The plan was a good one, verging on great.
We wouldn’t leave too early, there would be no need, as we had to travel barely ten kilometres to get us off the river and onto the Canal des Ardennes, where it would be a simple matter to find a place for two boats to while away the afternoon, and what would be left of the morning.
It all went so well too, for about an hour until the malady that has been plaguing our Mr P returned. His intermittent coughing and spluttering did put a dent on progress for a time, but disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as it had appeared and by mid morning we found ourself at our planned destination.
The only difficulty we encountered with that particular plan, was that the quay that we had planned to moor against had been removed, as had every other solid edge for a dozen or so kilometres as the entire stretch of waterway seems to be under reconstruction.
We were forced therefore, through no fault of our own, to forgo our post-luncheon snooze, to struggle on into ever improving weather, through more of the sort of countryside that one sees on postcards that are without doubt complete fabrications by some photoshop artisan.
When we could take no more, we stopped under some trees, by a green field full of white cows with hills behind that framed the purple sunset as the last of the post-dinner coffees were being drained.
It may well have been a perfect day in paradise, were it not for the lingering doubts concerning the reliability of our means of propulsion!
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