Pumping Out

Keef crewed for me and did most of the locks. We were heading for Lower Heyford to get a pump out. He didn’t mention showers or anything like but instead contentedly worked on his Times cryptic crossword, pausing only for locks and cups of tea. Then, at some point, he sprang into action and started washing the roof of as we cruised up the canal. Ducking trees and bridges as we went, he still managed to make a good job of it. Unfortunately he had uses wooden floor cleaner as a cleaning agent and it left streaks down both sides of the boat. They will come out, well at least Keef says so, but may need a lot of elbow grease; a job for another day.

The weather was predicted as starting off cool and gradually warming up during the day. Incorrectly it stayed cool most of the day, just the odd pocket of sunlight. On the way back Keef started to tell me that the missionary position, favoured by our Victorian ancestors, was in fact not the way the human body was designed to procreate; things pointed in the wrong direction for that. The natural position was, and I know no other way of putting it, ‘doggy style’. Well, I didn’t know that Keef! I’ll be blowed!

After dropping Keef back to ‘Keefy Cathederal’ it was too late to make the Flying Circus at the Half Moon. Realising I hadn’t eaten all day I bought some mediocre fish and chips in Woodstock and went straight home. I watched the sunset behind a few late-run mayflies that had stuck and died on the window and went to bed. Dream soup bubbled all night: water, boats, strangers, trees, rooms, and Transylvania.