Anything you canoe, I canoe better

Ow, ow, ow. I don’t think there’s a single bit of me that isn’t aching. After a late night last night (bed after midnight – we were watching “100 scariest moments” and fell asleep at about number 15 – does anyone know what was supposedly the scariest?) we got up early to meet up with chums and take the canoe for a paddle. We put in at Bidford and paddled to Evesham, a distance of about 8 miles. We paused briefly for a picnic lunch, and were forced to adjourn to a handy riverside pub (free mooring for patrons) during a sudden sharp shower, but still got about 3 hours paddling in. My neck, back, shoulders, arms and tummy are all protesting strongly.

I know Henry the Thirst finds boaty people very friendly, and maybe they are down in his neck of the woods, but the first two we met, forever to be known as Bill (William Anker) and Tom (Thomas Osser) because of the speed at which they drove their powered craft past us, nearly capsizing a canoe containing children, were quite simply stupid and arrogant. We were quite fascinated (in a ghastly sort of way) by a woman in her narrowboat, when we stopped for our lunchtime picnic, who was concentrating deeply on her small hand-mirror, which was making her task of either squeezing her spots or plucking her beard easier. The remaining people we came across just tried to be awkward, but when we could prove that all the canoes were licenced with the BCU so we had a perfect right to be on the water and using the lock they shut up and mongoosed off.

And why do anglers do it? Yes, they are outside in the fresh air, but they’re not taking any exercise, about 80% of them smoke and they sit just far enough apart to make conversation impossible.