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.

5th January, 2015 - Last Christmas, I gave you my... toilet seat

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without inviting a few (well-chosen) friends around for some nibbles and a nice warm by the fire. The one we've never lit properly before. The one we hadn't burnt off the paint fumes from. Hence, our first attempt was thwarted by the unintentional testing of the new smoke alarms. After facing the complicated decision of which alarm to press the stop button of (there's 55ft between them), the doors, windows and swan hatch were thrown open so we could enjoy the fresh, minus one degrees marina air. Even Bolt would struggle running that many feet with a foggy mist and a passageway designed only for those with the most perfect sense of balance without falling sideways into the toilet as the other occupants of the boat dash in panic across the living room floor.

After fanning the alarms all morning, we worked up a fierce appetite, and whilst waiting for our guests to arrive, we tackled Mum's latest board game of 'sandwich roulette'. The beef ones are best for this - some have horseradish, some don't. Spinning the platter around so the next person has no idea is the best part. Never mind coughing over the stove fumes.

Once our guests were on board, things started to hot up (extra body heat for spatial warming works a treat), and the conversation got more and more interesting after a few rounds of beef sandwich roulette. Then came vocal charades when none of us could remember the name of a popular brand of rubber gloves. Instead, we now call them mongooses. Signwriter Rob says the fluffy trim on them is perfect for polishing windows and the like. Mongooses are a little hard to come by in the UK, but I do have my eyes on a neighbour's cat that would do nicely for a polishing trial, especially as it seems to have a knack already of walking up the boat gunnels and glaring in the windows at us. If it could polish with its stare, people would have to resort to sunglasses to look at the paintwork.

The only downside to lighting our new stove is the amount of condensation. We had an avalanche of ice slip off the inside of the windows the other day, and whoever sat on the sofa below the air vent had to suffer being randomly dripped upon in awkward places. Polar bears now live under the floorboards, and if you've ever wondered why there are no penguins on the canal, it's because the entire UK population live on our boat in the cupboards. Even our boaty neighbours complain our girl is way too cold, and dread the day they are invited over for a winter's party. They even light their own fires day and night in an attempt to warm her up and avoid the cold emanating (and possibly emigrating) from her steel sides.

Wearing arctic gear and going to the toilet on a boat is a whole other matter entirely. We have a rule that if someone has not left the loo within five minutes, a search party breaks down the toilet door to unfreeze the unfortunate person from the toilet seat with one of those lighter sticks you use in the kitchen for doing the top of creme brûlées. Very painful - especially if you have a fondness for a sugary crunch on your dessert.

Fortunately, on the second party, we finally twigged the stove and had it roaring away like an English summer, whilst we sat around with our guests all afternoon in t-shirts eating lemon and toffee muffins and playing roll roulette (this time with tuna, egg or coronation chicken sandwich fillings). It's easier with rolls as you have the advantage of being able to lift up the top lid and check first.

A bit like the previous toilet seat, which, the day after our party we took great delight in taking to the local recycling facility to dispose of with a great clatter into one of the steel bins. Unsure of what material it was (you can never be too careful when it comes to choosing the right bin at the dump, in case Captain Jobsworth comes out of the hut to tell you off), we asked one of the chaps on duty who clearly didn't want to be associated with the disposal process and stood at a barge pole's length away holding his arm out to point. 'Plastics, mate, that's where that goes.'

We daren't tell him there was a tiny bit of metal in it too. And a few other things that are best left to the imagination.

The old front door steps went next with a huge lob into the wood bin, carpet topping and all, to make way for the nice new ones Handy Andrew has made us (minus the camel humps, of course). The great thing with the new steps is that they creak unexpectedly, no matter your weight. If you're smallish and you step on them and hear a huge crack, you panic and wonder how on earth you managed to put on so many pounds. If you're a bit more, well, you know, at the other end of the spectrum it's even more of a worry.

For us, it means visitors are less likely to steal our cakes and sugar, with their fear that the steps may not withhold them getting back out into the wild again. Lemon muffin, anyone?

Towpath Talk January Special

The Fat Boat Handbook - November 2014

To celebrate the release of the Canal and River Trust's new 'Boaters Handbook', I thought I would share with you the Fat Boat section which, unfortunately, didn't make the final cut.*

Useful knots

Hurricane force knot:

1. Wrap the rope twice around your hitch.
2. Complete a full figure of eight (over and under) your hitch, then wrap around twice more.
3. Tie three half-hitches.
4. Wrap a half figure-of-eight around the hitch.
5. Add another four half-hitches.
6. Trail the remaining rope and, holding the end of the rope in your left and rolling it gently, coil
    it into a decorative spiral to finish off.

