nb Warrior

I've moved

2010-01-01T09:39:00.002Z

Hello and welcome to the archived nbWarrior blog.

To read about my recent doings, please look at my new blog: www.chertsey130.blogspot.com

Here on nbWarrior you can read about all Sarah and Jim's adventures with Warrior, a 54' tug, with a 1937 National DM3 engine, built by John Shotbolt in 1996, from its purchase in 2005, through the complete rebuild of the engine, a lot of refitting to create the perfect boat, and on to our cruises of various parts of the canal system, the Thames, the Trent and the East Anglian waterways, and the Middle Levels where Warrior is moored.

Future cruises will take us to the BCN (hopefully this year), the Kennet and Avon, and back to the Pennines where we first cruised with Andante.

But a new adventure is beginning as well, a new chapter, and with it a new blog: Chertsey, chronicling the restoration and then, hopefully, the travels of my recently acquired 1937 Grand Union Large Woolwich motor boat.

I hope you enjoy it.

This is where we came in

2009-12-31T23:59:00.003Z

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

2009-12-31T17:20:00.006Z

2009 in pictures - July

2009-12-31T17:07:00.002Z

2009 in pictures - part 2

2009-12-31T16:53:00.002Z

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

2009-12-30T19:52:00.010Z

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?

2009-12-29T15:00:00.003Z

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

2009-12-28T18:24:00.001Z

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

2009-12-27T18:13:00.002Z

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!

2009-12-26T15:59:00.003Z

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

2009-12-25T12:07:00.002Z

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

2009-12-24T11:57:00.000Z

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

2009-12-23T10:21:00.000Z

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

2009-12-22T20:11:00.005Z

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.

2009-12-21T18:19:00.003Z

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

2009-12-20T19:57:00.002Z

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

2009-12-19T19:20:00.000Z

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

2009-12-18T17:51:00.000Z

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)

2009-12-17T13:25:00.002Z

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

2009-12-16T13:34:00.003Z

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

2009-12-14T14:06:00.003Z

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

2009-12-11T18:53:00.003Z

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

2009-12-07T17:00:00.003Z

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

2009-12-05T17:39:00.003Z

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

2009-12-04T20:11:00.002Z

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.

Erratum

2009-11-23T20:38:00.002Z

One of the things I was jolly excited about on Saturday was the opportunity to purchase a copy of the brand new edition of The George and the Mary, Alan Faulkner's history of the Grand Union company - obviously a subject dear to my heart. I already had a copy of the 1973 edition, for which I paid a very reasonable £12 - I subsequently heard of them changing hands for a great deal more. But the new edition, we were promised, would have more pages; extra photos, and new information. So I hurried over to the HNBOC shop table and bought their penultimate remaining copy for the even more reasonable price of £4.99 (bet it'll be more than that in the shops).

Now, I have been told by a very reliable authority, that the motor boat in the photo on page 22, unloading at Cotton End, was Chertsey (and that the butty was Staverton). I don't know how you could possibly tell this from the photo - as printed - alone, as no name or number is legible, but the livery certainly doesn't rule it out. No names are given in the caption though.

So obviously the first thing I did was turn to page 22 to see if it was still there, and it was (although I have to say that the quality of the reproduction of the photos in the new edition is vastly inferior to the old one), and this time the caption named the boats - but as Chiswick and Staverton. While I'm quite prepared to believe that the motor boat in the picture is Chiswick and not Chertsey, I have more a problem with the caption in its entirety: 'The motor boat STAVERTON and its butty CHISWICK....'

However, finding this and leaping upon it with such alacrity did put me in mind of this.

Tugs on the BCN

2009-11-22T19:07:00.003Z

For that was the title of the very informative illustrated talk I attended yesterday at Braunston Village Hall, courtesy of HNBOC and a chap called Martin O'Keeffe. It was very informative. Very very informative. I'm afraid my attention may have started to wonder towards the end of the first two hours, but after a cup of tea I was ready for the final session.

I did learn some interesting stuff, some of which I might even retain, and there were lots of lovely photos. For example, there was a family firm of boatbuilders called George Hale and Sons at (I think - see, memory's going already) Oldbury, from the 1870s to the 1960s, so I quickly texted my sister, who is in the process of compiling a family tree, to see if they could possibly be related to us. Sadly she replied that all our ancestors, that she had traced, were either railway or agricultural workers, from Swindon and the area around Devizes. My paternal grandfather was actually called George Hale, but he - I'm very proud to report - was a boilermaker for the Great Western Railway.

Before the talk we met up with Dave and Izzie at the George in Kilsby to try out their lunch menu. The landlady and staff were very pleasant and friendly and the food was sound, but not outstanding. The 'traditional pub food menu' at £4.90 was very good value - I had faggots with mash and mushy peas. I would quibble at faggots being cooked dry and served with separate gravy, but they were tasty enough and the portion was a good size. The 'main' menu on the other hand, and the desserts, were pretty expensive.

Then after the meeting - at which many exciting things (well, it's all relative) happened which I shall relate separately, a few of us retired to the Plough in Braunston High Street, where we would have had a nice relaxing few pints before heading home had it not been for the fact that in order to celebrate the eighth anniversary of taking over the pub, the entire staff and regulars ware dressed in clown outfits (apart from the fortune teller) and karaoke was threatened, so we made our excuses and left.

Weekly round up

2009-11-20T19:15:00.002Z

OK then, so much for 'I'm going to try to post every day in November'. It just gets worse and worse doesn't it. Truth to tell my heart sinks at the thought of trying to produce a post when nothing has been happening on the boating front, and there is nothing even boat related to report. There are plenty of things that I could comment on, but I don't seem to have the energy.

Still, there are a few things in the offing now. Tomorrow we are off to Braunston for a HNBOC meeting and illustrated talk on Tugs on the BCN - that I confess is not the primary attraction; rather it is the opportunity to meet and mix with other owners of ancient boats - other owners - for the first time since becoming one myself.

Next Saturday we are off to Bones's Banter in Thrupp, to which lots of other nice and interesting people who frequent CWF are also going.

Now you may wonder (although more likely not) why it is 'Bones's banter' and not simply 'Bones' banter'. Particularly as if it was someone called Jenkins, I would have written 'Jenkins' banter' and not 'Jenkins's etc.' The answer - and I love this as I do all similar arcanae - is that it is the rule of Oxford University Press. People whose names end in 's' get a possessive apostrophe and an additional 's' if their name has only one syllable, but just the apostrophe if they have more than one syllable.

Roses and Snowdrops

2009-11-13T15:09:00.004Z

It's lucky I was forewarned by my quick glance at Beer in the Evening last night. It would have been a bit surreal to come home from the boat to canal free East Sussex* and find myself in a pub surrounded with roses and castles paintings and bedecked with various pieces of not very traditional but nonetheless painted tinware. Very incongruous indeed, round these parts, and quite possibly entirely based on a close study of Rosie and Jim, whose effigies also featured prominently (never having made a close study of this oeuvre myself, I cannot say for sure). The place still lacks horse brasses and sepia prints of horse drawn boats, but it's early days yet.

So it was weird, but nonetheless sort of gratifying to see the canal theme taken on board by a distinctly non-canal (albeit riverside) pub. Anyway, enough of the sniffiness. The Harveys was absolutely excellent, and they had not only Best, but Bonfire Boy (hopefully presaging a regular feature of Harveys' monthly seasonal beer) and Old, plus Dark Star Hophead; and the food was very impressive too. All the main meals were around the eight pound mark which while not cheap, is OK for most of them, and very good value for the rump steak.

The place doesn't have the character it used to (though I was pleased to see that the giant bust of Plato is still lurking in the garden) but hey, you can't go back. And it did seem busy - anyone who serves good local beer and decent food deserves to succeed, even if their decor is a bit naff.

*Except for the little bit of the Royal Military Canal right out on the Kent border.

Off to the Snowdrop

2009-11-12T17:46:00.002Z

There used to be a fantastic pub in Lewes called the Snowdrop. We used to go there a lot. They did great veggie food, lovely beer, and a great ambiance, with an incredibly eclectic clientele in a very eccentric setting.

Then the landlords moved on and it went downhill for quite a few years, full of lager drinkers, which clearly didn't pay, as they had their electricity cut off and closed for a while.

However, they have reopened, and I have heard from two different people that it is great again, refurbished, and with a brilliant new chef and beer from not only Harveys but another local brewery too, Dark Star. So we decided to check it out tonight in honour of Number One Son's birthday. So far so exciting.

But then I looked it up on Beer in the Evening and it said:

The Snowdrop has just reopened after a major refurbishment. The interior is very well done in a ‘narrow boat’ style reflecting the building’s original use as a bargeman’s house.

So now I can't wait! I shall report back.

Keeping it in all night

2009-11-08T19:59:00.002Z

Apparently, this is the sort of stove you could have on a butty. If you had a butty, that is, which would be a tad greedy. It's too big for a motor boat, but those extra few inches in a butty back cabin make it quite feasible, I'm told. If rather warm. I was surprised when I looked in the butty cabin they've got in the London Canal Museum; it had a cast iron edifice in it that was more like a built in range.

Anyway, this one's in my kitchen. It's not a built in one (oooh, how I would love one of those with all their mysterious doors and trivets and things to hang the kettle on; I drool over them in salvage yards), hence its name, the Bell Portable Removable Oven. Presumably it meant you would take it with you from house to house, as an upwardly mobile Edwardian. I don't reckon it would be any great shakes for cooking as the over barely gets hot, but it does make the kitchen nice and cosy.

And I have finally mastered the art of keeping it in all night. On the latest Warrior jaunt I kept the French stove in nearly all week, and got it ticking over really slowly by using the thing at the top as well as the one at the bottom (now, once and for all, which is the damper and which is the drawer?). But the Belle doesn't have a thing at the bottom, the most basic control for regulating the air through the burning fuel. It has a thing in the chimney, which seems to control whether it goes straight up the chimney (fast and hot) or around the oven (slower), but nothing at the bottom, just an open fronted firebox with a little door that keeps the heat in or lets it out. So to get it burning slowly for the night, you have to plan ahead and let the ash build up to block the airflow from underneath. Hopefully I'm getting the hang of it now, as I last lit it on Friday morning and it's still going (though I have cheated and put a bit of wood on each morning before giving it a good riddling, just to be on the safe side). I don't know how you'd cope with one on a boat though; there's always ash everywhere. But I love it.

(Oh my goodness! You can get new ones. I want one I want one I want one)

PS Look, I got a teapot! A bit bigger than required, admittedly, but who knows, there may come a day when There's a whole gang of people in urgent need of a constant supply of tea. And it was only a fiver, in the pet shop cum antique emporium where we got the can and I'm still kicking myself for not buying the milk churn.....

Who do I shout at?

2009-11-05T12:24:00.002Z

I am seething with righteous indignation, and bang-your-head-on-the-wall-with-the-stupidity-of-it-all frustration.

I had read about such things, but thought they must have been a one-off over-enthusiastic interpretation of company policy. But no, it seems it is company policy.

Bear with me while I get this off my chest.

I have just been to Somerfield for a little bit of top-up shopping, taking no. 2 son (19 3/4) with me to help carry stuff. I was delighted to spot that a rather nice red wine was still on offer, so I added a bottle to the basket in anticipation of my friend Donna coming round. So all the shopping was put through and neatly packed, when the checkout guy gets to the wine, and says - to me, mind, not son - has he got ID? No, I said, it's my shopping. Doesn't matter, he said. If anyone with you looks under 25 (and that's bloody stupid in itself) we can't serve you without ID.

So I did what any sensible person would have done, tipped my bags back out onto the counter and walked out. Wish he had had his ID, then I would have shown it and then tipped my bags back out onto the counter and walked out.

I've tried without success to track down the actual policy, but it seems to suggest that if you have anyone with you who is under eighteen, even a toddler, they won't serve you. Where does this mindblowingly stupid and pointless policy come from? The law hasn't changed; it's just companies wringing their hands and trying to look as if they're doing something about 'binge drinking'. So no. 2 son could go with his ID and buy 24 cans of cut price Stella, but I can't buy a bottle of half decent wine.

It is in fact perfectly legal for me to give a child over five alcohol in my own home, should I wish to, but the supermarket powers that be have decided that they know better than the law and will not allow the slightest possibility that this might happen. Of course, if I was buying alcohol on behalf of someone who was under age, they'd keep out of sight, wouldn't they? So the policy achieves nothing; it is completely and utterly just for show.

Once one supermarket adopts such a stupid policy, then surely they all will, because no one wants to look 'soft' on under age drinking. As an aside, I think this will only worsen the problem of public drunkenness among the marginally-over eighteens, who don't get the chance to learn to drink responsibly in the company of adults an an impressionable age.

So if I want to buy a bottle of wine, or a few bottles of beer, I have to go on my own, as if it were almost something shameful, and without a willing sprog to help carry the bags, make a special trip separate from the main shopping.

And worst of all - as I already said - this is not some change in the law; it is not the law at all (which in itself is pretty sensible). It is the supermarkets (ab)using their own immense market power to pre-empt the law; to regulate the behaviour of their customers; to set themselves up as being able to improve upon the law.

If they really cared about underage drinking or excessive drinking, they could just stop selling alcohol. But they won't do that all the time half price lager draws in the eighteen year olds and the piss heads. Instead they look as if they're doing something by stigmatising the purchase of a bottle of wine.

Reports from the Nene

2009-11-03T20:05:00.002Z

I guess I should give an update on Jim's progress. He is currently still at Irthlingborough, having made it through Billing before the cutoff point which was yesterday, and has been able to afford to sit out the bad weather of the last couple of days. He's also between crew members, but I gather that PJ (that is Steve who had the National D3 that he was rebuilding until he found himself an ideal boat complete with engine) is joining him tomorrow via a complicated arrangement of car and boat movements in conjunction with some Canadians who do things with fruit flies in Moomin's basement. Well, I think I got that right.

