Who in their right mind would happily do the whole of the Wigan flight in one hit, whilst knowing the existence of Wing Wah Chinese take-away at pretty much the half-way mark? Wing Wah is a legitimate excuse to moor up between locks 77 and 78. It’s a five-minute walk over the bridge into Ince; eschewing the temptations of KFC and numerous kebab and pizza places, keep going and you’ll eventually find Wing Wah on the right-hand side. Don’t be put off by the disregard for decoration, these people have more important things to do, like cooking, and the bits that matter, the stainless steel counter and food areas, the visible bits anyway, are spotless. I’m vegetarian and the Bloke definitely isn’t and it’s been worth the several stops we’ve made there now just to see his joy when he opens that box of spare ribs resplendent in a thick luscious barbecue sauce. We’re not talking a few dried bits of grilled bone. We’re talking things that the Bloke picks up in both hands, with succulent meat attached that comes away in mouthfuls as he works along the bone, we’re talking the pleasure in his eyes as the sauce and juices ooze and drip down his beard, and the serious business of sucking his fingers between each one. And we’re talking a really decent sized box full of these things.
And for the vegetarian? I discussed my options with the proprietor: I like vegetable chow mein and he recommended tarting it up with a lashing of chilli sauce, which was completely the right thing to do, and when it came it was another massive portion. He suggested a vegetable chop-suey to go with it all, plus fried rice, without egg or prawns, and a whole heap of mini vegetable spring rolls. And he threw in a bag of prawn crackers, which the Bloke and the dog greatly appreciated, but oddly not the cat. This whole came to £16-something, and we could only manage half of it so had it again the following evening.
People have wondered about the security of stopping on the flight, we did the first time but haven’t hesitated since. We’ve only had nice people stopping to chat. Plus a bunch of kids, ten year-olds at a guess, that homed in on the Bloke, who has difficulty mustering affection for children and yet is like a magnet to them. They bombarded him with questions about the boats: do yu’live on them? Why? Have yu’got a bathroom? Have yu’got a toilet? How does it work? Why have yu’got two boats? Are yu’on yu’own? Have yu’got a woman? Where is she? …to which one of the little girls interjected: She’s inside makin’is tea stupid.
