Entering and leaving Birmingham ...

After a week of travelling along with Mary Jane, we parted company at Hatton Top Lock; she was headed to the Severn River and we were on our way to Birmingham.

We had originally intended to go through the centre of Birmingham city, along the Old Main Line, and to pop out the other side at Wolverhampton. The crew were divided on this approach; some wanted to go through the city, particularly during lockdown when all of the pubs and bars would be shuttered, and some wanted to head north, along what we had been told was a quiet and infrequently travelled canal. In the end, the country route won out over the city route - but oh, how we would live to regret this decision.

The run through to Birmingham took us through the village of Knowle famous for its 15th century Chester House,

now housing the local library;

and its perpendicular church.

Also deserving a mention is the 5th generation family butchers, who appear to have the pork market cornered

as well the sourdough bakery and patisserie.

The former two were closed, but thankfully, the latter two were open for business.

As we cruised along the canal, it became increasingly obvious that we were nearing urbanisation. Plastic bags and plastic bottles began appearing in the canal with regular monotony and the previously-clear water was now covered in surface scum and trailing lengths of carpetweed and cabomba. There were also other signs also that we couldn't help but notice.

We turned right at Bordesley Junction and immediately found ourselves in a tunnel created by overhead buildings.

After a long day of slow-cruising, increasing temperatures and 11 locks that we had not intended to go through, we were pleased to settle in for the night alongside a very private "us only" pontoon.

We cast off at about 9 the next morning and very soon found ourselves weaving a course through a surreal underworld of pylons and overhead roadways. Were we on the River Styx we wondered?

Today should have been a three-hour, 13-lock run. In the end, it took us nearly six hours to do this leg. After emerging from the gloom we found that the canal was heavily silted and the weed growth rampant in the shallow water. As we left each lock and moved slowly across the pound to the next lock, weeds and plastic bags entangled themselves around the propeller, thus limiting our power and our ability to steer.

Finally, we decided on a routine: the Captain would sit in the lock and cut plastic and weeds from the prop, whilst I ran ahead and opened the next lock for him so that he could cruise in without having to sit in the pound. This worked well except that it meant that I then had to run back to the previous lock, close it off and then run forward again to fill the next one. Thus, for me, 13 locks became 26. We were not encouraged by the locals who were telling us how good it was to see "a boat" and bemoaning the fact that they'd not seen boats along the canal in years. We limped into our mooring that afternoon wondering what in heaven's name we'd let ourselves in for. The next day we found out.