Jim is whiling away some of the time tussling with the gearbox. Now, this I am having some trouble grasping, but it is something to do with various bits of play along the linkage finally having added up to too much so that it is now hard to maintain the necessary thrust to keep it in gear. Little niggles over time - the broken connection of the vertical rod into the shift bit; the replacement of a vital spring - have added up into a nuggle (as in many a mickle makes a muckle) and the upshot seems to be that it's hard to go forwards slowly or backwards at all. (See! I said it didn't bloody reverse and I was right). Jim was even on the phone to Allister at RN this morning (who put him onto the vital nature of this spring), so when I heard this I was starting to worry. However, I just spoke to Jim and he seems confident that he'll make it back to Bill Fen, albeit without going slowly. Basically, the gearbox seems to have reverted to what it was like when we first got Warrior - but at least we're better at steering now!

Witching hour

2009-11-02T22:25:00.004Z

Saturday saw my long-awaited stint as a Tarporley witch. Hallowe'en is CCNA's biggest fundraiser of the year, running trips through Islington tunnel which we have previously hung with ghosts, ghouls and strange purple and green inflatable spiders (deflated). Small children come along dressed up for the occasion and we show them a good time. Or what passes for one when you're seven, i.e. lots of screaming and a fun size Curly Wurly.

Such an event is it, that as well as Tarporley, we bring in the Pirate Club's boat - currently Pride of Sandwell, and Angel. Having donned my witchy gear (I thought it was pretty good, although it relied on my natural witch like looks rather than any green face paint, yuck, plus I thought a hat might be somewhat impractical) I was not best pleased to be allocated to Pride of Sandwell. It is, after all, a semi-trad, even if it does have a wheelchair lift. On top of which it had been very enthusiastically kitted out with all the battery operated howling devices and singing skeletons I could ever wish to avoid. This was also not really the point to recall that I'd skimmed over the bit on the volunteer application form where it said 'must like children'.

Things improved after that. Having mutinied from Pride of Sandwell (someone with a much greener face had arrived and I gleefully handed over), the least I could do was volunteer to steer Tarporley on the next trip... overlooking the fact that by the time we set off it would be dark. This prospect filled me with some trepidation but it actually went without a hitch and was a brilliant experience. I even managed to wind rather beautifully, even if I do say so myself. Then I did a stint as Tarporley's witch in residence for some rather sweet children, and finished the evening with a sunny disposition once more.

Before heading home I visited the Canal Museum's bookshop and added John Thorpe's Windlass in my Belt to my collection, and a few multi-purpose greetings cards. The IWA do lovely Christmas cards, but why oh why won't they produce blank ones for birthdays, weddings etc. Who wouldn't want to receive a Deepest Sympathy card with a watercolour of an old narrow boat on it? Bound to make you feel better.

Nice clean bottom

2009-11-01T21:13:00.003Z

Here at last is Warrior's bottom. It was a dodgy USB lead that was the problem I think, with getting the phone to talk to the computer.

Obviously, this is actually Warrior's bottom before it was cleaned and reblacked, but I somehow omitted to take any photos after. We got the blacking done surprisingly fast really, within a couple of days. It had the rest of the week to dry before we were craned back in a week ago today - with some degree of urgency, as Jim was anxious to be off in order to have the best possible chance of getting through Billing lock before the closure. As it turned out, we were waiting until lunchtime for Richard to arrive, but it all turned out for the best. He and Jim had a great run and good weather and Jim was through Billing yesterday morning with two days to spare. At some point Richard was relieved by Moominpapa, who has also now done his stint. As of lunchtime today Jim was at Irthlingborough having bidden farewell to Moomin and awaiting the arrival of PJ. So far it all seems to have gone like clockwork (touches wood).

Going to try to post every day this month. And then it'll be advent calendar time again! Where does the time go?

Baz blogs (again)

2009-10-28T12:01:00.002Z

I don't like to show off, but it has to be said that No.2 Son is strange, in a good way. I think. One of the manifestations of his strangeness is the stories he writes (longhand, using a glass dip pen. On the train). Stories full of things and feelings that surely even a nineteen year old shouldn't know, let alone the fifteen year old he was when he started. He was looking for a way to get his stories out to a wider audience so I suggested he resurrect his abandoned blog (for the second time). And this time, as an act of faith, I will link to it. So you can all nag him to keep posting.

(No) Very unexciting picture

2009-10-20T17:35:00.003Z

I sort of have the idea at the back of my mind that if I don't have a picture at least every few posts, people will start thinking, boring, no pictures, and stop reading. So I shall waste another megabyte of my picture upload allowance with a very boring picture. Here is Warrior as we found it on Sunday, out of the water and all dried off.(Actually, it isn't, because my phone, on which the pictures reside, is starting to refuse to acknowledge when I stick a USB lead into it. I think it may be a faulty lead, but the phone is a bit highly strung so I can't be sure. This is partly why I can't always get on line and post with the baby computer) A touch of green, but - hooray - no rust; no flaking off blacking, just the old blacking with some green stuff and mysterious deposits on it. I am more than happy to take the credit for this, as Jim's memory has confirmed what I can hardly believe - that the five coats of comastic applied in 2006 were done singlehandedly by me. So we are very happy to use comastic again (Rylards vinyl tar to be precise) and there was a nearly full 20 litre tin waiting for us.

Another DIY blacker had hired a pressure washer so Jim set to straight away with that, and a wallpaper scraper, to get the green weed and mysterious stuff off. We had completely forgotton about the anodes, until we saw them. They are well worn, but should have another year's life in them, so we are adding another set in the hope of not getting Warrior out for another four years. I have my doubts about anodes, to be honest; it smacks of voodoo to me. If they're doing what they're meant to (and I'm sure Moomin will explain this to me on Sunday, with diagrams), why isn't the prop covered in magnesium? Also, they make the paint come off in their immediate vicinity. I find this rather disturbing. But anyway, anodes we had to have, so yesterday, after putting the first coat on, we set off to Limekiln Chandlery in Wolverhampton, where we had been recommended that they were cheaper than Midland Chandlers. Never one to turn down the opportunity to visit a new chandlers anyway, I grasped the opportunity. At £36.25 each for the biggest ones, I think they were a good price, but I can't honestly remember what they are elsewhere. It was a nice shop and the man behind the counter was very helpful and obliging. There was a very nice brass drawer handle on display that I wanted for Chertsey, but there were none in the box - without demur, the man unscrewed the one from the display, and threw in the screws too. The brassware was very reasonably priced as well.

While Jim was washing the hull, I swept the chimney for the French stove in the saloon - for the first time. Thanks to its marvellous design this was a straightforward task. I was glad that I hadn't bought a special chimney brush, as the one I had worked really well. This was sold for cleaning behind radiators, and is like a big bottlebrush on a flexible handle. I bought it for the purpose of sweeping the top of the oven in the back cabin stove, but it was useless for this. However, the bottlebrush bit can be bent into a circle or spiral of exactly the right size foe any chimney, so by attacking it from the top and the bottom (there is a nifty access point in the bottom of the pipe)I was able to remove a good ash drawer full of soot. I lit the fire on Sunday evening and kept it in until this morning - could have kept it going even then, but for a misjudgement on my part. I've even been able to start closing the damper a bit to help it stay in. What a marvellous stove it has turned out to be. I also swept the chimney of the back cabin stove, but as you may recall, the soot and bits from that land on top of the oven lining from where they are very difficult to remove. I quite fancied poking the hoover tube down the chimney, but it has a long rigid straight bit attached to it that won't go round the bends, and that I couldn't get off without breaking it. Another hoover, perhaps.

So, we got it washed off on Sunday, first coat on on Monday, and second coat mostly completed this morning before. a. it rained, and b. I had to go to work. And that was the 20 litre (not quite full) tin all used up. We reckon we've put it on so thickly that, coupled with what's already on there, that should be enough. It's now got until Sunday to dry out while we busy ourselves with other little tasks, and a visit from the Moomins and from Bill and Michelle.

Meanwhile, I go back tonight to Stafford (lucky Euston is so handy for my office - it's quicker to get here from there than from home, albeit more expensive)with a big pile of marking and a glimpse of that other world out there.

Is it that time again?

2009-10-17T20:09:00.002Z

It must be. We ore off tomorrow to black Warrior. It doesn't seem like a year ago that we last did it; in fact it is nearly three and a half! So it should be long overdue. However, the boat was craned out yesterday and apparently is looking in good shape, so hopefully our task will not be harder than it needs to be. This will be our first experience of preparing for blacking withh a pressure washer - previously on Warrior and Andante it had followed shotblasting. So that will be an interesting and wet experience. We then have to black it in the cold - last time we did it was a very hot June, so I'm not sure how differently the comastic will behave. Also I'm wondering how easy it will be to get the surface dry without the warm sunshine. We shall find out the answers to these questions and more over the next week, and I will take advantage of my new Twitter-readiness to keep the waiting world posted.

Warrior will be going back in the water next Sunday, and leaving immediately in Jim's race against time to get through Billing Lock before it shuts for a month on November 2nd. To aid him in this mission he has recruited a crack team of CWFers, including rjasmith, Moominpapa and PJ. Hooray for CWF!

Tweet!

2009-10-16T15:13:00.003Z

The eagle eyed amongst you will have noticed a new widget adjacent to this post. Yes, I have joined the ranks of the Twitterati. I was inspired to do this when reading Mike's blog - even when he wasn't posting for a while, there were Twitter updates of his boaty doings. I guess Mike might Twitter for its own sake; not so me. It is purely and simply for posting quick updates to the blog when I haven't got the time, the energy, the technology or the signal to do a proper post. So don't be insulted if I don't follow you on Twitter - I won't be following anyone. I see I have a few followers already - granted, some are spam, but others are from amongst your number, dear readers. I guess that if you read this via a feed, that will ensure that you don't miss the mini-twitterings either. But if you read the blog in its full fat red blooded version, then you really have no need.

How wonderful it is though, to be able to just thumb off a quick text (is that a verb? It is now) and see it magically appear on the screen a few seconds later. I do like texting. I read another article the other day about how when it was first introduced, people thought SMS would never catch on - but whyever not? It's so much better than phoning - neat, concise, and doesn't interrupt anyone's day. You can send people photos! It's like magic. Truly, if you had told me when I was fifteen that such things would be possible, I would have fainted in delighted amazement. Young people today, they don't know they're born.

Don't trust Waterscape

2009-10-15T08:54:00.002Z

On the Waterscape stoppages page it says:

Plan your cruising with our regularly updated listings of stoppages and restrictions.

Occasionally, canals, rivers and towpaths are closed for maintenance work. We list all stoppages on British Waterways and Environment Agency navigations as soon as they are notified to us, but emergency work may cause sudden closures.

So naturally I checked this page before we made our plans to black Warrior next week before heading back to Bill Fen.

I selected 'River Nene' and 'stoppages' and put in the dates 25th October to 10th November, and I got this result (which is what is still coming up as of this morning):

Stoppages Results

There are no stoppages reported at this time

Hooray. We can get the blacking done at Stretton, and get back to Bill Fen before any stoppages affect us (there are some on the canal system, but not until mid November). So Jim arranged to get Warrior craned out, and back in again a week later, and to hire a pressure washer, and to get tins of blacking, and we were all set to go up on Sunday, when yesterday I got an email from Lyn at Bill Fen asking has I seen the EA stoppage list for the Nene which she kindly attached, and it said this:

ENVIRONMENT AGENCY

ANGLIAN REGION

NAVIGATION CLOSURE NOTICE

Section 15 Anglian Water Authority Act 1977

RIVER NENE

DATE OF ISSUE 1 October 2009

LOCATION Various River Nene Locks (see below)

TYPE OF RESTRICTION Navigation Closure

DURATION Billing Monday 2/11/09 to Sunday 29/11/09

This makes rather a big difference and looks like it will now mean a complete change of plan. Thanks to Lyn the information arrived just in time to stop us getting stuck.

So Waterscape claim to list all stoppages on BW and EA navigations as soon as they are notified to them, yet, on October 16th are still not showing stoppages announced by the EA on October 1st.

It would surely be better not to have stoppages search page on the website at all, than to have one promulgating misinformation.

Endorsement

2009-10-14T11:45:00.002Z

When I gatecrashed the Political Studies Association Annual Dinner last spring, I found myself sitting next to an affable chap who introduced himself (in best 19th century novel fashion) as M____ W_______ - J____ . This name was vaguely familiar to me, and he must have taken pity on me as he saw me struggle to place it. 'I gave the quote that was used on the dust cover of your last book', he continued. Mind you, I must confess that I can't have read the dust jacket that closely, as the other week I couldn't even remember the title of the book; I had to look it up on Amazon (having lent out my last remaining gratis copy to (stops to affect casual throwaway tone) the head of the government's Civil Renewal Unit).

But (and all apologies to Dr - or is it Professor - W_______ - J____ ), I have today received the endorsement to end all endorsements, which is now proudly displayed on the masthead. Granny Buttons says nbWarrior is on his 'must-read list' and that my 'posts are always informative as well as entertaining'. I think always might be putting it a bit strong, but hey, I'm not going to argue with the capo di capo of waterways bloggers. Naturally this inspires me to ever greater efforts. In the meantime, however, I shall just sit back and watch the ratings soar...

Holiday album 5: River Trent Part 1 - Trent Lock to West Stockwith

2009-10-11T21:02:00.002Z

Marathon uploading session tonight; lots of photos from these four days that seemed worth putting in the album. With the passage of time, I can't quire recall some of the details... surely that unidentified enormous lock must be Cromwell Lock, gateway to the tidal Trent? Any details filled in gratefully received.

The first four (well, two and two halves) days on the Trent were full of surprising interest, and the unexpected, like the Beeston Cut and the glories of Newark. See it here.

