16th August - Maiden Voyage

 

Today was our maiden voyage - although it's supposed to be summer, the weather is refusing to be fair game and blessed us with 40mph winds. Which is of course, marvellous for boating in. On the sea with a sailing ship perhaps.

Before setting off, Mum sucked the sofa to death with the Hoover (I'm surprised there's anything left of it) and painted two swatches of green on the walls which matched our neighbour's boat perfectly, so that if we have the blinds open we wouldn't know where the wall ends and the window begins. The pea green didn't make the swatch stage as it looked slightly too violent, a shade resembling something that might crawl out of the pot by itself.

Even the bowl of oranges cringed at the thought and wrinkled in disgust.

After fumbling with the half a mile long ropes like a bunch of novices, we started the engine and were off, the wind blowing us out of the mooring a treat. In fact, too much of a treat, causing our others neighbours to look around nervously watching as we guided our girl around their bows, smiling sweetly as we passed. We passed the initiation test by getting out of the narrow marina entrance with barely a few centimetres to spare and glided along past the boats moored on the towpath, and lo and behold, we passed our old narrowboat, still well cared for and loved by her new owners. We smiled at her fondly as we passed her, patting our new girl gently, cooing, 'that's our old boaty over there. You're ours now.' People on the towpath probably thought we were crazy, and a few of them commented on the size of our new girl. 'Gosh, isn't it wide! 12ft - that's huge!' It's a good job she isn't human, or that would end up a serious insult, probably resulting in a punch up.

We discovered a wonderful aspect of owning a wide beam today. Everyone else moves out of the way. No more stopping, holding back. It seems narrowboats want absolutely nothing to do with a tank like ours and refuse to go anywhere near it, fear taking their faces into whole new territories of contorted terror as we approach. Bridges with blind exits are enormous fun and Dad delighted in blowing the acoustic canned air horn (another goody left by our girl's previous owners) at every opportunity, letting every approaching boat within earshot know that something huge is coming their way and will result in a quick dash into the shrubbery and a panic attack on their part. How times have changed since owning a narrowboat.

We were lucky today and didn't need to jump off to do the swing bridge as a lady kindly waited for us to go through, having no idea that we were about to go through, turn around and come back. When I opened my mouth to say, she said she would shut the bridge whilst we turned and leave us as she was in a hurry. When Dad said something to her from the back of the boat she decided to wait. What a misery. Perhaps I approached her wrong with a smile as I told her what we intended to do. She looked the type that if she smiled back she might combust with the effort.

Sitting on the bow of the boat (or driving) is like being a celebrity. Everyone on the towpath waves, smiles, says good morning, good afternoon or whatever it is to you. I've since improved my hand wave to one similar to the queen which works excellent. You just sit there and people who are miserable just can't help themselves and HAVE to look up at you and grunt. I just have to perfect the art of people throwing money at the magic waving money box and that should just about buy us a new set of kitchen units after one weekend, judging by the towpath footfall.

On the way to our stop point, we checked the engine hatch whilst our girl was chugging along to see what was stirring beneath. The excitement was just too much for her, and she wet herself prolifically into the bilge, causing slight concern and constant gazing at the bilge bucket and non-functional pump which was about as much use as a chocolate fire guard.

I picked up a nasty habit of slamming the engine hatch and nearly burst and eardrum doing so. Next time I'll shut her quietly, lesson learned.

We stopped at our mooring to have lunch at our favourite general pub, the Three Magpies, munching our way through two courses. The pudding was great, but the pancake stack was more of a slide and didn't have enough pancakes. To me, a stack is at least six inches.

All the same, we stopped to rest after on the bow of the boat and fed some greedy ducks and got investigated by a group of swans who tried to nibble my arm. Very cute.

We left the visitor moorings refreshed and happy, congratulated by a fellow boater on our 'appropriate speed' - 'jolly good, well done, so nice to see someone go by slowly' - not like the hire boaters who passed us and him at top speed a few minutes before, leaving Mum's sea legs well and truly behind.

As we made it back to the marina, I had the opportunity to drive and delighted in watching the swallows dart and dive around the boat, almost touching the front of it where Mum and Dad stood.

The wind picked up to a howling gale through the marina entrance and Dad had a job to squeeze through, as we were blown back out like a piece of paper. A good rev from our girl and she was in once more, chugging around to our mooring. A couple of terns (birds which look like a bizarre cross between a swallow and a seagull) hunkered down on the jetties nearby, screeching and taking to the air as we passed.

With a sigh of relief, we made it back into our mooring and tied her up gently after her hard work, coiling the spare rope like a snake charmer's basket on the front (presentation is everything) and sinking down into the sofa indoors, picking giant thistle seeds off of everything as they blew into the boat. Soon, we'll have them growing inside with the amount of dirt on the floor.

We discovered the wet nappy issue earlier in the engine bay was due to this strange grease tap we have to screw down every time we move the boat. Apparently she wasn't sealed enough, hence we have to constipate her every time we even think of going anywhere.

We tucked her up for bed and left her happy, snug as a bug next to our neighbours as we drove away, looking back at her fondly. 'Till next time.