24th August - Why Didn't We Think of That?

As usual, August Bank holiday always means one thing - RAIN. Actually, we've been very fortunate the past few days in that it has been very dry. Until this morning, that is. The plan was to paint the boat roof early this morning, until we discovered Mother Nature had left a lovely gift of a thick blanket of dew to keep the boat cosy, and make Dad frustrated. Watered down paint is not a good idea, hence the rush to grab everything that could absorb water out of the boat and spread it across the roof. We went through about four jey clothes, twenty sheets of kitchen roll and a lot of puffing and grunting until Dad spotted a neighbour standing on the roof of his boat casually sweeping water off the top with a broom. We stared at each other, mouths agog. Why on earth didn't we think of that?

After another half an hour of sweeping, mopping and sponging, the roof didn't look any drier, and Dad's trousers were in an even worse state than the roof. While he went home to change, I sat and finished polishing the tiller (which looked as though it had never seen a tin of Brasso in its life) until it sparkled like gold. Our neighbours probably thought I was slightly insane, lovingly stroking it up and down and twirling it in the sun. They should be envious. It's a total embarrassment to go out with a tiller that you can't at least see your face in (or anyone else's for that matter). Now it serves as a spare mirror in the shed (great for checking salad in your teeth, or that kind of thing). Dad came back a while later, and, when the roof finally started to dry, Dad whipped out the roller and painted it. When I looked up a couple of hours later after polishing an awkwardly-shaped tiller pin, I had to shield my eyes. The colour is fab, a lovely Cornish cream colour - but the shininess, well. If no-one moved out of the way on the cut before, they will now, partially out of fear of the twelve-foot wide tank moving towards them with nowhere to go, and the other half out of blindness from the dazzling sunlight reflecting off of our girl's striking roof. Move over blonde bombshell, cream is the colour, baby, yeah. Even the marina manager approved when he popped over for a quick chat. He's a remarkable man, easily recognised by his luminous blue braces and fast walk, with an air of your head teacher at school. You have to be on your best behaviour whenever he looks in your direction - it is his and his wife's marina to manage, after all. And a great job they do of it too (I'm not just saying that because he's looking over here through his binoculars whilst I write this).

Mum joined us at lunch for, yep, you guessed it, lunch, after breaking into the brand new toaster left for us by the boat's previous owners. It does about two slices at a time in its monstrously ugly white box thing, barely touching the sides with no hint of brown - but it still resembled toast when bitten in to. Tea came shortly, and we indulged in our first meal on our girl, balancing the plates on our lap. The table is yet to come, a lesser commodity compared with other necessaries such as a toilet seat. Which we have to buy again, as the one we ordered online does not fit. The toilet that is, not our arses - just what size did you think we were? The wasp we hit with the paperwork is now smirking itself silly.

Engineer Dave turned up as planned this afternoon with a big grin and a box of bits. I opened the bilge hatch for him, and down he went into Wonderland below, quick as a rabbit. It was only when he was down there did I tell him about the enormous spiders (the ultimate test of a proper man). He shuddered briefly, but carried on. Our girl approved by making sure he was hit on the head a few times by the hatch. Such a naughty tease. Dave fiddled with her loose bits, pulling up her boards to inspect the wiring beneath with a tut. 'Deary me, look, your engine buzzer is only held on by a piece of tape. Do you know what this is?' He pointed and I looked hurriedly round for Dad, out of my depth. 'Erm, not really, no, but I know they've put the engine reader the wrong way round', pointing in a totally different direction and changing the subject. I call it the engine reader, but really it's a display which shows how many volts you have going through the system, and it's a pig to read. Not only is it upside down, but it's back to front in a mirror. Duh.

Dave grinned again, opening his magic box of bits as Dad appeared to look at the bilge pump which had problems. Wiring problems. Oops.

After about twenty flushes of the water from the bilge, and a second pump installed, that one failed too, leaving Dave temporarily scratching his head and requesting that a goldfish be put in it so we could see the flow of the water out through the opaque pipe. I went off in search of one, but only found a giant muddy carp, which didn't look amused at the thought. Instead, I just kept filling up the bucket for Dave so he could flush again. I though putting goldfish down a toilet was cruel. It's actually a breeze compared with this.

All the while Dave worked he chatted about his boat that he lives on, which he is doing up over time as it caught fire a few years ago. Long story. We explained to him how we removed the fridge and are looking for a new one.

'I don't worry about that in winter.' He said, crimping a fitting to a wire. 'I keep my food in the canal.'

Dad and I raised eyebrows.

'You know, hang it over the side in a container, keeps it cold. I keep the rest of my food in the gas hatch in the front. Lovely and cold in there.'

We now know Dave's secret - quick picnic, anyone?

'I don't bother with heating if it's eight degrees or above. You get used to it. I live on the boat with my dog, we have great conversations.' He changed the subject quickly. 'I once bought a mower off a 79 year old, even though I had three already. You've gotta watch these old people. They're deceiving they are.'

Another crimp and Dave hummed along to himself and chatted away merrily. He says he talks to himself and the dog a lot and apologised. I do it all the time. Perhaps it's the ones that don't are the ones you have to watch. Earwigging someone talking to their dog reveals a lot about a person. Most people would think I need a straight jacket if they heard me.

After lots of hand wetting and pulling at wires, Dave decided he will come back next weekend to wire her up properly and get in a few other odd jobs (plus a beer or two at the marina beer festival). Dad agreed and we chatted to Dave outside some more, whilst he admired our girl (I'm sure she blushed when he said how nice the roof looked). He waved as he left in his little white van, and Dad and I tucked our girl in bed, looking back at her fondly as we too, left and said goodnight.