As we watched the evening close in from our spot in Champignuelles it felt a bit as though we’d entered our own back yard after a journey, and only had to walk up the front path to get to the house. Tomorrow we will spend the day in Nancy with Trev, and the next day we’ll be “home”.
We are in no hurry to get there of course, hurrying is futile on the waterway even if we tried. We thought we’d be in Nancy tonight for instance, but when we arrived at the first lock it was so badly broken electrically that a nice lock-keeper brought a technician to repair it AND a generator to power it so that we could get through, it was a sign that perhaps we weren’t going to make it. The angry Kiwis who seemed to have the impression that the delay in their progress was somehow caused by us may learn patience in time, or perhaps they'll take up bus tours as a more suitable method of touring on a tight schedule.
Seeing “Matilda Rose” tied innocently at the landing in Pompey was another sign, as indeed was the smell of baking fig tart wafting from her open ports. So we allowed Graham and Jill to feed us one more time, taking modest portions of tart so that Muttley could demolish his fair share as soon as our backs were turned, bade our sad farewells once more and then turned gently out into the wilds of the river in search of one last cruising sunset.
Suddenly we were here, back in the suburbs of Nancy, where there will be more farewells and “see you next years” and then we will be preparing the boat and sunset will be truly upon us.
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