Oh, dear. The milk had curdled overnight. Not exactly the world's most pleasant surprise first thing in the morning. After a hearty breakfast of black tea and coffee, we cruised back up to Windsor. Which went fine, apart from running ourselves aground in Datchet, because the public mooring hadn't been dredged since Queen Victoria's time. Luckily, a bit of heaving on the pole shifted us, and we were soon on our way again.
When we got to Windsor, it was stuffed full, with boats and sunbathers of every size and description. Dozens of large ostentatious wealth boats (plastic med cruisers), captained by (excuse my language) selfish shits, were hogging all of the visitor moorings. But, we managed to squeeze ourselves in, further on up the river.
Just as we were arriving, Peter from Bourne End Marina gave us a call, informing us that our cargo had arrived. So tomorrow, we will be heading back to Bourne End again. And from there, heading on upriver, and attempting the Marlow shuffle over the Easter weekend.
When we got to Windsor, it was stuffed full, with boats and sunbathers of every size and description. Dozens of large ostentatious wealth boats (plastic med cruisers), captained by (excuse my language) selfish shits, were hogging all of the visitor moorings. But, we managed to squeeze ourselves in, further on up the river. 
Just as we were arriving, Peter from Bourne End Marina gave us a call, informing us that our cargo had arrived. So tomorrow, we will be heading back to Bourne End again. And from there, heading on upriver, and attempting the Marlow shuffle over the Easter weekend.
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