Scraped, Scratched, or Squirted!

Five and a half miles of towpath toddles, six big locks, lots of to-ing and fro-ing at the locks, a few fusses in the process, a bit of cruising and a nasty long dark tunnel of doom.

After we moored up in tonight's garden (lots of long grass and hedges to sniff and water!), Daddy went up on the roof of floatyboatyhome. He was making some very peculiar scrapey-scratchy noises. Then he used a whisker block to stroke the roof. Then he used a funny little whiskerstick to stroke some stinky stuff onto the bits he had scrapey-scratched.

While Daddy was doing that weird stuff, Mummy was doing oddities too: She was taking the windows out of their sockets and stroking them with some green squirt and a load of white floppy squares. She says she can't see how streaky they are now, but she says they feel clean.

I will never understand these strange human behaviours. I kept out of the way. I didn't want to be scraped, scratched, or squirted!