Ah, the little orange dream that has trundled behind Honey Ryder over the past year has got a new home to go to.
its carried our water from obscure water points, its carried me to the supermarket, its taken me across limehouse basin to visit friends in the marina, we've rowed in the oddest of positions, weve slipped about inside when its icy cold and Ive bailed out gallons and gallons of rain water.
Its been home to a stray cat on the roof, ducks have cadged a lift in it and its been used as a floating shed at times.
Its caused worrying moments in the odd lock and not to mention that jetty that "jumped" out at us in the aforementioned limehouse basin. You bear the scar well tango.
It recently went into action when the boot top needed painting black and now, now its time to say ta ta me old fruit.
its been special.
[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/P6150081.jpg[/img]
16 July 2008
14 July 2008
slow down
I got told to slow down for the first time this weekend. Yay!
I was cruising past moored boats into my own mooring spot. I say my own, I mean a place at the side of the canal I have claimed as mine for the next few days.
So this chap reckoned I was going too fast. yeah, the crazy speed demon I am was approaching the bank at, oh, 3mph i think, yeah the granny on the tow path was going faster.
I tried to point out I was actually slowing down to a stop, but because I was doing this in my own, er, slightly fruitfully foul mouthed way, even Mr X told me not to upset the man and make the engine go quieter so onlookers would think I was slowing down.
The boat is still for sale. we've had a few bilge kickers but nothing solid yet. most people are just curious and want to have a look around. they want to know what a reverse layout looks like, or how a cross double works.
here's the layout of honey ryder for anyone interested. I havent marked on where we stash our drugs, money or illegal immigrants. thats a secret.
[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/Honey%20Ryder/boatplan.jpg[/img]
we are in no rush to sell though, the more we stay on the narrowboat, the better yacht we will be able to afford in the future because we save so much by being on the NB and CC'ing.
has anyone else noticed how vicious coots are?
I was cruising past moored boats into my own mooring spot. I say my own, I mean a place at the side of the canal I have claimed as mine for the next few days.
So this chap reckoned I was going too fast. yeah, the crazy speed demon I am was approaching the bank at, oh, 3mph i think, yeah the granny on the tow path was going faster.
I tried to point out I was actually slowing down to a stop, but because I was doing this in my own, er, slightly fruitfully foul mouthed way, even Mr X told me not to upset the man and make the engine go quieter so onlookers would think I was slowing down.
The boat is still for sale. we've had a few bilge kickers but nothing solid yet. most people are just curious and want to have a look around. they want to know what a reverse layout looks like, or how a cross double works.
here's the layout of honey ryder for anyone interested. I havent marked on where we stash our drugs, money or illegal immigrants. thats a secret.
[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/Honey%20Ryder/boatplan.jpg[/img]
we are in no rush to sell though, the more we stay on the narrowboat, the better yacht we will be able to afford in the future because we save so much by being on the NB and CC'ing.
has anyone else noticed how vicious coots are?
30 June 2008
no news is good news
Its been all quiet on the boat this month, the new black box is fitted, my wallet is £850 lighter.
[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/P6150087.jpg[/img]
The new box, although it looks identical to the one it's replaced, is in fact far better than the old one. Its more efficient and works slightly differently. It's been a blessing in disguise really, although it's been an expensive blessing.
The charger uses less power on start up which means we can charge directly from our small gennie via the shore power socket. We used to have to run the engine for a bit to boost the charging power for the old one before we could let the gennie go solo.
My motorbike has now developed a small clutch problem and my car is still at the menders after being smashed nearly two months ago.
we are moored up at Batchworth visitor moorings for the moment and enjoying the view over the fields and cheap and easy trains to work.
It's also just withing cycling distance so I gave that a go last week. My legs are still recovering after the 25 mile ride on a fixed bike. Im ashamed how unfit I have become.
This coming weekend Im hoping to head out to the London Pride parade, plus the Ware festival. There's also a mad cartwheeling thing happening over the millenium bridge so I might just have to go and watch that too.
My usual compadré has decided the long trip south for the parade isn't worth the effort so it looks like Im going alone unless anyone out there wants to join me for a bit of cheesy dancing in the street.
[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/P6150087.jpg[/img]
The new box, although it looks identical to the one it's replaced, is in fact far better than the old one. Its more efficient and works slightly differently. It's been a blessing in disguise really, although it's been an expensive blessing.
The charger uses less power on start up which means we can charge directly from our small gennie via the shore power socket. We used to have to run the engine for a bit to boost the charging power for the old one before we could let the gennie go solo.
My motorbike has now developed a small clutch problem and my car is still at the menders after being smashed nearly two months ago.
we are moored up at Batchworth visitor moorings for the moment and enjoying the view over the fields and cheap and easy trains to work.
It's also just withing cycling distance so I gave that a go last week. My legs are still recovering after the 25 mile ride on a fixed bike. Im ashamed how unfit I have become.
This coming weekend Im hoping to head out to the London Pride parade, plus the Ware festival. There's also a mad cartwheeling thing happening over the millenium bridge so I might just have to go and watch that too.
My usual compadré has decided the long trip south for the parade isn't worth the effort so it looks like Im going alone unless anyone out there wants to join me for a bit of cheesy dancing in the street.
07 June 2008
bang bang, I shot you down, bang bang
It was wednesday morning, I was doing the usual getting up and going to work routine and decided to run the washing machine as I was down to my last pair of bloomers.
switch on the engine. eat some breakfast at the same time, wait for it to warm up a bit, load the washing machine, chuck the soap in the drawer, switch the travel power on, green light... then switch over the main power switch to activate the 240v system.
ive done this, oh... so many times and I know the routine.
this routine was rudely changed however when I first heard a louder than usual buzzing from the inverter/charger... my not completely awake mind noted that fact and was trying to think why that might be. the buzzing lasted perhaps 1 or 2 seconds and as my mind was slowly catching up, with eyes cast in the direction of the AC-in light waiting/hoping/wishing for it to go green, the whole charger unit seemed to pulse at me and go with an almighty bang, followed by another.
As I was standing the obligatory narrowboat distance away from it... 18inches max, I felt the noise wave before it registered with my still waking up ( rather quicker than usual) brain and I heard it.
Immediate reaction, let out a mild scream of "aah!"
secondary reaction, switch of the main power switch with a perspiring hand.
third reaction, smell the air for burning.
Never have I perspired so spontaneously, it's been a long time since anything made me er, scream like a girl.
it was a good adrenalin rush, but an expensive one. After a days internet researching, I found a company who services and replaces heart interface units and I was told, "since the unit is 12 years old, you may as well replace it"
£852 for a new heart interface/xantrex freedom combi 20.
Bang goes my savings this month for the next boat
Bang goes my freetime at the weekend as it will be spent down the launderette.
switch on the engine. eat some breakfast at the same time, wait for it to warm up a bit, load the washing machine, chuck the soap in the drawer, switch the travel power on, green light... then switch over the main power switch to activate the 240v system.
ive done this, oh... so many times and I know the routine.
this routine was rudely changed however when I first heard a louder than usual buzzing from the inverter/charger... my not completely awake mind noted that fact and was trying to think why that might be. the buzzing lasted perhaps 1 or 2 seconds and as my mind was slowly catching up, with eyes cast in the direction of the AC-in light waiting/hoping/wishing for it to go green, the whole charger unit seemed to pulse at me and go with an almighty bang, followed by another.
