Saved by the skin of its teeth. A remarkable story of a leaking seive of a ship. Worn out by too many passages around the Horn. Rusting from years as a storeship for the FIC. Beached in Sparrow Cove just outside the narrows off Stanley in 1933, her days were numbered. Falkland Islanders tried to save her, but the cost in treasure for this impoverished community (in the 1930’s) was too great.
Finally, just in the nick of time, this grand old lady was patched, refloated and secured on a barge.
The hull was a colander and it looked all too likely that she might break her back. Running repairs in Monty, then the long tow home.
Avonmouth, and nearly at her journey’s end. Refloated again to pass up the narrow gorge beneath the Clifton suspension bridge for the first time — I bet she thought to herself — gosh, I have been gone a long time — that was not here when I left my birthplace in 1845.
Finally, she was reversed into the dock where she had been built oh so long ago and she was home. To the exact day and month of her launch into Bristol harbour, 127 years had passed.

Now, with the injection of a lot of cash and expertise and love, she is once again magnificent. She might be mostly rust below the waterline, but it is beautiful rust.

You can walk on the bottom of the dry dock, and gaze on the beauty of her hull. A glass floor at the plumb line keeps the salt saturated steel hull inside a warm and dry atmosphere so no rust can form anymore (humidity less than 20%).
Salt saturated wood should be kept moist. Bristol takes care of that without help from man.

Put this visit on your bucket list and then tick the check box as soon as you can.

Such a staple of life in Bath. Sally Lunn’s is the place to go. You can look a the restaurant and imbibe the history of Georgian Bath while on a walking tour, or queue with Japanese tourists to actually imbibe the bun.
Linda is pointing out the perils of not making the Bath Bun part of your daily 5.

The tranquility of the canal system in England is astounding. Everything goes above the canal system (unless you are on a viaduct in which case, you have fresh air below).
The canal surface is perfectly flat and unless you are using the lock system, there is no flow. Stop and moor up and by the time the last knot on the mooring rope is threaded, the ripples of your journey will have faded. The JPEG jaggies of the smooth edge of the bridge parapet reflection in the mirror image in the water have smoothed out — never to return unless by cranking the compression in your photos too high.
This is “the fastest way to unwind”.
The wind may sough above, but the trees and bushes along each bank cancel this out. Fruit — elder berries, brambles and sloes amongst the myriad berries that are more suited to birds, hangs heavily and drags the branches down to the water. This harvest seems not to be appreciated by the passer-by. To be truthful, on most towpaths, there are few walkers. On busy parts of the systems Lycra clad cyclists spurt past, oblivious to what in my nana’s time was an indispensable part of living in the country. Elder berry wine followed elder flower wine and fingers were stained from picking the blackberries.

The first of the Kennet & Avon Sloe Gin has been bottled — we are doing our best to redress the balanced