We had a good night’s sleep on the visitor moorings at Market Bosworth, probably for the last time ever, the next time that we are here it will be inside the marina.
The sun shone and it was warm enough to get away with wearing a short sleeve shirt for a change. I have been wearing T-shirts all week it’s just that I have also been wearing a jumper or a fleece or both on top!
We met more boats in the first half an hour than we had done in the previous two days, obviously the sun was inspiring boaters to get on the move. Time really flies by when boating in this kind of weather and soon we were passing through Stoke Golding again. An hour later we reached Trinity marina where we filled up with diesel and paid for three night’s secure mooring. We have a few things to do at home and unfortunately I have to go to work for the rest of the week.
When we used to moor here with Phoenix III, it was very often difficult to negotiate our way around the marina and into our berth when it was windy. Today was easy because despite being a longer boat, Caxton has its bow thruster a.k.a girlie button. I reversed Caxton in through the marina entrance and then with a combination of throttle, direction control and thruster, popped the good ship in her alloted berth. We then went to the shop and settled our bill, emptying the wallet in the process. The dishwasher was still running so we decided that we would walk home and return later to check that everything was in order.
We went home, then went shopping and then walked to the Marina pub for dinner before giving Caxton the once over. All went well until it was time to leave for home again, Sue didn’t want to go and seemed to think that if she sat quietly maybe we would forget to go home! Unfortunately, she has to be at home from 7 am tomorrow to take delivery of some furniture and I need to be on a train at around the same time. It would have been possible to stay on board but it was more practical to spend the night at home. In the end I had to drag her by the hair, kicking and screaming like a prehistoric man dragging his woman to a cave – well, metaphorically speaking anyway.