Cruising Again Toul

This morning we were all up and bustling by seven. Today was the day. The water on the harbour was painted in distinctly farewell tones.

Al and Sunny found one last bar of chocolate somewhere that "wouldn't keep" until their return, and it was duly passed over. I assured them that it wouldn't keep till winter on our boat either, but they handed them over anyway.

Eventually the time arrived to finalise the farewells that we'd been bidding each other all week, and just after the "exiting Toul" rush hour, we went our separate ways trying ever so hard to make sure the lumps in our throats stayed exactly there.

I'm not sure what our normal travelling velocity is in any measure that would meet scientific scrutiny. It's somewhere between "tootling" and "chugging" I think.  As we made our way away from Toul, down the Moselle, the morning sun and gentle breeze keeping us in one of those "glad to be alive" moods, I suspect it may have been even a little less than "tootling" speed. 

We were getting used once again, to the concept travelling alone, at our own admittedly leisurely pace when a dark steel shadow loomed.

It was Paul and Bertha's barge. Having caught up the thirty minutes head start they had given us, they hunted us down from the far side of the river, concerned that we may well be having some sort of difficulty.

No, we assured them.

We are cruising again.