With a little less than one month left aboard Honey Ryder, time seems to have gone into warp drive.
My mental packing has started, helped along by the booking of a small self-storage cupboard.
I'm currently looking at suitable floors to sleep on as an interim measure of avoiding sleeping out under a bridge, although I do have the advantage that after nearly three years on the canals, I know quite a lot of suitable bridges.
I've looked at four very different boats so far, but all with a mast.
Looking around these various boats brings home how well equipped my current boat is and how much I have got used to it.
The battery charger and battery state readout, the inverter and travel power.
The heating, the hot water, the four burner cooker, the oven big enough for a medium sized chicken...
It seems all too soon this blog will draw to a natural conclusion and a new one will commence in the face of yet another very steep learning curve.
I want to live on a yacht and sail the world.
A couple of small matters to be over come first,
one, I have a full time job and a mortgage,
two, I've never sailed a yacht bigger than a dinghy.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Exit stage left
Time to depart our dark and dusty dry dock cave like place and head back out into the bright world outside.
Heading back across London probably to see Victoria park and Limehouse for one last time from a narrowboat this summer.
Five more weeks of canal time, five more weeks of packing boxes and emptying Honey Ryder.
She is going to a new home this August and I am to be temporarily homeless.
Mr X is going back to France for a while, I am now starting my search for a new place to live in ernest.
Oh, exciting times.
Heading back across London probably to see Victoria park and Limehouse for one last time from a narrowboat this summer.
Five more weeks of canal time, five more weeks of packing boxes and emptying Honey Ryder.
She is going to a new home this August and I am to be temporarily homeless.
Mr X is going back to France for a while, I am now starting my search for a new place to live in ernest.
Oh, exciting times.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
I see a dry dock and I want to paint it black
Two and a bit years have passed since the last mammoth effort of stripping the hull back to bare metal and sorting out a loppy looking bottom.
it took three weeks of very very hard work back in March 2007.
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=124"]first Hull service part 1[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=129"]first hull service part 2[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=131"]first hull service part 3[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=134"]first hull service part 4[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=135"]first hull service part 5[/url]
Ive been holding back from booking the drydock for fear of the hard work to come, but there is only so long you can do that before you really do have to get your finger out and actually do something.
So, a few calls later and I was booked into the dock at Uxbridge boat centre. It was here we bought all our blacking from last time and since they have always been so friendly and accommodating I figured it was worth the slog across London to get there.
We had just one weekend to move from Cheshunt to Uxbridge. It's a fairly long way I can tell you. We shuffled a bit mid week down to the marina near Rammey Marsh and then commenced the trip early on saturday morning. it was weedy, weedy weedy, plastic baggy, plastic baggy, weedy, plastic baggy, weedy, plastic baggy all the way.
at least 10 trips down the weed hatch as we seemed to snag every thing going. It came to be a routine that at nearly every lock, engine off, check the propellor.
We managed to time it so that at the last lock we were forced into enduring the hammering hale storm and rain, mid-lock. It was quite a refreshing change from the intense heat so I didnt mind putting my sun parasol up to fend off the golf ball sized pieces of ice. We arrived at Angel for the night and continued the next day.
We arrived at West Drayton late afternoon early evening on Sunday after a good run through london and a box of noodles from Camden. I highly recommend going through Camden locks in the morning, it's so peaceful and there's still time to have a quick stop off and shop/eat before it gets busy. Camden is one of my favourite places, but in the past five years has changed dramatically, not necessarily for the better but the march of progress doesnt suffer nostalgia, it only sees pound signs.
a few days later we were being hauled into the dry dock alongside another boat.
It took ages to empty, from 9am through til at least 2pm and it wasnt until 3.30pm that we got the use of the pressure washer. We had images of what it was like the last time and we were worried about the tight working window of just a few days in the dock.
We needn't have worried, within 24 hours we had the entire hull pressure washed, wire brushed/angle ground, the first coat of black on and by the end of the second day, we were pretty much there with the second coat.
talk about a bloody doddle and a piece of piss!
Except for the lights.
we've been working in the dark, straining our eyes, not understanding why the lights dont want to work. It's all very well being under cover, but without lights, painting black on black, it's not been easy.
It took nearly 4 days for me to work out the lights were on a timer and the timer was set wrong.... DOH! last night, I had a moment of frustration, staring into the electrical cupboard when it finally dawned on me and then we had light... HURRAY!
and then we could see the paint runs... SHIT.
