the toilet / shower block, alongside the secondhand book pile she'd been perusing. The immediate consequence was no doubt delight for some other boater who thought they were no longer needed. The longer-term consequence was unsightly damage to the epidermis of my best beloved's pinkie.

Canal chandlers don't tend to stock gloves, so we've taken advantage of being in the south to drive over and visit the chandleries in Lymington, where the yachting fraternity has regular need of such items. The type she had before seemed to be very over-priced so, for the moment, she's settled on a different one which we hope will serve.

Time will tell whether the fabric and the stitching survives the expected wear and tear, or whether we'll have to replace them again. They look very good at the moment. BCF members will have the opportunity of inspecting such damage as may have accrued when we meet up at Fazeley next weekend!

Malfunction

As planned, we drove south yesterday so I could see the dentist this morning. Shortly before our scheduled break at Cherwell Valley, the car dashboard flashed up a warning I'd never seen before – Engine Malfunction. Worrying or what!

We've been experiencing a sort of light whooshing noise from the engine when under load, so I was going to get the garage to look at it during the annual service in November. We shall see whether it has something to do with whatever fault the on-board diagnostic system is detecting. After our coffee break the warning had gone, but I drove the rest of the way at 60 rather than 70.

I'd hoped the garage would be able to look at it today, but they can only see it on Monday, so we're here for the weekend. I'm hoping it won't be quite as expensive to fix as the dentist's quotation for the work she's going to do once we're home for the winter. Ouch!

Seeking the lost

One of the notable things about Erin Mae's Squirrel stove is that it can be completely dismantled – though I have never tried to do so. Every part comes off, which makes it easy to repair should something go wrong.

We noticed earlier this year that one bottom corner of the glass in the door had fractured. The diagonal break was clean and didn't look as though it would allow noxious gases to escape, so I left it to an opportune moment. But a few days ago the other bottom corner also fractured and last night the glass as a whole came out. I put it back together for last night's fire, trusting our carbon monoxide detectors to raise any necessary alarm, but today dismantled the door preparatory to changing the glass. The door just lifts off its hinges, and I took it to the back of the boat to remove the screws that hold the glass in place.

They came out relatively easily so I cleaned out the holes. To blow away the dust I held the door outside – and forgot that bit about Squirrel stoves coming to pieces. The baffle (shown out of position in the above photo) was no longer held in place by the glass-retaining screws and promptly fell out, down on to the pontoon, and splashed into the water.

Now Squirrel parts are not only easy to take off, but also very expensive. So instead of simply bemoaning its fate, I got out my Sea Searcher magnet and starting trawling along the marina bed alongside the pontoon. In less time than I could have hoped, I'd recovered it, covered in silt from the bottom.

This is not the first time I've had occasion to be grateful for the Sea-Searcher that came with Erin Mae when we bought her. I was so pleased I thought it was time to have another search for the car-roof magnet that I'd lost some weeks ago while working on the window we were re-siting. I worked out roughly where the window would have been positioned, started trawling and in just two minutes had located it. So different from the fruitless half-hour when it was first lost. As the photo shows, it has acquired some staining, but apart from that is perfectly OK.

Not only seeking, but saving the lost!

TMS

TMS might well stand for Too Many Steps, or The Most Seconds. Needing to be back at home base by tomorrow evening, and seeing the weather forecast for tomorrow, we ended up doing the whole distance from Cross Green to Great Haywood – 18 miles, 12 locks, 10 hours travel. Might have taken a little less time if we hadn't been in one or two queues for locks. As it was, it's the furthest we've ever been in one day.

But actually TMS stands for Test Match Special – BBC's coverage of the final cricket test match between England and India. We had it on the radio during the day and it was riveting and exhilarating (for those who like that sort of thing). Alastair Cook's final innings for England ending on 147, with so many records broken. And then James Anderson's two wickets in the final session, and Broad's dismissal of Kohli. If you don't know what I'm talking about then nothing I say here is likely to change that. If you do, then you'll be sharing the excitement of a very special occasion.

Today, TMS helped me through TMS. It was a day not to be forgotten.

Second breakfast

We had a long stint to do today. It started with the leg from Wheaton Aston to Brewood, which includes an aqueduct over Watling Street…

with some very imposing capitals to the supporting pillars.

We wanted to get to Brewood parish church in time for "Café Church" at 10 a.m. Coffee, croissants (or sausages), orange juice, chatter around tables at the back of the church, followed by an informal service which included a dramatised Bible reading and discussion groups during the talk. It so happens we were at Brewood for their first ever Café Church some years ago, and it was good to see the monthly experiment still working. We chatted over breakfast with Adam and Natalie who had come to talk with the vicar about planning their wedding.

We'd thought about having Sunday lunch in Brewood but the Lion Hotel seemed to have gone rather upmarket, with prices to match, and that wasn't the sort of lunch we had in mind. So we set off on the longer leg of the journey, and made it all the way down to Autherley Junction, and then up to Cross Green, tying up at the Anchor (which was the Fox and Anchor last time we were in these parts). Cuppa soup, a bit of cheese and a banana continued the fortification of the inner human en route, and we shall hope to find something suitably roasted in the Anchor this evening.

Touting for business outside the pub is a waterways trader we haven't seen before – the Candy Boat.

The butty is a sight to behold, shelves stacked with packaged sweets of all sorts, and business seemed reasonably brisk, especially with the children out on this Sunday afternoon.

Parents trying to encourage healthy eating habits were on a bit of a loser. But then, having had two breakfasts today, who am I to talk? Come to think of it, "Second Breakfast" would make a rather nice name for a narrowboat, and one I could add to my Tolkien-themed list, were someone to adopt it.