All Conquering

If we'd talked just a little bit longer it would have already been tonight and we'd still be in Lagarde, but as it happened there was a lull in conversation just long enough for us to cast off and head east.

As we approached the first lock there was our farewell committee wishing us onward, ensuring that our absence would be a long one, or at least a week as promised. Jacques chanted madly: "Rechicourt, Rechicourt," willing us to overcome our demons of last year, if for no other reason than with us gone his blokes can get on with proper work. Maggie and Frida waved encouragingly. From the bridge above the lock, Chris and Helen waved and shouted directions, even as far as two locks away in Port St Marie, Patrice interrupted his lunch to wave encouragement.

It was as if they thought they'd never see us again, as though we were heading off on the adventure of our life, crossing a pirate-infested ocean perhaps. All we were doing really was to see if the new fridge would run on the batteries, but we welcomed their encouragement, and waved and shouted back, all the while trying to look a bit seamanlike as we sailed off into the sunset.

Mr Perkins, bless him, seemed to be enjoying it all as well, revelling in his newly found ability to overcome the drive train, and as he gently ticked over he could have gained the impression that we'd slipped him in an entirely different craft. Gone was the skittish steering, the transmission slip, the straining to maintain speed at critical times. Now we have a boat that just gently does as it asks.

Once again we conquered Rechicourt, now a mere shadow of the threat that it once was, and tonight we lie at the top of the mountain awaiting the dawn of another perfect day.