20th August - an Obsession

I haven't seen the boat for a couple of days now (some of us who own boats do work, you know!), hence the withdrawal symptoms growing stronger than ever. We ran out of cider and wine tonight, and that made matters even worse. I could tell by Mum's slip of the tongue that things were getting desperate when she described a pair of rubber gloves as welly gloves. They might as well be.

Dad, however, did get the chance to go today and took Andrew with him, a nice man who fitted out our previous boat, and does a wonderful job with a saw and a slice of sandpaper. Apparently, he thought the boat is marvellous, and measured up for our new set of front steps that lead down in from the bow. He did a fantastic job at home building a set of stairs that we use every day and they're still there after seven years, so we can at least trust him. His latest ventures have included making giant wooden camels - as long as he doesn't build our steps with a couple of Bactrian-sized humps in, we'll be fine.

Our girl is due another visit on Sunday by a man called Dave who is going to look at her over active bladder problem. She still seems to drip a little too much for our liking (nighttime pull-ups do NOT work on boats) and the pump still isn't working. I'm sure she's doing this on purpose, just to get all these charming men on board fondling her bits and bobs. Naughty thing.

Just as a new home requires furniture, as does a boat, so we went off around B&Q and Wickes' this evening to nosy around their kitchen displays oohing, aahing, stroking surfaces and looking puzzled at drawers with no handles. Apparently, this is the in thing. Our eyes caught a nice unit with a rounded end and we touched it fondly. Dad and I quickly found the most important item of furniture - the wine rack. We told Mum there's no need to buy any other units, the wine rack will do just fine. That, and a fridge - to keep it cold before drinking, of course.

The taps were another issue all together - some were stupendously ugly (goodness knows who designed them) and others were out-of-this-world enormous and large enough to hang a bath towel on whilst you washed. All we wanted was a simple bathroom tap. They're not called taps on the labels. They're called 'basin mixers'. It probably means they play awesome tunes with dramatic basal tones perfect for the echoing bathroom environment. Or something like that. Either way, we'll find out soon enough.

As we wandered back through the kitchen section, I spotted a row of toilet seats and crowed in delight (I do have an excellent taste in toilet humour), shouting very loudly whilst pointing at one which resembled a fish tank. A couple sat talking to the kitchen salesman in his little open plan office stared as if I were some lunatic that had never seen a toilet seat before. It's not every day you have so much choice. They were certainly much cheaper than the one Dad had to order for our boat loo (there's no way I'm perching on the one that's there now). He ordered it yesterday outside, whilst we read through the frightening paperwork that stated never to EVER flush if there's something you haven't eaten first (I never get this, as you technically don't eat your turds first, unless you're a rabbit, then you do it several times). The wasp at that moment of reading that tried to attack us had no chance, being hit in the face by a picture of a saniflow toilet. Good job it wasn't a real one - then it would have felt it as well as seen it. (And probably smelled it, too).

Back in B&Q, we rushed around, grabbing rolls of lining paper, wallpaper paste and brushes, which I took great delight in stroking each one, carefully rolled in their own little wrappers like little hairy mice. Dad chose the quality ones which felt like touching a guinea pig that recently used hair conditioner. If that doesn't leave a smooth finish, perhaps some anti-frizz cream will do the trick.

Exhausted, we walked out of the shop looking like a trio of decorators, tubs swinging from our arms and paper rolls under our arms. After tucking it all into the boot, Dad went off into Halfords next door to look for some anti-freeze, but couldn't find the right one. There's so many different types, it's a job to choose. It's like trying to pick a juice drink - ready mixed, concentrated, blah, blah, blah, don't drink, dangerous for the environment, produced in a factory that handles nuts - no, wait, that's just juice. Bored at reading bottles, I looked around. I have never seen so many wiper blades for sale, enough to line up end-to-end to cross the English Channel. It's just not normal. Whilst I gawped at them, I wondered why my brother wasn't in here, owing to his obsession with anything that has a wheel in each corner. Then I realised. There's more than one Halfords. And I can't talk. I have an obsession with a fat boat.