This is where we came in

A year ago tonight, I was alone in the house, taking down the Christmas decorations, because I was heartily sick of them, and thinking that something had to change. I didn't quite know what, or how much, but having a boat of my own was a big part of it.

So, mid afternoon, whilst staring at the mantelpiece, I thought, I know, I'll go and look on Apollo Duck and see if Battersea is still for sale. Not that I could have afforded it, mind, but just to inspire me with what might be possible. As it happened, Battersea wasn't listed, but Aber was (though not by name) and Bicester, and Hawkesbury (which I already knew about)... and Bristol.

I went to see Bristol, and to be honest, I did fall in love, although I knew from the start that it would be a big restoration project, with (given that it had had a full length cabin since 1980) a great many hidden unknowns. But it was a boat that had been, and could be, lived on; it was a home, and it was lovely, as were its owners who were incredibly hospitable, and patient, while I dithered. But its price was more than I could afford, and to be honest, given that I was looking for a serious restoration project, much more than I ought to have been prepared to pay. But I couldn't let the idea go.

I was still dithering when we went to Braunston in June, taking Warrior up to be our base for the rally. We got there a week in advance and secured a splendid mooring spot by the Admiral Nelson, and a day or two after we arrived, Jim spotted a josher coming through the locks. It was Petrel, and he went to chat with its owner. I don't know what I was doing to have missed this momentous encounter, probably cleaning the toilet or something. But anyway, miss it I did. It turned out that Petrel wasn't there for the rally, but was just passing through. What we didn't know was that it had recently towed Chertsey from Oldbury to Dimmingsdale; what we had forgotten was that there had recently been some speculation about this boat, and what would happen to it now that its owner, who had been ill for a number of years, had recently died. All of this was unknown to us when Jim mentioned that he knew someone who was desperate to get their hands on a big Woolwich. I don't know exactly what Petrel's owner said to that, only that he knew of one that might be for sale, so Jim gave him our number, and thought little more of it, as we got swept up with meeting MIchell and Bill from America, and getting a ride in the parade, as well as meeting up with lots of the people we were finally starting to get to know. I even stood next to one of Bristol's owners, and murmured that I was still interested, if the price could ever be right.

Then after the rally, Jim set off to take Warrior to Cowroast, where we had very generously been lent a mooring for the month, and I got into the car and drove home. And on the way home, liberated from anyone else's opinion, pessimism, cynicism or plain good sense, I decided what I would do. I would arrange to borrow some money; the amount that I could afford and was prepared to pay for Bristol. Once the loan was arranged, I'd make them a cash offer. If they said no, which I still thought was likely, then nothing lost; I just wouldn't go through with the loan. So I went ahead and arranged to mortgage myself to the eyeballs.

Then, one evening in early July, the phone rang, and by chance, I answered it. On the other end was a softly spoken man with a northern accent who introduced himself as Dave. He was arranging the sale of Chertsey on behalf of the executors, and had been told that I might be interested. I gleaned what information I could, and to be very fair, I have to say that Dave undersold the boat somewhat. He was arranging a viewing day for people who had expressed an interest, prior to advertising it. Of course I wanted to go, although at this stage I thought it would be for research purposes, and that it might help to persuade Jim that Bristol wasn't such a bad bet.

Well, I was very, very wrong. As soon as we got to Dimmingsdale it was clear that Chertsey was a very good boat indeed. Thanks to my foresight (!) in amassing vast quantities of debt, we were able to make an offer there and then. I was too nervous to do it myself, so I got Jim to do it. After a couple of nailbiting days (during which, providentially, we sold Helyn, thus giving us a cash deposit) Dave rang and told me that the offer had been accepted.

Thus, thanks to a combination of recklessness, bloody-mindedness and wild, wild chance, I got my big Woolwich, and a good one too.

A number of other things have to happen now before I can get hold the cash to begin the restoration, but hopefully the wheels are turning, and things will happen in 2010.... which is why, although I am not in any way abandoning Warrior the boat, this seemed like a good time to wind up Warrior the blog. Project blogs are far more interesting that cruising ones, and nbWarrior started out as exactly that, as we set about transforming a boat with potential into our perfect boat. Of course I'll still write about our Warrior cruises - we are thinking of the BCN for next summer, and a lot more besides, as I really, really mean, this time to try and post every day.

