The worm in the rose.

Our mooring spot for tonight: next to Westport Lake, Stoke on Trent

We set out on such a beautiful sunny morning and headed for Stoke on Trent, not the world's prettiest city, but we have usually had fairly uneventful transits along the canal here. As we approached the first of Stoke locks I saw a young man and women crouched down under a bridge just before the lock moorings beside a bicycle. I thought at first they were mending a flat tyre, but quickly realised they were fixing something quite different. Mike clambered off and went ahead to prepare the lock, leaving me alone perhaps ten yards from these two unfortunates. Having got her fix, the girl quickly disappeared up the bank and away. The young man, about the age of my sons, I guessed, wandered around on the tow path shouting obscenities and becoming increasingly unable to control his movements. His overlarge jeans would not stay up and he was in danger of falling into the canal. I wavered between two feelings: fear; what if he approached me? Tried to get on or in the boat? I did not look his way more than I could help, avoiding making eye contact.

The other feeling was anxiety: what if he falls in the canal and I have to help him: although it's not deep, the state he was in would make him vulnerable. What if I had to save him? All this whizzed round and round in my head in the ten minutes it took for the boat in front to go through the lock and for it to be emptied ready for me to go in. he finally sat crossed legged on the ground and my lock was ready and away I went.

The anxiety lingered with me for the rest of the journey. We moored up by Westport Lake, the site of some former industrial workings which subsided and filled up with water. The local authority cleaned it up extensively and now it is a popular local beauty spot.  Mike wasted no time in making the most of the sunshine, but I am left feeling that the shine was taken off the day by what I saw and the nagging question: what would I have done? 

Mike catching some rays!