15th February, 2015 - Panning for Gold

The birds have begun to sing triumphantly from the treetops, signifying spring is well and truly on its way.

Still too grim and cold for a gentle trip out on our girl, we decided instead to go for a steady walk on the towpath and catch up with a few friends, one of whom was rinsing out his saucepan in the canal from his swan hatch.

I've heard Fairy Liquid goes a long way, but perhaps this was a stretch too far. Terry the Paint is an ambitious friend of ours, so the only logical explanation was that he was panning for gold in the muddy flow. Panning for gold in the canal is a dangerous game, and often you can expect the unexpected. Whole swedes, dead sheep, undergarments, floating unmentionables and hats can cause obstructions in the fine mesh required to achieve a handful of gold flakes. Perhaps the nearest anyone has got to it is a handful of cornflakes, which, quite frankly, are pretty expensive and are well worth collecting.

Terry shrugged when we asked him what he was doing, and so we settled on the thought that it could well be a new form of interactive water feature.

A boater next to us chuckled, whilst we basked in the glory of his brilliant sky-blue boat with yellow accents. I haven't seen blue sky for a week what with being stuck in an office - I was tempted to ask him if it was possible to get a chair and sit within a foot of the boat so that I could pretend it was summer for a couple of hours.

The gentleman on it told us that apparently that morning the canal was as dry as a chip (hence Terry was still enjoying the novelty of it with his saucepan in the background). When he got up in the morning to step off the boat he thought he was on a mudflat and hit his head against the canal wall (which normally is less than half a foot above water level).

Instantly, we blamed someone leaving the lock paddles open, and the chap shook his head earnestly, a big grin on his face. Oh, no, it was something much more exciting than that.

An entire herd of bull calves had escaped from the farmer's field the previous day and rampaged up the towpath, squeezing under the bridge and scaring the dog walkers to death, who turned and ran in the opposite direction (who wouldn't). One of the bulls fell in the water, splashed about and collapsed a huge chunk of wall section, leaving a nice big drain hole as if it had pulled an enormous bath plug. We all know what a novelty it is to live with one leg longer than the other on a boat. Especially when it comes to relieving oneself in the bathroom. Blu-tac in these situations is a glorious and normally undervalued creation.

It does, however, beg the question - what do you do when confronted with a herd of bulls on a narrow towpath, armed only with a windlass, a British Waterways key and a mug of tea?
I'd ask Terry for his saucepan.

1st February, 2015 - The Great Barge Bake-Off

Winter is still holding on with its cold grasp, and hence, our girl has been tucked away cosily in the marina, awaiting our weekly return to check her water pipes and flick on the heating to briefly warm her heart. Together we long for each other once more, holding out for the chance of a warm spring day to lounge on the deck boards next to her and feed the swans.

Today, however, I was cheered by something of a revolution that my sister and her family had bought for me for my birthday. Unwittingly, they had changed my life, and possibly everyone else in the marina (if they catch wind of it).

It involves a book, a microwave, a china mug, ten minutes and some sugar, flower, eggs and most likely (in my case) chocolate. CAKE IN A MUG.

I need not say any more. My lifelong ambition once squashed by work commitments, time, and stress, will soon be fulfilled. No longer will I have the terrible fear on board of someone stealing my shop-bought muffins and other treats when they mysteriously 'drop by'.

With a cake disguised in a mug, no-one else stands a chance with my hands wrapped firmly around it. Even better, if I give them the recipe, they'll leave in double-quick time to go and make one for themselves.

When all you have in your galley is an induction hob and a microwave, the art of cake making would once have been an impossible mission; I now salute the author of the book I received for such an ingenious invention, nearly worthy of a Nobel Peace award. With 600W and an appetite you can take on anything (except maybe emptying the toilet tank, as, admit it, no one is ever really prepared for that. The sight of chocolate cake can make such sights an even worse ordeal).

I once stared miserably at the cup of soup my work colleague made from a sachet of powder that, when boiled from an over-active kettle, smelled and tasted like death warmed up. Now I laugh, flashing my microwave and new cake circle powers (and a marvellous smile, if I say so myself).

If only one could perfect a roast dinner in a mug, the boating universe would change forever. After all, Wales thrives on a delicious and fabulous dish called Cawl that's cooked in one pan (or an oversized mug, if you want to try).

Somehow, my boaty neighbours seem to manage cooking a normal roast. How they do this is a total mystery to me (however, it might have a lot to do with a full-sized gas oven). Apparently, it involves lots of shelf swapping at timed intervals - I've also heard rumours of much laying-on-the-back foot shoving as well.

I'll have to be careful my cake mixture doesn't exceed 21 x 29.7cm for fear the microwave door won't shut, or I'll have a queue of disappointed neighbours outside the kitchen window who look like they've turned up at the wrong Blue Dragon advert.

Some things are better kept behind closed doors. Especially mug cakes and roasts.

Remember, sharing cake recipes is very dangerous. Only do it in extreme situations, i.e you want to get rid of a visitor for talking too much/farting in YOUR boat/eating your food which you planned on eating yourself/hogging the fireplace. Do it wisely, or friends may end up resorting to bad behaviour just to get one line of ingredients from you. You have been warned.