First mate Millie turned 7 today. She wasn't sure what the singing was all about but she appreciated a trip to the pub tonight. In the past day or so she has taken to the boating life a little better. So much so that she now seems to know when we are mooring up takes herself down the towpath and into the nearest pub.
We left Long Itchington with its nice pub, the first 90 minutes of the day involved Stockton lock flight. Every lock was against us and with nobody to double up with it made for hard work. At this point the cumulative effect has hit us both physically, and our bodies are wondering how much longer this endurance event will last.
Just before Napton junction we passed someone having a pump out. It was my first experience of the pump out smell. So when Paul visited the Chandler today, something that is becoming a daily habit to feed his new shackle obsession, I insisted we bought some holding tank treatment and feel somewhat reassured by the "absolutely no holding tank odours" claim. In layman's terms "No toilet smells guaranteed".
I find the Chandlers an odd place. Even though I've been in several now they seem to be a very blokey place, like a working man's club bar "we'll have no women in here" They also attract the same type of employee, who would rather stick their face into the computer or obsessively stack their merchandise rather an acknowledge your presence in the shop.
Tonight we are moored at Braunston, a place that has always intrigued me as it is a very popular place with narrowboaters. We have plenty of neighbours tonight, and with 3 pubs, a convenience store and a fish and chip shop I can see why it is so popular. Actually it is quite a sweet village, very peaceful and secure.