Two trips to Muriel this Bank Holiday weekend - neither, I'm afraid to say, to take her out of the marina.  We're in a funny old situatuion at the moment, one where we're happy and sad at the same time.  We had hoped to be out on Muriel most of the summer, but due to our house not selling we are both still working - sad.  We had hoped, despite this, to be using Muriel on our days off, but as Jack, our ageing and sick labrador, is still with us, this has not been possible - happy.  Yes, happy, because Jack is still here.  

 

So, in the short time we have left with him, one of us stays at home to look after J while the other goes to Muriel.  A trip last week saw the engine run up and the batteries charged, while on another, Sue took keys for Foxton Boats who are going to sort out some of our warrenty issues.  I had hoped to take Muriel out this weekend on my own - the weather, though, has had other ideas.  On Saturday it was very windy and today, Sunday, just plain wet.  There seemed little point in taking her out if I would not enjoy it, so I didn't bother. 

 

Instead, I polished a few things and did a bit of adjusting to Muriel's mooring.  When I say polished I actually mean oiled.  Chrome is built up, so I'm told, of little flakes.  Light oil will get in amongst these and keep corrosion at bay.  Armed with rag and cycle oil, I gave our mushrooms and fittings a good going over.  They needed it: even in the short time she has been at Pillings Lock marina they had deteriorated, looking dull and unkept. 

 

Muriel's mooring is another matter, not one of maintenance but of adjustment.  Pillings Lock uses short finger jetties and mooring piles, or posts, to which the bow or stern of a boat is tied.  Muriel being a Cruiser is stern on, so the bow is out on the post - sometimes literally.  On days where the wind is strong enough and in a certain direction, Muriel bangs on her mooriing post, sending a judder through her hull every time she strikes.  All around the marina there are old tyres strung from posts and jetties at every angle and position imaginable.  We are not the only ones with the problem and now have an old tyre suspended on the post.

 

The Pan

 

 

I was reading Granny Buttons’ blog the other day and was interested by the entry on the boat-friendly food processor. Well, we have another very boat friendly bit of kitchen kit that was given to us as a wedding present last year. We admired The Pan, used it once or twice like any other pan, but mainly kept it in its box so as not to damage it. It is after all a very nice looking pan, and our kitchen cupboards are a bit of a mess, well a lot of a mess really. You open them, lob something in, and shut them quickly before something else falls out.

 

Then, whilst kitting out Muriel, we decided to give The Pan a nice home in a well ordered kitchen (or should I say galley) where we could put it to good use. And good use it was put to. In fact we used it for every single meal of our trip.

 

So, what is so special about The Pan? Well, it is constructed so that it will keep food hot for up to 2 hours. We had been told this, and read it in the accompanying bumf, but hadn’t really used the pan enough to test it out. And, as we usually just cook and eat, this particular facility didn’t seem overly useful. Then, as the major chef of the house/boat-hold, Simon used The Pan’s thermal properties in a slightly different way. He would for example, briefly fry up some veggies in The Pan for about 5 mins, then take it off the heat, sit it on the base plate for 20 mins, and hey presto, perfectly cooked, hot veg. Worked just as well for pasta, spuds and rice. This would obviously be an equally valuable technique in a house to reduce your energy bills and carbon footprint, but is even more important when all the gas you have is in a bottle, which could run out (which is particularly true for us as we have yet to buy a second bottle).

 

When we stopped off at Napton Junction, Gloria & Derek our live-aboard friends came for dinner. Well they actually brought dinner with them in the form of a rather nice spaghetti bolognaise. The sauce was ready, and we used The Pan for the spaghetti. They were suitably impressed, and are now in the market for one.

 

There is however one problem. You can’t actually buy The Pan in the UK. It was a present from our friend Mary who lives in Switzerland, and she brought it over with her.  It’s made by Kuhn Rikon, and the only pans I’ve been able to find here that are made by them are pressure cookers. If I was an entrepreneur, I’d think about starting an import business. As it is, I’ll be talking very nicely to Mary before her next visit to see if she can squeeze another one into her rucksack.

 

Although Simon independently invented the ‘blast it & wait’ cooking method, since arriving home I’ve discovered the Kuhn Rikon website, which I’m sure wasn’t there before! They have a section on the ‘hot pan’, which looks different to ours but obviously has the same basic construction. It includes a demo video, where they use Simon’s technique!

