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/ sun.htmlSunday meant it was time to begin retracing our travels back to Coventry. With Colifox at the galley once more, breakfast consisted of sausages and burgers in buns. The rickety grill, with its tendency to lurk at the back of the cooker with the slightest motion of the boat, had to be emptied of grease several times. Our litter situation was becoming quite critical, one swing bin will not serve twelve people for several days. We had accumulated a couple of bin bags full at the bow. Fursuiting would have to wait until the area was clear.
Braunston, where the Oxford Canal branches off from the Grand Union Canal has a large marina (by canal standards) and offered facilities for disposing of waste. We moored, and Sandroo, Starfury, and I set off with the bags of rubbish. The marina was fascinating: there were narrow boats in need of repair, others in dry dock being repainted, some finished, and some up for sale. Most of the boats were of the traditional kind that manages to cross the narrow boat shape with a small country cottage and a gypsy caravan, a few had stayed true to their roots as freight vessels, some had immaculate engine rooms, and there was one that looked like a sleek black floating night club (in another universe it would have belonged to Hotblack Desiato). On the way back we discovered another disposal area that was much closer.
With the hazards removed, the weather clear, and the canal
becoming busier, it was time to get suited again.
I had the forethought to ask Starfury to take some
pictures with my camera this time; something he definitely
got into the swing of, running ahead of the boat and
taking nearly 200 photos on my camera alone.
Once again we seemed to be a hit with young and old
alike. At the Old Royal Oak children were running though
the beer garden to see us.
The plan was for the fursuiters to stay out of harms way
while we negotiated Hillmorton locks again.
Its so difficult to keep otters away from water though,
and the plan was doomed from the start.
The temptation to play to a crowd was just too much for us all.
Those folks enjoying a quiet Sunday pint at Badsey's Canalside
Cafe and Bistro weren't quite prepared for what they saw.
It was here that we were given the informal "Strangest Boat
of the Day" award by the lock keeper.
There was one group along the canal we (or possibly just I)
were not so popular with: other animals. These dogs are just
one noisy example. Ducks and swans wouldn't eat bread I
threw to them.
On the other hand I did get to use my doggy powers for good,
barking at these sheep that shouldn't have been on the towpath!
Three of our intrepid crew (Sandroo, Starfury, and Tungro) had to leave us at Rugby, needing to get back to Leamington for exams or work on Monday. It was sad to see them off, our 4mph dragging out farewells. I thing it brought home the knowledge that our trip was nearly over. The canal also became strangely quiet as the afternoon went on. There was a long stretch when we didn't see another moving boat.
We made it back to the Rose and Castle at Ansty, and ended up mooring in almost the same place as before. Simon and Klepsydra had offered to concoct a bolognese out of the unpromising ingredients we had left in the fridge, and the rest of us went for a drink at the pub. At least it was dry this time, so we could sit in the beer garden and avoid the busy bar. It was here that the cult of Pago started.
Pago is a fruit juice. Admittedly, a good quality juice. The company started in Austria and that might explain the strange wording on their packaging. The assertion that the bottle contained Ecuadorian sunshine (some kind of photon we assumed, especially after Hy Tiger's laser story), coupled with the promise that the bottles also contained "fruit particles" lead to the idea that we should conduct some further particle physics experiments.
Exposing the Pago to high energy photons (setting a bottle on the hole in the bench for the umbrella, and shining a torch from below) caused it to emanate an eldritch glow which was recorded photographically. There was some debate as to whether or not this result was the promised Ecuadorian sunshine. It was quickly determined that we should experiment with other kinds of fruit particles in the hope of synthesising new kinds of fruit. We ordered five kinds of Pago and five different spirits at the bar, each experimenter selecting a combination that they thought would prove promising, and returned to the darkened beer garden where the juice was mixed with the spirit. Some of each juice was held in reserve, and mixed to create a super-juice that was once again exposed to photonic bombardment. Meanwhile the single mixtures were shared around by the experimenters, and empirical data was gathered about the taste of each. My selection of mango Pago and Southern Comfort was generally regarded as rather smooth, if a little on the sweet side. Finally, in a complex ritual (involving the mini adventure playground, chanting, howling, and the clinking of empty bottles) the Brotherhood of Pago was founded, each initiate experimenter imbibing from the super-juice.
I suppose you had to be there.
Simon's bolognese was really very good. More so when you consider that the meat had all come from Tescos value products. Most appreciated.
And so, with various members of the crew committing to a horribly early start (providing other members of the crew got up first to make them a hot, strong, sweet cup of tea), we turned in for the night. Both Utlah and I chose to take advantage of the bottom bunks vacated by Starfury and Sandroo; these bunks were wider and easier to sleep in. They were also windowless, so we weren't troubled by waterfowl.