As I was standing the obligatory narrowboat distance away from it... 18inches max, I felt the noise wave before it registered with my still waking up ( rather quicker than usual) brain and I heard it.
Immediate reaction, let out a mild scream of "aah!"
secondary reaction, switch of the main power switch with a perspiring hand.
third reaction, smell the air for burning.
Never have I perspired so spontaneously, it's been a long time since anything made me er, scream like a girl.
it was a good adrenalin rush, but an expensive one. After a days internet researching, I found a company who services and replaces heart interface units and I was told, "since the unit is 12 years old, you may as well replace it"
£852 for a new heart interface/xantrex freedom combi 20.
Bang goes my savings this month for the next boat
Bang goes my freetime at the weekend as it will be spent down the launderette.
20 May 2008
The sound of silence and extra ballast
Dear readers out there, you may have read about my crime ridden 2007, having a push-bike stolen off the roof of the boat last april was the start of it, followed by having another push-bike stolen from where I work.
followed by, and not necessarily in the right order: having my car broken into at Tottenham, having a friends car broken into next to mine at Cheshunt, watching kids rifling through a stolen handbag and reporting it to not very interested police, my flat was burgled in Croydon, my friends car in East London had paint stripper thrown over it a month or so ago and now it comes back to me.
I had my car broken into - again. Different car, different location ( Springfield -so not far from Tottenham) this time my window was smashed and my dashboard ripped apart to remove a nissan branded stereo, specific to my car only and a nissan branded dvd sat nav that speaks only japanese. they also took my driving glasses and some home made mini disks. Bravo brave theif, Bra-fucking-vo.
nice haul you took there, worth Zero pounds to anyone but me.
Im a little paranoid about theft at the best of times but it still happens regardless if you worry about it or not. I don't know if people who worry about crime less have more or less crime happen to them, Im thinking of trying not to worry about it anymore. Im insured comprehensively but even my insurance doesn't really cover it fully and I have to shell out a weeks wages in excess to get it fixed, and lose most of my no claims.
As my car is a japanese import I have to wait ages for some glass to arrive and for the moment Im driving round with a non-opening plexiglass window.
Just what you want when driving to france, as was my plans last week.
12 hours of driving (each way) with no stereo and a window that doesnt open.
Having driven to france and dropped off a load of excess baggage belonging to Mr X we returned with an equally full car but this time is was mostly consumable. The suspension was creaking a bit and we've had to spread it around the boat to stop us from listing too much.
to add to my annoyance last week, on top of the car being broken I also bruised my ego last week by falling off my motorbike on the way to work.
I was casually cruising through mostly static traffic queuing on the A40, then Wham! my hand guard caught the back of a transit pick-up. I haven't quite adjusted myself to the width of the bars, so a gap I could have cruised through before with my previous bikes presented itself as a bit of a challenge. Clipping the back of the pick-up sent me off to the side and seeing a nice shiny Audi in front of me I opted for the lower cost option of not claiming on insurance and putting my bike unceremoniously on the floor. I jumped up and saluted the van driver I had fallen in front of and winked. He jumped out, helped me pick the bike up and wheeled it to the side. the Audi driver seemed most concerned about me and was worried I might be hurt, or perhaps the bike was damaged. Since the bike is pretty much designed to fall over without being damaged I wasn't worried at all. There was a nice rubber mark on his car though where my front wheel, er kissed his bumper.
The next day I had the mother of all bruises appear on my thigh from where the bar had swung round and hit me. I felt nothing at the time.
The boat is now over at West Drayton awaiting a weekend when we can cruise it up to Rickmansworth. I've had it up to ya-ya with London and its crime ridden streets.
followed by, and not necessarily in the right order: having my car broken into at Tottenham, having a friends car broken into next to mine at Cheshunt, watching kids rifling through a stolen handbag and reporting it to not very interested police, my flat was burgled in Croydon, my friends car in East London had paint stripper thrown over it a month or so ago and now it comes back to me.
I had my car broken into - again. Different car, different location ( Springfield -so not far from Tottenham) this time my window was smashed and my dashboard ripped apart to remove a nissan branded stereo, specific to my car only and a nissan branded dvd sat nav that speaks only japanese. they also took my driving glasses and some home made mini disks. Bravo brave theif, Bra-fucking-vo.
nice haul you took there, worth Zero pounds to anyone but me.
Im a little paranoid about theft at the best of times but it still happens regardless if you worry about it or not. I don't know if people who worry about crime less have more or less crime happen to them, Im thinking of trying not to worry about it anymore. Im insured comprehensively but even my insurance doesn't really cover it fully and I have to shell out a weeks wages in excess to get it fixed, and lose most of my no claims.
As my car is a japanese import I have to wait ages for some glass to arrive and for the moment Im driving round with a non-opening plexiglass window.
Just what you want when driving to france, as was my plans last week.
12 hours of driving (each way) with no stereo and a window that doesnt open.
Having driven to france and dropped off a load of excess baggage belonging to Mr X we returned with an equally full car but this time is was mostly consumable. The suspension was creaking a bit and we've had to spread it around the boat to stop us from listing too much.
to add to my annoyance last week, on top of the car being broken I also bruised my ego last week by falling off my motorbike on the way to work.
I was casually cruising through mostly static traffic queuing on the A40, then Wham! my hand guard caught the back of a transit pick-up. I haven't quite adjusted myself to the width of the bars, so a gap I could have cruised through before with my previous bikes presented itself as a bit of a challenge. Clipping the back of the pick-up sent me off to the side and seeing a nice shiny Audi in front of me I opted for the lower cost option of not claiming on insurance and putting my bike unceremoniously on the floor. I jumped up and saluted the van driver I had fallen in front of and winked. He jumped out, helped me pick the bike up and wheeled it to the side. the Audi driver seemed most concerned about me and was worried I might be hurt, or perhaps the bike was damaged. Since the bike is pretty much designed to fall over without being damaged I wasn't worried at all. There was a nice rubber mark on his car though where my front wheel, er kissed his bumper.
The next day I had the mother of all bruises appear on my thigh from where the bar had swung round and hit me. I felt nothing at the time.
The boat is now over at West Drayton awaiting a weekend when we can cruise it up to Rickmansworth. I've had it up to ya-ya with London and its crime ridden streets.
30 April 2008
farty
It rather amused me, though I am a fan of toilet humour.
the other fun stuff this week is that I accidentally bought a new motorbike. I was just bidding away on ebay, you know how it is, drop in a silly bid occasionally and try your luck at getting something for not a lot.
Well, no-one else bid so I've ended up buying a bike.
Brilliant. Especially as I have been pining away wanting a bike for the last couple of months.
24 April 2008
persuasion pays off
It's been weeks, no months now that I have been persuading the Mr X that buying a yacht would be a great idea.
At first he was a definite no, based on the fact that he had no reason but thought if we haven't enjoyed narrowboating then why would be enjoy sailing? Plus he wanted to go back to France.
Then he started to warm a little to the idea when I said I don't ever want to get to a point in my life where I have regretted NOT doing something.
Then I imparted my thoughts that if we went through life not doing things because we might not like it then we might not do very much at all. This was stacking up well in my favour as he was definitely coming round to the fact he has little choice in the matter.
Several more weeks of persuasion, followed by a visit to the excel boat show really got him excited about the prospect of downsizing and living in a smaller but wider boat that could, I say COULD, not necessarily WOULD, travel the world.
