The Cruise of the Dondevoy

    


The thumb was a lot better in the morning, although it made towing the boat difficult. To add to my problems, I ran out of fresh water, and had to walk uphill across five fields to the nearest house to get some.

Then, after a meal, I slogged on, reaching the next lock by about nine o'clock. Progress along these lines is slow, as there are ten more locks to Northampton. I must rely on the prospect of a tow for most of the way at least, and must send a letter to the Nene River Authority, asking them to extend the period of my stay on the river, and not to dock the whole of the deposit on the keys.

Food supplies are beginning to run short now, and I am rationing myself to one third of a tin of beans for each meal, and one egg every other day. But enough of that, this is not Scott's Last Expedition.

There seemed to be little sign of anglers today, despite the fact that the fishing season opens today; I would have thought that the whole lot would be out in force, making a "Glorious 16th" out of it. Perhaps there will be more tomorrow, being Saturday. The only people I saw were two small boys, an old couple, and one "expert" who was staggering along the bank under a load of equipment; he even had the regulation hat with the feather in it. He paused to grin at me as I was squelching through a stinking bog at a cattle drinking place. I hope he catches nothing all season, God rot him.


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Copyright ©1972 Ben Newsam. The author of this diary may be contacted at ben.newsam@gmail.com