Bit early for a pint, but with the day we had ahead of us I allowed myself the cheeky thought that a wee livener might be in order. Fortunately the pub was closed. Unfortunately for us if I had known what the day ahead actually entailed I would have broken in and loaded up with the pub's entire supply of whiskey and a couple of bags of dry roasted to get me throught it.
The Rose of Lancaster pub in Chadderton is your overnight stop if you want to travel into, or through, Manchester on the Rochdale Canal. You have to be at a designated lock further down by 8.30 in the morning to be let in by staff as the 20 locks that take you into Manchester from the North East of the city are padlocked. Not the most encouraging welcome. Encouraging is also not the word for the 6.45am start, nor the weather which was not so much taking the piss as taking the piss, chilling it and chucking it down heavily on us. We did a total of 28 locks that day (Saturday) in a 12 hour non stop stint that took us through shit tip after shit tip; where the sights and, more pressingly, smells included chemical factories, Morrison's warehouses, rubbish dumps both official and unofficial and areas that smelled like the God of All Dodgy Fried Chicken Outlets lived and conducted his vile experiments there. There were all kinds of floating undesirables in the water, including a poor man further up the canal who had fallen in the night before and drowned. We didn't see him, but heard about it soon after they found him; news seems to travel fast by water.
And then suddenly it stopped. Because we hit central Manchester, where the money is spent. I'm no hypocrite, I freely admit I would rather be in Castlefield than Ancoats but why does it have to be one or the other? The abruptness of the change just seemed to rub in the unfairness of it all. So, nursing my privilege and a severe case of soggy feet me, Alan and my ever Herculean parents (who had come and helped us throught the "Big 28") lit a fire, ate a chicken and settled down to watch a film and dry off, foul-smellingly.
Castlefield is a gorgeous example of how buildings can be as nice as trees and fields. I was as happy there as I had been in rolling countryside, but I suspect that a long stay there would become a bit oppressive, what with all the posh bars with very few people in them selling the delicious smelling food that you can't afford because you gave up your job to be a gypo for a few months. Still we were visited by Jon, Nicky and their two scrumptious kids who helped us through the very last lock we will have for the next 42 miles! Oh Yes! After 32 miles and 92 locks we don't have to go up or downhill for bloody ages! We will miss locks about as much as a severe case of piles on a Himalayan expedition. (Although I invite you all to be on nostalgia-watch for the next 42 miles of blogging).
Obviously we did a nostalgia walk through Manchester City centre, this being the place Al and I met each other and lived for 5 years. The walk took in a range of sights: a place that styles itself as The World Famous Ritz Nightclub (bouncy floors, sick in the corners) where we have done a fair bit of what could laughingly be described as 'dancing'; the Royal Exchange, Afflecks Palace (totally unchanged, as though it had been plastic-ed for the last ten years like a Florida pensioner's setee). Then we met our friend Polly and, on a whim and heady with the sugar rush from the mega-bag of sweeties Jon and Nicky bought for us the day before, decided to give her a lift home to Chorlton; a journey she could have made for 85p on a bus in 35 minutes but which with us took one and a half hours. It was free though. So she can't bloody complain.
That was yesterday and since then we have had two meals made for us by our lovely mates, had our washing done and emptied our poo-tank down Polly's toilet. I bet our friends LOVE us coming to visit!
Speaking of mates, some may've noticed that our mate James does not believe that we are in fact travelling on a boat because our photos have no water in them. Well, I'll show him! Except I can't today because I am typing this...guess where...yes, at Polly's house, and I don't have ny camera with me. I do realise that this sounds wholly suspicious, but to be honest I quite like the idea of inciting some splinter group of conspiracy-theory-blog-readers.
We move on soon from the outskirts of South Manchester into Cheshire, the first stop being Lymm. On the water. Honest!
Fear not Debs! I have evidence of the watery nature of your visit!
Flickr gallery is here if anyone wants to see:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7422727@N04/895275124/in/set-72157600999462031/
Posted by: Polly | July 25, 2007 at 01:29 PM