The final nails in the coffin of doubt were hammered in when we found some new friends moored up in Limehouse basin. They live on a yacht, they are French and they are slowly travelling the world. They are our age, they have a lovely boat called Cool Daddy.
Now the Man has gone to France and seen some of his contacts over there in Brest and I think they have all echoed my sentiments of what a bloody great idea it is, especially when he has the opportunity of a woman who can "keep" him if needs be and he can do one of his favourite things... which happens to be sailing.
I had a call yesterday from France asking if I have sold the narrowboat yet...
er no, not yet, I'm busy living on it I tell him. So it looks like I need to get my camera out and capture my home in some good light to start advertising it. The only thing I'm a bit worried about is the bit between not having a narrowboat and finding a yacht good enough to live on.
Caravan? Motorhome? Crash at a friends place? The thought of that is more scary than giving up my job in a year or so's time to bugger off sailing!
At first he was a definite no, based on the fact that he had no reason but thought if we haven't enjoyed narrowboating then why would be enjoy sailing? Plus he wanted to go back to France.
Then he started to warm a little to the idea when I said I don't ever want to get to a point in my life where I have regretted NOT doing something.
Then I imparted my thoughts that if we went through life not doing things because we might not like it then we might not do very much at all. This was stacking up well in my favour as he was definitely coming round to the fact he has little choice in the matter.
Several more weeks of persuasion, followed by a visit to the excel boat show really got him excited about the prospect of downsizing and living in a smaller but wider boat that could, I say COULD, not necessarily WOULD, travel the world.
The final nails in the coffin of doubt were hammered in when we found some new friends moored up in Limehouse basin. They live on a yacht, they are French and they are slowly travelling the world. They are our age, they have a lovely boat called Cool Daddy.
Now the Man has gone to France and seen some of his contacts over there in Brest and I think they have all echoed my sentiments of what a bloody great idea it is, especially when he has the opportunity of a woman who can "keep" him if needs be and he can do one of his favourite things... which happens to be sailing.
I had a call yesterday from France asking if I have sold the narrowboat yet...
er no, not yet, I'm busy living on it I tell him. So it looks like I need to get my camera out and capture my home in some good light to start advertising it. The only thing I'm a bit worried about is the bit between not having a narrowboat and finding a yacht good enough to live on.
Caravan? Motorhome? Crash at a friends place? The thought of that is more scary than giving up my job in a year or so's time to bugger off sailing!
22 April 2008
slippery when wet
It's been a quiet past couple of weeks, having friends to visit has been the highlights of my weekends.
This coming weekend Im off to the Beaulieu boat jumble to help my folks shift their last load of old chandlery stock. There's some amazing bargains to be had, it's well worth a visit if you need anything for your fit out or indeed if you don't need anything but quite like the push n shove of a good old free-for-all boat jumble. I just hope the sun shines otherwise it could be a mud bath.
I've been having a serious de-clutter again. if it's not nailed down or currently in use then chances are it will be sold if it hasn't been already.
The plan to down-size to a 10-11m yacht from a 17m narrowboat is seriously testing my ability to pare down from already minimalist belongings. Finding creative and more compact ways of storing all my shite is almost an art-form in itself. However difficult it is getting, perversely I actually enjoy it. The less I have around me the happier I seem to feel. But at this rate I will never manage to reduce my storage unit size. Anything Im not sure about goes in there like a holding pen. If I can live without it for long enough then it goes, no matter how attached I am to it.
A friend asked me this weekend, what do I miss the most about living on a boat compared with living in a house? After a few moments of deep thought my answers were, instant hot running water( ie spontaneous showers), a heater that doesn't give me asthma and the time to do all the other stuff I love so much (such as velodrome coaching and racing, cycling out for a swift 50 miles on a saturday or sunday morning, riding my motorbike around country roads or taking it to track days, roller blading for hours on end) because I have to constantly think about moving the boat, filling the water tank, emptying the toilet, charging the batteries since I dont have a mooring and refuse to pay to keep it in a narrowboat pack'em in style marina. it's a general feeling of being unsettled but stuck in the same 50 mile radius due to work commitments. The chance to hang around an area for three months at a time is actually quite appealing. The chance to be able to leave the boat safe in the knowledge it will probably be where we left it when we get back is also very appealing.
I think it's fair to say that living on a boat in my current situation has been very bad for my health, I have worse asthma due to the coal fire and sheer amount of dust it produces and I've put weight on due to being unable to exersise properly or be able to breath to exersise very much at all. I have eaten terrible food because I'm too tired after long commutes to eat properly.
You could argue if I really wanted to, I could find a way around each of these problems, but the fact is I haven't. Despite the best of intentions.
The easy answer is, go and live in a marina.
It's also starting to get my goat in a gruff each time I see people debating the big "continuous cruiser/moorer" argument.
Im sick of the idle snake-tongued talk of ruling the waterways with an iron clad fist of vigilante-ism. Stop wasting your breath on the same tired subject. Constant cruisers or not, who the fuck cares?
perhaps my dog should be licenced or have some sort of paddling permit? He decided he would take a dip in the river at the weekend.
I just arrived home and was in the living room when I heard a rather ominous Ploof ploof ploof ploof ploof ploof noise. That was the sound a chihuahua makes when doing the doggy paddle in the 5" gap between the boat and the bank. Somehow my unbelievably stupid dog managed to slip down the gap and proceed to snort and panic in the cold water. I dashed out to see his eyes on stalks and immediately s
tooped to my knees to scoop the little fella out but he was having none of it, as I held the boat away from the bank to avoid him being crushed he saw daylight and made a dash for it. Paddling around the back of the boat he put himself out of arms reach and continued to swerve around the rudder and aimed for the side of the boat away from the bank. By this time I'm getting worried he's been in the water a long time for such a small animal, so I jumped into the dinghy, which caused a ripple that nearly sent him under. All he had on was his collar, which thankfully didn't snap his neck as I pulled him out and plonked him unceremoniously on the back of the boat. Dripping wet from neck to tail but still with a fluffy head as he managed to keep that airside.
This coming weekend Im off to the Beaulieu boat jumble to help my folks shift their last load of old chandlery stock. There's some amazing bargains to be had, it's well worth a visit if you need anything for your fit out or indeed if you don't need anything but quite like the push n shove of a good old free-for-all boat jumble. I just hope the sun shines otherwise it could be a mud bath.
I've been having a serious de-clutter again. if it's not nailed down or currently in use then chances are it will be sold if it hasn't been already.
The plan to down-size to a 10-11m yacht from a 17m narrowboat is seriously testing my ability to pare down from already minimalist belongings. Finding creative and more compact ways of storing all my shite is almost an art-form in itself. However difficult it is getting, perversely I actually enjoy it. The less I have around me the happier I seem to feel. But at this rate I will never manage to reduce my storage unit size. Anything Im not sure about goes in there like a holding pen. If I can live without it for long enough then it goes, no matter how attached I am to it.
A friend asked me this weekend, what do I miss the most about living on a boat compared with living in a house? After a few moments of deep thought my answers were, instant hot running water( ie spontaneous showers), a heater that doesn't give me asthma and the time to do all the other stuff I love so much (such as velodrome coaching and racing, cycling out for a swift 50 miles on a saturday or sunday morning, riding my motorbike around country roads or taking it to track days, roller blading for hours on end) because I have to constantly think about moving the boat, filling the water tank, emptying the toilet, charging the batteries since I dont have a mooring and refuse to pay to keep it in a narrowboat pack'em in style marina. it's a general feeling of being unsettled but stuck in the same 50 mile radius due to work commitments. The chance to hang around an area for three months at a time is actually quite appealing. The chance to be able to leave the boat safe in the knowledge it will probably be where we left it when we get back is also very appealing.
