The pace is slow, nature is close, mating damselflies flicker, a days journey is only minutes by train.
The Lea flows from Hertford towards the Thames, we turn upstream, into green algae, gather crab apples - fruits of litter by the Olympic site's cobalt blue fence. Weed winds around our propeller.
At Springfield, dog roses frame marshland, velvet bulrushes pierce the huge sky, swans gather, a heron fishes. I check the mooring ropes.
Stonebridge lock traps us, leaking water. Locks are sociable places - Leila invites us to an allotment party.
Signs promise otters and kingfishers. Kayaks row past. Kids look for sharks and dolphins. We have a go, gliding past dragonflies. Simon promises to build a skiff, to row around Victoria Park.
Gordon and hi dog Bailey share beers; Bailey drinks form my hand, burrows into our sofa and licks our dishes.
Simon is excited by edible nature, gathering elderberries and blackberries- magpie treats, for jam, above a crimson-streaked towpath.
We bait crayfish. Betty rocks and creaks in the wind. My sea legs are coming but ashore I still wobble.
We travel to Waltham Abbey with Peter, ex foreign legion and Lois, a dietician with crew-cut and 'She-Wee':(enabling wonen to pee standing-up with extensions for a longer aim.) I want one! Peter offers to cut my long "hippie" hair. We are "grunts"- trainee boating crew. Simon and Peter wear identical combat shorts. Peter threatens to wear his kilt! We drink into the night.
Following a corridor of pylons, beside reservoirs where sheep graze, the engine overheats, due to lack of water, near the M25.
In Waltham Abbey we feed a snow goose and explore Gunpowder Mills- home of the bouncing bomb. Deer roam through military relics and rocket-test centres. Climbing ivy strangles trees. A waterless canal crosses the site. I start to paint.
Simon cleans Betty's engine and tightens-up her belts. I tend the rooftop garden; complimented on my tomatoes.
We ride Bromptons, past gravel pit lakes, idyllic brooks, wild orchids and silver birches. Teenage swimmers squeal. My leather 'brooks' saddle is wearing me in. The warm rain evaporates on my skin.
Towards Broxbourne we dodge pleasure boats, oblivious to our steel hull and inability to break. Overnight, we hear shotgun fire. Morning brings the chaos of novice boaters.
A rainy forecast prompts us to visit Cambridge by train.
The Lea meanders past yellow water lilies towards Stanstead Abbotts. Fishermen ignore us. We lunch at St Margarets and light the wood burner.
Bird watching at Rye Meads, we follow the Kingfisher and Otter trails to Royden, for McCullens ale, then along the river Stort with its golden cornfields to the Lea.
It keeps raining. At Hertford, we retreat to Weatherspoons - our journey's end.