So we've been back round the boat removing all the run blobs and tidying up the blacking.
Otherwise, I couldnt have asked for an easier job.
Total cost:
Dry dock £280 for the week
4 tins of paint £100
one day use of pressure washer £56
Paint brushes and rollers (from Tesco) £5
totals £441
it took three weeks of very very hard work back in March 2007.
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=124"]first Hull service part 1[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=129"]first hull service part 2[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=131"]first hull service part 3[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=134"]first hull service part 4[/url]
[url="http://www.canalworld.net/forums/blog/honey_ryder/index.php?showentry=135"]first hull service part 5[/url]
Ive been holding back from booking the drydock for fear of the hard work to come, but there is only so long you can do that before you really do have to get your finger out and actually do something.
So, a few calls later and I was booked into the dock at Uxbridge boat centre. It was here we bought all our blacking from last time and since they have always been so friendly and accommodating I figured it was worth the slog across London to get there.
We had just one weekend to move from Cheshunt to Uxbridge. It's a fairly long way I can tell you. We shuffled a bit mid week down to the marina near Rammey Marsh and then commenced the trip early on saturday morning. it was weedy, weedy weedy, plastic baggy, plastic baggy, weedy, plastic baggy, weedy, plastic baggy all the way.
at least 10 trips down the weed hatch as we seemed to snag every thing going. It came to be a routine that at nearly every lock, engine off, check the propellor.
We managed to time it so that at the last lock we were forced into enduring the hammering hale storm and rain, mid-lock. It was quite a refreshing change from the intense heat so I didnt mind putting my sun parasol up to fend off the golf ball sized pieces of ice. We arrived at Angel for the night and continued the next day.
We arrived at West Drayton late afternoon early evening on Sunday after a good run through london and a box of noodles from Camden. I highly recommend going through Camden locks in the morning, it's so peaceful and there's still time to have a quick stop off and shop/eat before it gets busy. Camden is one of my favourite places, but in the past five years has changed dramatically, not necessarily for the better but the march of progress doesnt suffer nostalgia, it only sees pound signs.
a few days later we were being hauled into the dry dock alongside another boat.
It took ages to empty, from 9am through til at least 2pm and it wasnt until 3.30pm that we got the use of the pressure washer. We had images of what it was like the last time and we were worried about the tight working window of just a few days in the dock.
We needn't have worried, within 24 hours we had the entire hull pressure washed, wire brushed/angle ground, the first coat of black on and by the end of the second day, we were pretty much there with the second coat.
talk about a bloody doddle and a piece of piss!
Except for the lights.
we've been working in the dark, straining our eyes, not understanding why the lights dont want to work. It's all very well being under cover, but without lights, painting black on black, it's not been easy.
It took nearly 4 days for me to work out the lights were on a timer and the timer was set wrong.... DOH! last night, I had a moment of frustration, staring into the electrical cupboard when it finally dawned on me and then we had light... HURRAY!
and then we could see the paint runs... SHIT.
So we've been back round the boat removing all the run blobs and tidying up the blacking.
Otherwise, I couldnt have asked for an easier job.
Total cost:
Dry dock £280 for the week
4 tins of paint £100
one day use of pressure washer £56
Paint brushes and rollers (from Tesco) £5
totals £441
Monday, May 11, 2009
falling down water
I had to let the dust settle a little on this entry as time, being the great healer, needed er, time.
It was not funny at the time, but heindsight is the funniest thing.
It is common knowledge that a true sailor is a hardy drinker. One who embraces Rum with both anchor-tattood-forearms.
My fellow co-habitant, Mr X has been known to practice the art of Rum appreciation throughout his younger adult life. Though he doesn't have the sailor tattoos he has other credentials that make him a sailor.
I work long hours sometimes, leaving me less time for my blog as people may (or may not) have noticed and less time to spend at home. My poor dog will surely one day mistake me for a burglar and lick me to death.
Anyhoo, it was one of these late nights, a Friday of all days I arrived home around 10pm, I immediately clocked the two bottles of rum (55%) in the kitchen, one of them empty, the other one seriously storm battered and a chopped up lime, squeezed and re-squeezed into wafer thin skinny green shells.
I knew immediately the weather forecast was going to be stormy.
I battened the hatches, put all breakables away or on the floor and braced myself, armed with mobile phone for both evidence gathering and any possible Mayday calls.
