It feels like an eon since I last saw the boat, and yet, it
was only a couple of days ago. Perhaps it seems that way because we all feel
like we've been locked in the village stocks with bucket loads of tomatoes and
other rotten veg thrown at us lately, with work issues. Life is so mixed-up, and tonight, Dad and I decided to take a trip
up to the marina to see the boat. As we entered, we encountered people happily
sat on benches together, or on the back of boats, smiling as we drove past to
our allotted parking spot. It's a whole different world on the canal - much
more peaceful, for a start.
Dad's first job of the evening was to check the radiators,
as one of which had come loose from the wall whilst he pulled the carpet out
from behind it earlier today - oops. Hence the pile of paint tins, stools and a
miniature step ladder propped against it to keep it upright and stop it from
leaking. Thankfully, engineer Dave is due tomorrow to take a look with his
trusty bag of useful shite. Apparently, he is fuelled by a pint of milk and a
Mars Bar each morning. If that can get you through hammering in 70 posts in a
field with a tool that is half as heavy as a human, then I'm all for it - bring
it on! It might help me become less sarcastic.
Dad stared wistfully at the roof, and within a few seconds,
whipped out a roller and paint tin and slapped on another coat. One whiff and I
was high as a kite, wandering off with a big grin on my face to feed the swans
at the back of the boat. They grunted and snorted in excitement of a treat,
whilst every duck in the marina took to the air and landed in arrow formations
behind them, carefully avoiding the long white necks with military precision.
There's something highly amusing about seeing a duck half-raising from the
water, with its neck stretched and underside of its face and beak showing. I'm
not quite sure what it is yet, but every time it makes me laugh. Either that or
it's the smell of the epoxy-based paint, which is enough to make even the most sober
turn hysterical.
The view tonight was excellent - long shadows, rolling
hills, people arriving back to their boats fresh from work, the moon gently
rising in the pale blue sky. Everything was calm and perfect. Dad finished the
back end of the boat whilst I watched the swans preening and flapping their
wings. Before long, Dad had finished and we went inside to clean up. I didn't
need to wear a watch, as the neighbour's rear cratch has the most almighty
clock inside that could rival Big Ben. From two moorings away I could easily
see the second hand in its domed face. They are rather kind to point it in our
direction, a signal as if to say that time is ticking away permanently - oh
yes, and Emmerdale is on at seven.
I watched a couple walk past to their boat with huge grins
on their faces (it could only be the smell of the paint) carrying their
shopping and clambering on board. Life is so simple here.
Before long, it was time to leave, and, after receiving
several missed calls from a boating friend who constantly presses the letter A
in his pocket, we packed up and said goodnight to our girl, eagerly looking
forward to next time.
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