The last few days have been exceptionally humid and warm for Autumn, bringing with them an invasion of daddy long legs which stick themselves everywhere from the ceiling to the shower and rudely stare at you through windows. Goodness knows how they don't slide off.
Signwriter Rob (one of our boaty neighbours) apparently stuck himself in a similar fashion upside down on a marina jetty the previous night during a horrific electrical storm, hoping to catch a photograph of it overhead. I did some Google research regarding lightning protection on vessels recently, about how having a wired mast can create a 'cone of protection'. It didn't include a chapter about lying spread-eagled next to your boat with your arms in the air.
Today, the air was still and muggy with no hint of sun, (or
lightning, thankfully) and we left the marina for a day trip with my Uncle and
Auntie plus their two friends. We apologised for the state of the kitchen which
currently houses half a tonne of cleaning materials, paintbrushes, sugar soap,
kitchen paper and goodness knows what else on the work tops. How the kitchen
units are still standing, I'm unsure. Our family waved their hands and
dismissed it, more interested in how the sofa got through the front doors.
Everyone asks that. Even DFS doesn't know.
The minute we were out on the cut we met Paint Dave who had
wandered all over the place and was in a pickle with his boat. We tried to
negotiate to go around him the normal way (on the right-hand side), but after
several hand signals and some confusion we had to go around him the opposite
way. Once we got closer we realised he was being towed along by a rope, whilst
he punted merrily along almost on the verge of singing about cornettos. For a
moment I thought we'd accidentally come out of the wrong marina entrance and
ended up in Venice.
Paint Dave grinned at us. 'Engine blew up.' We sailed by,
pulling air rapidly through our teeth with a wince. Engines are costly problems.
'At least I'm going slow enough so you can admire my paintwork!' He smiled
again and carried on punting.
It must be something to do with all the power required to
keep his chillies and tomatoes warm in his hydroponics bay at the front of the
boat. Either that or he decided to go one step further into space age
technology and attempt a moon landing. Horsepower isn't designed for getting
into orbit.
A fat boat behind him became terrified at finding themselves
on the wrong side of the canal, confronted with another fat boat coming at
them. We raised an eyebrow and looked closer. It was a Holiday Fat Boat, or HFB
as we like to call them.
These sorts are so buttered up by the free chocolates,
champagne and the on-board jacuzzi (yes, you heard, JACUZZI) bubbles that they
fear everything that comes in the opposite direction, including their own
farts. We smiled at them as we passed, raising our free builders tea and rusty
windlass, feeling really hard. Bubbles? Pah!
Around the corner were two more Daves, moored up together.
Glastonbury Dave and 'Al' right Al' Dave were snuggled up facing opposite
directions. Perhaps they'd had a row, who knows. The direction your boat faces your neighbours says a lot about you, you know.
The journey onwards to the locks was relatively calm, and we
arrived at the first in the flight with a hoard of gongoozlers staring as if
they had never seen anything wider than 6ft before.
'Will you fit in there?' Asked an Australian.
I looked back at our girl, realising at the same time that
everyone on board was wearing blue to match. We looked like a serious team
effort.
'Only just', I replied.
The Australian looked concerned. They don't have canals down
under because all the water would slide off, so they have good reason to worry.
One gongoozler was elated to see how a lock worked, as
they'd never seen one in action before. Another looked horrified at my Uncle's
bum cleavage, which naughtily revealed itself after strenuous effort to shut a
stiff gate. That'll teach them to stare.
Someone else commented how clever locks are and that they
could only be designed by a woman. Last time I looked I'm sure John Rennie was
a man. Either that or Wikipedia has got serious problems with its image
database.
My Uncle and Auntie's friends asked how you tell when a lock
gate is ready.
'Sit on it and you'll feel it lift under you. That sounds a
bit rude, doesn't it?'
You can take that phrase however you want to, I'm saying
nothing.
Once we got to the final lock to turn around, we got
hijacked on the way out, and a little steamer boat overtook Dad and shot into
the lock. Within seconds, another boat wanted to come down. It looked as though
we would be there for the day. Having a fat boat means you cannot share with
anyone (I don't like sharing, anyway), and hence you end up standing there
doing the lock three times over before you can enter it yourself. And being
late for lunch. And desperate for a pint and a pee (not at the same time, of
course).
We even caught up the steamer boat in our earnest. The
gentleman on there kindly held the gate open for us, and I congratulated him
for not being racist against fat boats like everyone else seems to be. I didn't
say it to his face of course - I just smiled and waved at him whilst he
replaced his chimney after losing it in a bush.
Onwards we sailed before mooring up, and met our friend
Terry the Paint - you guessed it, he paints. Boats, that is, not canvases.
My Uncle thought it would be amusing to give him a nudge
with our girl as we passed and see if he could get Terry covered in paint.
Amazingly, every time we see Terry, he never has a spot of paint on him. If I
paint, I have more on me than I do anywhere else. Either he uses a magical brush,
or I have an excitable twitch, one or the other.
A few gongoozlers strung around our girl, again bemused by
her enormity. It triggered off a row between Mum and a strange fellow who was
absolutely certain our girl was bigger than 12ft and INSISTED it was so. Mum
was almost tempted to get the tape measure out to prove it. The chap must have
the same problem with eating - his eyes being bigger than his belly.
Being late for lunch and all that, we dashed off to the pub,
arriving panting at the bar. When lunch came to our table, I was intrigued that
my Auntie's naan bread looked uncannily like a bicycle seat. Apparently it
tasted like one too, but thankfully everything else was fine apart from the
sausages. They were so overdone that throwing them at a duck might kill it, so
I left them on the side of the plate so that the chef could used them to catch
some ducks for his specials board. I hope he's a better thrower than Mum, or he
might kill himself instead.
After pudding, we whisked back up to the canal and began the
journey back to the marina. A skinny boat was having trouble staying moored, so
we passed her gingerly whilst a kind gongoozler tied her back up again.
Unfortunately, even on tick over, our passing was enough to suck it back out
into the canal again where it drifted across like a closing gate. The poor
thing looked terrified.
We left the skinny boat sobbing whilst someone else on the
towpath came to her aid, and continued onwards, my Uncle steering our girl with
a big grin past some fishermen. I've heard that coarse fishing isn't to do with
the type of fish. It's actually the type of language a fisherman uses.
A friend of mine
taught me how to deal with this (not that I EVER will use this technique). He
revved up his engine so much that a tidal wave from the rear of the boat washed
the fishermen and their gear across the towpath.
Don't try this at home, and do not blame this blog for any
silly ideas you might have regarding fishermen. In general, they're very nice.
Even if their smile looks as though they might be constipated - they probably
are, after holding in their arse muscles, just in case they miss something when
they go.
Back in the marina, our boaty friends waved us in and we
were home, amongst the protection of fat boat corner. Being in the marina is
great and everyone is on the same level, or, excuse the pun, 'in the same
boat.' Our girl rested in her mooring whilst we chatted away the hours with a
cup of tea, reminiscing of our day, and the light faded. Oh such a pleasure to
go out on a fat boat.
No comments:
Post a Comment