But I wanted to do Chertsey justice by starting a new blog, (on a new account, with a new photo upload allowance!) to chart the restoration in all its ups and downs, and to organise it properly with tags and things right from the start, and also to make it a bit more of a historic boat-centred blog.

So this, as we say ferewell to 2009, is the final post proper on nbWarrior - and the first post of the new blog, Chertsey130. Thanks for coming on the journey with me so far, and let's see where the future will take us.

2009 in pictures - September

2009 in pictures - July

2009 in pictures - part 2

In which we skip July, and go straight on to August, for a small selection of random souvenirs of our trip up the Trent and its offshoots...

2009 in pictures

Well, from April anyway. That's when I (got Baz to) install Ubuntu on my computer, and the photo software that comes with it neatly files photos by year, month and day. My sister was certainly very impressed, thinking I'd organised them all myself.

So I shall dip semi-randomly into the photo files and see what comes out.

April saw me visit said sister in Newport, and walk my first disused canal



We and the Moomins finally made it to Holme Fen... and met the massed ranks of Peterborough IWA coming the other way.

And, in April, I helped move Chiswick from Aylesbury to Uxbridge - not dreaming then that by the end of the year I would own the boat that came out of Woolwich immediately before this one. Definitely one of the high spots of the year, this was.

In May, we met up with Chiswick and its merry crew again, and also with Mike on Victoria, at the Ricky Festival.


In the eventful month of June, the photo albums tell me, I gained my NCBA 'skipper's' qualification, visited the Newhaven lifeboat, took my first trip on the K&A, first with Mike on Globetrotter and then on Lancing,


We smartened Helyn up, and then we set off with Warrior to Braunston, where we met Chiswick and Victoria again, and Owl, and Bill and Michelle. And, although we were not yet to realise the significance of this, Petrel. And all this was long before the rally began!

And I got to go in the parade, twice - on Victoria and then on Chiswick.

More of the year in pictures tomorrow - that's enough for now.

Anyone for skating?

Jim has sent some photos from the Eastern Front.

Now I know that frozen canals and marinas are a bit old hat, and this probably isn't quite up to Olympic figure skating thickness anyway.

But how about this for a bobsleigh run?

Not to be trifled with

May I share with you my failsafe Christmas recipe for tinned trifle? It probably has the highest ratio of deliciousness to trouble of any festive dish.

Open a pack of trifle sponges and put half of them in the bottom of a glass dish. Open a tin of rasperries and pour them over the top. Slosh over some sherry or port if you've got some knocking around. Put the other half of the sponges on top of that. Open a tin of summer fruits and pour them over. Slosh on some more booze. Open a tin of Ambrosia custard and pour that over everything. Whip half a pint of cream and dollop that on the top with a spoon. Sprinkle with silver balls. Leave in the fridge for a couple of hours. Serve to impressed guests.

Tidying away my presents

Ah, bliss. The house to myself again all calm and quiet after the chaos of Christmas. Not that we do anything too demanding, like having relatives round or anything - in fact it's been a remarkably stress-free Christmas this year (all credit to the fake tree) but it's still nice after the welcome break in routine, to get things back in order again.

So, having put all my Leonard Cohen albums (with the exception of Death of a Ladies' Man, of course) onto my phone, I plugged it into the hi-fi, put it on shuffle, and settled down for a nice day of leisurely tidying up. Eight hours and ninety-five tracks later I'd worked my way round most of the house (found some pine needles from last year - or possibly even earlier - down the back of the CD shelves), including completely re-arreanging (or possibly just arranging) my shelf of waterways books in order to put away my two new ones. They are now arranged by type: photos, boats, memoirs, waterways, associated subjects, fiction, and maps & guides. I have not (yet?) ordered them, either chronologically or alphabetically, within their sections, but I might be tempted.

Look what I got!

I got lots of lovely things, but this is the one I want to go out and play with straight away. What do you mean, I can't?

Courtesy of No.2 Son, my very own Dunton Double windlass. I've wanted one ever since I borrowed Jane's last year; it was just such a pleasure to use. I know - at least, I've heard - that it might not be suitable to use everywhere, but it's just such a lovely thing I'd be glad to have it even if I only used it on the Regents Canal (I don't think there's many places it doesn't fit really though).

I also got (thanks to Jim) two books (one on the Regents Canal, published in 1961, and the BCN Society's 1973 BCN in Pictures), as well as three DVDs and a video. And from my cousin, among other things, a waterways calendar featuring the most uninspiring selection of boat and waterways photos imaginable.

Happy Christmas

Once again, a
VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS
and a
HAPPY NEW YEAR
from nbWarrior

and I hope you'll be following my Chertsey adventures in 2010

The pathologisation of impossibility

It's a new concept I've come up with. Like it?

It arose out of a conversation I was having with Jim about the weather conditions, and travelling. I was reading in the paper about how, despite the snow, ice, and multitudinous closed roads, one third of Britain's cars are still expected to be travelling over the few days in the run up to Christmas. He'd been listening to a radio phone in, in which one caller was determined to set out from Edinburgh to Cornwall, with a four month old baby and a labrador puppy, and refused to be advised otherwise.

Jim reckoned that this was an expression of extreme consumerism; people feeling that they'd paid for their cars, roads, RAC membership etc, and demanding that they be able to use them.

I on the other hand suggested that it was part of a growing mindset in which we are all encouraged to believe that anything is possible, and if it isn't then there's something wrong, rather than just being a normal, natural state of affairs.

No touching or wanting

I was just finishing off my Christmas shopping yesterday, in one of those knick nack shops that get all the new stuff first, full of clever toys and gorgeous objects, most of which are so eye-wateringly expensive that when you find something that's being sold for just a few pounds, you know it must have been bought for pennies...

Anyway, I was standing at the checkout desk while my minute and no doubt exploitative purchases were wrapped in tissue paper, when a woman ushered in a gaggle of kids, and that is what she said to them: 'No touching or wanting.'

And I couldn't decide whether that was sound advice in this overly-consumerised age, or whether it was terribly, terribly sad.

The washer josher of Christmas trees

Thus my executive de-luxe faux fir was described by Kevin, aka Starman, owner of the loveliest little tug at Bill Fen. And I thought to myself, he's right you know.

I went to a little soiree (well, more of an apres-midi-ee)* up the road at the weekend and two people expressed great amazement on hearing that it wasn't a real tree, although admittedly they had only looked at it through the window and from a distance. And I thought, yep, that's the washer josher; the fake that tries to look like the real thing but wouldn't fool anyone close up.

Then I thought about the green and silver tinsel tree we had when I was an (older) child (my mother got sick of the real thing a lot quicker than I did, and also this was in the seventies when a tinsel tree marked you out as modern and cutting edge. Having a real one was a bit like having Victorian furniture,. As indeed it was in the nineties, only by then it was trendy again). Anyway, this was an honest to goodness plastic tree, not trying to fool anyone, not expensive, but it gave us years of fun, and even now is probably still giving good, if superficially tatty, service. The Springer of Christmas trees, perhaps.

And for years I guess we had the Grand Union of Christmas trees; big, brutal and impressive, but not what you'd call graceful. We left those Nordmann Spruce joshers, elegant and tastefully decorated, to others.

So now I come to think of it, it's obvious why I don't feel the need for a real Christmas tree any more.


*I know there should be accents on that, I just don't know how to put them there.

It'll be a pipe next.

I'm not much of a one for slippers. We used to have them as children, for wearing with our nighties. Pirelli ones, that smelt of rubber, with fur round the top. After a few weeks the soles would start to wear away, revaling their cardboard innards and creating flapping bits at the front to trip you up. Occasionally you'd forget you were wearing them and get in the bath with them on, which while amusing (at least the first time) was also unpleasant in a squelchy sort of way, and very unnerving, being a rather surreal juxtaposition of sensations.

So slippers haven't featured greatly in my adult life. Much to Jim's chagrin, I am one of those people (and I believe this is an issue on which the population can be neatly divided in two) who do not believe in taking my boots off before entering the house. I don't like doing it in other people's houses either, but I will make an exception if a. I really like them and b. they have really nice carpet. I wouldn't ask anyone to do it though; by asking people to remove their footwear you're making them vulnerable; asking them to put themselves at a disadvantage. Basically, they can't run away.

But now I am no longer the creature of habit who gets up at six, showers, and gets dressed before facing the day; now I occasionally like to have a bath in the evening, or a cup of tea before I get dressed, and the kitchen floor really is quite cold underfoot, I wondered whether some slippers might be for me after all. (No! Please don't say it's my age and that I'll be smoking a pipe next...)

And then, whilst Christmas shopping this afternoon, I saw these and was smitten. And my feet are tucked up cosily inside them as I write this.

Quote of the moment

Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live; it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. And unselfishness is letting other people's lives alone...

Oscar Wilde

New boat coat

I have a bit of a weakness for chunky rainbow coloured South American knitwear, and over ten years ago now I bought a very chunky Fairisle patterned cardigan. I've hardly ever worn it though, because although it's big and chunky and hairy, it's quite loosely knitted, so while it's very hot indoors or in warm weather, it's not much use in the cold because the wind whistles through it.

Not any more though. While I was sorting through my wardrobe (another imaginative ploy to entertain my sister) last week, I found myself explaining to her how it needed lining, and suddenly had a brainwave - what if I got a zip-up fleece, the same size, and stitched it inside the cardigan. Then I promptly forgot about it until I was browsing in the charity shop, and found myself looking at fleeces, but none were right. Then I had my second brainwave (or realisation of the bleeding obvious) - I had a fleece in my wardrobe which might just be perfect. What's more, although it is a very expensive, good quality one, I hardly ever wear it because I dont like the shape. Or the colour, for that matter.

Well, guess what: it fitted perfectly. I turned it inside out before stitching it in, so not only does it look neater, but I have two handy zipped inside pockets. The finished article is not much heavier than the cardigan on its own, and wonderfully warm and cosy, and still big enough to get another jumper underneath - plus all the benefits of modern technological fabrics without the aesthetic downside.

Bring on the winter boating!

Big Boat Blogs

In advance of setting up the new blog for Chertsey, I've been looking around for other blogs by historic boat owners - particularly of course, big Grand Unions. Well, the good news seems to be that the majority of (if not all) old boat bloggers do indeed have a big G.U. of some sort; the bad news is that I could find hardly any at all.

I started with Granny Buttons' 'boatroll' where I found Oakley, which hasn't been updated for a while, and Barnet, which seems to have the most comprehensive blog at the moment. I'm sure there must be others, so please do tell me, and perhaps I'll have a special blogroll for them.

There are however quite a few former working boat websites. Some of these are small and personal, and might arguable be better as a blog? Liam has a website for his Midland and Coast Ariel, and the big Ricky Hagley, which used to have a blog (still there but not updated for three years) now has a website, which doesn't look to be updated very frequently either.

Some websites however are much more ambitious and a wonderful source of both information and pictures to drool over. The middle Northwich icebreaker Sickle has its own website, and its owner, Matt Parrott also runs the 'Working Boats' website which is regularly updated with the latest news of old boats still in circulation, loads of photos ancient and modern, and links to other websites.

Moving away from Grand Union boats, the Bream website has information and photos relating to 'Fish class' joshers. My favourite quick reference resource remains AMModels' lists, which are compiled from a number of sources and kept up to date by Andy, and also have some links to boats' own sites.

But these are all websites - frequently updated in many cases and a brilliant source of information and pictures. But that's not the same as a blog, which is a more personal detailing of the daily - OK, maybe weekly - ups and downs of a restoration or a trip, with passing thoughts too transient and trivial to be immortalised in a static web page but perfect as part of the here today, moved on tomorrow, journey that is a blog.

