We didn’t go too far, just far enough to get away from the hustle and bustle of our home mooring. There’s a secret spot that only the locals know and where the world can pass you by in relative silence. I say relative because the geese were noisy beggars and kept up with regular swim-by honkings.
The only folk we met on the river were the inmates of HMS Salter’s Party Boat of Loud Disco Noises or Goring, if you prefer its proper name.
We disguised ourselves as a grassy bank:
Actually, I don’t think the spot is that much of a secret because there was a well used fire pit. I started the camp fire whilst the hubby wasn’t looking (I deny all accusations that I have a habit of accidentally setting things on fire).
Rob also took the opportunity to stand in a field and play his mandolin. The lengths some musicians will go to to get their music heard. He did a great rendition of Postman Pat though. Yes, that was one of my requests...
I think I drank a gallon of tea whilst Rob pickled himself slowly in rum. That made winning at cards that evening a lot easier but it did mean I had to do some proper crewing on the way home the following morning whist Rob recovered.
Was lovely to get out onto the river again. Hopefully, we'll do it a lot more.
I reattached the wire for the light and gave it a good tug this time (not chancing that problem again). I then set about my one woman job of putting the ceiling back together.
And so, tadda:
