Deadlines are the enemy of the cruising class, and we woke with a deadline.
Ria had an appointment with her hairdresser today, and we have Colin and Jenny arriving in Rethel tomorrow as well, so it would have been particularly poor form if any of us had slept in rather than busying ourselves for the arduous voyage ahead into indifferent but forecast to be clearing weather.
We had to steel ourselves for a day that promised eighteen kilometres of canal through forest and farmland, broken by four locks and as it turned out a rain squall of sufficient intensity to make us grateful for our now almost not leaking at all cabin space.
Dave and Ria did not escape unscathed however. I suspect it was the challenge of battling fifty millimetre high waves at the peak of the storm that had distracted them, but whatever the reason the windows in their saloon remained steadfastly open while the sky impersonated a fire hose trained on their interior. In a flash their fresh baguette was ruined.
If the storm had continued unabated for a few decades, they may even have been in danger of sinking. Life on the canals is not for the faint hearted, nor for those who don't like soggy bread.
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