Sun-soaked Sandbach
With stoppages ahead and a work trip abroad in the coming days, opportunity to make some final progress towards Kidsgrove was limited, but I duly wandered the length of the Motorway network to do *something* useful before I went.
As I travelled north I went through thunder, hail, and stair-rod rain so heavy it knocked all the systems out on my van, leaving it convinced it was about to expire in spectacular fashion just off the A50 near Stoke. Let’s be honest, Stoke makes us all feel a bit like that at times. But as the common football idiom goes: “can they do it on a rainy day in Stoke?”, the answer for the Mark 7 Transit appears to be ‘not really, no’.
As I passed the border into Cheshire the weather improved markedly however; iron grey replaced by the bright blue of the postpartum sky. The collective importance of the many superannuated footballers in residence up here apparently discouraging the dumping of fresh water on these hills.
Arriving at the boat around 1.30pm I had great hopes of scaling a few of the many locks ahead. I put the kettle on, greased my stern gland (stop sniggering at the back, please!), and opened the doors.
The short video clip below shows what happened next…
Needless to say I abandoned any thought of progress, and instead tidied the back cabin. I don’t mind getting wet, but with all that thunder I thought better not.
So, to LA; where I shall be wielding a saw and screwdriver for the Getty Trust for the next week. Funny old game, this life. See you on the other side.