I think it's fair to say that living on a boat in my current situation has been very bad for my health, I have worse asthma due to the coal fire and sheer amount of dust it produces and I've put weight on due to being unable to exersise properly or be able to breath to exersise very much at all. I have eaten terrible food because I'm too tired after long commutes to eat properly.
You could argue if I really wanted to, I could find a way around each of these problems, but the fact is I haven't. Despite the best of intentions.
The easy answer is, go and live in a marina.
It's also starting to get my goat in a gruff each time I see people debating the big "continuous cruiser/moorer" argument.
Im sick of the idle snake-tongued talk of ruling the waterways with an iron clad fist of vigilante-ism. Stop wasting your breath on the same tired subject. Constant cruisers or not, who the fuck cares?
perhaps my dog should be licenced or have some sort of paddling permit? He decided he would take a dip in the river at the weekend.
I just arrived home and was in the living room when I heard a rather ominous Ploof ploof ploof ploof ploof ploof noise. That was the sound a chihuahua makes when doing the doggy paddle in the 5" gap between the boat and the bank. Somehow my unbelievably stupid dog managed to slip down the gap and proceed to snort and panic in the cold water. I dashed out to see his eyes on stalks and immediately s
tooped to my knees to scoop the little fella out but he was having none of it, as I held the boat away from the bank to avoid him being crushed he saw daylight and made a dash for it. Paddling around the back of the boat he put himself out of arms reach and continued to swerve around the rudder and aimed for the side of the boat away from the bank. By this time I'm getting worried he's been in the water a long time for such a small animal, so I jumped into the dinghy, which caused a ripple that nearly sent him under. All he had on was his collar, which thankfully didn't snap his neck as I pulled him out and plonked him unceremoniously on the back of the boat. Dripping wet from neck to tail but still with a fluffy head as he managed to keep that airside.
15 April 2008
found
the remote control.
its been missing since november 2007, ive looked under the sofa 10 times at least, down the side of the cushions, in the fridge, in the dogs bed, under my bed, in my knicker drawer, in every nook and bloody cranny this boat has to offer.
do you know where i found it?
under the sofa.
14 April 2008
time out with friends
it was the northern posse on cruise patrol this weekend.
a couple of friends toddled on down from the north, to visit me, the dog and the boat this weekend.
after insisting on me giving them a postcode of my location (on the river Lee, near cheshunt in herfordshire was apparently not good enough)
they found themselves 20 miles adrift somewhere inside the M25 near to the olympic development site. Twat-Nav is a splendid device, especially when you put the wrong postcode in. After a few minutes of me explaining that cheshunt really is OUTSIDE the M25, please believe me and look at a map, no not the twat-nav...
they arrived thankfully with sunshine and smiles.
a quick tour of the boat, yes mind your head, this is the kitchen, living room, you might want to shuffle sideways, this is the throne room and there is the bedroom. there ya go, that was quick.
we decided on a little cruise up the lee past Broxbourne, I've done it on my own last year but fuck me those lock gates are heavy buggers to move, I had cast that memory from my mind and filed it in the rose tinted section.
its amazing how two extra pairs of hands make locking a bloody doddle and a piece of piss. we arrived at a lovely spot over looking a sailing lake, very peaceful and it seemed far removed from the wailing non-stop sirens of london. It was simply blissful. I have now added it to my very small list of places I actually like.
I can honestly say it is perhaps one of the best weekends Ive had on this boat so far.
thankyou to my friends for taking time out to visit. it means a lot to me.
one comment sprang to mind, one friend asks, as a day boat goes past and the occupants keep looking at us all the way past and off into the distance, she said, "what are they looking at?", perhaps sounding a little threatened or indignant. I replied, "Oh people do that, it's normal, just wave back and smile". On a boat you are a tourist attraction and therefore fair game to stare at. I said "they probably would ask questions if only we would go slow enough..." questions such as: do you live on that: how much do they cost: where do you moor it: do you have to book in advance: can I come inside and have a look around: can I take my picture with your dog...
It had been a whole week since I was asked a stupid question or stared at, I was starting to become worried.
04 April 2008
welcome to the zoo
I am fed up of being treated like a freak show, I think I shall put a message for all to read upon my roof ( apart from a for sale sign that is)
If you want to have your picture taken on someone's boat, first make friends with the owner.
Don't just climb on while Im having my breakfast and let you mate snap away from the towpath. Cheeky bastard.
If you want to have a look around my boat, my home, then get to know me first and wait to be invited.
Don't peer through the windows and stare intently at my homes interior and all its belongings. If you should see me looking back at you, at least have the decency to walk on and pretend you weren't looking.... Don't keep staring you nosey twat.
When you see a cute chihuahua in a lifejacket on the roof of my house, don't assume he likes having his picture taken (£1 per picture, strokes cost extra). When you ask if you can stroke him and I say he might bike, Don't act all fucking surprised when he tries to rip your nose off because you smell funny. He's just protecting his own furry ass and being small he's got a big attitude.
If you don't like the cut of my Jib, the strong language or short temper, then stop asking me stupid bloody questions all the time and give me some sodding privacy.
thank you and welcome to the stinking canals, have a nice day.
If you want to have your picture taken on someone's boat, first make friends with the owner.
Don't just climb on while Im having my breakfast and let you mate snap away from the towpath. Cheeky bastard.
If you want to have a look around my boat, my home, then get to know me first and wait to be invited.
Don't peer through the windows and stare intently at my homes interior and all its belongings. If you should see me looking back at you, at least have the decency to walk on and pretend you weren't looking.... Don't keep staring you nosey twat.
When you see a cute chihuahua in a lifejacket on the roof of my house, don't assume he likes having his picture taken (£1 per picture, strokes cost extra). When you ask if you can stroke him and I say he might bike, Don't act all fucking surprised when he tries to rip your nose off because you smell funny. He's just protecting his own furry ass and being small he's got a big attitude.
If you don't like the cut of my Jib, the strong language or short temper, then stop asking me stupid bloody questions all the time and give me some sodding privacy.
thank you and welcome to the stinking canals, have a nice day.
feel the pressure
It's quite a simple, logical water system on Honey Ryder, but logic evaded my helpful, well meaning little hobbit friend as he tried to do a job we have performed several times together like clockwork, but, alas, working alone he forgot when to do what and why and it all went a bit tits-up.
what happens every four months or so is that our accumulator needs a bit of air adding to it to keep the water pump churning away at a nice leisurely Brrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrrr, rather than a staccato sounding Brr Brr Brr Brr Brr
its an easy job; switch off the water; switch off the pump; find a bicycle pump; open a tap; attach the pump to the valve on the accumulator and pump two or three times to remove a little bit of water; switch off the tap; resume pumping with the bicycle pump until it goes firm. switch on the water, switch on the pump. Open a tap and see if you have the pressure right by listening to the pump, hopefully purring away like a happy cat.
It is best to avoid this sequence: switch off the water, go and open a tap, switch off the tap, go and switch off the pump, come back and open a tap, pump the accumulator continuously until you get confused why it wont go firm, go and close the tap, come back and resume pumping, get bored of that, switch the pump on, water on and then panic and switch it all off again when the pump makes a very bad B B B B B B B B B B noise. try pumping the accumulator some more, try as many different combinations of the above possible. give up and go out for a meal with partner, look sheepish on arrival home and then wait until midnight just before going to bed to spring the good news to the unsuspecting.
after a few choice cross words, I knelt on my knees with my head pointing into the water pump hole, praying to the boat-maintenance-god that we hadn't actually permanently fucked anything and hoping that my weekend wouldn't be spent visiting chandleries for replacement parts. several minutes more of sitting on the bed looking at the stricken pump, accumulator and dismantled panels with head to one side like a dog that just heard a funny sound, I resolved to go to bed and have a little think about it.
32 hours later the answer came to me, let the bloody air out of the accumulator. Eureka.
what happens every four months or so is that our accumulator needs a bit of air adding to it to keep the water pump churning away at a nice leisurely Brrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrrr, rather than a staccato sounding Brr Brr Brr Brr Brr
its an easy job; switch off the water; switch off the pump; find a bicycle pump; open a tap; attach the pump to the valve on the accumulator and pump two or three times to remove a little bit of water; switch off the tap; resume pumping with the bicycle pump until it goes firm. switch on the water, switch on the pump. Open a tap and see if you have the pressure right by listening to the pump, hopefully purring away like a happy cat.
It is best to avoid this sequence: switch off the water, go and open a tap, switch off the tap, go and switch off the pump, come back and open a tap, pump the accumulator continuously until you get confused why it wont go firm, go and close the tap, come back and resume pumping, get bored of that, switch the pump on, water on and then panic and switch it all off again when the pump makes a very bad B B B B B B B B B B noise. try pumping the accumulator some more, try as many different combinations of the above possible. give up and go out for a meal with partner, look sheepish on arrival home and then wait until midnight just before going to bed to spring the good news to the unsuspecting.
after a few choice cross words, I knelt on my knees with my head pointing into the water pump hole, praying to the boat-maintenance-god that we hadn't actually permanently fucked anything and hoping that my weekend wouldn't be spent visiting chandleries for replacement parts. several minutes more of sitting on the bed looking at the stricken pump, accumulator and dismantled panels with head to one side like a dog that just heard a funny sound, I resolved to go to bed and have a little think about it.
32 hours later the answer came to me, let the bloody air out of the accumulator. Eureka.
26 March 2008
Entry one moment in time
as a photographer currently without a decent camera, I do see some picture opportunities simply pass me by without a chance to capture the moment.
its frustrating.
so I keep my trusty compact with me and occasionally I see a subject not too challenging for its meagre pixels.
sometimes if you squint enough, even the shit holes of london can look quite nice.
20 March 2008
could be worse...
just when I think I'm having a miserable time on the canals, I am always reminded that in fact some people have it far worse.
still doesn't stop the really funny young people who knocked on my boat at 6.50am this morning, just because they thought it would be funny to wake us up. The man was just ready to leave for work so they got a suprise when he popped his head out of the doorway asking if he could help them. Stuck for anything interesting to say, they wished him happy new year.
They were lucky, if they had called by just 10 minutes later they would have had me waving kitchen knives at them and swearing like a steelworker as I was doing the pots and I'm very easily angrified in the mornings.
18 March 2008
where's the punchline?
Living aboard a narrowboat on London canals just gets more an more exciting, the adventures never end.
Constantly cruising and trying to adhere to the rules as much as possible means we move. We move frequently. While the rest of the world (it seems) hides inside in a warm cosy place and rides out the winter only emerging in Spring, we continue the battle of finding somewhere new to moor each week or two.
Knowing we have to move means a few days before casting off I mentally prepare to move home again, mentally prepare my new route to work and mentally prepare for the boring journey ahead up a grim and grizzly london canal.
the travel power pulley has been replaced and a new belt applied. However when running up the engine the belt failed within 5 minutes, so there is still a problem somewhere with the belt fitment. Still no travel-power. still no automated home laundry. that's shit. I hate washing in a bucket.
However, onwards and upwards, since the engine is still capable of propulsion we are heading up towards the River Lea again for a final Assault on the River Stort. I want to see Sawbridgeworth and surrounding areas so that's where we are headed.
From Limehouse, the next stop is Springfield, just one lock and a couple of hours cruising.
Just one lock, Old Ford Bridge, lock 19, yes that's all there is, what could be more simple, it's electric so what can go wrong?
For a start, the lock could be jammed full of more shite than I ever thought possible. A couple of trees, a gate, a couple of doors, some planks of wood, a shopping bag on wheels, massive sheets of plastic, several different balls, 100 or more bottles, uncountable plastic bags, natural plant debris and a delightful swathe of diesel oil over the top of the lot giving off a lovely smell.
You can imagine this might challenge the lock operation a bit. It did. No sooner had I opened the bottom paddles than we had a red malfunction light flashing in the lock-keepers office.
I called BW (0800 4799947) to report the problem and the chap there advised me to "put the kettle on and have a cup of tea" not to be confused with "put your knickers on and make me a cup of tea" To BW's credit they came out quite fast for a cold, wet and windy sunday afternoon.
I sat by the fire warming my arse and clutching a beer* (Hobgoblin) ((*equally not to be confused with clutching my arse and warming a beer)), occasionally glancing out the window to see if anyone was on the lock. In-between glances. somehow the BW key-holding magician slipped under the radar, fixed the lock and buggered off. Maybe he buggered off because I wasn't standing there waiting with a cup of tea?
The lock doors opened and slowly emptied of shite, which was circulating in a cross current just outside. It was a delightful picture of unwanted household items swirling around in the green and brown sludgy paradise of the canal.
Getting in the lock was a case of, give the engine full welly, get some inertia up to tackle the howling side-wind and then knock it out of gear to glide over the swirling mass of rubbish, enter the lock a bit fast, chuck the centre-line and bow line round a bollard and hope Honey Ryder stopped before giving the bow a cill-shaped face lift.
Job done, we went through the lock in minutes.
Brilliant, isn't this canal boating fun?
Excitement over, yes really we do love electric automated locks where you can't control the paddles rate of opening...
Shortly after leaving the lock we realised the adventure wasn't over as we dipped our hands into the lucky dip barrel of fun. First pulling out a piece of wood that was blocking the upper lock doors to find a dead rat under it, then pulling round a corner into a fast flow on the river Lea with a strong head wind, we made progress at a rate of knot...
It's almost painful to watch the scenery go by in slow motion, watching a moorhen paddle past us was a bit like being on the motorway and being overtaken by a caravan... but in this case the caravan was being overtaken by a small bird with dubious fashion sense. ( a bit like me cycling through london in fact)
I can't believe how much fun it was, I could
barely contain my joy at spending a whole day of my weekend moving a stupidly designed brick on water just a few miles in driving wind and rain, avoiding plastic bags and other products of human excess. There was nothing I could think of that would bring more joy to my life than doing that.
Oh wait a minute, yes I can.
Constantly cruising and trying to adhere to the rules as much as possible means we move. We move frequently. While the rest of the world (it seems) hides inside in a warm cosy place and rides out the winter only emerging in Spring, we continue the battle of finding somewhere new to moor each week or two.
Knowing we have to move means a few days before casting off I mentally prepare to move home again, mentally prepare my new route to work and mentally prepare for the boring journey ahead up a grim and grizzly london canal.
the travel power pulley has been replaced and a new belt applied. However when running up the engine the belt failed within 5 minutes, so there is still a problem somewhere with the belt fitment. Still no travel-power. still no automated home laundry. that's shit. I hate washing in a bucket.