Atomic knot:

Repeat the above steps 1-5 twice over, adding an extra two half-hitches before proceeding to step 6 if any rope remains.

Quick-release:

Loop the rope through the mooring ring or pin, and stand on the stern, holding tightly to ensure the boat does not drift outwards. To release, wait until your skipper asks you to cast ashore and simply let go of the rope.

Slip Knot (quick-release variant):

Perform the actions as for the quick-release knot above, this time standing on the towpath. This knot is so called because of the dangerous aspect of the operator slipping on wet grass, dog turds etc. Be warned.


Mooring

If you plan to stop for lunch and anticipate you would like to continue afterwards to your evening destination, be sure to plan ahead. Remember that adequate overnight stay moorings are few and far between and require forward thinking to make sure your journey is stress-free.
Before mooring for lunch, consider the direction of the general flow of traffic on the canal. If the majority appears to be taking the course you will later follow, moor up in the bridge style as described below. Otherwise, moor up in the standard manner, using mooring pins if required.

Bridge mooring:

Gently pull up in the centre of the canal using a small amount of reverse to come to a full stop. Push your tiller hard over to steer towards the opposite bank and initiate full throttle forwards. Your bow should touch the bank, and your stern should be on the towpath side (see diagram 11a). Tie your stern rope to the nearest available mooring ring, and the bow to a mooring pin (or two in the double-cross position for added strength).
You should be able to step off of your stern and onto the towpath and rest assured traffic will be unable to pass whilst you have your lunch, thus potentially securing a mooring for the evening with little fuss.

Passing Other Craft


At max twelve foot wide, fat boats can choose either side of the canal to travel. If a craft approaches you, it will nearly always stop to allow you to pass. Always say thank you to the crew and, if possible, reassure them with a sweet, hot drink to calm their nerves (a flash of a mug will do if you have no water, tea bags or sugar to hand). If they appear confused and unable to move, kindly point out their barge pole and explain what it is used for.
If a canoe approaches, ask the operator to hang on to the nearest available tree or shrub to prevent them from being sucked towards your fat boat. Most canoeists will automatically assume this position once your are within their sights, so continue with caution if this occurs.


Safety at Locks

For the safety of other craft, it is wise to remind them that they will be unable to fit in the locks with you. Hire boaters will assume it is possible to fit in a gap of one inch, so stay calm and explain the situation to them. It takes on average 32.6 seconds for them to realise, so be patient. If in doubt, offer to go in first and ask them politely to follow.


Avoiding Suffocation

Remember to always leave your air vents clear on the boat. Although it is tempting to arrange slices of toast in them, or poke other amusing items into them, they're there for a reason, especially if you have a four-legged companion. Spending a night on a boat with a greasy, gas-filled dog  is not a pleasant experience, and blocking the air vents can cause a serious incident, most usually resulting in the death of the dog.


Preventing 'Babbling'

To prevent towpath babbling about the width of your boat, there are several steps you can take to reduce the risk of anticipated comments.

- Try painting your boat a dark colour, such as black. Avoid bright colours like reds that make the boat look even bigger and aggravate the public's reaction.

- Failing a colour change, try painting or adding something unusual to your boat to spark comments about that item rather than the width. Tropical plants are a must, but tomatoes and marrows work equally well. Use them carefully. Illegal plants intended for other forms of consumption are not recommended.

- Paint the width of the boat in large letters on the side. This will prevent any confrontational arguments about just how wide your boat is. You might also like to paint 'Don't ask questions' on the side, as well.

- If you get asked for a photograph, pose if it safe to do so, with arms as wide as possible. Foreigners in particular are very keen for photos of owners with their fat boats, and should not be discouraged from taking them at all costs. It is better to be appreciated than snubbed at for being fat (the boat, not you).


*This post is for entertainment only. This blog and I are not responsible for your actions. It would be wise to not follow what I say and stick to the rules of the CRT handbook like glue for your own safety. That's why my rules never made the cut. If you want to try the knots, feel free. Don't blame me if your boat blows away though, or if it takes several hours to untie. Remember, you're the one that tied it, not me.