It was while attempting to re-set the stereo in the kitchen, balanced precariously holding onto the kitchen work surfaces to aid with balance that an almighty wave must have caught Mr X out and sent him sliding, tumbling, like a sack of spuds to the floor. It was here he promptly fell asleep and asumed the safety position. (like a true sailor)
[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/IMG00249.jpg[/img]
I seized the moment to deploy the sofa cushions to the floor in anticipation of a further stormy night to come. Stepping over the sleeping baby I took the dog outside for his nightly oblutions, said goodnight to the neighbour who was moored alongside, oblivious to the fact I was standing two feet away from an unconscious body then went back inside and waited.
one hour later the creature from the black lagoon came shuffling on its derier from the kitchen into the living room, looking for a warm safe place to sleep. upon finding the cushions, commenced a discussion about why it couldn't sleep on the "normal" bed. It eventually conceded to the fact it was safer on the floor, away from an angry female.
The angry female commenced with tooth brushing duties (with analogue toothbrush not the electrical one because the travel power, although fully serviced has not been re-fitted to the engine)
When, the sound that no-one likes to hear, was heard.
[i]Yaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggghhpp, Yaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggghhpp, [/i]
I ran back to the living room, fearing the worst, [i]vomit central[/i], when in fact, I soon realised [b]It[/b] had cleverly employed the use of the fire bucket to contain his seasickness.
A true sailor never spoils the interior.
After a swift clip around the back of the head, calling him a, silly sailor [read: c**t]
I swapped his fancy brass bucket for an altogether easier to clean plastic one. I pondered for a moment as I was swilling the sick out of bucket via the side hatch, I had never seen Mr X seasick before, it was most un-charactaristic of him.
It was then, that I spotted a large mark on his face. It seems he must have hit his head when he fell to the floor, causing possible concussion.
I spent the rest of the night on sick-boy watch, checking frequently that he was still alive. The next morning, I ventured into the living room, he was sitting up asking how he arrived in the living room.
Incredibly he remembers absolutely nothing after the second glass of rum. No head ache, nothing.
It was two hours later, after filling the tank with water and preparing to descend the lock, the colour drained from his face, suddenly the tempest returned and remained for the whole day.
I cruised the boat mostly on my todd, savouring the fact he was still alive, but suffering. Will he learn a lesson in seamanship from this?
It seems life is harder to navigate than canals.
It was not funny at the time, but heindsight is the funniest thing.
It is common knowledge that a true sailor is a hardy drinker. One who embraces Rum with both anchor-tattood-forearms.
My fellow co-habitant, Mr X has been known to practice the art of Rum appreciation throughout his younger adult life. Though he doesn't have the sailor tattoos he has other credentials that make him a sailor.
I work long hours sometimes, leaving me less time for my blog as people may (or may not) have noticed and less time to spend at home. My poor dog will surely one day mistake me for a burglar and lick me to death.
Anyhoo, it was one of these late nights, a Friday of all days I arrived home around 10pm, I immediately clocked the two bottles of rum (55%) in the kitchen, one of them empty, the other one seriously storm battered and a chopped up lime, squeezed and re-squeezed into wafer thin skinny green shells.
I knew immediately the weather forecast was going to be stormy.
I battened the hatches, put all breakables away or on the floor and braced myself, armed with mobile phone for both evidence gathering and any possible Mayday calls.
It was while attempting to re-set the stereo in the kitchen, balanced precariously holding onto the kitchen work surfaces to aid with balance that an almighty wave must have caught Mr X out and sent him sliding, tumbling, like a sack of spuds to the floor. It was here he promptly fell asleep and asumed the safety position. (like a true sailor)
[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/IMG00249.jpg[/img]
I seized the moment to deploy the sofa cushions to the floor in anticipation of a further stormy night to come. Stepping over the sleeping baby I took the dog outside for his nightly oblutions, said goodnight to the neighbour who was moored alongside, oblivious to the fact I was standing two feet away from an unconscious body then went back inside and waited.
one hour later the creature from the black lagoon came shuffling on its derier from the kitchen into the living room, looking for a warm safe place to sleep. upon finding the cushions, commenced a discussion about why it couldn't sleep on the "normal" bed. It eventually conceded to the fact it was safer on the floor, away from an angry female.
The angry female commenced with tooth brushing duties (with analogue toothbrush not the electrical one because the travel power, although fully serviced has not been re-fitted to the engine)
When, the sound that no-one likes to hear, was heard.
