18th March - Giant Squid

Getting a mattress on a boat is a work of art in itself, but trying to get it through a 2ft corridor and around a 95 degree angle is a challenge, especially when the room it's going in resembles an elevator.

Mattresses aren't the most bendy-ist of things either. It was like trying to stuff an elephant into a wetsuit - the more I tugged, the more stuck it became, until, panting and puffing, I stood on top of the bed bent in half, arse touching the ceiling. With a grunt any tennis player would be proud of, the monstrous thing slid into place. I glared at it suspiciously and left it to its own devices whilst we prepared our girl with a few other items in anticipation of something called 'summer' and 'holidays', two words I've never heard of in two sentences, let alone together in one.

Mum's been slowly buying cushions over the past few months, in batches so that hopefully Dad and I don't notice the sudden invasion of puffed squares that continue to multiply like rabbits on the sofa. Eventually the living room will be so full of cushions it will be like a kiddies soft ball pool. Every time I straighten them I make sure they're an inch apart in case they have any ideas about hanky panky. I have the same problem with peas and mashed potato. Mixing them is against all laws of physics. And psychology.

We now also have a nice plastic box to keep our toothbrushes in (no flies on mine, thank you) and a bath mat in what is described as 'petrol blue'. Quite frankly, I've ever see blue petrol, and if it was that colour, everyone would want a transparent petrol tank, just for the fun of it.

Although planning ahead was entertaining, the weather itself was rather grim and uninviting, and we dared only stay for a short while before a trip to the pub for a well-deserved pint and a chat to some fellow boaters who were huddled out of the cold Easterly wind around the bar.
Apparently it was the wind itself that had blown everyone in that day.

We quickly made some new friends who live permanently on their narrowboat, and have the most intriguing canal names of 'Badger' and 'Mouse'. I thought the names rather charming and endearing and far easier to identify than the usual 'Dave'.

Boaters are always so vibrant and exciting - they even cut their own hair. I admire them. I tried to cut someone's fringe once and it ended up something a Vulcan would be hugely disappointed with. Not a good look (hence why I don't have a fringe). It's just not logical.

I did overhear a snippet of conversation in the pub that consisted of 'giant squid' and 'canal'. Overhearing things is not good for you, and I went away terrified of the thought of those age-old pictures of sea ships with masses of tentacles wrapped around them. I dread to think what lives in the Brassknocker Basin, what with it being over 12ft deep. If you see a fat boat speeding around the Dundas corner, you'll know why. I'm not hanging around to find out.

The next day we went in the pub again (the wind blew us in) and it was Mothers Day. Within seconds we were swamped by a group of men who looked as if they'd been exploring the arctic and needed a roast to defrost. Once they'd thawed and had a few pints, the conversation really got going. These chaps were holiday boaters who fiercely believed fishing was really only a form of maggot drowning, and what on earth is the point of sitting on the bank all day if all fishermen do is swear at boaters.

People say that boating is a contact sport. Although bumping into boats all day is fun and amusing, 'contact' doesn't really exist between boaters and fishermen. They don't exactly swap numbers, either, preferring to ignore each other or, to another extreme, exchange rude words. Some boaters I've known have pulled a fast one and taken maggot drowning to a whole new level, rather drowning an entire box of maggots with a ginormous bow wave. How courteous.

These chaps however, didn't mind either way and soon finished their drinks and were off to be back in the wild again, joking that being down at the bottom of the locks meant it was all downhill, and far easier to walk back to their boat. They teased the smallest in their group, saying he could roll home what with whatever it was stuck to his front.

Personally, after a roast dinner and a pudding, I think anyone could have rolled home. My job was a bit harder, considering I live on top of a hill. The centre of gravity is all wrong up there. Hence I often stay a bit longer for another pint whilst my body assimilates dinner, alleviating the front load and swapping it to the back.

We're all longing for some warm summer sun and those long days once more, when there are more hours in the day for boating and giving holiday boaters some well-needed tuition. We love them, really.

Just watch them move when I give them an award-winning smile and a fat boat on the end of a tiller.