So I reckon that Chertsey will be THE very best big Woolwich restoration blog out there once it's launched (the blog that is, not the boat).

Unless of course you know different.

Retail madness (part 3)

Jim goes to B&Q to get some insulation wrap for extra protection on No. 1 Son's water pipes. Finds last remaining roll of said wrap. Takes it to checkout ans asks 'This hasn't got a price on it, how much is it please?'. Checkout boy scans it. 'Nineteen ninety nine'. Hmm, thinks Jim, that's a lot; I'd better check with Sarah. Sarah says 'Best get it now regardless; much coldness on the way and don't want the poor little chap's pipes freezing like they did last year'.

So Jim goes back to B&Q, collects roll of wrap and takes it to the checkout.

'Can't sell that' says the checkout boy.

'Why not? You've just told me it's £19.99; look, here is a crisp new £20 note that I wish to exchange for it'

'Nah, look, the packaging's damaged. Can't sell that'

'I'm not worried about that - of course, it would be great if you reduced it, but I'm happy to pay full price.'

'I can't sell it cos it's not on the system. It's been taken off the system to reduce the price. It'll go back on the system when the sale starts. I can sell it to you then'

'When's that?'

'After Christmas'

And thus it was that Jim took up the twenty pound note that he had been so willing to add to the coffers of Messrs Block and Quayle (for such were the names of the founders of the business), and took it to Homebase instead, where they sold him a nice roll of insulation that didn't even have any packaging to be damaged.

Cold

Too cold to get out of bed but I have to eventually. Horizontal's very good for thinking but a bit tricky when it comes to writing things down. Put off going into work because the radiator in my office doesn't go above tepid, and the rest of the building's colder still... all down to some clever piece of 1930s engineering whereby the boiler is in the basement of a building in the next square and the hot water has to be piped through two back gardens, with all the opportunity for cooling and mishap that affords, before it gets anywhere near me. So sitting at home with the heating on but got to go to work in a minute as I have a student to see (I hope she brings a warm coat) and then - ta-da! - the departmental festive party. I know in my heart this will mean wine like paintstripper in a plastic cup and Sodexho's second cheapest (aka deluxe) sandwich buffet, standing around awkwardly, and speeches about how well we've coped with a challenging year, but hope triumphs over experience and at least, hopefully, the room will be warm.

Fake fir

Every year since 1993, I have assiduously erected a real, live (well, dying) Christmas tree. When the children were small, collecting the tree was a ritual. We went to Harvest Forestry, in Brighton, where every year they created a sparkling, pine scented magical winter wonderland. We would select a tree - as big as we could fit into our high-ceilinged front room - and choose one or two special new decorations to be souvenirs of that particular year. It was always a traditional fir tree - the one with the needles that lacerate you before falling off.

We'd lash it to the roofrack, and bring it home. where of course it was dark and wet and cold as we sawed off the end and wrestled it into the Christmas tree holder. Then came the moment we'd unleash it from its netting (or, in the early days, string) and the ends of the branches would poke us in the eye.

Then the fun of decorating it would begin. First of all, draping an eight foot high porcupine with festive lights (tasteful white ones, natch), then fighting over whose turn it was to put the fairy on, and who got the consolation prize of the pixie (both c. 1963 vintage). All while listening to the CD of carols from St Pauls on constant repeat. Every year, I confess, I found it all rather stressful. In later years, Harvest Forestry's Christmas shop was no more, and we were reduced to buying a tree from B&Q. And by the time we wanted to get one, all the decent ones were gone, and there were a couple of years that involved driving around Sussex in ever-increasing circles in search of a last minute tree.

Then - I forget quite when or how - on impulse, in the post-Xmas sales, I bought a heavily reduced, executive quality, artificial tree. Of course, the children (then about 22 and 18) wouldn't hear of using it, as it is a well known fact that any deviation from fifteen year old ancient family tradition at Christmas will bring about the apocalypse. So it was banished to the forge and forgotten about.