[i]Yaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggghhpp, Yaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggghhpp, [/i]
I ran back to the living room, fearing the worst, [i]vomit central[/i], when in fact, I soon realised [b]It[/b] had cleverly employed the use of the fire bucket to contain his seasickness.
A true sailor never spoils the interior.
After a swift clip around the back of the head, calling him a, silly sailor [read: c**t]
I swapped his fancy brass bucket for an altogether easier to clean plastic one. I pondered for a moment as I was swilling the sick out of bucket via the side hatch, I had never seen Mr X seasick before, it was most un-charactaristic of him.
It was then, that I spotted a large mark on his face. It seems he must have hit his head when he fell to the floor, causing possible concussion.
I spent the rest of the night on sick-boy watch, checking frequently that he was still alive. The next morning, I ventured into the living room, he was sitting up asking how he arrived in the living room.
Incredibly he remembers absolutely nothing after the second glass of rum. No head ache, nothing.
It was two hours later, after filling the tank with water and preparing to descend the lock, the colour drained from his face, suddenly the tempest returned and remained for the whole day.
I cruised the boat mostly on my todd, savouring the fact he was still alive, but suffering. Will he learn a lesson in seamanship from this?
It seems life is harder to navigate than canals.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Sunshine
A few days trolling around harbours in France, along the Brittany west coast has wet my appetite further for the next boat. I was on holiday and couldnt help myself, I always end up near water.
I already have a good idea about what I want and where I want to put it and where Id like to go with it, it seems its a buyers market out there.
Honey Ryder is still for sale, I should probably do a bit more effort to sell her before the summer is over, but for every month I live on her, I save large amounts of money to put towards the next boat. So its a difficult balance between selling and saving.
Im not sure if I will be able to secure another boat mortgage again, I guess I should go out there and try one of the many finance houses/rip off merchants that offer marine mortgages.
So, I saw the next boat in france, its a Jeanneau Sunshine 38. if only I had sold mine, had the finances in place and a mooring secured.
It all seems to far away!
I already have a good idea about what I want and where I want to put it and where Id like to go with it, it seems its a buyers market out there.
Honey Ryder is still for sale, I should probably do a bit more effort to sell her before the summer is over, but for every month I live on her, I save large amounts of money to put towards the next boat. So its a difficult balance between selling and saving.
Im not sure if I will be able to secure another boat mortgage again, I guess I should go out there and try one of the many finance houses/rip off merchants that offer marine mortgages.
So, I saw the next boat in france, its a Jeanneau Sunshine 38. if only I had sold mine, had the finances in place and a mooring secured.
It all seems to far away!
Monday, April 27, 2009
pages of waffle
I received a letter from British Waterways.
Three pages of waffle about how London boaters shouldn't empty their toilets into the canals and waterways around London and how inspections will be made on boats to make sure they comply.
Three pages of single sided, single minded drivel.
one page would have been plenty, in fact four sentences would suffice.
----
Dear Customers,
We have removed elsan, rubbish and water points along Grand Union and Rivers Lee and Stort because they were over-used and were expensive to maintain.
We have removed access to British Waterways laundry and shower facilities unless you are a British Waterways Marina customer.
We understand that you will have to cruise a full day to empty your toilet or fill your water tank and that you may be temped to empty your toilets in the bushes or in the canal.
Please don't do this, we recommend that you find a marina mooring, where you will find all these facilities privately available and stop making the canals and rivers look untidy with constant cruising/on-line mooring.
yours blah blah blah
-----
if they want to encourage people to keep moving and stop them congregating in convenient spots where the facilities are, surely they need to add facilities, not take them away!
Three pages of waffle about how London boaters shouldn't empty their toilets into the canals and waterways around London and how inspections will be made on boats to make sure they comply.
Three pages of single sided, single minded drivel.
one page would have been plenty, in fact four sentences would suffice.
----
Dear Customers,
We have removed elsan, rubbish and water points along Grand Union and Rivers Lee and Stort because they were over-used and were expensive to maintain.
We have removed access to British Waterways laundry and shower facilities unless you are a British Waterways Marina customer.
We understand that you will have to cruise a full day to empty your toilet or fill your water tank and that you may be temped to empty your toilets in the bushes or in the canal.
