This is a long straight bit of the canal, a mile to be precise. Turf Moor in the background.
We'd taken a walk after lunch in Wetherspoon's (The Boot) where one of my senior moments had just occurred. I needed the loo, searched and followed what I thought to be the sign. Upstairs and round several corners, lots of empty untidy and chaotic rooms. Nobody lived here in the upper levels. Finally a toilet, with a dozen used safety razors stored on the cistern. At the bottom of the stairs during the return journey, there was the toilet. Obvious. An elderly regular at the bar looked at me incredulously, shaking his head.