Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.147 (Canal Zander Carnage)

I slipped, quite unintentionally of course, into what can only be described as “retirement mode” on Friday afternoon. Not the pipe-and-slippers version, mind you, but the far more dangerous variety that begins with the innocent phrase: “Shall I just get the bus?” Now, any man who willingly boards a £3 bus on a Friday afternoon alongside what I can only affectionately describe as the purple rinse brigade is either embracing life… or has quietly given up. I’m still undecided which camp I fall into.There we were, trundling along at a pace that would concern a tortoise, surrounded by a symphony of boiled sweet wrappers, unsolicited life advice, and one chap loudly explaining his knee replacement to a woman who clearly hadn’t asked. Still, three quid to Stratford-Upon-Avon ain't too bad. You couldn’t drive there for that unless your car runs on optimism and loose change. Naturally, no cultured outing is complete without a swift one in Spoons, where I parted with another £3 for a port stout…