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of navigation, where the rivers Colne and Thames, and all that remains of the old cut of the Thames and Severn canal meet. I saluted a troop of scouts on the footbridge, then turned downstream. The cows panicked at the sight of me, stampeding along the bank. Back at the Swan, I dropped sail and mast outside the pub, sipped a half of cider and then paddled
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through the bridge, carefully selecting a bank where I could moor head to wind. With mast and sail once more rigged, I waved farewell to Ian, who was poised with camera on Lechlade bridge, at about 12.30. There was no craft at all moving on the water, and I whistled down to St John’s Lock, where it was a nice surprise to find Ian waiting. It was open my
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