We joined the caravan heading for Birmingham. Seven boats long, as far as we could see – everyone held their position as the waters turned murkier and the walls grew more colourful. Having only ever visited in the depths of winter we foolishly discussed which mooring we’d prefer… when we arrived… and were spoilt for choice. Hmmm, dream on.
Turning left at the Mailbox it was pretty clear we’d be lucky to moor at all. Nick wrestled with his conscience, ‘It’s only a little bit bad to wish the hireboat in front onto the trip boat mooring so we can sail by – isn’t it?’ No such luck. Everyone was out in force, walkie talkies deployed, crew sent to walk on ahead – ashamed to admit we joined in too, full on attack, double-handed with the phones. Mobile to mobile communication established two free moorings in Cambrian Wharf, a bit of reversing later, we had a home.
The Flapper is waking up to Tuesday night, perhaps not the quietest Brum mooring but judging by the breasting up going on out on the main line we won’t be moaning.