However, onwards and upwards, since the engine is still capable of propulsion we are heading up towards the River Lea again for a final Assault on the River Stort. I want to see Sawbridgeworth and surrounding areas so that's where we are headed.
From Limehouse, the next stop is Springfield, just one lock and a couple of hours cruising.
Just one lock, Old Ford Bridge, lock 19, yes that's all there is, what could be more simple, it's electric so what can go wrong?
For a start, the lock could be jammed full of more shite than I ever thought possible. A couple of trees, a gate, a couple of doors, some planks of wood, a shopping bag on wheels, massive sheets of plastic, several different balls, 100 or more bottles, uncountable plastic bags, natural plant debris and a delightful swathe of diesel oil over the top of the lot giving off a lovely smell.
You can imagine this might challenge the lock operation a bit. It did. No sooner had I opened the bottom paddles than we had a red malfunction light flashing in the lock-keepers office.
I called BW (0800 4799947) to report the problem and the chap there advised me to "put the kettle on and have a cup of tea" not to be confused with "put your knickers on and make me a cup of tea" To BW's credit they came out quite fast for a cold, wet and windy sunday afternoon.
I sat by the fire warming my arse and clutching a beer* (Hobgoblin) ((*equally not to be confused with clutching my arse and warming a beer)), occasionally glancing out the window to see if anyone was on the lock. In-between glances. somehow the BW key-holding magician slipped under the radar, fixed the lock and buggered off. Maybe he buggered off because I wasn't standing there waiting with a cup of tea?
The lock doors opened and slowly emptied of shite, which was circulating in a cross current just outside. It was a delightful picture of unwanted household items swirling around in the green and brown sludgy paradise of the canal.
Getting in the lock was a case of, give the engine full welly, get some inertia up to tackle the howling side-wind and then knock it out of gear to glide over the swirling mass of rubbish, enter the lock a bit fast, chuck the centre-line and bow line round a bollard and hope Honey Ryder stopped before giving the bow a cill-shaped face lift.
Job done, we went through the lock in minutes.
Brilliant, isn't this canal boating fun?
Excitement over, yes really we do love electric automated locks where you can't control the paddles rate of opening...
Shortly after leaving the lock we realised the adventure wasn't over as we dipped our hands into the lucky dip barrel of fun. First pulling out a piece of wood that was blocking the upper lock doors to find a dead rat under it, then pulling round a corner into a fast flow on the river Lea with a strong head wind, we made progress at a rate of knot...
It's almost painful to watch the scenery go by in slow motion, watching a moorhen paddle past us was a bit like being on the motorway and being overtaken by a caravan... but in this case the caravan was being overtaken by a small bird with dubious fashion sense. ( a bit like me cycling through london in fact)
I can't believe how much fun it was, I could
barely contain my joy at spending a whole day of my weekend moving a stupidly designed brick on water just a few miles in driving wind and rain, avoiding plastic bags and other products of human excess. There was nothing I could think of that would bring more joy to my life than doing that.Oh wait a minute, yes I can.
12 March 2008
the magic sponge
As with most modifications, they come about because of an urgent necessity through breakage.
Our travel power has been out of action for just over a week now, ok, it's 2 weeks but I was trying to think positive.
The first symptoms of something wrong happened, er, last year on our maiden voyage away from our marina at Easter. squeaking ( read squealing) bearings in a jockey pulley that stops the large travel power belt from flapping about.
We changed the travel power belt because it was looking a bit worn on the back and WD-40'd the bearings. Yes I know it's not a real fix but it does make the bearings go quiet for a little while. repeated WD-40 application was all it needed... yes, honestly it's got magical properties has WD-40... a bit like the magic sponge at football matches.
fast forward to christmas time 2007, having replaced the travel power belt again, it promptly failed after just 7 days of being fitted. we put it down to a faulty belt.
having adjusted the current belt several times and hummed a little tune while the jockey wheeled screeched away until it heated up we thought , perhaps one day we should replace the bearings.
SO, what happens when the WD-40's magic sponge effect wears off?
When bearings over-heat and explode, your jockey wheel seizes solid, bits fly off and embed themselves wherever it's soft enough, your belt gets fused to an almost red hot jockey wheel and you spend the next day on the phone ordering new parts.
Two new belts, at £14 each and a new "upgraded" jockey wheel that looks like the barrel from a gun, £74.
The new 12-shooter ( for that is how many holes it has bored through it to apparently keep the jockey wheel cool) is due to be fitted soon and normal 240v service should hopefully be resumed.
Our travel power has been out of action for just over a week now, ok, it's 2 weeks but I was trying to think positive.
The first symptoms of something wrong happened, er, last year on our maiden voyage away from our marina at Easter. squeaking ( read squealing) bearings in a jockey pulley that stops the large travel power belt from flapping about.
We changed the travel power belt because it was looking a bit worn on the back and WD-40'd the bearings. Yes I know it's not a real fix but it does make the bearings go quiet for a little while. repeated WD-40 application was all it needed... yes, honestly it's got magical properties has WD-40... a bit like the magic sponge at football matches.
fast forward to christmas time 2007, having replaced the travel power belt again, it promptly failed after just 7 days of being fitted. we put it down to a faulty belt.
having adjusted the current belt several times and hummed a little tune while the jockey wheeled screeched away until it heated up we thought , perhaps one day we should replace the bearings.
SO, what happens when the WD-40's magic sponge effect wears off?
When bearings over-heat and explode, your jockey wheel seizes solid, bits fly off and embed themselves wherever it's soft enough, your belt gets fused to an almost red hot jockey wheel and you spend the next day on the phone ordering new parts.
Two new belts, at £14 each and a new "upgraded" jockey wheel that looks like the barrel from a gun, £74.
The new 12-shooter ( for that is how many holes it has bored through it to apparently keep the jockey wheel cool) is due to be fitted soon and normal 240v service should hopefully be resumed.
28 February 2008
name that tune....
The tune we are humming is one of a Beta Marine BV1505 engine with travel power on the side.
Since the Man arrives home before me it's generally down to him to fire up the beast each evening to charge the batteries and heat the water.
Last night I arrived home and He tried to describe a new problem he had with the engine. First of all he says, "oh, the engine did a funny thing tonight"
I reply warily, "what kind of funny thing?"
"well" he says, "it was going along nicely then suddenly the note changed and it sounded like it was struggling"
"so what did you do?" say I
"oh, well, I turned off the travel power and nothing changed so I tried to give the engine more revs and still nothing changed"
I replied "have you checked the oil recently?"
(him)"no"
(me)"have you checked the diesel recently?"
(him)"no"
(me)"what about the travel power belt? because last time we had a funny noise that's what it was..."
(him)"no"
(me)"ok... well, we shall assume its one of those, and Im hoping its the latter"
-----------------
two new travel power belts are on order..... and Im hoping that's all it is
-----------------
extra note, the following evening I return home to be told the problem with the belt was that it has melted, yes melted and fused itself to a pulley, (cue funny french sherades describing the exact action and replicated forces which were needed to remove the fused on belt) which has seized bearings.
so, in addition to the new belts we now need to dismantle a pulley and send it off to be matched up with some new bearings.
strange as it may seem, this side of boating I quite like. How one small thing can totally fuck up quite a lot of other things. It keeps you on your toes!