Holiday album 4: Erewash Canal

2009-10-10T20:30:00.002Z

Two whole months after the event, I present to you... our five days on the Erewash Canal. In a holiday of contrasts, this provided my fix of Victorian (and Edwardian) industrial architecture and glorious dereliction, with its plethora of lace- and other textile mills. I'd never really given the word lacemill any thought before. Nice word, isn't it. The one that has been converted into the award winning flats was still producing lace into the 1990s. So, a little taste of the Erewash here.

Enamelware

2009-10-09T20:56:00.002Z

This is apropos of nothing, really, but I realise that it's been a while since I last posted, and there's no excuse, really, other than things are hotting up a bit at work; I've got plenty of photos and things to write about.

And today I am going to write about enamel; more specifically, domestic enamelware. I've always has a bit of a soft spot for it; its simplicity, unchangingness and evocation of another age. Also I think I just like it. I have been very pleased to see that Southern Railways have either gone back to, or are still, using enamel for their signs at stations (even if the usefulness of the signs themselves leaves something to be desired).

Anyway, I have a lovely brown enamel kettle for Chertsey, and I shall not rest until I have found an enamel teapot too (not hard, in fact, thanks to the nostalgie de boue retro-boom; I just have to select one) even though I shall probably never use it and they're not very practical anyway.

But at the Black Country Museum the other week I saw something I'd never seen or heard of before - two examples, in fact. See in the photo, that red and white tile effect on the floor under the fender - that's enamel. It's genius; it's gorgeous and I want one.

Market halls

2009-10-03T15:58:00.003Z

I was casually browsing Nothing To See Here just now, and found this wonderful account of Sheffield's Castle Market, due for demolition, which will probably be gone before I get to set foot in that legendary city. There are dozens of photos, and every one worth a look. Looking at them, I feel I just must visit, before it disappears. There is something so poignant about the decay of 1950s and 60s optimism which places like this represent.

And yet, according to the NTSH account, it is not by any means all decay and decline. Certainly there is a distinct lack of modern glitz, the superficial flim-flam of the 21st century. But the market is well used, apparently, particularly so in the recession - but by the poor and the working class - not the sort of people any local authority wants as part of the image of a world class city which they are all meant to aspire to now. What the fuck does 'world class' mean, anyway? I don't know; no one knows, but they all want to be it.

I love market halls. Brought up a southerner, I knew nothing of them. The Queensgate Market in Huddersfield was my introduction to the species - a radical construction of concrete parabolas which achieved listed status while I was there in the teeth of those who believe that anything concrete should be pulled down or blown up ASAP. And what a place it was - everything you could possibly desire under one roof, from continental delicatessen to oversized thermal undergarments; from broken biscuits to old fashioned hardware (and enamel teapots, of course), from Nehru jackets to coffee in the Tudor style coffee shop with genuine polystyrene oak beams; each packed into a tiny open fronted retail unit. Where else would I have got a giant sink plunger for Andante's toilet; a hot steak slice for 74p, yards of cotton lace, and those rubber spouts you put on the taps...

The very beauty of these places is their utilitarian nature; their lack of image. They're there to sell you stuff you need, not to persuade you into wanting stuff you don't with oh-so-tasteful displays of twigs, pot pourri scents and Farrow and Ball green paint. They don't need to be fashionable or trendy, because they serve a purpose and provide a genuine service. Ironically, when many of them were built in the brave new world of the 50s and 60s they were cutting edge, the modern alternative to outdoor markets and Victorian buildings, But the fact that they haven't evolved since then speaks volumes about what we must now call their 'fitness for purpose'. But is the fact that they work enough? Can such a phenomenon survive in a world where more than ever style is elevated over substance, and nothing exists unless it has a 'brand' and an image?

Some people say the north of England is better than the south because the people are friendlier, or because the scenery is better. Both are likely true. But if you asked me the one thing that makes the north great, it's market halls.

Now we're cooking with... paraffin

2009-10-02T18:38:00.004Z

Flushed with the success of our jumble sale Tilley lamp (a 246B, as it turns out) and with the guidance of a CWF-er, we purchased another one (a Vapalux - don't you just love those names) from an army surplus website. Then we found the nice brass one in the Brewood antique shop, so we now have three. The old new one needs a new set of washers, so we rang up the wonderfully helpful lady at Tilley International, in Guildford, and established that this one is a 246A, and its washers are winging their way to us.

So excited were we by the previously unguessed-at qualities of pressurised paraffin, I started looking into the possibility of finding a Primus stove. What I did find was a world of paraffin websites and even a forum... and many of them were selling - or talking about - the Monitor Wickless Paraffin Stove. So I sent off for one from Parafinalia (because they were the cheapest, plus you have to love the name), and it duly arrived. And this is the wonderful thing - it was manufactured (in Birmingham) and packed, all wrapped in brown paper and corrugated card - in 1956, and untouched since then until I unpacked it and put it together in all its shiny brassy glory.

Now those of you who know me will be truly astounded that I am prepared to even stay in the same room as something which is not only full of flammable liquid, but on fire and pressurised to boot, because all my life I have been the most enormous coward about such things. But I now embrace them with the zeal of the convert. Pass the meths....

The first couple of times we tried to light the Monitor ended in failure, and plumes of sooty yellow flames. But this was because we had been too cowardly, and tried to light it outdoors, where the draught blew the meths flame about and stopped the vaporiser preheating properly. Once we took it inside (wet tea towel at the ready, admittedly) it lit perfectly first time, and has done now four times in a row. You can tell when it's lit because it makes the most fantastic jet engine noise (just as well as the flame is nearly invisible and it gets bloody hot), and when you look up underneath it it looks like the burner on a hot air balloon, a jagged jet of flame suspended in mid air. (You can tell I've taken to this in a big way, can't you).

And what's more, it works. I've made tea on the kitchen table with the new enamel kettle, and this morning Baz made fried eggs and fried bread. We even started experimenting with altering the flame, which is done just by adjusting the pressure. Paraffin - its the future!

More retail therapy

2009-09-30T20:41:00.003Z

I know it's shallow and girly and I should be out there getting oil under my fingernails, but one of the nice things about having a boat is playing house. As a child, I wanted to live in a gypsy caravan (all to my self, naturally) - but that was only because I'd never seen a narrow boat back cabin. As soon as I first saw one, I was smitten by its cosy efficiency; its defiant clutter, its sheer me-sizedness. So kitting out Chertsey's back cabin will be an adult sized, childish pleasure.

Now, I thought that the easiest thing in the world would be finding some suitable crockery. Odds and ends of mismatched china from the forties or fifties (because on Chertsey it is always 1956, I have decided, unless I later discover something - for example, about when the engine was put in - to make me revise this). I had vast collections of such china, thirties too, lovingly, madly, collected at jumble sales over the past twenty years, which would have been perfect, and only just got rid of it all. So, I thought, there must be loads of it about, waiting to be picked up for pennies.

So we set off to Lewes, to hit the junk shops/antiques emporia, and.... nothing. Just nothing. Older stuff; newer stuff; but nothing from those three decades - at least nothing with dinner plates and/or at a sensible price and very little at a stupid price. Eventually I found a really good set of Doulton 'Frost Pine' which I really rather liked, but Jim thought it was a bit too late. He researched it when we got home and it was in production from 1956 - 64, which does make it a bit late really, and also, with hindsight, it was rather too good and delicate for boating. What I really want is some good old thick institutional white china. I think I will end up buying new.

We also had no luck finding enamel teapots, tea/sugar/biscuit jars, brass handles, &c. We did however get a (new) enamel bucket.

And, unexpectedly, a couple of rather good prizes: a lovely bit of lace (I don't want too much, but a little bit can't hurt) and eight of those brass things for putting on the chimney chain. In the antiques place where we found them they were marked as 'horse brass spacers' - I must confess I had never really given a thought to their intended purpose, and nor had I ever seen any outside of a boating context. Anyway, just as we were leaving, I saw a set of four, very beaten and bashed about, marked at £20. As they were so battered, Jim offered a tenner for them, at which point the shopkeeper produced another four - the much nicer ones - marked at four quid each. So I was happy to take those at that price and we got the other four for £10 into the bargain so I am now very well provisioned with regard to my chimney chain. Given that they were selling for upwards of fifteen quid apiece at Braunston, I was pleased with the day's shopping, even if we still have nothing to eat off; at least there will be plenty to polish.

In the engine 'ole

2009-09-29T20:07:00.004Z

OK, we know the engine's seized. But other than that, it really couldn't look better... Chertsey's engine room is notable for being clean and tidy and dry, and the engine, on the face of it looks likewise.

So here it is, a Petter PD2, as installed by British Waterways in the 1950s to replace the aging (all of 20 years!) Nationals in the former Grand Union boats. I know very little about these engines, but have pieced together that they quite quickly seem to have fallen out of favour, but that for the many of the boat lovers who formed their attachments in the sixties, they represent the quintessential sound of commercial narrow boats. It all looks very streamlined, and fifties-modern.

I have, very very briefly, steered a boat with a PD2 (Lancing), although not for long enough to form any opinion whatsoever of it. I seem to recall that it was loud, so that's good.

As far as we can tell from looking, Chertsey's engine is clean and well cared for, up to the point where it was sadly but inevitably neglected when the former owner became ill. Hopefully we have made a start towards freeing it up by pouring oil and diesel down the bores. If this is successful, we'll probably have it rebuilt (at vastly less expense, I understand, than doing a National...), and if not, there is another, already rebuilt PD2, that we should be able to buy. So either way it'll be good to stick with the Petter - after all, we've already got a National.

The gearbox is a Parsons, with a separate reduction box, which will be a new experience for me.

The electrics are neat and simple. There's no alternator, but there is a dynamo sitting on the floor...

You'll have seen from the back cabin photo that there's no door in the bulkhead between the engine room and the cabin. I'm sure having a door there has more pros than cons (and they must have started adding them fairly early, because although I haven't checked, I'm pretty sure there's a reference to one in Idle Women) but I'm not about to start chopping it about now. So I shall manage without through ventilation when it's stuffy, engine warmth when it's not, easy access to the toilet and the reassuring smell of diesel to get me off to sleep.

The best day's boating ever

2009-09-28T20:05:00.003Z

Last Thursday will certainly take some beating. We set our alarm for five, me, Jim and Aaron (No. 1 Son), to be ready to leave at six thirty. The plan was to go with Keith on his large Woolwich Hampstead to Dimmingsdale, and tow Chertsey back to Stretton after loading up with the various engine parts and gear that came as part of the sale. We decided that we could do it in a day, provided there were no hitches.

So, it was about quarter to seven when we set off, and the sun was up as we crossed the aqueduct at Stretton, the stove providing plentiful atmospheric yellow smoke and some welcome warmth. I got my first opportunity to steer Hampstead and what a pleasure it was. By nine fifteen we were at Autherley Junction, and once through the stop lock, turned right onto a part of the Staffs and Worcs where I had never been before, making our way through the outskirts of Wolverhampton. Four locks and a couple more hours later, we arrived at Dimmingsdale (about 11.30) and turned into the arm. The first task was to pull Chertsey out onto the canal, to make it easier to load the various bits, which were nearer the canal bank than Chertsey's temporary mooring. This was done with Hampstead going backwards, tied T-stud to T-stud. Unfortunately I was on the bank and the camera was on the boat, so this was not recorded for posterity.

Then we got the boats pointing the same way and breasted them up just by the bridge while Jim, Aaron, Keith and Tony manfully loaded the spare engines etc onto the pallets we'd brought with us and some hastily arranged shuts. The mast, stands, cross planks, deck board and side pieces were carefully added, and we were ready to set off again, after a quick cup of tea. Back through Wolverhampton Aaron and Jim made bacon rolls while I just kept looking back behind Hampstead and marvelling at what I saw following us; this immense, dignified, graceful but imposing presence, which, when we slowed down, nudged up to us like a friendly dog. Could it really, really, be mine?

As we came to the locks, Aaron came into his own, despite having succumbed to a cold at some point in the previous couple of days. Pretty much a novice - his only previous boating experience had been helping us with Andante for a few days on the Huddersfield - he is a complete natural, and never happier than when he's got something to do. So at each lock we untied the cross straps (we'd not quite got round to splicing them properly, mainly because none of us could quite remember how to splice, but I really really will learn soon) and took Hampstead through, the Aaron pulled Chertsey as far as possible, getting up some momentum, and then got onto the cabin top and pushed the rest of the way in against the bridge. Then once Chertsey was through the cross straps were reattached to the waiting Hampstead and on we went to the next one. I must say the people behind us (I never caught the name of their boat) were wonderful and never expressed the slightest impatience at waiting for us to do this at each lock.

Anyway, it wasn't long before we were back at Autherley, and on the last, lockless, leg, and with me steering, going rather more slowly. I didn't relinquish the tiller, however, until it started to get dark; I was enjoying it so much. We finally crossed the aqueduct (aghast at the behaviour of the drivers on the A5 below) and tied up at half past seven, before retiring to Warrior for several very well deserved bottles of beer. The entire day had gone without a hitch; the weather was perfect; the stove was warm, everyone we met was nice. I steered a big Woolwich, towing another big Woolwich, through numerous bridges far narrower than any I've ever taken a big boat through before, with barely a touch at any of them. Now that might not be your idea of heaven, but it comes pretty damn close to being mine.

The whole story in pictures here.

First night

2009-09-26T19:49:00.004Z

Sorry to have been a tease on Thursday. It was a long day, and I was too knackered to post but the briefest little note, and the signal here is very poor so I didn't dare try a photo. But it was wonderful, everything went without a hitch, and Chertsey is now safely at Stretton. I'll write up a full account of the day, with pictures, once I get home. The plan is to go home on Monday, as tomorrow we are going to go to the Black Country Museum, which we have so far not visited, and this is the weekend of the working boat gathering there, which seems an opportunity not to be missed. So I shall have lots to write about when I do get back to a decent internet connection.

But tonight, I am spending my first night on Chertsey. I have given the cabin a good clean (not too hard as Dave and Izzy had already done a fantastic job) and sort out, picking out the treasures (brass screws and, ahem, gun oil) from the chaff (e.g. a gallon paint tin FULL of rusty screws). Jim spent part of today scooping all the mud out of the hold - mostly made of rotten leaves, I think - so that now it can finally dry out completely. I know I'm telling all this in the wrong order; yesterday we arranged all the engine bits etc on pallets at the front end (the water runs to the back) and covered them up with a tarpaulin, having decidet this would probably work better than trying to cover the whole hold - although we have put the mast, cross planks and stands in and very handsome it looks. So the hold is now all clean and dry too. The engine room was never really anything but clean and dry - but that will have to be another story.

So, back to tonight, here I sit by the light of the Tilley lamp, which I successfully lit at the first attempt tonight, sitting on my new mattress, with a fitting home at last for my crocheted blanket and 50s bedspread. And today in the wonderful antique shop in Brewood we found another Tilley lamp, an older, all brass one, which we bought with confidence knowing that we will be able to get any necessary spares.

So, shortly I shall turn out the lamp, and tuck myself under my blankets, and bid you goodnight.

Today was...

2009-09-24T22:00:00.000Z

The best day's boating. Ever.

Back on the move again

2009-09-23T19:28:00.003Z

The holiday albums are briefly interrupted while something real actually happens.... Yesterday I met up with Mike who was steering Lapwing in Little Venice, and we went and had a drink and something to eat in the Warwick Castle. I was pleased to see that their recent 'facelift' (as they put it) is indeed an improvement and has done nothing to spoil the effect and the atmosphere in there. The menu seems to have got a little more adventurous, and a bit more expensive to go with it, but it was still very nice nonetheless.

And tonight, here we are, back again, at Stretton, for tomorrow - at six a.m. - we set off in Hampstead to collect Chertsey. No. 1 son, Aaron, has come with us, and earlier - after persuading him to assuage his boredom by walking into Brewood - we all went off for a little run in Warrior, to Wheaton Aston and back, so that Aaron can have boat lessons (not that he needs any in steering, grrr), in anticipation of the day when he will be holidaying en famille on the boat.

So, finger crossed that all goes smoothly tomorrow.

Holiday album 3: Soar

2009-09-21T19:05:00.002Z

Here we are, the third instalment, featuring the not very greatly loved Soar Navigation, on August 7th and 8th. I think it wasn't enjoyed partly because of the tension inherent in navigating a river in flood. Looking back at the photos, there certainly seems to have been a lot of interest. I particularly fondly recall the episode when, as we approached an enormous structure spanning the waterway, Jim shouted to me on the front, 'Where's the channel?'. I indicated, round to the right - quite a sharp blind turn, as it happened. 'On the right hand side?', he tried to clarify, as we got closer and closer to the structure... then I twigged. 'No', I shouted back, 'That's not a bridge, that's the bloody weir!' No boom; no signs, and the first big weir of the Soar. That sort of tension.

Holiday album 2: Leicester Line

2009-09-20T16:49:00.003Z

Hooray! I have managed to put the photos in the right order. Here is the second instalment of pics from the August trip, Watford Locks to Foxton Locks. If you think that's a lot, you should see the ones I left out. Took nearly a thousand in total. Madness.

Holiday album 1: Grand Union

2009-09-19T21:53:00.002Z

I've just started uploading the holiday photos. This year I thought I'd divide them up roughly by waterway, so here, to start with, are the first three days, on the Grand Union main line from Cowroast to Norton Junction. I think Photobucket might have mixed up the order, somehow, unless I'm either very confused or we went through Blisworth Tunnel backwards, which I'm pretty sure we didn't. Possibly the former, then.

Anyway, here they are: the first leg.

Lamplight

2009-09-16T20:03:00.002Z

The new mantles which I ordered from Tilley International (the woman on the phone was ever so nice) arrived today, so after a bit of fiddling about we fitted a new one to our lamp, and when through the lighting procedure. I think we're getting the hang of it, because on the second attempt, it worked. I must say, it is rather impressive, giving a good bright white light - perfectly good for reading by, and sufficient to see all of the kitchen - and not a little heat, which might be welcome on a chilly evening.

Now, I wonder if they still make Primus stoves....

It's official

2009-09-15T20:42:00.002Z

I am now the official owner of Chertsey.

I met with one of the executors today, and was handed the bill of sale, along with a beautiful photo of the boat and its late owner back in 1973.

Taking the boat on does feel like a serious responsibility, and an honour as well as a privilege, and I hope I will do justice to it.

Not only that, but have a lot of fun, and do a great deal of learning, along the way.

As I realised the other day, the way I feel about this boat, it's not a possession; it's a relationship.

Here comes another one

2009-09-14T19:46:00.003Z

I've left it too late to take a photo tonight, but this afternoon we took delivery of another Volvo 240 estate. A plain GL this time, no leather upholstery, no (gulp) electric windows, no sunroof, but 2.3 five speed manual, and only 23 years old. It belonged to a neighbour of a colleague of number one son, an elderly gent who wants to get something smaller, having owned, looked after and hardly used it for eons. It's blue and very clean for its age.

So we now have three 240s sitting on the drive: this one, the luxurious but automatic 1989 GLT estate, and my faithful Bluebird, the 2.0 saloon, which has hardly been used since I stopped working at Portsmouth. In 2004.

So, having looked at the prices they seem to be commanding (and Bluebird is a stunner; prior to me, she'd had one owner from new and full main agent service history) I have reluctantly decided that I might attempt to trade the old girl in for an Epping stove or part thereof.

Graphic designers and boats

2009-09-13T18:20:00.002Z

You've probably heard about the Canal Music tour; weird electronic bloke + folky girl making interesting sounds from a stage on board the large Woolwich Chiswick. If not, you can read about it here. Naturally, I'm happy to promote it, because Bob is a really nice person and he let me steer Chiswick, and I hope that the tour is a great success. That's not why I'm writing about it though.

Look at that poster. The tour, which tries to tap into the history and mystery of the canal, travels the route of the Grand Union on a historic Grand Union boat. So what sort of boat do they put on the poster? Yep, your guess is as good as mine, but safe to say it's a pretty unremarkable, nondescript, modern leisure boat. Someone has had the brief to design this poster, and has just reached for 'canal boat' in the picture library. Obviously, I don't expect everyone involved in the music promotion business to be clued up on different types of boats, but hell, they could have asked someone who was. That they didn't can only be explained by either they didn't know there are different sorts of boat, or they didn't care. And yet they could have used a picture of Chiswick itself, had they cared enough.

Rather more amusingly, last weekend I saw one of those big picture hoardings round the Kings Cross redevelopment, a sort of photomontage showing what it will look like when it's finished, lovely new buildings, happy smiling people, and sailing majestically down the Regents Canal... a Canaltime boat. Now, not only must it a. be lost, or b. be on a very long holiday, but, with all respect to the fitness for purpose of the design of these boats, they are hardly the most picturesque on the cut. I'm not even thinking they should have used a historic one, but surely a nice brightly painted boat, perhaps with flowers and cans and stuff, would have added so much more to the scene. Can't help thinking it's just sheer laziness on the part of the designer.

More essential kit

2009-09-12T21:33:00.004Z

Never let it be said that I don't have my priorities right. Once again we are getting into the swing of the enjoyable process of acquiring Stuff for a new project.

First stop this morning, the upholstery shop in Seaford, who made Warrior's splendid mattress, to purchase a piece of foam for a mattress for Chertsey's cross bed. After experimenting with laying on and then rolling up various grades of foam, I settled on the 3" thickness as giving the right balance between comfort and storability. Sadly though they then discovered they didn't have any in stock, but it should be in by next weekend. Slightly shockingly, also, it is going to cost £115, which is somewhat more than I expected, but no point in skimping on these things.

Then, in the process of tidying up/clearing out the glory hole known as the Old Forge, Jim discovered a Tilley lamp he'd bought many years at a jumble sale. Brand new, boxed and with all its accessories and instructions, but never yet used by us mainly because I was terrified of it. However, I am now much braver, so Jim went off (back to Seaford again) for paraffin and meths, and we fired it up. Not entirely successfully, because I think it was a bit too full, and also the mantle disintegrated while Jim was cleaning it. However, I was delighted to discover that they are still going strong and you can get replacement parts easily, and also that you can buy a new lamp like ours - for £110. Made me feel better about the mattress, somehow.

Finally, we got a kettle for Chertsey on ebay - an enormous enamel one. If only I had something to put it on.....

Kit

2009-09-11T21:08:00.004Z

We have purchased the first new item of vital kit for Chertsey.

A pump.

Now we just need some hose and a battery.

Don't worry, it's only rainwater. That lot's been pumped out, but I expect there'll be some more by now.

'Ow do, Blossom

2009-09-10T20:11:00.003Z

Well, I know he reads this sometimes. There I was, working away on my book this morning (well, working up to it anyway) and of course I couldn't resist having a little peek at CWF to see what gems had been added overnight, and someone had put in a link to Blossom's reminiscences of his introduction to boating as a boy in the Black Country... so I had a little look, and I was still reading it when I had to leave for work two hours later. I shall read some more now, too.

Read it. It's brilliant.

Another hour later, having got to the end... Blossom, we need an update! Tell us about Minnow!

Up and down the City Road

2009-09-08T21:05:00.003Z

Although we winded in the mouth of City Road Basin at the weekend, I'd not been into the basin itself until Saturday evening. It was Tarporley's temporary home during the Kings Place development, but that was just before my involvement began. On Sunday, we trooped over there to visit the farmers' market and find some lunch.

I don't know what the place used to look like, but it has clearly been the subject of some redevelopment and smartening up. The basin is managed by Islington Boat Club, who run activities like canoeing for young people, which is obviously a good thing to do, and they need, and are fortunate to have, a safe place to do it.

But all the same, what a shame that the basin looks so dead, so stagnant and sterile, bereft of boats and the life that they bring to the water. That the end of the basin, at least, looks as abandoned as any derelict waterway. Not at all what I was expecting, this modern desolation doesn't even have the consolation of historical interest.

In and out the Angel

2009-09-07T21:59:00.003Z

Sorry I've been absent for a few days. I did fully plan to post over the weekend, but my 12v phone charger didn't work, and doing the old interweb thing is quite power-hungry.

I spent from Friday morning until Sunday evening on Tarporley. Friday and Saturday we were running short trips as part of Kinks Place's arts festival. The festival events (there were lots of free and cheap concerts) seemed to be very successful and well attended, and demand for the trips was higher than it's ever been - we had our first ever sell-out one. Each trip involved reversing into Battlebridge Basin, then heading east through Islington Tunnel, down City Road lock, wind in the basin, back up the lock and back to King's Place. We did five trips on Friday and six on Sunday and I went on every one - we took turns to steer. So on Saturday - when we went back to City Road after the trips ready for Sunday's Angel Festival - I went through Islington Tunnel thirteen times, and twenty four times over the course of the weekend.

Winding in City Road Basin sounds - and indeed looks, from a vantage point leaning on the lock beam - much easier than it is. The latest lesson I have learnt is that having lots of space does not necessarily make the task easier - it can make it harder, at least when there's a stiff breeze (as there always is, there, apparently). Let us just say that I made a reasonable fist of it on Friday, but found the process very frustrating on the Saturday. Obviously I managed it in the end, or I'd be there still, but it brought me near to despair. Not near enough to wish for a bowthruster, though.

Anyway, Sunday bought the fun and frolics of the Angel Festival, and I was up bright and early attaching my bunting, which I must say was very successful. The main purpose of Tarporley's presence there is to recruit volunteers, and to raise awareness - and a bit of cash - with a raffle. By all accounts this was a successful year on both counts, and a very enjoyable time was had by all, although I was exhausted by the end of it. We were also introduced to the sweetest little dog, who is called Growler. After a tug.

Reading books

2009-09-02T20:39:00.002Z

I dashed out on our return from Warrior to get a copy of Canal Boat and see my review of Humphrey Household's The Thames and Severn Canal in print (p. 38). I hadn't bought one despite seeing it on sale many times in the course of the trip because I'd forgotten, until the very end, that we no longer have a subscription. Also waiting for me on my return was a new volume to review: a history of the Kennet and Avon Navigation. This is a somewhat snappier work, and I have just read it this evening. You will have to buy the mag of course to read my 150 words' worth of thoughts on it. It is rather good getting these books that I wouldn't otherwise read, but I would be even more delighted if one or two about boats and carrying, rather than navigations, came up soon.

Boys will be boys

2009-09-01T18:28:00.004Z

As our local super-foster-mum cheerily said after one of her charges burnt down the school.

On our travels I appear to have found evidence that both No. 1 and No. 2 sons woz 'ere. Viz:

On the Leicester Section, and:

on the Erewash

New Year's Eve

2009-08-31T18:46:00.003Z

That's what it feels like. As an academic - as indeed as a schoolkid and student - the new year starts with the Autumn term. That's not officially for a few weeks yet, but somehow September 1st marks the big shift; the end of the holidays (we're back at home now), the end of summer; chilly misty mornings (because suddenly you're getting up earlier than you have since the height of summer) and for me, the smell of fermenting apples on the path leading to school (my children's school, in fact, but still a defining feature of the time of year.

So new year is of course a time of resolutions, and mine include not procrastinating (again) and writing 500 words a day of the book I have promised to deliver in just over a year's time.

This is going to be a very busy and full year. Not only is there the book; there is also the Chertsey project, and the connected domestic projects of selling the house we are living in, and converting another building that I own, an old forge, into cottages for us and for each son. And in the case of number one son, his partner and - may as well admit this now - forthcoming offspring (me a grandparent? Nooooooooo!)