Until my sister visited last week, and I tripped over it while looking for the Christmas cards. After the first evening of family tree fun, we were somewhat at a loss to entertain her, so I suggested that just for fun, we get this tree out and set it up. Neither of the boys was around to stop us, so that's what we did. We got the tree out, put it together, bent its branches into a highly convincing semblance of a spruce, and mounted it on the table in the window. We then decked it in tasteless red poinsettia lights and, when these didn't quite reach the bottom, added the set of coloured lights we remembered from our childhood (complete with Granada plug that must have been filched at some point from the rented TV). For once we didn't argue about the fairy (though Ali did ask, rather suspiciously, 'Is that her original skirt?').

And so by the time Baz got home, the tree was twinkling splendidly (if redly) through the window, and if he felt the chill of the passing of an era he didn't say so, and there the tree still sits, now with a few presents underneath it, and there, I think, it will stay. And there I think it will be next year too, and the year after, and the year after that. Because no one got frozen, or scratched, or had their eye poked out; no one had to drive from DIY superstore, to farm shop, to pub car park; and above all, come Twelth Night, we will not be drowning in a sea of needles that I will still be finding down the back of the sofa in July.

Faux fir - it's the future. For me, anyway.

Rivetting stuff

My sister has just been visiting, and she has spent the past few months working on our family tree. She brought it printed out on lots of A4 sheets and laid it out on the living room floor, and sellotaped it all together.... Then she packed it up and took it home with her again. Ah well.

After a couple of bottles of wine she also found me some census returns, including this one from 1901. Click on it to get the bigger version, then about half way down the page, at no. 136, William Hale - that's my great grandfather - a 'rivetter (iron) GWR', with 'boiler' added in pencil. I was very chuffed to discover this. Prior to this generation, the Hales had all been agricultural workers in the Devizes area. The story Ali has uncovered is that William's older brother initially walked twenty two miles to Swindon and got a job on the railway; William later followed him. Next but one down on the list is George William, my grandfather, who I had always understood to be the boilermaker. On this census he is working as a grocer's assistant, but he is only fourteen! On the 1911 census he is down as a 'plate worker' at the GWR wagon works, but Ali swears that she has seen him described as a boilermaker somewhere.

Anyway, great grandfather William the rivetter will do me for now.

Migrating

After a lot of consideration and soul searching, I did finally decide to set up a new blog for Chertsey. There's nothing on it yet, so I'll not give you the address. Suffice to say that it's not www.chertsey.blogspot.com, which had gone. Now, I fully expected it to have gone, given, I thought, that there must be lots of people in that lovely Thames side town (village? suburb?) who would want to set up a blog to recount their doings there. What I didn't expect was for it to have been taken by someone in Korea... go on, have a look if you like. The really weird thing is that they use the same layout as me - and it's really not a very commonly used one. (I'm thinking of doing a study of Granny Button's blogroll to see what other Blogger bloggers favour).

So, before very much happens with Chertsey, I intend to migrate all my blogging activities (including any on Warrior) to the new blog. It just seemed sensible, as most of the news over the next few years will most likely be concerned with Chertsey. Naturally I shall try to keep posting irrelevant bits and pieces too; all the sort of stuff you know and love (!) and hopefully even more... although somehow I feel a kind of duty to be more serious where there's a (nearly) seventy three year old big Woolwich concerned.

This is nbWarrior's 851st post. I had hoped to hit 1000 by the new year and swap over then, but my recent laziness has ruled this out. Still, it was only an arbitrary figure anyway. Eight hundred and fifty one posts isn't bad, is it, over, let me see, three years and eight months. Meanwhile, I'll get my virtual spanner and screwdriver out and start tinkering with my other account and hopefully have it all up and running in time for the next bit of Chertsey news.

Cat phrase book

Like you do, we were sitting around after dinner, trying to get the cat to get off the draining board, and the conversation turned to what a tourist cat phrase book might look like. We thought it might include the following phrases:

Please lick my bottom.

Please desist from licking my bottom.

Thank you.

Please provide a small piece of paper. I wish to sit down.

I have eaten some grass and am going to vomit.

This cream is cold. Please warm it for me.

Are the prawns organic?

I have been injured in a brawl. Kindly send for a veterinary surgeon.