Since the Man arrives home before me it's generally down to him to fire up the beast each evening to charge the batteries and heat the water.
Last night I arrived home and He tried to describe a new problem he had with the engine. First of all he says, "oh, the engine did a funny thing tonight"
I reply warily, "what kind of funny thing?"
"well" he says, "it was going along nicely then suddenly the note changed and it sounded like it was struggling"
"so what did you do?" say I
"oh, well, I turned off the travel power and nothing changed so I tried to give the engine more revs and still nothing changed"
I replied "have you checked the oil recently?"
(him)"no"
(me)"have you checked the diesel recently?"
(him)"no"
(me)"what about the travel power belt? because last time we had a funny noise that's what it was..."
(him)"no"
(me)"ok... well, we shall assume its one of those, and Im hoping its the latter"
-----------------
two new travel power belts are on order..... and Im hoping that's all it is
-----------------
extra note, the following evening I return home to be told the problem with the belt was that it has melted, yes melted and fused itself to a pulley, (cue funny french sherades describing the exact action and replicated forces which were needed to remove the fused on belt) which has seized bearings.
so, in addition to the new belts we now need to dismantle a pulley and send it off to be matched up with some new bearings.
strange as it may seem, this side of boating I quite like. How one small thing can totally fuck up quite a lot of other things. It keeps you on your toes!
26 February 2008
The Victoria park posse
Life in London, moored on a busy towpath is never short of activity, gossip and curiosity. Not to mention unruly dogs and children.
This week, life in the nut house involved several events of note, hardly note-worthy on their own, but as a group, collectively they turn from curious to just plain odd.
So it all started on the Saturday morning when both myself and the Man set about a bit of bike fettling, the man was outside tightening up his bottom bracket (fnar) and I was inside struggling with a slippery cheap chain and tooling around. (fnar again)
The Banjo was on the roof barking at anything that moved and then arrived the first visitor of the day, a red haired lady from a neighbouring boat carrying a spanner. Having seen the Man outside with his tools she thought he was a good person to ask to borrow “one smaller than this” as she held out a 9mm spanner. He, being weak at the sight of a moderately attractive lady, offered her two!
So, fast forward an hour and we have our bikes put back together and are ready for a spin over to Greenwich market and Blackheath.
The Man goes to retrieve his tools.
The red haired lady ( we shall call Hillary) claimed that she couldn’t find them.
The Man comes back agitated and worried for the whereabouts of his 20 odd year old tools.
I sympathetically reply, “yes but they were a bit shit anyway, I’ve still got mine and they are better than yours…they will probably turn up in her cats bed or something”
This didn’t help.
So we arrive back a few hours later, still no sign of the tools, Hillary is very apologetic and adds that she is quite worried because her cat has disappeared. ( I shall call the cat Moggy-Joe)
A ha…. I smell a plot thickening.
So the hunt is on for both Moggy-Joe and the shit-old-tools. I casually mentioned that perhaps the cat has nicked the tools.
This didn’t help
I have spent the past few weeks looking for a remote control for the stereo, it’s small and black, it was last seen at the end of 2007. After yet another evening of searching for this intrepid remote control I concluded that the cat must have this too.
It was late, dark and quite a pleasant evening, then the Coots started hollering. They have a coots-hangout opposite where we are moored and they can be noisy buggers. After deciphering the complex hoots, coots and bird banter I came to the understanding that one of them had accidentally stubbed its boney clawed toe on a spanner absentmindedly left behind by Moggy-Joe after a few jars of catnip following the local wildlife’s secret poker game. The cat took off with the tools and my remote control to avoid getting a kicking from the vicious coots.
The following morning Hillary has turned her boat upside down but still no sign of cat, spanners or remote control.
So, the day progresses like any usual Sunday, the men of the Victoria park posse go about chopping wood, we, the Honey Ryder crew had a small fire on the roof slow cooking our tagine, beer was drunk by all and I turned Mini-Baghdad back into a kitchen again. Complete with useable surfaces and everything. I also answered questions from the tow-path, from curious or just plain stupid passers by. I have everything from "does your dog bite", "can I stroke your dog", "do you live on that", "how much do you pay to put your boat here", "can I have a look around inside?"
Tired of being treated like a freak show I finally sat down to some serious leisure gel battery research when the Man returned ready to serve up the tagine, hotly followed by the neighbours asking to borrow the dinghy to investigate a sighting of Moggy-Joe on the opposite side of the canal near the lock.
It turns out to be a case of mistaken identity. The unidentified cat was looking in a bad way as it seems the coots had caught up with it, thinking it was the cheeky cat that cleared them out at poker the night before.
However the Tagine was lovely and well worth the 2 hours cooking time
Moggy-Joe, the tools and my stereo remote are still at large.
This week, life in the nut house involved several events of note, hardly note-worthy on their own, but as a group, collectively they turn from curious to just plain odd.
So it all started on the Saturday morning when both myself and the Man set about a bit of bike fettling, the man was outside tightening up his bottom bracket (fnar) and I was inside struggling with a slippery cheap chain and tooling around. (fnar again)
The Banjo was on the roof barking at anything that moved and then arrived the first visitor of the day, a red haired lady from a neighbouring boat carrying a spanner. Having seen the Man outside with his tools she thought he was a good person to ask to borrow “one smaller than this” as she held out a 9mm spanner. He, being weak at the sight of a moderately attractive lady, offered her two!
So, fast forward an hour and we have our bikes put back together and are ready for a spin over to Greenwich market and Blackheath.
The Man goes to retrieve his tools.
The red haired lady ( we shall call Hillary) claimed that she couldn’t find them.
The Man comes back agitated and worried for the whereabouts of his 20 odd year old tools.
I sympathetically reply, “yes but they were a bit shit anyway, I’ve still got mine and they are better than yours…they will probably turn up in her cats bed or something”
This didn’t help.
So we arrive back a few hours later, still no sign of the tools, Hillary is very apologetic and adds that she is quite worried because her cat has disappeared. ( I shall call the cat Moggy-Joe)
A ha…. I smell a plot thickening.
So the hunt is on for both Moggy-Joe and the shit-old-tools. I casually mentioned that perhaps the cat has nicked the tools.
This didn’t help
I have spent the past few weeks looking for a remote control for the stereo, it’s small and black, it was last seen at the end of 2007. After yet another evening of searching for this intrepid remote control I concluded that the cat must have this too.
It was late, dark and quite a pleasant evening, then the Coots started hollering. They have a coots-hangout opposite where we are moored and they can be noisy buggers. After deciphering the complex hoots, coots and bird banter I came to the understanding that one of them had accidentally stubbed its boney clawed toe on a spanner absentmindedly left behind by Moggy-Joe after a few jars of catnip following the local wildlife’s secret poker game. The cat took off with the tools and my remote control to avoid getting a kicking from the vicious coots.
The following morning Hillary has turned her boat upside down but still no sign of cat, spanners or remote control.
So, the day progresses like any usual Sunday, the men of the Victoria park posse go about chopping wood, we, the Honey Ryder crew had a small fire on the roof slow cooking our tagine, beer was drunk by all and I turned Mini-Baghdad back into a kitchen again. Complete with useable surfaces and everything. I also answered questions from the tow-path, from curious or just plain stupid passers by. I have everything from "does your dog bite", "can I stroke your dog", "do you live on that", "how much do you pay to put your boat here", "can I have a look around inside?"
