OK, along with lots of other old and grumpy Londoners, I have abandoned the moans about the Olympics and given way to the wave of euphoria ushered in by Danny Boyle’s terrific opening show, by the amazing achievements of the sportsfolk, the huge number of cheery volunteers, and above all the overwhelming goodwill to all mankind shared by spectators and participants alike.
I’ve been cruising the canals of middle England (more below) but came back to catch most of the second week. Last night at the end of the closing ceremony Cressida and I stood outside our front door in E17 and watched the bursts of fireworks above the stadium 3 miles to the south.
All the emphasis on great British pop music in last night’s show begged several question – such as Elton? The Stones? Rod Stewart? All, after all, international icons who’ve made arguably rather more impact on the world stage than quite a few of the artistes on offer yesterday. I suspect there may be reasons for their absence, which may yet emerge…Come to that, what of the good Sir Cliff? Presumably he was on standby throughout the games, to sing for the crowd should rain stop play…
Anyway, away from London, I had a high old time with Albert, who is in fact a ‘she” because she is a boat – a 40-foot narrowboat which forms the summer home of my old pal Robin. Robin is enjoying a merry retirement, spending all his winters in sunnier climes, and returns to Blighty between March and October, to Albert’s pleasant berth in Oxfordshire. He’d invited me to join him and Albert on a trip to Stratford on Avon.
Now those of you who think a canal-boat holiday involves blissfully and restfully chugging along miles of calm green waterways have never been lock-crew on one of the Grand Union flights…
There are indeed many miles of lovely flat and leafy canal in our pleasant shires, but for the first three scorching days of the recent heatwave I tugged and shoved and hauled as we navigated the undulating terrain betwixt Oxford and Leamington Spa. By the time we’d tied up amongst the quiet streets of Old Leamington I was a sweat-soaked, quivering wreck, and would have embraced capture as a Roman galley-slave as a welcome, cosy respite.
A glance at the map showed that the canal route to Stratford involved a quite serious detour of many more miles, and much more pull & push, including the notorious Hatton Flight of 21 locks….
And of course, our route would mean coming back the same way, so all those locks would have to be dealt with on the way down as well as on the way up. A two-week holiday was beginning to look like two weeks of Hard Labour…Robin the Skipper took pity. The distance between Leamington and Stratford is not, of course, very far as the crow flies, or – more to the point – as the bus drives. So we settled for a few days on the mercifully flat waters between Leamington Spa and Warwick, taking time to explore both of those interesting and elegant towns, and using our bus passes to visit Stratford. For free, of course, as we are both of a Certain Age.
So here are a few brief highlights, including Possibly Useful Facts for the pub quiz:
Leamington Spa is a lovely, classic Spa Town, with glorious displays of flowers laid out in meticulous parks and amongst the splendid 18th and 19th century terraces. I bet you didn’t know that Lawn Tennis was invented there? Or that the great American writer Nathaniel Hawthorn lived there in a fine circus of Regency houses?
Or that Britain’s most famous black boxer of the 1950s, Randolph Turpin, was born in Leamington Spa and has a statue in Warwick market place. Here he is, beside a lapsed member of Hull Boy’s Club Boxing Class…
Much more Indispensable Information and even more Gorgeous Photography follow in Part Two – please tune in again shortly.