No thank you, I do not take medicines orally.

Please feel free to add more.

Have a safe Christmas

Rather than forward this to all my friends, I thought I would post it here. I thought it was rather amusing. Thanks to John of CCNA.

The Rocking Song
Little Jesus, sweetly sleep, do not stir;
We will lend a coat of fur,
We will rock you, rock you, rock you,
We will rock you, rock you, rock you:

Fur is no longer appropriate wear for small infants, both due to risk of allergy to animal fur, and for ethical reasons. Therefore faux fur, a nice cellular blanket or perhaps micro-fleece material should be considered a suitable alternative.

Please note, only persons who have been subject to a Criminal Records Bureau check and have enhanced clearance will be permitted to rock baby Jesus. Persons must carry their CRB disclosure with them at all times and be prepared to provide three forms of identification before rocking commences.


Jingle Bells
Dashing through the snow
In a one horse open sleigh
O'er the fields we go
Laughing all the way

A risk assessment must be submitted before an open sleigh is considered safe for members of the public to travel on. The risk assessment must also consider whether it is appropriate to use only one horse for such a venture, particularly if passengers are of larger proportions. Please note, permission must be gained from landowners before entering their fields. To avoid offending those not participating in celebrations, we would request that laughter is moderate only and not loud enough to be considered a noise nuisance.


While Shepherds Watched
While shepherds watched
Their flocks by night
All seated on the ground
The angel of the Lord came down
And glory shone around

The union of Shepherd's has complained that it breaches health and safety regulations to insist that shepherds watch their flocks without appropriate seating arrangements being provided, therefore benches, stools and orthopaedic chairs are now available. Shepherds have also requested that due to the inclement weather conditions at this time of year that they should watch their flocks via cctv cameras from centrally heated shepherd observation huts.
Please note, the angel of the lord is reminded that before shining his / her glory all around she / he must ascertain that all shepherds have been issued with glasses capable of filtering out the harmful effects of UVA, UVB and Glory.


Little Donkey
Little donkey, little donkey on the dusty road
Got to keep on plodding onwards with your precious load

The RSPCA have issued strict guidelines with regard to how heavy a load that a donkey of small stature is permitted to carry, also included in the guidelines is guidance regarding how often to feed the donkey and how many rest breaks are required over a four hour plodding period. Please note that due to the increased risk of pollution from the dusty road, Mary and Joseph are required to wear face masks to prevent inhalation of any airborne particles. The donkey has expressed his discomfort at being labelled 'little' and would prefer just to be simply referred to as Mr. Donkey. To comment upon his height or lack thereof may be considered an infringement of his equine* rights.

*I have pointed out to the relevant authorities that in fact Mr. Donkey is not eligible, as a donkey, to file a complaint under the equine rights policy, but should instead couch his claim in terms of asinine rights, which are clearly far more appropriate to his case.

We Three Kings
We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain, moor and mountain
Following yonder star

Whilst the gift of gold is still considered acceptable - as it may be redeemed at a later date through such organisations as 'cash for gold' etc, gifts of frankincense and myrrh are not appropriate due to the potential risk of oils and fragrances causing allergic reactions. A suggested gift alternative would be to make a donation to a worthy cause in the recipients name or perhaps give a gift voucher.
We would not advise that the traversing kings rely on navigation by stars in order to reach their destinations and suggest the use of AA routefinder or satellite navigation, which will provide the quickest route and advice regarding fuel consumption. Please note as per the guidelines from the RSPCA for Mr Donkey, the camels carrying the three kings of Orient will require regular food and rest breaks. Facemasks for the three kings are also advisable due to the likelihood of dust from the camels hooves.


Rudolph the red nosed reindeer
Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it glows.

You are advised that under the Equal Opportunities for All policy, it is inappropriate for persons to make comment with regard to the ruddiness of any part of Mr. R. Reindeer. Further to this, exclusion of Mr R Reindeer from the Reindeer Games will be considered discriminatory and disciplinary action will be taken against those found guilty of this offence. A full investigation will be implemented and sanctions - including suspension on full pay - will be considered whilst this investigation takes place.