So it is going to be a very momentous and no doubt challenging year, after a few years of, to be honest, coasting and enjoying the easy life. So wish me a happy new year, and let's see where we are in September 2010.

Final treat

2009-08-30T20:42:00.002Z

We got a bonus treat today to end our holiday. A couple visiting from America wanted to go on a boat trip, so we volunteered to take them and their hosts on Warrior to have lunch at Wheaton Aston. Harold in particular, a tractor collector, was very interested in the various engines (including ours of course) and the mechanics of boats and canals and locks. We had a nice trip, a very long lunch, and a slightly damp return, and it was a lovely way to end our holiday - tomorrow we finally head for home after thirty days away.

I think this will have been the longest trip we have done in terms of miles - I haven't checked yet but it seems likely, as this is the first time we have cruised almost constantly for the whole month, rather than stopping as we did at Cropredy last year and St Ives in 2007, for a week or so. I can say we traversed more or less 284 locks (including ones we didn't work ourselves, and counting ones we went through twice twice), and had the engine running for around 197 hours. This is actually fewer hours than last year, if we count the additional days, post holiday, getting back to Ramsey, but about the same for the month itself. This includes starting from Ramsey though, whereas this time we started from Cowroast. Most of the waterway covered was new to us, with only the final leg having been done before.

Put out more flags!

2009-08-29T20:17:00.003Z

Today has been spent in honest toil, producing a grand total of 240 feet of bunting before the tape ran out. At one flag per nine inches, that's... an awful lot of pennants individually cut out and stapled. In the process, however, I invented the Tape-o-Matic (viz a pencil shoved through the middle of the reel of tape and seated in the top of a handily crenellated vase) to avoid tangling issues. So I paid about 3p a yard for that tape - bargain! I used nearly all the tablecloth fabric though, so it was lucky I bought the extra.

Now, does anyone know how to untwist long ropes?

The end of the journey. And the beginning of a new adventure

2009-08-28T19:21:00.002Z

Day 27, Otherton to Stretton Aqueduct. The End.

Yes, here we are. After 27 days of travelling, and lots of changes of plan, we have wound up back at Industry Narrowboats, which feels shockingly like home, ready for Warrior to act as base and support vessel for the work on Chertsey which will be carried out here. I've booked tickets to go home by train on Monday, and in the meantime I have 300 feet of bunting to make...

They are for pixies

2009-08-28T19:16:00.004Z

Day 26, 27th August

Rugeley to Otherton

For some reason I couldn't sign into Blogger last night, which was rather frustrating as I had a 3G signal and you might have got a photo of me siting cross legged on a redundant bollard. I think that was the most exciting thing that happened all day; we made our merry way up the Staffs and Worcs, chatting in friendly fashion with various others along the way; the weather was nicer than forecast, and that's about it really; the moment has passed. So on to today....

East, West, where is home best?

2009-08-26T19:33:00.003Z

Day 25, Tatenhill Lock to Rugeley

The housing market may still be in the doldrums, but the big Woolwich market seems to have been picking up recently. Two that have been on the market for a long time have both recently sold - Bristol, which I was looking at for a long time myself, and, today I discovered, Hawkesbury, which was priced somewhat out of my league. Saw the latter this afternoon at Fradley Junction (what joy it is to be travelling in the opposite direction from the masses for a change) and had a chat with the steerer. Well, that was the high spot of the day really. It's been a pleasant day, apart from the rain; nice travelling.

We stopped off at Kings Bromley for a pumpout and some gas, and about ten minutes after we left, I went to pump some more diesel up into the day tank, only to find that it ran out when it was about three quarters full. So we pulled in and dipped the main tank, and sure enough, only about three inches - which is basically all sludge clearance, it's not actually usable. We've got so used to not using any diesel, we were still thinking, oh well, we only got some a couple of weeks ago, but when I got the log book out and checked, it transpired that we'd done 99 hours since last filling up with 118 litres. I make that about 1.2 litres an hour, which given that we've been beasting up and down the Trent, is actually more economical than we expected. What we've got in the day tank should be plenty to get us to Great Haywood where we can get some more, it's just so funny that we didn't actually think of it while we were at Kings Bromley this afternoon. At least with the day tank you get a bit of grace.

Tonight we have stopped at Rugeley. I had to go to Morrisons to get a birthday card for my mum, and I couldn't pay for it at the kiosk, oh no, I had to queue up for ten minutes at a till with it. Then we wondered around for a bit looking for a post box, and savoured the delights of the town. Well, I have to say it is one of the grimmest places I have ever been to; a sort of antithesis of Newark. The meanest, nastiest sixties and later buildings; bleak pedestrianisation; loads of sort of half finished projects, like planters made of artfully arranged bits of wood, but then left to be colonised by weeds or even in one case left empty as a litter bin. The few surviving nice buildings just throw this all into sharper relief. There was however a shop selling nuts and bolts and rivets, which I may have to drag Jim away from in the morning - he was muttering something about a Whitworth socket set - but I have to say that it didn't look like it was planning to open any time soon, although when it does I am sure there will be a man in a brown overall behind the counter, with a stubby pencil behind his ear. There was also a charity shop for a local children's hospice called 'Acorns'. Surely I can't be the only person to spot what a crassly insensitive name this is for such an institution?

There was a thing in the paper today about how the majority of people in the west - and east - Midlands would rather live somewhere else - a higher proportion than anywhere else in the country (it was something like 83%) and I thought surely not... but that was before I had been into Rugeley. Perhaps they only asked people here, and didn't ask anyone in Newark.

Canaltime again

2009-08-25T19:07:00.002Z

Day 24, Shardlow to Tatenhill Lock (just beyond Burton on Trent)

Thought Shardlow was a bit overrated. Five (or six) pubs and one shop, and one or two nice buildings but very little really in the way of historical or indeed any other interest. So it was off bright and early this morning, as it's all getting a bit busy now, but I think I like it much better that way. Joyce and its crew caught up with us and we shared the double locks before they stopped for lunch.

For the first time, Jim got to yell at someone for over-enthusiastically opening a gate paddle way, way too soon - and it wasn't the poor Canaltime bod as we all so predictably assumed, but someone with a very smart boat but little idea of what to do with it. No harm done though.

I then had an encounter in which I thought of the apposite reply far too late - waiting for the next lock, just out from the bank, and the gates open to reveal a monster community boat (Serenade of Loughborough, if they have any shame), which paused just outside the gates to reload with numerous children and a dog, and then stayed paused, making no attempt to get past us (that is us on Warrior and Joyce), so that eventually we had to squeeze around them while they sat stock still. As I passed, I pointed out that there was loads of room for him to have gone around us... 'Not with a four foot draft I'm not going there', he replied. To which the obvious answer is 'Do you really think a fourteen foot wide boat with a four foot draft is really a suitable craft for this waterway?', or in an earlier (but not early enough) version, 'Well stay on the bloody Soar then.' Heaven knows what he would have done if there had been boats moored where he had to pass us.

Ah well. Today we have also met some really nice people, including bloggers Harnser and CWF's Smelly and Bagpuss, who called out to us as we went through Burton. I have also seen some super boats including Clover and Fazeley, Sickle, and Hadley, which is moored right near where we have tied up tonight.

Four corners

2009-08-24T19:52:00.004Z

Day 23, Stoke Bardolph to Shardlow

If you look at that four-way junction where the Trent meets the Soar, we're now on the fourth bit of it. We came down the Soar, up the Erewash and back; up the Trent and back, and are now finally on the Trent and Mesrey, on the 'homeward' leg of the journey. We've travelled the other end of the T&M, but this is new territory.

Back on the main canal system, I noticed a couple of changes immediately. Firstly, the boats are nicer. No more gin palaces, some old working boats at last (today I saw Bletchley and Argus (didn't know they came this far), a Cowburn and Cowpar boat (which I think was Swallow but to my shame can't quite remember for certain), and Slough, to add to my sticker album, complete with funnel. Even the modern boats have a far greater preponderance of nice ones.

The other thing is that the people are friendly and interested. In the hour or two after we stopped, three people started chatting with us, asking about the boat and talking about theirs. While people on the Trent were by and large perfectly polite and pleasant, there was none of that real friendliness and enthusiasm.

However, I did like the Trent better than any other river yet (in which we include the Thames, Nene, Great Ouse and last and least, Soar). Don't really know why. Friendly BW lockkeepers; lots of good facilities, plentiful and easy mooring all helped. Plus a general absence of riverside residential development, the remnants of industry, and the fact that the sun shone most of the time, even if the wind also blew for most of it.

Hidden pleasures

2009-08-23T18:36:00.003Z

Day 22, Newark to Stoke Bardolph lock

We've decided that the next point of interest will be Shardlow, and are looking forward to getting there tomorrow. We left Newark for the second time late this morning after a lazy wander around the town again, and continued up the Trent in warm sunshine offset by invigoratingly high winds, blowing spray right through the front hatches and into the boat. Undaunted, I was sitting out there, waiting for that sublime moment when the wind drops and you feel the full warmth of the sun. It didn't happen today though.

Another thing that's really good if you tune into it is when you're moving a heavy lock gate - one that's just on the boundary of your ability. You put every nerve and sinew into it, all straining to their fullest extent, and just in the moment when you think you will have to give up in frustration, something yields; not suddenly, very subtly, but unmistakably, and you just go with it.

Having had a plastic boat, and being very fond of it, I would never disparage them per se - although I do use the term Tupperware as a handy shorthand, I don't necessarily intend anything pejoritive by it. But there is in my eyes a great gulf between getting out and having fun in a cheap plastic boat, and posing around acting superior in a ridiculously expensive one. And I haven't been able to help noticing on the Trent, the resemblance between GRP boats and dodgem cars, in the way the bounce and spin around. No, give me something with a bit of bottom any day.

Getting out is easier than getting in

2009-08-22T21:04:00.004Z

Another boat leaves Keadby Lock ahead of us this morning

Day 21, Keadby to Newark

As I write this sitting on the foredeck, once more beneath the gloriously illuminated walls of Newark Castle, it seems a long time since the alarm went off at 5.45 this morning. We went into the lock at 6.30, and said goodbye to Severn as the waited to come out after us. They were planning to stop off at Torksey, but the lockkeeper told us that as it was a high spring tide we should have no trouble getting all the way to Cromwell, and he was right; the six and a quarter hour journey was uneventful but the time flew by and layers of clothing gradually came off as the day warmed up.

Having got safely to Cromwell lock, we continued on to Newark, and are once again tied up on the wall below the town lock, albeit a little further back this time. I've been into town and got a new stapler and a new SD card for the camera as the old one is nearlt full. In the past I've downloaded photos as I've gone along but this time have decided to leave them all until we get home.

After a nice long chat with the people tied up in front of us (even though they have got a bowthruster) we got our glad rags on (well, I did go to Primark in Doncaster) and went off the the Fox and Crown again. It definitely seems to be my kind of pub. They had London Pride on tonight and boring git that I am, that's what I had, but they pulled it through a sparkler and it turned it into a completely different drink. But - and this is the good bit - I said, If I were to have another one, in a few minutes.... and the barman said, 'Sparkler off?' So I had another pint on the strength of that. We also ate, and once again the food was good; and I found a box of games and struggled to remember the rules of the version of dominoes that we learnt at Floods Ferry. I think I cracked the main points eventually - it's a version of fives and threes, and you score points for whatever multiple of five or three the pips at each end add up to (so 6=2, 5=1, 12=4, 18=6 and 15=8 because you count it for fives and threes). Then they had a band on, which was a bit loud and they weren't very good, so we came back, and in the distance can hear a party going on on the trip boat.

Plan F

2009-08-21T20:50:00.002Z

Day 20, Doncaster to Keadby

I realised in the middle of the night that with the Shroppie impassable at Shebdon, there really was no way of getting to Stretton without retracing our steps up the Trent. That plan pushed the available time to its limit; anything else just wouldn't work. So having resolved to come back via the Trent and T&M, we thought Sheffield might be back on the cards, if we could get there and back (from Doncaster) within five days. Another call was made to Tinsley. Yes, we could still go up on Saturday, but we wouldn't be able to come back until Wednesday. By now I was starting to crave simplicity anyway, and resigned to giving it a miss, but so many people have said that the Tinsley lockies are just downright awkward that I am determined to get there one day! It was also suggested that once there they make you stay to keep you in the basin paying £5 a night. I could not comment of course, not having been there myself. It's a shame; I would have loved to have seen the basin, but I shall get there eventually.

Having finally ruled Sheffield out, we spent a happy morning shopping in Doncaster on market day. This is the brilliant thing about northern towns; markets and above all, market halls. It makes me think just how impoverished we are in some ways down south - or at least in Newhaven, where you can hardly buy anything now. I wonder if there will be any shops left by the time we get back. I bought some plastic coated table cloth material and yards and yards of cotton tape (I said I wanted 100 yards and the woman just gave me everything she had. For £2.50!) as I have promised to make bunting for Tarporley to wear at the Angel Festival, which is very shortly after I am due to get back. It was all going rather well until the Tesco value stapler broke. Yes, I would have got the heavy duty one, but there weren't any staples; the cheap one came with staples, but as they were crap it didn't really make any difference.

We had a lovely surprise today coming out of Thorne lock - we saw the Leeds and Liverpool short boat Severn. Then a few lift bridges later, Jim left out BW key behind after helping me with a particularly recalcitrant road gate, and by the time he'd been back for it, Severn had caught us up, with Rick and Barny on board. We spent the afternoon swapping places in a convoy of two, taking it in turn to do the bridges, and are now both here at Keadby, where we should start being locked through at about six thirty tomorrow morning. We have had a lovely look over Severn, and seen practical ways of living just under cloths and making the most of basic facilities. That really does appeal to me, as long as I can keep warm enough.

Sheffield cut

2009-08-20T19:41:00.005Z

Day 19, Doncaster to Sprotbrough lock and, er, back to Doncaster

Last night we made a decision. We had thought that it might be a good idea to take Warrior to Stretton (on the Shroppie) to use as a base while working on Chertsey. We thought that to achieve this, we would go back down the Trent and via the Trent and Mersey. But looking at the time we had available, and consulting Canalplan, I made the case that we could just about achieve the same destination within the alloted time if we went via the Aire and Calder, Calder and Hebble, Rochdale, Bridgewater, T&M, and Middlewich Branch*, and thus avoid retracing our steps, and take in some of the waterways we originally planned to visit. This will be very tight for time though.

So, we set off for Sheffield this morning, and at Sprotbrough lock, met a woman who reminded us that we needed to book our passage up the Tinsley flight. So we rang the lock keeper, who seemed very unimpressed by the idea that anyone might want to use his locks, and said he couldn't possibly fit us in until Saturday. Having hoped to go up this afternoon, this was a bit of a blow to our plans. Jim had already been expressing doubts about the Sheffield detour, and this was the final straw that made me also reluctantly give up on the idea of this fine city which I have never yet visited. We turned round and came back through the two locks we'd just been down, including the very large Doncaster lock, in which you can see Warrior looking lost in the photo. Yes, that really is a lock. Operating the upstream end involves standing with a railway bridge about a foot above your head. When we got back to Doncaster, we met up with a boat we'd come through Keadby with (and also met on the Chesterfield) and they said that when they'd phoned to book passage up Tinsley, the keeper had effectively said 'What do you want to do that for?' And people wonder why Sheffield Basin is empty.

*Having just taken notice of the postings on Canalworld about a stoppage on the Shroppie at Shebdon, I think I'd better think it out again, again..... Ashton, Peak Forest?

Having a smashing time

2009-08-19T18:31:00.004Z

Day 18, West Stockwith to Doncaster

This does feel exotic. On a lovely secure visitor mooring and about to hit one or two of the numerous CAMRA-recommended pubs of Doncaster.

Today we had a bit of adventure at last, viz getting into Keadby lock. West Stockwith was a doddle compared to this. We were locked through West Stockwith at 0840, and after a couple more hours of fairly featureless but increasingly muddy Trent, were approaching where Keadby Lock should have been. We'd been warned that the entrance is sometimes obscured by coasters, but this wasn't the problem - looking through the binoculars I could see a big, painted 'KEADBY LOCK' on the wall, and a rather sweet art deco style lock building, but where was the bloody entrance? Out of sight round a hairpin bend was the answer. Now, I know you are meant to turn and approach from downstream, and Jim had tried to check with the lock keeper, who hadn't replied, but the guy at West Stockwith had said it wasn't always necessary. Anyway, in what I suspect was an agony of indecision, we turned, with hindsight, too soon to approach upstream, but too late to try and go straight in. I was hiding inside looking through the porthole, hoping that the entrance would approach faster than the wall. I thought we were going to make it, but we hit the wall pretty hard, occasioning much breaking of crockery (it could have been worse, a lot of it landed on the sofa) and another of my treasured stolen glasses (Directors this time). Did you know that pub glasses are now made of safety glass, to stop people being 'glassed', so when you smash one it really does look like a car crash. We also lost a windlass off the roof and dislodged the front fender, but the people already in the lock had their own tales of breakages too, and the lockkeeper at West Stockwith did say everyone ballses it up. I think with a bit of practice we might get the hang of it.

After Keadby we were on the Sheffield asnd South Yorkshire Navigations, an agglommeration of waterways which today included the Stainforth and Keadby Canal and the River Don. These are big and wide, and have numerous large swing and lift bridges, and big locks - some of which are electric (most of the bridges are). The weather has been windy, which has been a bit of a nuisance, but not uncomfortable because of the marvellous hot sun.

Actually, it was 35

2009-08-18T20:50:00.002Z

Day 17, Forest Top Lock to West Stockwith

Because I forgot about Boundary Lock, 41a, an extra one. Anyway, today I did the remaining eleven, and tonight we are back at West Stockwith, ready to go through in the morning, down to Keadby (watch out for coasters around Keadby lock, apparently!) and then on to Sheffield.

This morning, up on the lock mooring where we spent the night (ahem) all the mud had settled and the water was really clear, all three feet of it, and glinting on the bottom I could see mother-of-pearl, like the abalone shells we used to buy on Guernsey when I was a child, and roughly the same size - about four inches long. I had read about giant mussels on this waterway but had hardly believed it, but here it seemed was the evidence - and I didn't have a shrimping net to try and fish it out. After much deliberation about the various possibilities of the colander, the handbowl and a jug, I settled on lashing a small saucepan to the cabin shaft with duck tape, and pretty much to my surprise, managed to scoop it out with this. It is far more fragile than an abalone or even an ordinary marine mussel, but it is beautiful. Flushed with success, I also managed to get a double shell too.

We have just been to the Waterside Inn at West Stockwith, and the food was perfectly decent, although niot cheap, but my pint of B|lack Sheep was definitely a bit iffy and the landlord simply wouldn't accept the fact, saying it was a new barrell and no one else had complained. So they lost points for that. The customer is always right; as least it is when it's me.

A nice walk

2009-08-17T20:42:00.002Z

Day 16, Kiveton Park back to Forest Top Lock

34 locks

I think that's a record for me, 34 locks in a day. Looking back through the log, I find that I used not to record these things quite so straightforwardly, but I don't think I've been anywhere it's possible to do that. Where might it be, theoretically, I wonder... That's counting the doubles and trebles as twos and threes, and we did have some help, from a splendid chap called Trevor, a lengthsman in all but name (because of course they don't actually employ lengthsmen any more), with flowing beard and hair and (whisper it) no lifejacket, but I did have a hand in every one, and I also walked from Thorpe locks to Worksop (and quite a few bits of the way back again), although I was disappointed to discover that this was only about four and a half miles; it seemed a lot further.

The weather has been lovely again today. I don't know why people are complaining about it, other than because of having had their hopes raised unrealistically, because this is the fourth year we've been boating in the first half of August, and this is by far the least rain we have had.

Head of Navigation

2009-08-16T19:52:00.002Z

Day 15, Rhodesia to Kiveton Park

Today we tackled the final 27 locks, from number 47 to number 20, which brought us to the summit level and the limit of navigation of the Chesterfield Canal, blocked by the collapsed Norwood Tunnel, about half a mile from here, but with a navigable section on the far side accessible to trailable boats.

It's a funny feeling, being on a canal so recently restored - part of the final section was completed in 1998; there is a sign lower down, but some of the works up here look more recent still. The mooring we are on looks brand new. The locks we travelled today are effectively one flight, including two double and two triple staircases. From lock 41a to 20 took us three and a quarter hours, which flew by. The locks are all narrow, new and well maintained. The pounds however are like fishponds: shallow and full of weed. Pondweed at that, among other sorts. Not enough to stop us though; the harbinger of doom who said we wouldn't make it was wrong. A few pounds were down, with ominously dry bywashes, but most were at their normal - albeit shallow - level. But we know Bath has been up here, so were ever hopeful (despite one lock very helpfully being labelled as not passable by boats of over 6'10 1/2" beam). It is very green, and very pretty, marred only by the recent building of some obscenely ugly houses. If you brave Worksop Town lock - quite possibly the nastiest I have yet encountered - it is pure loveliness all the way.

After the final lock there is a mile or so of summit before the final winding hole, just before (or after, depending on perspective) which is a very spiffing 24 hour mooring, and this section does feel like going into the unknown, or the past, or something. Shaded cutting (at last! No more weed) with high walls sprouting ferns, through three more bridges ending with the extraordinary Dog Kennel Bridge, and then the final winding hole, with a sort of waterfall pouring into it. We tried reversing on after winding, but it became too shallow almost immediately. I walked up later and it really did look abandoned; full of weed and sporting some very large fish. The bricked up tunnel portal is just visible through the willow herb and other plant life. Then I walked the other way, into Kiveton Park, which had the feeling of a ghost town, although admittedly I didn't go into the town itself, but walked along between the railway and the canal, past and over the foundations and concrete floors of demolished buildings. The mine - I can hardly believe that we are in coal mining territory, but we have been for some time - only closed in 1990. The recentness of it somehow makes it seem all the more sad.

End of the road for Wigan Pier

2009-08-15T20:26:00.005Z

Dat 14, Clayworth to Rhodesia

I must admit that I have struggled with The Road to Wigan Pier. Disappointingly, it is far less readable than any I have read of Orwell's other writing - rambling, repetitive and dogmatic - although his descriptions of the sort of bearded, vegetarian, sandal-wearing, fruit juice drinking types that get socialism a bad name are amusing. He appears to have in in particularly strongly for fruit juice. I have not yet abandoned the work; I think there isn't far to get to the end, but it is very dry going. All is not lost however, for my massive tome - a jumble sale Book Club Associates compendium of Orwell's non-fiction and journalism, is as thick as the height of the back slide runner, so by placing it adjacent I can spread the weight and thus make a far more comfortable seat for resting my legs while steering. I do however have to look lively for low bridges and sharp left hand bends, which necessitate leaping down again. On the plus side, I can now operate the throttle with my knee.

On the travelling front also, the road to Wigan Pier has been all but abandoned. Having been seduced by the siren calls of the Chesterfield, there is no way we will have time now to get that far. The Chesterfield is worth it though, and not just for getting the Head of Navigation plaque (I collected a form at the Retford and Worksop Boat Club (visitors are welcome to moor but MUST consult the caretaker or a member of the committee first) this morning while filling up with water. The thing with these new restorations is that they are generally well provisioned with facilities - I haven't seen so many showers since the Huddersfield.

We put in a long day today - would have been twelve hours if we hadn't stopped in Retford (godawful place) for a paper and stayed for tea and buns). The canal is still shallow and weedy, but so far still eminently passable, and there seems to be plenty of water here at least - we have stopped just outside a settlement called Rhodesia - Nicholsons doesn't explain why - although who knows what it will be like when we start going up the serious locks tomorrow. A man we passed this morning mournfully told us that drawing 2'6" we wouldn't make it - but we will plug on and see.

The canal mainly runs through very rural surroundings, mostly farmland. If any industry grew up along its banks there is little sign of it now. Mainly rural. I nearly spoiled the image with a photo of Worksop Town lock, but the ones I took fail to capture its grimness - the graffiti, broken glass, blank walls, rubbish and dead pigeons. Now that's what I call a canal! I am beginning to mistrust Nicholsons, which paints a rather benign image of Worksop, which had enticed us to consider tying up there. One look was enough to tell us that it wasn't really our kind of town. I really don't mind a bit of urban, but dead pigeons are a grittiness too far. So we plodded on, and here we are. The water is not your ordinary canal brown, like tea, but a deep mahogany, the colour of gravy.

Another feature of this canal is a wide variety of paddle gear, and an even wider selection of anti-vandal devices, the worst of which involves undoing a padlock inside a metal box in order to remove the box. I must say other boaters have been extremely assiduous in replacing them. My 'doh!' moment of the day came near the end, when I struggled to unlock the lock only then to realise the the accompanying paddle gear had actually been removed. Today's carefully selected photo shows one of the nicest sorts of paddle gear. It is mostly well maintained, but some of the gates are heavy, even in the narrow locks. Better get some rest now - tomorrow promises 25 locks; 21 of them within a mile and a half, and when we get to the top we have to turn around and come back down again.

The River Trent is deep and wide

2009-08-14T20:06:00.003Z

And the Chesterfield Canal isn't.

Day 13, Cromwell Lock (River Trent) to Clayworth (Chesterfield Canal)

Another day of contrasts. Up at five thirty, in a chilly grey morning, all ready to go through Cromwell Lock at six twenty two precisely (as if it would take us precisely six hours to get to West Stockwith). As it happened, we could have started at least an hour later; we were going deliberately slowly, and still arrived early, but it was still fine, and Jim made a lovely entrance into West Stockwith lock without touching the sides. We managed to spin it out to over five hours; five hours of chill grey morning most of which I spent sitting on the foredeck in a folding chair, wrapped in many layers and with a blanket over my knees (well, who was watching, apart from a few fishermen). There was a little bit of industry, and a lot of birds, but mostly just river, wide and slow and not (as yet) very scary. You could tell the tide was going down by the increasingly revealed mud, but that was about all. Thanks to the Trent Boating Association charts kindly lent to us by Dave and Izzy, we were able (again, so far... touching wood here) to avoid running aground, and, thanks to Jim's new toy, his VHF radio (and thanks to me reading the instructions on replacing the batteries...) we were able to keep in touch with the lock keepers and it was all a very calm and well ordered experience. The West Stockwith lock keeper even alerted us that a gravel barge was on its way, so we were able to see one without being thrown into a tizz by it. Of all the essential kit they tell you you need for the river, and rivers in general, they never mention binoculars. I find these (purchased in Boots by my father circa 1973) invaluable for spotting mooring sites and particularly for reading signs and notices before it is too late - BW do have a tendency to scrimp on type size, but the EA are, if anything, even worse. You could even use them to look at wildlife, if that's what you're into.

So at noon we exited West Stockwith and were on the Chesterfield Canal. At first this was stunningly clear, and I could see lots of fish. But it wasn't long before it became quite muddy, and it is very shallow. Going is exceedingly slow. Surprisingly there are quite a few boats on here, hopefully not all nosing their way up to the dead end. I'm not complaining about the shallowness mind; only too aware that only a matter of decades ago this canal was derelict; even fifteen years ago, when the guide - again lent by Dave and Izzy - was published, it stopped a good way and a great many locks short of where it does now. However, as we are determined to get to the end - which is now the Norwood Tunnel - we may have to revise our plans for the rest of trip. I will not relinquish Sheffield, but after that we may be very pushed for time.

Shall we have a random photo tonight? I will compile a nice album when I get home, but for tonight we have.... Hmm. Piling with mysterious cables protruding. It took long enough to upload - I'm not changing it now!

Early start tomorrow

2009-08-13T18:28:00.005Z

Day 12, Newark to Cromwell Lock

We finally tore ourselves away from Newark at three o'clock this afternoon - although not without a bundle of estate agents' details. Who knows; we could be back. We started this morning with a walk around the castle gardens while hardly anyone else was about. Very impressed by the lack of graffiti generally - although we did spot some name carved into the stone with dates in the 1940s, and one, beautifully cut, from the nineteenth century. Most importantly, unlike many castles, it didn't smell of wee. There was also a refreshing absence of safety fencing, both on the castle and along the riverfront.

Then we hit the shops again, and took a long walk around the town, going right out to check out Newark Northgate station which is on the East Coast mainline - I used to come through on the way to Huddersfield. Then back to the market square where today it was antiques and second hand tots. One stall stood out, selling what I believe the man called 'railway-ana' (wince). Lots of lovely tempting cast iron signs, and a wonderful selection of lamps, which the man told us all about. Of course I ended up buying one - our first real souvenir of this trip. It's a copper and brass signal lamp, from the 1950s, from British Rail Midland region, he told me. I liked the date (I'm thinking Chertsey here of course, not that I've ever heard of anyone having a signal lamp on a boat, but if you got hold of one, well, you'd use it, wouldn't you?), and I liked that fact that it was highly polishable, and that it didn't have any holes in the bottom. Apparently it would run for a fortnight on a tankful of oil - and its big square bottom makes it reassuringly stable.

So then it was off to Wilko's to get some lamp oil. We had two bottles on the boat from when we experimented with the other oil lamps (terrifying), but naturally I had insisted on taking them home. Wilko's didn't have any, but I thought Boyes would be bound to. Couldn't find it on the shelf, so I asked the checkout lady, Do you sell lamp oil? She considered for a very long time before asking, For what sort of lamp? I had to think long and hard about how to reply to this, but in the end couldn't better 'An oil lamp.' 'No,' was the answer. So we got back to the boat and I polished it and we put some diesel in it, and it has been burning away nicely for hours now; only a little flame, because it smokes if I turn it up any higher, but I am looking forward to seeing what it looks like in the dark. Ah, simple pleasures.

Can't stay up very late though as we have an early start in the morning. Having dragged ourselves away from Newark, we haven't come very far. Through just the one lock, Newark Nether, and then into Kings Marina for a top up of diesel and a pumpout - and a bonus surprise sighting of Victoria (but I didn't take a photo this time!), then on to Cromwell Lock, where we await the tide in the morning. If we go through at 06.22, we should arrive at West Stockwith in time for the flood tide, which will make it much easier to get into the lock, and thus onto the Chesterfield Canal - and the next adventure.

Newark - nicest place in Britain?

2009-08-12T21:33:00.002Z

Warrior and Newark Castle

Day 11, Gunthorpe to Newark

I think we may well have found Britain's nicest town. I almost feel I should keep it to myself before everyone comes rushing to live here. I know I occasionally rave about nice places we've come across, and think yes, it would be good to live here - but Newark beats them all. River, fantastic buildings, including a castle on the river bank opposite which we are currently tied up; no sixties-fication; a great selection of real shops, and hardly any empty ones, including lots of good charity shops, in streets not a precinct. Nice houses and not expensive. Friendly people.... And not full of itself either.

We left Gunthorpe this morning in a heavy drizzle, and only went through three locks, all manned by friendly BW people. Jim gave the engine a really good run (he claimed we didn't have long to get the water heated up), and one woman on a broadbeam which we overtook and met again in the next lock said, 'That little boat of yours doesn't half shift!' Bu the time we came through Newark Town Lock three hours later the sun was coming out and we set off to explore - on what was to become a shopping frenzy. First to a school outfitters and outdoor gear shop, where we each got new waterproofs, and Jim got some new waterproof trousers from the £1 bargain bin, and some new work shoes and boating trousers. Then to the provisions shop for triple smoked bacon. A small local chain called Boyes is like a super eccentric Wilko's, with added haberdashery, and we got some bowls, mugs (sadly my Kent and East Sussex WRG mug got broken yesterday) and woolly socks. Various charity shops yielded a super silk dress, Monsoon blouse and completely mad trousers, all for me of course. Then we found ourselves in the Fox and Crown, accidentally stumbling into a CAMRA super-pub. We didn't have time to see it all and will have to go back in the morning.

This evening we went for supper with Dave and Izzy, and were given four plaques that are very probably Chertsey's; two of them definitely are - the IWA rally at Guildford on the Wey in 1970, and the opening of the Upper Avon in 1974. The other two - Black Country Museum 1981 and HNBOC Christmas gathering at Fradley in 1973 probably are by a process of elimination, but we don't as yet have positive sightings of Chertsey at either of these. I have also seen my first two photos of the boat; one from Waterways World only last year when it formed part of a reader's scrapbook question, and one forwarded to me by Izzy of it on the Wey in the year of that rally. Piecing together these little bits of history is going to be a fascinating and never ending process.

Variety Club Sunshine Boat

2009-08-11T20:28:00.003Z

Day 10, Gallows Lock (Erewash Canal) to Gunthorpe Lock (River Trent)

OK, you are going to get a pretty random photo tonight. The process of posting photos with the netbook (aka the Baby Computer) is complex. I don't like to download the pics onto the netbook because it files them in a system I don't understand; I'd sooner wait til we get home and sort them out on the big computer. So I have been taking the card out of the camera and sticking it in the side of the netbook. This works fine for looking at the photos, but the photo-looking programme (PhotoMaster) doesn't show their index numbers except when you're looking at the tiny thumbnails; I cannot find a way to make it display when looking at the big picture. So to select the picture I find it easiest to go through them on the camera and note the number I want to use. I did that tonight, took the card out, and have now forgotten what it was,. So let's see what we get.

Whether or not I like a particular waterway seems to be influenced, to an extent I wasn't previously aware of, by the weather. I don't as a rule like rivers much, and wasn't really looking forward to the Trent, but so far in today's sunshine, it has been most enjoyable. It helps that it has been a day of variety, starting this morning back on the Erewash, where I steered so that Jim could obtain the full work-out benefit of operating the locks. Whatever the fine white dust is that had settled all over the water, giving it a strange reflective haze, and all over the boat, had also, by the end of the morning, covered me as well.

We emerged from Trent Lock back onto the river, and this time turned left to head downstream to the North. I unexpectedly got a bonus canal, the Nottingham and Beeston - that I had only previously thought of as the Beeston Cut and as part of the Trent. But no, suddenly we were back on a city centre canal, and it was really nice, past an imposing (if somewhat plain) building with British Waterways emblazoned in its brickwork against the sky, closely followed by a Fellows Morton and Clayton warehouse.

Back on the Trent was another stunning derelict warehouse, a brutalist concrete beauty, bearing the legend Nottingham Corporation Warehouse 1930. Then we came to the first big, manned, Trent lock - lovely. The second one we had all to ourselves. All we have to do is throw a few ropes! Tomorrow we press on to Newark where we are meeting up with Dave and Izzy again. They are going to lend us their tide tables (though I have already looked them up on the net), and after that the fun will really start when we hit Cromwell Lock and the tidal part of the river.

Toight against our better judgement, but fancying chips, we went and ate at the Unicorn Hotel, a Martsons chain pub. It was grim. I had steak 'n' ale pie (are they really all lovingly made, as claimed, with each brewery's own ale? I can't help but doubt it somehow). The pastry was tough, the meat stringy, and the reconstituted chips were, somehow, mysteriously, cold. On top of that we ate the entire meal (or rather, I left must of mine) with the previous customer's dirty plates on the table. If they had come and asked, as they usually do, if 'everything is all right', I would have told them this. However, they clearly didn't dare. I know Craig will say we should have gone to Tom Brown's, Egon Ronay noted gastropub. And do you know what? We probably should. Either that or stayed in with last night's lentil curry.

The random photo is the approach to Holme Lock, the first biggie

And running water

2009-08-10T19:35:00.002Z

Day 9, Langley Mill back to Gallows Lock

We got off to a slow start, this drizzly morning, starting with being shown around the site by another very longstanding member of the ECP&DA. We started in the beautifully restored toll office, and Mick tolk us far more than we could take in about the Erewash, Cromford and Nottingham Canals. Then we went right up to the end of the navigation where the association is working on the link to a new basin - it was like seeing the next phase of history in the making. We also purchased a souvenir Erewash guide, and our end of navigation plaque.

Then we had a trip to Lidl - my first. Jim said I had to come because I would hate it, but I loved it. It was clean, and above all quiet - no piped music or constant advertising videos. The displays weren't oppressive either and I liked the honesty of the slogan Lidl Is Cheaper! What you can actually buy is a bit random of course, but I was delighted to get a new shower hose to take home and a pair of shorts for Jim (despite bringing the entire contents of his wardrobe, apparently he doesn't have enough shorts). Plus I just loved looking at all the strange and foreign things I could have bought if I had wanted to. Got a litre bucket of yogurt on the basis that even if it wasn't very nice (it was though!), £1.49 wasn't a bad price for a paint kettle. Plus lots of decent beers at four bottles for £5, so the drinks cabinet is now restocked.

So we didn't start the engine until two o'clock, and by the time we had got water it was half past when we left and raining in earnest. Still, we bravely slogged on for three hours and polished off eight locks before stopping just in time to see it start tipping down; the the sun came out for a bit.

Following our encounter with the Flood Officer on the Soar the other day, I am beginning to detect a trend in BW's attitude. I was reading (online) the Waterscape guide to the Trent. One of the things it lists as essential equipment is VHF radio. Then it says that if you haven't got VHF, a mobile phone will do. But goes on to say that you should be aware that there may not be network coverage. So do you bloody need it or don't you? It seems their attitude when asked, is it safe to do x, or is it permitted to do y, is to just sort of shrug and say, I dunno, what do you think? Worse than useless, really.

Basin and Bath

2009-08-09T20:19:00.003Z

Day 8, Sandiacre to Langley Mill

This morning we shopped at the Co-op and polished the brass before setting off, as we had a date later with Dave and Izzy, owners of Bath and organisers of the sale of Chertsey. We met them as we approached the penultimate lock on our way up the Erewash, and they came with us all the way up to the Great Northern basin, where we are now tied up, looking very diminutive, to Bath. Dave and Izzy are longstanding stalwarts of the Erewash Canal Preservation and Development Association, and showed us many things that the Association has achieved over the years, including a restored Nottingham Canal Company toll office as well as lots more vital but less visible maintenance. Then they took us for a nice Indian meal, for which their inside knowledge of this town was greatly appreciated.

There was much excitement when Jim read in Nicholsons that the Association produces a plaque for those who have navigated to this point on the canal, and we are hoping that someone will appear in the morning to whom we can apply for one; also a guide - even post hoc, it should be very interesting. I have found this a fascinating and really enjoyable canal - so if you like the sort of things I like, it's highly recommended.

The trip so far has been a good physical workout, and I think I am starting to see results around the waistline; plus a goodly selection of insect bites. I wonder whether we don't have insects at home, or whether we do but they don't bite, or whether they do bite but I've become immune to them. Certainly I only seem to get bitten when I stray to foreign parts. I suppose here I should be reading Lawrence rather than Orwell... although in fact I haven't had much time for reading at all these last few days.

On Dave and Izzy's recommendation, we are going to visit the Chesterfield Canal before proceeding with the rest of our planned expedition. They have lent us a guide. They have also lent us (Jim?) a set of Trent charts. The necessity for this is making me quite nervous....

Soar point

2009-08-08T20:28:00.003Z

Day 7, Barrow upon Soar to Sandiacre

We stopped at Barrow with the Soar on red, and a red light showing at Barrow deep lock. Naively we had assumed that this was an unbreachable injunction against proceeding further, but were told this morning that it has the same advisory status as the less technologically advanced level marker boards. So we bravely set off, only to pause again at Bishops Mill Lock, simply because lots of other people had. Someone gave us the number of the BW 'flood officer', and Jim rang him, and reported back that we could go, and indeed, so did lots of others. Oh yes, and we stopped in Loughborough for a paper. Then we stopped again at Zouch Lock to take stock, and remove some rather impressive polyester webbing from the prop, before deciding again to proceed (with caution, of course) along with out new companions, intrepid hire boaters. As we sailed towards Zouch, however, we encountered a Waterways chap. At first I thought he must be an impostor, as he wasn't wearing a lifejacket, but apparently not. 'The river's still in flood', he said, somewhat gnomically, I thought. Mmm, I said, are we OK for Zouch? (thinking that the lock might be closed to passage). 'The river's still in flood', he repeated. We rang the flood officer, I said. 'That's me' he replied. Well, I don't know exactly what he said to Jim, but it definitely wasn't 'DON'T'. And yet here he was, semi ticking us off, yet still not prepared to say that we shouldn't. It's all very well taking responsibility for oneself, and I am naturally all in favour of it, but it does depend upon having reliable information and advice from those in the know. I wish they would either come right out and forbid navigation, if it's dangerous, or else not tell people off for trying.

Anyway, we completed our passage of the Soar without any distressing incidents, crashes, sinkings etc, and emerged onto the vast Trent (which isn't in flood) and straight across onto the Erewash Canal. Well, this is my kind of canal. There are disused buildings whose beauty makes me cry. We are tied up tonight in Sandiacre, which is not terribly salubrious, but in front of the most stunningly beautiful vast Victorian lace mill, very nicely converted into flats. A similar building I photographed earlier, frozen at a moment in the process of dereliction (who knows, maybe one day restoration, but less likely now.). Another one in the process of being demolished. If I come back this way again, it won't be here.

A word about the locks, so far. You need a handcuff key for them (haven't used that since the Huddersfield), but frankly I don't know why they bother, because even once you've unlocked them, the ground paddles are utterly, utterly immovable.

Gary Lineker. Orange cheese.

2009-08-08T20:10:00.002Z

Day 6, Friday August 7th, Kilsby Bridge to Barrow upon Soar

Had a fantastic signal last night, only to discover that Google wasn't talking to me. So yesterday's adventures will of necessity be compressed somewhat. Our travels took us through Leicester - well, I can only think of two things it's famous for, and I did rack my brains. After steering all day on Thursday, my legs were killing me. I tried sitting on the roof for a bit, and now I have a bruised bum as well, to add to the standard lock-gate bruised coccyx. Don't waste any sympathy on me, I love it. Never fear, the legs will toughen up; it's just that I don't do standing, as a rule. Anyway, today (i.e. yesterday) I did not-steering, i.e. working locks, making tea and sitting down. Twenty locks were accomplished, at a slow and steady pace, and we found ourselves at some mysterious point on the River Soar, which was of course in flood, as we had as always brought the rain with us. Most of that is for another day (which I will write in a few minutes).

Leicester is actually not all that bad; certainly it didn't seem anything like as rough as we had been led by many to believe. And the sun did finally come out while we were there, and has stayed out since. We tied up in Barrow after a long day, and went looking for a pub to have supper. The first one we came to, the Navigation, had big TVs and a rather uninspiring menu (this is Craig's fault for taking us to gastropubs). So we went on to the Soar Bridge, which is in the Good Beer Guide (a publication the value of which I am beginning to doubt). But they had stopped serving food at eight (on a Friday night! Truly we are in the sticks, or perhaps, being up north, they only have tea). So finally we tried some establishment that appeared to have been built to cater for the local caravan site. Whilst we were waiting forever to be served, a pair of children careened around the bar shrieking at the tops of their voices, so we decided to take our custom elsewhere. Back to the Navigation, in fact, only to discover that they stopped serving food at half past eight. So it was back to Warrior for beans on toast and a pat on the back for ourselves for not spending thirty quid on food we wouldn't have enjoyed anyway.

En route to Wigan Pier

2009-08-06T20:07:00.003Z

Day 5, Foxton to Kilsby Bridge

Funny day today. We set off early, full of high hopes of putting in the hours and getting to the far side of Leicester, but it wasn't to be. We're not usually ones to heed tales of bandits etc, but had heard quite a few warnings about Leicester (having been there in the past by train on a few occasions, it didn't seem too bad) so were going to aim not to stop there (having been there a few times etc etc, there doesn't seem much to stop for).

So, we set off before eight, nice sunshine. But I have been rather taken aback by the locks. A relentless string of them, not nice and narrow, but big and heavy and hard going. By the time we got to Kilsby Bridge (which one local had told us was the last 'safe' place to stop; it is certainly the first lock you need a BW key for), it had clouded over, and then it started to pour with rain. Normally of course we wouldn't let a little thing like a monsoon put us off, but I was feeling unaccountably knackered (not quite back into the swing of things, clearly), and it was clear that we were not going to make it to the other side of Leicester, particularly as there were at least another thirteen locks in the way, so we allowed ourselves the luxury of stopping because of the rain, and put our feet up. This is supposed to be a holiday after all - the serious boating it yet to come.

In anticipation of our destination, I have been reading The Road to Wigan Pier, in an enormous anthology of Orwell's non-fiction which I, unaccountably, had not previously got round to reading. I've already polished off Down and Out in Paris and London, and Wigan Pier is even better. Whatever he writes about, reading Orwell is always a pleasure. In a way, his two best known novels, being both works of fantasy, to a degree, are to my ming less enjoyable than his lesser known, more mundane fiction. It is the mundanity he captures so well, the grinding hopelessness of poverty, both of money and of aspiration, in A Clergyman's Daughter and Keep the Aspidistra Flying. The same sense is there in the non-fiction; the sordid hopeless lives lived by people who are not inherently sordid, but ground into that state by circumstance. No, thank goodness, things are not so bad today in material terms, but the feeling must be the same, only numbed by daytime TV rather than cheap cinema. Reading about the conditions in which thousands of working people lived in northern towns in the thirties does bring home to one that hard as it was, boating life was not nearly so bad as the conditions endured by factory workers and miners.

No interesting pictures today, but I have uploaded the right one for yesterday.

Feeling so inclined

2009-08-05T21:41:00.002Z

Day 4, Crick to Foxton

After yesterday's exertions we had a lie in this morning, and didn't set off until eleven. The day started damp and miserable again, and we weren't fully able to appreciate the delights of the very green, rather overgrown Leicester Section. Midway through the afternoon, however, the sun finally came out, while we were waiting in the queue for Foxton Locks. What lovely locks they are. I steered - not that much steering was required - and it was a lovely experience. We were last through again, just as we were at Watford, and had to go along to the next bridge to find somewhere to tie up.

Later we made our way back to have a look at the inclined plane - a shame we'll have to give the museum a miss, but it doesn't open until ten. We bypassed the big Foxton Locks pub, and were heading back to the boat when, passing Bridge 61 (another pub) I was struck by how welcoming it was - there was a sign inviting people to bring their own food to barbecue, as long as they bought drinks from the pub - what a contrast to the negative attitude we saw last night and surely better business - so we decided to pop in. It was a lovely, old fashioned place smelling of woodsmoke, the service was nice and friendly and we were able to buy bread and milk there too. We even got chatting to some local people.

I am rueing somewhat the bargain cocoa butter lotion I bought in Tescos and have applied to my person for the first time tonight. I now seem to smell of a combination of cheap chocolate and old dog.

And on the third day it rained

2009-08-05T10:48:00.000Z

Day 3, Tuesday August 4th, Stoke Bruerne to Crick

Of course. We were lucky to get two days of reasonable weather, and already going to Braunston in June is starting to look like the best holiday move of the year.

Nonetheless, we put in eleven hours yesterday, not counting a stop for lunch, and polished off two tunnels as well as another sixteen locks. We have entered the terra incognita of the Leicester Section, and the high spot of the day for me was probably the Watford locks, where with the assistance of the very pleasant lockkeeper (especially - or perhaps because - we were the last customers of the day) I deployed side ponds for the first time. Ah, the joys of narrow locks after Buckby.

When we arrived in Crick it was raining in earnest, but having promised ourselves a pub dinner with chips we set off down a ghostly road to the Red Lion. Which wass very nice except for one thing - very nice friendly staff, decent food. reasonable choice of beer (don't bother with Adnam's Regatta though, it doesn't taste of anything) - but an incredibly bossy menu. 'We do not allow sharing of main meals'; side orders such as chips 'may not be ordered on their own'. Surely if an individual buys a meal it is up to them whether they wish to share it? I half expected (alongside the numerous 'no mobile phones' notices one saying 'Meals must be eaten all up before you can have dessert' (Perhaps they do; it did say 'the dessert menu will be brought to you after you have finished your main course'). So all in all a very nice pub, but I would be put off going there again by the bossy attitude.

Brickwork and buddleia, rivets and willowherb

2009-08-03T20:13:00.002Z

Day 2, Leighton Buzzard to Stoke Bruerne

This is the kind of canal scenery I like best. Not nice neat new developments, now pretty countryside (though that's OK) but the inevitably transient scenes of abandonment. This is the former BR carriage works at Wolverton, a vast brick building with a timber and glass roof, decayed, colonised by buddleia, glass broken, timber rotted, but not, at least as far as you can see from the canal, vandalised or graffitied; just taken over by time and nature to create a new thing of beauty.

We did wait for those people at the next lock, in the end, and they were very pleased, but the karma channels were clearly not running very freely, as when we got to the second to top lock here at Stoke Bruerne another boat had appeared from nowhere and was in the lock just as we got to it, and refused to wait. To add insult etc (and give me an excuse for a good swear) they left the top gate open. In the meantime, we had got involved with pulling in and tying up a drifting boat (the second; we had one yesterday at Tring) - which we think the lock hoggers had probably pulled out in passing, and by the time that was done we'd been going for ten hours, the dinner was cooked, so we decided to stay down here, not knowing what the mooring situation would be at the top anyway.

Incommunicado in Leighton Buzzard

2009-08-03T10:41:00.000Z

Day 1 (Sunday August 2nd), Cowroast to Leighton Buzzard

After all my good intentions, I failerd to post last night, or Saturday night for that matter. On Saturday, at Cowroast, there was an excellent signal, but I discovered I'd left the USB lead at home, and furthermore, couldn't find the charger for the netbook. Number two son being in Venice, I phoned number onhe son, asked him to go round with his cat feeding key and root around in the study. He found the UBS lead easily enough, where I'd left it, plugged into the front of the computer, but he couldn't find the charger at home either. So I'm afraid, as this opportunity had to be grabbed, I sent him upstairs to steal number two son's charger. Sorry Sebastian. Hopefull when he gets back, with more time at his disposal, he will be able to find mine. Having got the bits, he took them round to the house of Alison and David, who spent the day with us yesterday (but I mustn't forget to mention first that we have a lovely evening at Cowroast with the Owls on Saturday before we left).

Yesterday (i.e. Sunday; day 1) was a lovely sunny day, and we polished off eighteen locks, and ate a nice lunch brought along by our guests, who drove up to Tring station, with the intention (fulfilled as far as I know) of getting the train back to there from Leighton. I now have a very red nose again. Oh well. We stopped for an afternoon drink at Grove lock, and arrived at Leighton, by the Tescos, at about six. And then discovered from the locals that there was no Vodafone signal whatsoever owing to some mishap befalling the aeriel.

We spent the night in a not very salubrious spot by an overflowing litter bin and benck frequented by people who drink Special Brew for breakfast, but I was only disturbed in the night by a ferocious cat fight. Jim on the other hand was disturbed by the cats, some Liverpool fans, and the ducks, both quacking and pecking. We come all this way to get away from the bloody seagulls, only to be kept awake by nocturnal ducks instead. When we got up they were all sound asleep.

We dashed round Tescos (I'm afraid I like big Tescos. I know that makes me a bad person, but I still get excited by all the housewares) and left Leighton Buzzard at nine. We hope to get to Stoke Bruerne by tonight but are now in a dilemma. At the first lock, an elderly couple waited for us, to the extent of stopping and refilling the lock when they saw us coming. We are now honour bound to wait for them - or are we? They are very, very slow...

Pop star-porley

2009-08-01T08:00:00.002Z

Got an email from one of the Tarporley guys yesterday with a couple of photos of Little Boots (yes, I had even heard of her!) recording a video on Tarporley. Apparently it will be released on pockettvshow on YouTube in a couple of weeks, for all you fans out there. Woo, down with the young people.

And now we are off to Berkhamsted.

Full circle?

2009-07-29T17:31:00.003Z

This morning I put the money we got for Helyn in the bank, and this afternoon I posted off a cheque for the deposit on Chertsey.

And in one of those lovely neat little circles, I realised the other day - where did we buy Helyn and begin our boating? Penton Hook Marina. On the Thames at Chertsey.

Tanks on the drive

2009-07-28T17:30:00.003Z

Well, I did it; I rang up Estates first thing this morning and the guy in charge seemed only too pleased for us to take away the two water tanks from my office building.

So we set off with the 240 estate and the roof rack, having been online and paid the congestion charge so that we could go up through London rather than round the M25 - at £8 it might be a useful deterrent to people driving in every day, but for an occasional visit it seems like good value for the convenience - and, I must say, TfL's websites generally seem to work very well.

As a result we were able to go the 'old fashioned' way; the way I remember going as a child before the M25 was built. Up the A23, Purley Way, Streatham High Road and Brixton Hill. I love this route with its plethora of magnificent thirties architecture, from the heyday of the motor car as a racy and glamorous means of transport, and the parades of shops; the only place that local independent shops now seem to have enough custon to survive. Although the butchers are now Halal and the haberdashers sell saris, in essence the scene hasn't changed for generations.

Without a hitch we found our way to Tavistock Square and loaded up the two 100 gallon tanks - one in the back (I shall be devastated when the last 240 disappears) and one on the roof. I had also taken the opportunity to pack up large amounts of books to take into the office, and to bring back two boxes of Tarporley photos.

It was a bonus to discover that one of the tanks still had its lids, and both were pretty clean; they seem almost new. Probably one at least will become a clean water tank for Chertsey rather than just being used for ballast.

Spreading the word

2009-07-27T22:47:00.004Z

Today at work I've been showing my photos of Chertsey to anyone who'll look. Mostly they think I'm mad. Are you going to live on it, they say. Well, no, probably not, though I'd like to spend lots of time on it. When I tell them that no, I won't be putting a cabin on it, they look at me uncomprehendingly. What can I possibly want it for? To make it beautiful, more beautiful than it already is, and then get together and compare rivets with lots of like-minded people ('lots' is a relative concept, of course). Sounds perfectly sane.

No sooner was I back at work last week, than I became aware of the new perspective ownership of a boat like this brings. The building housing my office used to have a resident caretaker, but since he retired, his flat on the top floor is being converted to more offices. All sorts of ancient kitchen appliances, sanitary ware and general rubbish has appeared in the area in front of my basement office window, stayed a while, and then been spirited away. But what did I see there on Thursday? Two 100-gallon water tanks. Fate or what? Having had no success in locating, let along negotiating with the builders, tomorrow I plan to ring up the Estates department and see if I can effect their salvage.

Had a meeting this evening of all the people involved in teaching a particularly broad course I was involved in this year. One of the other people present taught history, specialising in London in the 30s. One of his classes was a walk around Docklands, but I wasted no time in accosting him in the tea break and persuading him that what his students really needed was a trip on Tarporley. This was received with some enthusiasm, and it was also suggested that I might like to give a talk to some of his other students about boats and carrying on the GU and stuff. I thought at first I probably don't know enough about it, but I bet I could crib sufficient material to fill half an hour or so, and think of all the lovely slides I could show.