The Maiden Voyage of Staffordshire E. Potteries.

This is a photograph of Staffordshire E. Potteries enjoying the mediocre sunshine on our Houdini hatch this afternoon. He was hand-knitted and sent to me by the generous (if not slightly insane) Sue Preston. Today he accompanied me on the latest ‘CRT Rules Apply’ journey of the Mouse Boat, a treacherous voyage from Dimples Lane, Garstang into the ominous maw of the oncoming, Ciara. (Whatever berk at the Met Office it is who names storms, is almost as stupid as I am, apparently.)

Well, it makes a change from the back of Jeanie MacIntosh’s head.

The sun was shining (after a fashion) for once as we chugged serenely out of Garstang by the back entrance, ducks and moorhens surfing our wake.

I can’t see any ducks or moorhens!

There was a hint of rain in the air, however, by the time we rounded Greenhalgh Castle; enough for a rainbow to arc itself across the broken-toothed battlements like the tail of one of Oliver Cromwell’s more badly aimed cannonballs on psychedelic drugs.

Up above the trees and the ruins…

Th’ Owd Lanky was quiet, except for the occasional narrowboater, baffled by the sudden appearance of the fireball in the heavens. Staffordshire E. Potteries took the helm for a while, his scarf wrapped tightly around his knitted throat in protection against the strengthening wind. (Er…what? Ed.)

“I say, Cyril…what the blazes is going on?”

When we reached the Kenlis Arms the weather was turning inclement, so Staffordshire retired below decks to make his acquaintance with the rest of our rodent crew. (That’s enough of that! It’s getting annoying now, you pathetic imbecile! Ed.)

The crew of the Mouse Boat eagerly await the arrival of their demonic overlord, Bagpuss.

Whilst the mice chatted over tea and scones, I greased the stern gland (the boat’s that is, not the mice’s), emptied the bilges, scrubbed some algae off the roof (not enough so’s you’d notice, to be honest), ate my ham and coleslaw butty, tried in desperation to remove the nut holding the gas pipe to the empty container and failed, took the obligatory CRT photograph of the boat parked up, and offered Staffordshire E. Potteries a mug of Vimto with chocolate chip cookies to fo(Right! I warned you. That’s the end of this blog until you grow up! Ed.)

There’s a storm brewing. A storm with a stupid name.