no fixed address

It never fails to amaze me how much of a spectacle a narrowboat passing through a lock becomes. Add to the equation a flashy modern boat and a cute toddler and crowds are drawn, infinite in number and unrelenting in their stare.

This afternoon I had another disturbing phone call from Woz. This time he and two mates had taken the boat out to Paddington. I was of course planning on coming home and relaxing but once again, a familiar conundrum presented itself. How is it that I can go home when indeed my home is not at home at all?

The answer today lay in the number 29 bus where I jumped off at Camden Lock to meet Woz, Dobs and Martin. Our past experience of Camden has been either passing through on the underground, an exercise which results in only a brief interchange with Camdenites, or to pass through via the canal, where the younger Camden crowd come face to face with the lock, and almost with ourselves. Venturing through Camden High Street on foot on a warm sunny afternoon however is an entirely different scenario. Pushing a buggy through the immense crowds who are knee deep in Doc Martens, clothed in black and sporting multi-coloured mohawks is an experience not to be forgotten and certainly one that left me feeling out of place.

I finaly met up with the guys at the lock, where millions of visitors (no word of a lie) photographed and recorded us as we passed Nate over the railings, then the buggy, then me.

I don't get it ... Boat goes in, gates close. Boat goes down, gates open. Boat goes out again. It's not that exciting.

But still they stare ...