Tired of being treated like a freak show I finally sat down to some serious leisure gel battery research when the Man returned ready to serve up the tagine, hotly followed by the neighbours asking to borrow the dinghy to investigate a sighting of Moggy-Joe on the opposite side of the canal near the lock.
It turns out to be a case of mistaken identity. The unidentified cat was looking in a bad way as it seems the coots had caught up with it, thinking it was the cheeky cat that cleared them out at poker the night before.
However the Tagine was lovely and well worth the 2 hours cooking time
Moggy-Joe, the tools and my stereo remote are still at large.
21 February 2008
if plastic bags were women?
having moved yet again from my favourite spot in Limehouse Basin we cruised up the Regents canal ( not the limehouse cut as we would later regret)
Now, anyone who's has been around London may, or may not have experienced this lovely bit of canal. It has taken me nearly a week to find the words to describe it eloquently.
Basically it's a shit hole and reinforces everything I abhor about canals.
we cruised quickly through the first lock (which of course had to be turned around as they are never facing the your way- thats the law of the sod)
no sooner were we through that lock and the next lock quickly appeared, again the wrong way round but that's ok, we were expecting that.
So, the Man (who is gradually getting less and less grumpy these days as the thoughts of selling the boat get more and more imminent and the dream of sailing the world get closer) was in fact on particularly good form and we were working well as a team and everything was going tooooo well.
We exited the second lock, swung by a rubbish barge, it wasn't rubbish, it was quite good, very convenient as it is a great place to chuck the rubbish...
fnar, so, rounded the first corner and suddenly we are going nowhere.
The realisation quickly dawned on us that the pound was badly drained and we were on the bottom, literally ditch crawling.
It's a shite state of affairs when this happens because not only is there very little water, the concentration of plastic bags per litre of rancid canal water increases 100fold.
We decided to head to the side and beach ourselves so we could have a good look in the weed hatch.
what we found was a prop completely engulfed in plastic.
You can imagine by now Ive been standing on the side a few times with a limp wet rope, my hood pulled up around my ears to keep out the freezing wind and a charming view of a pair of legs pointing away from the weed hatch.
It's at times like this I kill the time by entertaining myself with fantasies.
....As the french swearing faded to the back of my consciousness my mind was swimming around a blue lagoon, with turquoise warm waters, surrounded by ladies clad only in shiny plastic bikinis, I imagined their cheeky smiling faces laughing and all shiny from playing in the water, then as one cast away her restrictive plastic swimwear, so did the others and the plastic bikinis took on a life of their own, floating across the surface of the crystal clear water they take form, fill out and become a whole new set of lovely ladies, swimming about and causing mischief.....
back in reality the prop was cleared and we pushed the boat away from the sandbank at the side and continued at a snails pace on towards the next lock. After less than 50meters we were virtually motionless again and so back to the side for further weed hatch foraging and limp wet rope holding...
It seemed pointless trying to drive the boat the final quarter mile to the next lock so I set about bow hauling while the next load of bikinis were being liberated from the prop and rudder. The rudder yielded an impressive haul too, although I never did see a woman with breasts quite so big before.
theres a small pile of plastic by the door and more in the dinghy.
Now, anyone who's has been around London may, or may not have experienced this lovely bit of canal. It has taken me nearly a week to find the words to describe it eloquently.
Basically it's a shit hole and reinforces everything I abhor about canals.
we cruised quickly through the first lock (which of course had to be turned around as they are never facing the your way- thats the law of the sod)
no sooner were we through that lock and the next lock quickly appeared, again the wrong way round but that's ok, we were expecting that.
So, the Man (who is gradually getting less and less grumpy these days as the thoughts of selling the boat get more and more imminent and the dream of sailing the world get closer) was in fact on particularly good form and we were working well as a team and everything was going tooooo well.
We exited the second lock, swung by a rubbish barge, it wasn't rubbish, it was quite good, very convenient as it is a great place to chuck the rubbish...
fnar, so, rounded the first corner and suddenly we are going nowhere.
The realisation quickly dawned on us that the pound was badly drained and we were on the bottom, literally ditch crawling.
It's a shite state of affairs when this happens because not only is there very little water, the concentration of plastic bags per litre of rancid canal water increases 100fold.
We decided to head to the side and beach ourselves so we could have a good look in the weed hatch.
what we found was a prop completely engulfed in plastic.
You can imagine by now Ive been standing on the side a few times with a limp wet rope, my hood pulled up around my ears to keep out the freezing wind and a charming view of a pair of legs pointing away from the weed hatch.
It's at times like this I kill the time by entertaining myself with fantasies.
....As the french swearing faded to the back of my consciousness my mind was swimming around a blue lagoon, with turquoise warm waters, surrounded by ladies clad only in shiny plastic bikinis, I imagined their cheeky smiling faces laughing and all shiny from playing in the water, then as one cast away her restrictive plastic swimwear, so did the others and the plastic bikinis took on a life of their own, floating across the surface of the crystal clear water they take form, fill out and become a whole new set of lovely ladies, swimming about and causing mischief.....
back in reality the prop was cleared and we pushed the boat away from the sandbank at the side and continued at a snails pace on towards the next lock. After less than 50meters we were virtually motionless again and so back to the side for further weed hatch foraging and limp wet rope holding...
It seemed pointless trying to drive the boat the final quarter mile to the next lock so I set about bow hauling while the next load of bikinis were being liberated from the prop and rudder. The rudder yielded an impressive haul too, although I never did see a woman with breasts quite so big before.
theres a small pile of plastic by the door and more in the dinghy.
28 January 2008
Giz a Job
Before life on board the good ship ( read: metal tube) Honey Ryder, my day consisted of, drag myself out of my flea pit at around 9.50am, splash some water on my face, have some breakfast and then hop on my pushbike and arrive at work at 10am. My work happens to be my "dream" job of working on a motorbike magazine. It doesn't pay well, but the perks stack up high. This is what is often called Golden Handcuffs and I've been wearing them for nearly seven years.
yes, life wasn't at all bad back then. I had time to go places after work, i could be home at 6pm, sometimes even earlier, I had time to do stuff in the mornings too if I wasn't too lazy. so the idea to go and live on a boat and commute to work was a bit of a deep thinking point even two years ago when the plan to live on a boat was hatched. The first problem is that Croydon ( the devils armpit of a town where I work) has no waterways particularly close to it, the second problem is that I chose to continuously cruise after having a particularly unpleasant marina experience at the start.
after much deep contemplation and a moment of wishful thinking I decided it would be worth giving it a try, to see how hard commuting between 60 - 120 miles a day really could be.
I have tried car, motorbike, scooter, trains, tubes, trams, buses and cycling. I think it would be fair to say I have tried every avenue of transportation available to me. To describe my findings on what it is like to travel between three and four hours per day just to get to work would take some time and since time is something that has become
particularly scarce since I started all this, then I should get to the point.it's sent me round the bend,
through a little village called Insanity, calling in at Asylum café for a cup of shut the F**k up along the way and then found myself heading into an unknown scary city called Quit-your-job, I found a parking space at a pub called the Golden Handcuffs and when I turned around my motorbike had turned into a horse. .
Valentines day 2008 (that's february 14th for all you non-romantics) will be the end of my working love affair, the end of an era, the end of free motorbikes. I am saying goodbye to my dream job and saying hello to a new job working at Horse & Hound magazine, which is in London and will mean a 30 minute cycle ride to and from work.
Goodbye commuting blues, Hello Dobbin.
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