 

http://www.kuhnrikon.co.uk/products-hotpan.asp

 

We've discovered a fantastic new way that can get you out of doing anything you don't want to do.  And the thing that makes it oh-so special is that you don't actally have to refuse to do the thing, whatever it might be - in fact the very opposite is true.  You agree to do it; you put it in writing that you will do it; when asked why you haven't made any effort to do it, you act horrified - but still don't do it.  It's simple, time and money saving, and above all, it don't half get up peoples noses - especially if they are a customer who has just spent a lot of money on a new narrow boat from your company (If you don't want to know who that company is, look away now) at Hanbury, a boat that was built in Poland. 

 

The technique goes something like this:

DAY 1

Phone rings a few times and is answered promptly, adding an air of efficiency.  "Hello N.. and .... Boat Company, how can I help you"

"Hello, Mr M here", polite, softly spoken, controlled calmness in evidence.  "We have a port hole and central heating radiator leak on our new Madison.  Can you get some one out to fix them please?"

"Of course, Mr M, I'll contact the engineer straight away and he'll get back to you".

DAY 2

 

 

 

Hanbury Wharf to Pillings Lock

 

We pulled out of Mountsorrel Lock and headed north, towards Pillings Lock and the marina where we were to berth Muriel.  The two-week cruise from the New Boat Company’s base at Hanbury Wharf on the Birmingham and Worcs to the Grand Union had seen us pass through 164 locks, including the  Tardebigge and Hatton flights, and much of it in wind and rain. Finally, on the penultimate day and with the end in sight, we had descended through Leicester; no mean feat in itself.  We were proud and relieved, our spirits buoyed.  But, coming out of Mountsorrel Lock on what was a lovely Spring morning, we saw something that made our hearts sink.  A new Aqualine Madison, just like ours, waited to enter the lock, but where Muriel’s sides where scuffed, she was spotless, her paint blemish free.  Where Muriel’s rubbing strakes were gouged, she was still in black.  Muriel was filthy, dull, tired; every rain swept mile was written on her shell.  This other boat, from the same company, glittered like new.  How could we have got it so wrong?

The handover at Hanbury had gone ahead as scheduled but in the midst of workmen painting extra non-slip paint on Muriel’s gunwales.  A ‘demdrive’ was out of the question - we couldn’t even stay on board that night.  The next day saw us back at Hanbury to load up and plan our departure for the weekend.  We started a defect list.  Leaks from the sink unit; tile grout missing.  Draws catching on opening; patches of unvarnished floor. And paint scratches and scuffs on the shell, the only defect, when reported, that attracted any attention – the rest were ignored.  “It’s a production boat, don’t forget”, they told us.   “The thing you’ve got to remember about boating is to chill”.  Good point; bad timing.

I recently bought the laptop I’m writing this on.  The man in the shop said that despite the price, and the extensive and unintelligible list of its attributes advertised on the box, it probably wouldn’t all work, but so what.  Well, you don’t need all those things, do you?  No one does; haven’t you seen the film Apollo 13, they sent three men into space using slide rules.  No, it’s not what you've paid for but that doesn’t matter. Did he really say that?  No, of course not but he would have been right if he had; I don’t need, or use, a fraction of the computer’s capability.  However, the point is, I paid for it and it is up to me to use or not use it as I wish.  The laptop must be capable of functioning as claimed by the manufacturer– NOTHING LESS WILL DO.

Back to £86K of boat.  We set off on the Sunday, deciding to tackle the first 12 locks that would start us up towards Birmingham and stop at Stoke Pound for the night.  Entering a canal lock in a narrowboat is a bit like squeezing a lorry through a width restriction.  If you’re lucky you might just get away with it - but only once.  This road, though, was littered with the things and sooner rather than later we were going to catch the side.  We caught the side.  The wind was a bit gusty in places, pushing Muriel off course at the last minute, and we caught the front.  Some of the locks were tight on exiting; we caught the back.  My own words, spoken at The New Boat Company’s base in Reading when we were ordering Muriel, echoed in my head.  Who needs a bow thruster? I had said.  Err, we did.

The following day took us through the remaining 30 locks of the Tardebegge flight.  Locking must be one of the last bastions of male dominance and the female slave.  Though here it’s purely voluntary – Sue wouldn’t drive no matter how many times I asked.  She preferred to struggle with the lock gates and paddles rather than the piloting of Muriel.  We weren’t alone: every boat we saw on the trip, bar one or two, was run in this way.  The male member of the crew was at the helm; the female doing most of the physical stuff.  We encountered a team from the Tour-de-France on the way up – a pushbike racing ahead, windlass dangling, followed by the mass of the peloton, cup of tea in one hand, helm in the other.  We let them pass, using lunch as an excuse to stop.

