Art for heart's sake

 

It was a lovely morning this morning, by which I mean it wasn't raining, and Cwtch and I were off on an adventure, to visit Jinny and Dru on the Kennet and Avon at Seend in Wiltshire, where there's a Victorian postbox. 

I parked in the car park of the Barge Inn - there are, I think, at least three pubs so named on the K&A - and mounted a look out from the bridge, upstream - no, wait, canals don't have a stream, do they - east ... 

... and west, where I could see Jinny and Dru in the distance, coming to meet us.   

By now it was sunny with just the right amount of cloud and I felt pretty chipper even though I'm a hopeless winter depressive.

Dru's boat, NB Eve, was looking spectacular with its Progress Pride flag, but we were headed for Jinny's NB Netty, two boats along, despite what Dru considers her less than optimum supply of tea. 

Ooh, and it was warm inside by the wood burner, much warmer than at home, where I haven't put the central heating on yet. After a very happy Cwtch had spent some time exploring her first ever boat and located Jinny's lost socks, her store of cheese, a packet of cat food and the rather tasty tasteful leg of her decorated Lloyd Loom chair, Jinny and I hunkered down for a chat and a stint folding and sorting cards and pairing them with envelopes, ready for the Floating Market the weekend after next. 

Through the window I could see a blaze of hawthorn berries, though sadly no sign of the redwings or fieldfares that frequent them ...

... while the doors afforded a view of a gold mannequin, perched on the roof of the boat between Netty and Eve.

More (perfectly satisfactory) tea and ginger biscuits later, it was time to be thinking about going. Night creeps up so quickly these days, and I wanted to be nearly home before all the light disappeared.

Hooray for dear friends, cuddly collies and bright November days. Hopefully the weather will be as lovely for the market as it was today. 

Let Union Be In All Our Hearts

We went to Seend last weekend for a handfasting.  And a beautiful day it was too - one of the last blasts of summer, I suspect. 

The proceedings took place on Lye Field, off Rusty Lane, within spitting distance of the Kennet & Avon, upon which many of the guests, including the happy couple, live.  

There was a lovely view over to the honey-coloured spire of what, looking at the map, I suspect is the Church of St Nicholas at Bromham.  

Even the field mushrooms had their posh hats on. 

Not that it was that sort of event. The dress code was princess or pirate, and most of the guests, unsurprisingly, had opted for the latter. 

What princesses there were seemed to be running around brandishing swords, which was gratifying.

In fact, it was wonderful, all of it. 

Back at the edge of the field, I was intrigued by a configuration of the hills nearby. Their shape reminded me of those at Cherhill, where one of the white horses is. In fact, several of them seem to be in - or on - a curved line of hills. 

'That's Roundway Down, ' Dru said when I told her, 'The new Devizes chalk horse is just along and round the corner. It replaces the lost one ... which was on Roundway Down.'  

So ... yeah. 

A-Kennet & Avoning

Time to to visit Dru, who was poised to move NB Eve from the marina at Foxhangers to Sells Green, a couple of miles to the west. (I'm not sure whether you have upstream or downstream on canals, there being little of that sort of thing going on.)  Except that we decided to take the scenic route and go via the Barge Inn at Seend, which would mean retracing our chugs (Eve's engine is very chuggy in a throaty, dieselly sort of way) a short distance after the imbitition of cider. 

I took a couple of young men along with me.

I am not getting on!

I am not getting on!

I am not getting on until she does because she's the only one who knows what she's doing!

OK, I'll get on now

There seemed to have been a big spill of petrol or oil or something at the marina which was a shame. A beautiful, hideous shame.  

But we were soon clear of it and on our way, past lush banks of early blooming comfrey ...

... and NB Lenin ... 

... and through a couple of locks ...

... but though it brightened from time to time, it still kept bloody raining. 

Get back on board this minute -

and mind that willow tree!

A quick return to Foxhangers in the Moggie to retrieve my decidedly less picturesque car and we left Dru with a view of the famous flight of locks at Caen Hill in the background.  (Probably too small to see in this size photo.) 

Good to see her back on the water and settling into her new life.  

Three Women - and a Man - and a Dog - in a Boat

Going to see Dru in her new home reminded me of the time we went mulberry picking - how she could walk straight up the (slanty) trunk of the tree while I climbed cumbersomely, scaredly, not liking the thin air on either side of each branch. 

Because she's already trotting along impossibly narrow ledges while I peer at my feet, trying to work out where the canal bank ends and the silty reed edge starts. 

As soon as we arrived in darkest Wiltshire - that's me, Ted, Dru's House Teenager (whom I suppose must now be called Houseboat Teenager), and my own Son the Younger who has less than a fortnight of teenagerhood remaining to him - there was stuff to be done.  Like returning a narrowboat that had slipped its moorings to the bank.  

Time for a quick glance at NB Eve, Dru's new abode ... 

... before we had to get the boat facing the opposite direction, which meant going through a lock to reach the turning point and then coming back the same way.  Poor Dru, her crew had no idea what they were doing. Can only  hope to get better with practice.  

'What's that funny squeaky noise?' worried Dru as the water level fell, taking the narrowboat with it. 'It's OK, it's only Ted,' I said.  

By the time Dru had turned Eve and we'd come back through the lock the other way, Ted was an old paw and coping with equanimity.  

And Dru was looking to the manner born.  

Once we'd moored again, it was time ... 

... for tea and cold cross buns.  

And to watch the first swallows of summer buzzing the water for insects.  (Well, my first; Dru had spotted them the day before.)

Then we walked the two and a half miles along the tow path to the Barge Inn at Seend, with its flocks of rooks and jackdaws ...   

... its pussy willow and massed blackthorn ... 

... the remnants of the GHQ Stop Line which I didn't know about till Dru told me ... 

... a gnarly old ash tree, with an old, mud-lined nest from last year in it ...

... and built and rebuilt bridges.

Plus more rooks to go with our cider.