Please don't do this, we recommend that you find a marina mooring, where you will find all these facilities privately available and stop making the canals and rivers look untidy with constant cruising/on-line mooring.
yours blah blah blah
-----
if they want to encourage people to keep moving and stop them congregating in convenient spots where the facilities are, surely they need to add facilities, not take them away!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Wigged out with the neighbours
Mooring in Limehouse for the past week has been most entertaining.
we arrived on a Sunday evening, and squeezed into a spot a meter too short. So having knocked on the neighbours boat without a response, we shuffled the boat along a little bit so we could fit along the wall. Just as Mr X was about to tie the boat on again, a bald mans head popped out of the boat wondering what was happening. We explained, he shrugged and left us to it.
thereafter, for the remainder of the week we listened to the music of his engine chugging away into the night, until 9pm, and recommencing at 8am. Since we were moored so close, this meant our boat vibrated away as if it were our own engine.
This narked Mr X quite a lot. We gave the neighbour a name, which I shall not repeat on here, but shall give a pseudnom to replace his nickname : bald-engine-man
Thursday night, and we were chatting away in the living room, to the familiar sound of our neighbours engine vibrating the grate on our stove when the boat rocked violently to the booming sound of someone on the roof. I jumped up, at that very moment seeing one of my tubs of plants go frisbying into Limehouse basin! [i]"arh!, some cunts thrown my plants in!"[/i] I shouted, opening the side hatch immediately to shout outside [i]"gerrof my boat you cheeky mother fuckers!"[/i]
(as you can see in times of stress, swearing comes naturally to me)
we both ran outside, I was focussing on my plants, only just floating, out of reach near to the boat.
As I went to get the boat pole to retrieve the plants, looking down the wall of boats, I saw that four boats had been untied further down the wall, except for bald-engine-man and us. The cheeky untiers and plant throwers had been disturbed by coal-boat-Liz shouting at them from across the basin.
I grabbed the boat hook, while Mr X teased my tub of plants back to the boat with the boat pole. I set off down the line of drifting boats, hooking the ducks and pulling them back in to the side.
I thought it only neighbourly to alert bald-engine-man, who still seemed oblivious to the commotion happening around him.
I tapped nicely. No answer. I tapped louder with the boat hook. Still no answer. I wondered how it's possible for a person to not hear someone knocking and decided to give it some welly with the handle of the boat hook. Boom Boom Boom.. Boom Boom...
I stood there in disbelief at no reply. Eventually, after several minutes I saw the boat move and from the engine end a bald head popped out, like a prairie dog, looking around.
I explained to him that all the boats had just been untied, except for his and mine, and that mine had been jumped on.
I continued helping to tie the other boats back up and after a while went back inside to carry on muttering about losing one of my plant tubs and scouring the watery horizon for any sign of an upturned plant pot with my binoculars.
The weekend flew by and before we knew it, it was 8am Sunday morning and I was being woken up to the dulcit tones of the neighbours engine once again. But then, the sound faded and as usual Mr X jumped up to see which direction they were heading in, hoping it wouldnt be the same as us to avoid the locks being against us.
He then exclaimed [i]"fucking hell, hes got a woman!" [/i]
I reply sleepily [i]"really? he didnt seem like the kind of man who would have a wife, you sure it's him not another boat?"[/i]
Mr X replied, [i]"yes theres old baldy standing on the gunnel.. and he's... oh now hes giving wifey at the tiller a kiss... maybe he's congratulating her on a perfect reverse manouver?"[/i]
I reply [i]"that's unusal. A woman driving, good for her, breaking with the tradition of : man drive : woman do the locking"[/i]
A couple of hours later we were on our way, heading up towards Victoria park. we just missed a boat in the first lock, but caught up with them at the next.
As I stood at the side with rope in hand I realised we were sharing the lock with the bald-engine-man's boat. So I looked at the bald man sitting on the side of the lock, thinking, [i]he's not the same bald man I saw before[/i]. I shouted across when the lock was full to ask if they wanted to go first or if they were waiting for someone, as the bald man showed no sign of springing into action.
He replied, [i]"she's inside making coffee"[/i]
[i]"Ok"[/i] I replied
at which point, a blonde shoulder-length haired figure arrived with a tray of coffee mugs from the front.
I had to do a double take, and so did she.
The blonde lady was none other than the first bald headed person we had met prairie dogging from the engine hole.
suck me sideways! its HIM.. no HER!
She spent the next few locks avoiding eye contact with us, appearing rather uncomfortable at being "out" with the neighbours, and me trying to catch her attention so I could be sociable and talk, at least about the finer points of the 8pm engine-off time.