At the top of the flight, we stopped short of the lock and the first tunnel.  We spoke to Platypus, a fine boat with the character of her owners displayed in her artwork.  They’d been around by the sound of it, both boat and owners, and seemed modestly capable of handling any situation.  They were also typical of the majority of people you meet on the Cut: open and helpful, a good friend for the day. 

We passed through Short Wood tunnel, which was... short, and then motored on to Alvechurch where we stopped to shop.  Muriel also had her prop alignment checked, which was a requirement after 20 hours under the engine warranty.  The engineer at the boatyard said the way to do it was to take the boat out of the water and pull out the shaft.  At Hanbury I had been told it was simply a case of undoing four bolts and seeing if the holes lined up.  He undid four bolts. 

The following day saw us travel through Wast Hills tunnel, which at over 2700 yards is the second longest on the system.  We met two boats in the tunnel, both of them hire boats and obviously travelling together.  We could hear the banter between their crews echoing around the walls of the tunnel as they approached, the light from their headlamps growing brighter and brighter.  I bought Muriel to a near standstill, edging her close to the timber rubbing strake to my right.  The other boats drew adjacent to us and then crept past without making contact, their wash hardly disturbing us.  We entered Birmingham and turned right at Kings Norton onto the Stratford-Upon-Avon canal.  The junction was impressive, its architecture straight from the hay day of the canal network.  The only thing that spoiled it was the graffiti – the place was covered in it.

When I see graffiti, I always imagine what it must be like for a dog.  Someone has left their mark; a mark your senses cannot avoid.  With a dog’s heightened sense of smell, it’s the scent, with us it’s what we see.  A ‘tag’ leaps out at you.  You can try to ignore it but you’ll always see it – that’s what it’s there for.  And just like a dog that sniffs its way around the park, oblivious to all else, graffiti takes over your view of a place.  Kings Norton Junction was a mess of wiggly lines scrawled in paint, I have to think hard to remember what was underneath.  You cannot blame anyone for trying to leave their mark on this world, but like this? 

It wasn’t long before we were through Birmingham and parked up at Hockley Heath for the night.  The next day took us through Lapworth locks and towards Warwick, where we descended the Hatton flight.  The top lock at Hatton had a BW facility attached and some interesting artwork scattered about.  We had stopped above Hatton for a wander down to have a look before we started them, I’m glad we did - the locks were of battleship proportions. 

Hatton took most of the following day, leaving us just enough time to get through Warwick and RL-Spar, stopping at Tesco to shop on the way through.  We had passed through the last couple of locks with a hire boat, which made life a little easier – this was a wide beam canal – but they were a funny bunch.  Nice enough, but funny.  The main crew were, I would say, a family.  But where they were ‘Cotswold Camping’ in their Berghaus jackets, the helmsman was more ‘Motorway Maintenance’.  A strange contrast about which the inquisitive part of me wanted to ask, but I didn’t; there is a balance between genuine curiosity and rudeness.  Their boat, interestingly enough, we had hired a couple of years before, for our trip around the Leicester Ring.

We descended Stockton and dropped in to see friends at Napton Junction.  Their boat, Completely Foxed, had recently been painted and looked superb.  Muriel got the nod of approval; an appreciated accolade from two experienced live-aboarders.  At Stockton we were fortunate enough to team up with a boat returning to her mooring at Calcutt, making the passage through more enjoyable and a little quicker.  A traditional boat was chasing us, sharing the locks with a youth training boat of some sort.  The traditional boat’s crew were self-important and clearly frustrated by the ineptitude of mere pleasure boaters.  I have the greatest respect for working boats on the Cut, the hire boats, but polishing a Gardner engine is not a profession, even if it is a full time occupation - it’s just a hobby. 

