Deddington to Banbury: 7/4/2023

 A day that went as planned for once. After not much sleep and with a tricky tummy, I forewent the offer of a full English breakfast with black pudding, and had some porridge instead. Nothing wrong with it as porridge, but it's still a blow. The rooms here have no fridges, so all the milk is in tiny containers, and it takes about three of them to really make a dent in a cup of coffee or tea. I have made a resolution to get some hot chocolate as soon as I find a shop.

Walked out through the old town of Deddington, past the Norman mott-and-bailey castle, and alongside the road through Clifton. Still very wet, with water meadows everywhere. I crossed two branches of the Cherwell before getting to the canal, and turned north to follow it. Slightly more traffic on the canal than yesterday or the day before, but still very quiet, and the path still quite sticky and slippery. It's hard to appreciate the natural beauty of the canal when you have to concentrate on not falling in it. And there's a drainage ditch on the other side, so you can't just keep left.

A long stretch then, past the Pig Place to Twyford Wharf. With either a hedge or a ditch on one side and the canal on the other, it began to occur to me how nice it would be to sit down. But you can't. There are no benches, or even tree stumps, nothing even to lean on. You walk, you stand still, or you fall over. Australia, I'm sure, would have a few park benches along the way.

My blister was annoying, but bearable. Just a long hard slog on a slippery surface to get into Banbury, where I arrived about twelve, but on the wrong side of the canal. On the other side I could have had a leisurely stroll through parkland, but as it is I had to keep going until I found a bridge. There are various hinged bridges over the canal, but all of them are operated from the other side to the path, and without a hook to grab the chain there is no way to pull them down on this side, and usually nowhere to go by them if you could.

Into Banbury then, slowly, with aching legs. It's a pleasant town with a long history -- including Banbury Cross -- but a lot of the people look like they've been imported from Penrith or Mount Druitt. Lots of vaping, a few tatts, and wildly inappropriate fashions. But they were friendly enough. I stopped at a Witherspoons for lunch and had a beer -- which I won't bother to continue identifying until I find one that tastes different. Then walked very slowly, like an old man, down to the new canal wharf and the town museum and art gallery. There's been an attempt to revive an interest in canal culture, which basically consists in constructing the museum and building a shopping centre -- and no doubt it will for a while. But I wish they would spend some more money on gravelling the towpath.

Made my way to the Avonlea Guest House, which is much as you would expect from the name -- a twee boarding house beside a busy road. This was the smallest room I had had so far, and the coldest, until the heating went on after 7pm. It went off again in the middle of the night, though, and only on again after six in the morning. I woke at midnight, but managed to fall asleep again through listening to Bach, which is a rarity. I'm really not getting enough sleep, though I don't feel as if I'm underperforming -- yet.

Part of what kept me awake was worry about me or the path giving out at some point in the next few days. The canal goes right away from major routes, and there are some places where a blockage on the canal path could require a detour of twenty kilometres. After my experience so far, I really don't feel safe chancing a night's accommodation -- at least -- on the blithe hope that nobody will have muddied up the path.