I never did get the chance to say how good she looked or even to get a name. Shame.
we arrived on a Sunday evening, and squeezed into a spot a meter too short. So having knocked on the neighbours boat without a response, we shuffled the boat along a little bit so we could fit along the wall. Just as Mr X was about to tie the boat on again, a bald mans head popped out of the boat wondering what was happening. We explained, he shrugged and left us to it.
thereafter, for the remainder of the week we listened to the music of his engine chugging away into the night, until 9pm, and recommencing at 8am. Since we were moored so close, this meant our boat vibrated away as if it were our own engine.
This narked Mr X quite a lot. We gave the neighbour a name, which I shall not repeat on here, but shall give a pseudnom to replace his nickname : bald-engine-man
Thursday night, and we were chatting away in the living room, to the familiar sound of our neighbours engine vibrating the grate on our stove when the boat rocked violently to the booming sound of someone on the roof. I jumped up, at that very moment seeing one of my tubs of plants go frisbying into Limehouse basin! [i]"arh!, some cunts thrown my plants in!"[/i] I shouted, opening the side hatch immediately to shout outside [i]"gerrof my boat you cheeky mother fuckers!"[/i]
(as you can see in times of stress, swearing comes naturally to me)
we both ran outside, I was focussing on my plants, only just floating, out of reach near to the boat.
As I went to get the boat pole to retrieve the plants, looking down the wall of boats, I saw that four boats had been untied further down the wall, except for bald-engine-man and us. The cheeky untiers and plant throwers had been disturbed by coal-boat-Liz shouting at them from across the basin.
I grabbed the boat hook, while Mr X teased my tub of plants back to the boat with the boat pole. I set off down the line of drifting boats, hooking the ducks and pulling them back in to the side.
I thought it only neighbourly to alert bald-engine-man, who still seemed oblivious to the commotion happening around him.
I tapped nicely. No answer. I tapped louder with the boat hook. Still no answer. I wondered how it's possible for a person to not hear someone knocking and decided to give it some welly with the handle of the boat hook. Boom Boom Boom.. Boom Boom...
I stood there in disbelief at no reply. Eventually, after several minutes I saw the boat move and from the engine end a bald head popped out, like a prairie dog, looking around.
I explained to him that all the boats had just been untied, except for his and mine, and that mine had been jumped on.
I continued helping to tie the other boats back up and after a while went back inside to carry on muttering about losing one of my plant tubs and scouring the watery horizon for any sign of an upturned plant pot with my binoculars.
The weekend flew by and before we knew it, it was 8am Sunday morning and I was being woken up to the dulcit tones of the neighbours engine once again. But then, the sound faded and as usual Mr X jumped up to see which direction they were heading in, hoping it wouldnt be the same as us to avoid the locks being against us.
He then exclaimed [i]"fucking hell, hes got a woman!" [/i]
I reply sleepily [i]"really? he didnt seem like the kind of man who would have a wife, you sure it's him not another boat?"[/i]
Mr X replied, [i]"yes theres old baldy standing on the gunnel.. and he's... oh now hes giving wifey at the tiller a kiss... maybe he's congratulating her on a perfect reverse manouver?"[/i]
I reply [i]"that's unusal. A woman driving, good for her, breaking with the tradition of : man drive : woman do the locking"[/i]
A couple of hours later we were on our way, heading up towards Victoria park. we just missed a boat in the first lock, but caught up with them at the next.
As I stood at the side with rope in hand I realised we were sharing the lock with the bald-engine-man's boat. So I looked at the bald man sitting on the side of the lock, thinking, [i]he's not the same bald man I saw before[/i]. I shouted across when the lock was full to ask if they wanted to go first or if they were waiting for someone, as the bald man showed no sign of springing into action.
He replied, [i]"she's inside making coffee"[/i]
[i]"Ok"[/i] I replied
at which point, a blonde shoulder-length haired figure arrived with a tray of coffee mugs from the front.
I had to do a double take, and so did she.
The blonde lady was none other than the first bald headed person we had met prairie dogging from the engine hole.
suck me sideways! its HIM.. no HER!
She spent the next few locks avoiding eye contact with us, appearing rather uncomfortable at being "out" with the neighbours, and me trying to catch her attention so I could be sociable and talk, at least about the finer points of the 8pm engine-off time.
I never did get the chance to say how good she looked or even to get a name. Shame.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)