I worked as a lorry mechanic for a number of years, and as a driver too, back in the 1970’s and early 1980’s.  In those days, the lorries that came into the workshop were Bedfords with Perkins engines, Leylands with either Cummins or Rolls-Royce engines, or Atkinsons with Gardner engines.  When I drove a lorry, it was invariably an Atkinson.  All the wagons of the day needed continual care and maintenance, and above all, especially from the driver, they needed patience.  They were noisy, heavy to drive and slow.  A right-angled affair wrapped in wafer thin foam and plastic usually masqueraded as a seat; the radio was only audible at tickover; the steering had no power assistance, neither did the clutch.  They had constant mesh gearboxes.  You needed overalls to work in and overalls to sleep in.  Every load, or so it seemed, had to be ‘roped and sheeted’.  We were dirty, sometimes wet, and often tired for most of the day.  Then came the foreigners like Volvo and Scania and we moved from lorry to truck.  Comfortable, reliable, tough but gentle on the driver.  They were mileage eaters, and we loved them.  So, show me a traditional working boat and I’ll show you someone who has never worked on one.  If they had, they would surely have an Isuzu engine, chrome mushrooms... .

After Napton we stopped at Calcutt Boats for a 50 hour service on the engine, another requirement of the warranty.  The people were very friendly and the diesel prices the lowest we have seen before or since.  From there it was on to Braunston where we stopped at the chandler and walked into the village to stock up the supplies.  It was still a bit windy and I allowed us to be blown off course on the way in, ending up pinned against a BW barge, as we avoided an oncoming boat.  No excuses, I’m afraid, it was pilot error on my part; there was plenty of room for us both. 

We saw off Braunston locks that night and moored before the tunnel.  Vera was loving every moment of the trip and enjoyed herself meeting and greeting (or in Vera’s case, meeting and growling if a dog on another boat was not to her taste).  Sue had been getting to grips with a new camera, finding time to use it despite all the locking, and Braunston gave some great evening shot opportunities.  Jack by now was beginning to long for home.  J has been unwell for a while and the change to his routine was a bit too much, I think. 

The following morning we pushed on through the tunnel.  Two incidents happened in there.  The first, a boat in the opposite direction passed at such a speed we were washed against the brickwork momentarily.  Either that or my swerve to avoid him was responsible.  Down to him that one; we were virtually stopped. He even said “'Ow do”, as he went by.  I hope my reply went unheard, particularly if there were ladies on board.  The second mishap was a simple matter of maths.  Question: what’s wrong with the following equation? 3KW inverter = 2KW washing machine + 2KW kettle.  Yes, I know, but we all have to learn.  Richard, from the New Boat Company, finally met up with us at Foxton Locks and changed the inverter’s internal fuse.  He didn’t raise his eyebrows to the sky, tut, laugh or even sigh when I told him what we had done.  A true professional: he simply dropped the inverter’s cover and took a bloody great chunk out of a kitchen cupboard door - a lasting reminder of our foolishness. 

We were, by this time, heading north from Norton Junction on the home leg of our journey, and on our home canal: the Grand Union, Leicester Section.  This, I think, was amongst the most picturesque scenery we had seen for a long while.  Sometimes rolling countryside as far as we could see; sometimes undulating meadows alongside the canal.  Watford Gap services on the M1 came and went.  The lorry park was full of Volvos and Scanias.  Just before Leicester we spent the night at Kilby Bridge, were I had a shower courtesy of BW.  The showers appeared to use a token system but a live-aboard informed me that they were free.  In his words: “The diesel thief uses them, so they must be.  He wouldn’t pay for anything”.  Diesel Thief!!!  I turned the part of Muriel’s stern where the diesel cap is located into an obstacle course and spent a restless night dreaming of large diameter hosepipes and siphon pumps.

Luck looked favourably on us the following day, as another boat joined us for the long descent through Leicester’s 21 locks.  Her crew were a retired couple – we envied them – and very outgoing, not uncommon with boaters, as we’ve discovered.  It was a pleasurable day for us, Sue locking with her, me putting the world to rights and generally chatting to him.  We travelled through Leicester City centre, our boats side by side that’s how quiet it was, and finally parted when they stopped at a pub short of Junction Lock.  We continued to the lock where we spent the night.

So it was that on the next day we passed through Sileby Lock on the River Soar and met up with that brand new, blemish free, Aqualine Madison as it prepared to enter Mountsorrel Lock.  I couldn’t resist it, rude or not, I had to ask.  “How”, I said.  “Did you get the boat from Hanbury to here, passing through so many locks, mooring against so much Armco, at this time of year, and have hardly a scratch one her”?  “By lorry”, he said.  We motored the short distance to Pillings Lock Marina and moored - seasoned, both inside and out.