Black and white

Cheshire, says Lonely Planet, is a black and white county. Tudor architecture; rebuilt Tudor architecture; mock Tudor architecture; Friesian cows. All of which we can now verify from personal experience.

It was also in Cheshire (Nantwich, to be precise) that we met our first black and white boaters. She is from Nigeria, though she's lived in London from age 15. He's a white Brit. I got chatting to her at the water tap, as they filled up before starting off for Gloucester. We talked about there not being many black people on the cut, and why that was. She was still a relative newbie, like ourselves, but enjoying it.

Black and white is also the realm of the silhouette. Trees against an evening sky. I love them. In a tandem of contrast, they create something special. You need them both.

My world isn't often black and white. You have to live with the greys. But there is black and white, and it matters.

Olympic torch

The streets of Chester were very happy today as the torch came through. Lots of smiling, chatting, cheering, waving. One of those occasions which bring people together.

Remarkable for being neither the winning of a trophy by this team or that, nor a royal event such as next week will see. More like Proms in the Park.

We loved it.

Bus Pass

We've had them for a couple of years, but today was the first time we'd used them. Would I feel a bit ancient presenting mine? Not at all – just smug! The 41A stops just outside Tattenhall marina, and drops you off in the middle of Chester. If you miss it you wait two hours for the next one, but that's more frequent than the service to our own village – which is why the passes have remained unused until now.

We'll use them again tomorrow, as we want to see the Olympic torch coming through Chester. And the city is such a bus-hub, we might use them later on in the week to get to some interesting places. All this on a pass obtained for free from New Forest District Council (I know – my taxes).

So, whoever thought up the concessionary bus pass system deserves a medal. Just a shame the last bus home leaves at 6.40 p.m. Perhaps they imagined that, for those using the system, this would be not long before bed-time.

The unexpected

Mo left a comment yesterday about the unexpected. Today I unexpectedly found myself on the side of the Iron lock at Beeston, with Erin Mae's centre line in my hand to steady her (following the instructions on the board) only to find, once the lock had emptied, that there was no ladder to climb back down. Pulling her through was the only option, but I was on the side away from the tow-path, with nowhere to go below the lock, and no simple way of taking the rope to the other side – it wasn't long enough. It needed help from some friendly fellow-boaters to pass and catch the rope as we manoeuvred the boat. If my best beloved and I been on our own, the only option might have been to re-fill the lock and start again – criminal waste of water. I have enormous admiration for single boaters who mostly manage these things without fuss.

Metaphor for the help we all need, really. Mo had also commented earlier about a friend of theirs with cancer they are supporting through a difficult phase. We don't always know what to expect. It's always good to have someone to share it with.

Harry, Wendy and Nantwich

Harry and Wendy spent 18 years aboard NB Water Lupin, before selling her 5 years ago. I met them outside the Wright almshouses, where Wendy was resting on a bench, while Harry was tending the garden.

The lupins in the garden descend from those they grew on their boat

This particular almshouse was originally built in 1638 on a different site, but was moved to its present location, stone by stone, in 1974.

We had coffee in the bookshop. Oak panelling, leather chairs and very helpful staff. 

Nantwich has certainly grown to appreciate some of its architecture. The Rotary Club has put up plaques noting some of the people and occasions.

The Cheshire Cat was also an almshouse, before becoming an alehouse.

The church is mostly 14th century. Some earlier, some later. Typical detail in the stonework.























Overall we found Nantwich unexpectedly pleasing. We've left feeling we might well return for another saunter.

Cheshire cheese, Cheshire cat

As a lad, I never did like Cheshire cheese much, on the odd occasion it appeared on the table. Nor did I particularly care for Lewis Carroll's Chesire cat, one of the wierder characters that Alice encountered. Today has put them both in context, as we've drifted through the Cheshire plains. Rich grazing country, and I have discovered that Cheshire cats pre-date Carroll. Wikipedia says their grins are documented from the end of the 18th century, and that the explanation most favoured in this county is "the abundance of milk and cream".

Strolling into Nantwich at the end of the day we passed the Cheshire cat hotel. It's worth a return visit tomorrow, not so much for the small glass of cold Strongbow we talked about but didn't stop for, but for the photo.  I'd never thought that Nantwich might be photogenic – lots of amazing Tudor or Tudor-style buildings in the centre. But if we do stop for some refreshment it's unlikely to be Cheshire cheese, even though they say it makes the best Welsh rarebit. I've never got used to the taste.

Encouragement

Being on the cut reminds me a bit of walking to the shops in the village where we spend the rest of our time. You greet most of the people you meet, apart from those lost in a world of white ear-buds. You exchange a smile and a joke and, if you need help with something, most are pleased to oblige. On the cut, they tend to offer before you ask.

Except for occasional know-it-all. The ones who use the fact that some are still learning, to parade their know-it-all-ness. They stand out because they are the exception, very keen to tell you what you've done wrong or might have done better, with the arrogance of the already perfect. What a difference in style from those who also probably know it all, but whose advice, if offered, is gentle, with nary the slightest sense of criticism!

What is embarrassing for the self-analytical is to realise how easily you yourself can fall into the trap, principally with those nearest and dearest. Concern to protect Erin Mae from another scrape as she enters a lock leads to the offering of advice. Unfortunately the advice gets offered at extremely high volume, to be heard above the engine. Any advice offered at high volume tends to sound distinctly critical. I have yet to learn how to conduct a conversation about possible changes to speed or direction, and how to achieve them, that doesn't sound positively know-it-all.

Today I discovered there's a Royal Navy regulation: "No officer shall speak discouragingly to another officer in the discharge of his duties." I suspect whoever wrote it had probably just brought a narrowboat down the seventeen locks between Market Drayton and Audlem.