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.

   

    

 

 

 

 

Tomorrow is the big, big big day.  We are all packed up and ready to move onto the boat after 'hand over' at Hanbury.  Then it's a delivery trip to Pillings Lock where Muriel will live.  The signwriting is complete but the cratch is not - bit disappointed, but there you go. 

 

Our plan is to head up into B'ham then take a southern route to the GU before heading north through Leicester.  A leasurely couple of weeks, we hope.

 

Muriel is now officially British.  She arrived at Hanbury at the beginning of March and should be available for 'hand-over' by the end of the first week in April.  We've actually seen her - we visited the New Boat Co last week to speak to Will the signwriter and Doug the Cratchman and she was there, sitting amongst the other new arrivals along the canal bank.  She's a bit dirty - wouldn't anyone be who'd spent a few days travelling on the back of a lorry from Poland - and still looked like she'd just left the factory, which she had, but underneath the surface grime and protective wrapping she's wonderful.

Although we couldn't spend too long onboard there were a few things that pleased us about the layout.  Aqualine have retained the position of the cooker below a window - we thought it was to be moved to behind the dinette on the grounds of health and safety.  The granite work surfaces have been rounded off, again for H&S reasons, and looked the more pleasing for it.  I tried out our seven-foot bed (we've had a foot added to the bedroom to accomodate my length) and we both cooed over the chrome pack and dark blue and cream paint job.

 

Will, the signwriter, came up with some great ideas about where to place the name and some of the other detail we would like Muriel to display.  He also suggested some styles, 'painting' them with his finger in the surface dirt on her side as he did - we were very impressed.

 

All that remains now is to wait.  Oh, and plan a route to Loughborough where she'll live... and buy some furniture... and sort out her licence... and plan this year's criusing...

Hoovering the Towpath

 

I can guarantee that there are now no crumbs on the towpath of the Grand Union Canal between Cow Roast & Bulbourne Junction.

 

As it was a lovely afternoon we decided to take Jack & Vera for a nice walk along the canal for a change. We left Liam at home as it would be too much for him and headed off in our sporty red two-seater (a diesel Escort van). We parked up near the entrance to the marina and headed off west. You can tell us, we’re the two people looking longingly at all of the canal boats. I’m the short one with the binoculars.

 

Jack and Vera don’t go for a walk, they go for a forage. They identified every spot used by a fisherman, and possibly the odd hardy pick-nicker, and cleaned the towpath of any left-over crusts, bait or other unsavoury morsels.

 

Simon is quite familiar with this part of the canal, although not from quite this angle. Before Jack got ill, he was in training for the Devizes to Westminster canoe race, and used to bring his canoe here for his on-water training due to the long lock-free stretch.

 

Cow Roast lock is very impressive; it’s the first section of canal I have ever come across where you can actually see the bottom. The walk out to Bulbourne Junction was at a relatively modest pace as Jack wasn’t yet into his stride. We discussed all the boats we passed, judging the merits of their colour schemes against the one we have finally chosen for Muriel. Muriel’s won.  

 

We saw a widebeam go by heading east. It looked lovely, sporting a huge searchlight on the bow. We met a bunch of anglers as we approached the junction. Most made a point of ignoring us, but one or two made a friendly comment. Jack and Vera were on their leads at this point but still made valiant attempts to steal bait, and one chaps sandwiches. Luckily he was one of the friendly ones.

 

 

 

 

We admired the junction, and the nearby metal works with an interesting tower and some great sculptures outside. I whipped out my binoculars as I saw more movement there than on the rest of the walk, with flocks of goldfinch, redwing & starling. The only other birds on the walk were mallards, moorhens, blackbirds, a solitary robin, blue tit and fieldfare, and a couple of jackdaws flying over. The only other wildlife was a fox, but unfortunately it was dead and floating in the canal.

 

On the way back it was a bit of a speed walking event. Once Jack gets going, there’s no stopping him. Well unless that is he comes across a crumb that he missed on the way out. We were racing the light as it was fading fast. We could see a boat ahead of us chugging away. We overhauled it due to Jack’s pace-setting, and saw a cup of tea being handed up to the lady at the tiller of the cruiser stern. The lady said they weren’t going far, just trying to get out of the cutting so it would be a bit lighter before they moored. It looked great. Can’t wait. I even coverted her nice purple knitted hat.

 

Made it back to the van just as it got dark and headed home to our house - which we love very much - but would still trade it for a life on Muriel.

Liam:

aka Pomble

 

Liam is our 16 ½ year old Border Terrier. He started out life as Simon’s Mum & Dad’s dog, living in Exmouth, Devon. I first met him when he was a young whipper-snapper of 18 months on my first visit to Simon’s folks. Liam’s a real character, a typical terrier with a mind of his own. When visiting, he used to sleep on my bed, and by morning he usually had more of it than I did. He’d then sit on me and stamp his feet to demand some of my toast (that was when I first started going out with Simon and I actually got breakfast in bed!). We used to take him on some lovely long walks along the River Otter and the coastal path. He terrorised Amy his older sister who was a bit overweight and liked a nice quiet life.

 

When Liam was about 4 ½ we got Jack our first black lab. They got on fine, especially as Liam was larger than Jack for a while, so managed to become established as the boss.

 

Then in 1995 Simon’s Dad died, and his mum then took over all pooch activities. Liam had always been pampered, but now he thought he was in heaven! He started sleeping on the bed beside his Mum, under a blanket, after having his bedtime treat of half a Cornish Wafer!

 

He thought he had it made, until Simon’s Mum had a heart attack in 1998. Although she soon returned home, she didn’t feel able to look after Liam properly any more, so he came to live with us. By now we also had Vera, our second black lab, but as both she & Jack had known Liam all their lives, he fitted in without a problem. As for Liam, he was very adaptable e.g. he knew that whilst visiting Devon he could climb on the sofa, when in Wheathampstead the sofa was out of bounds. Unfortunately he now had to get used to receiving only 1/3^rd of the attention and going for much longer walks.

 

Although we still think of him as Simon’s Mum & Dad’s dog, he has actually spent far more of his life with us than he did with them. He came with us on our 1^st canal trip around the Four Counties Ring, although as he didn’t settle very well he went to Simon’s sister’s when we went round the Leicester Ring. He has a wail of a time on his holidays getting spoilt rotten by everyone.

 

Liam has had a few memorable exploits over the years. On one infamous occasion Simon’s Dad was walking Liam on the golf course along the cliff edge. Liam started scratching about in a bunker, and a rather stroppy golfer shouted “can’t you read the sign? It says dogs must be kept under control” to which Simon’s Dad replied “he is, I told him to do that”. Liam is also rather partial to hedgehogs, which has caused a few incidents. One morning Simon found a carcass on the lawn which consisted of the spiny shell & a rib cage! Liam had a big grin and bloody chops! On another occasion, he was on my lap whilst I was watching the tele. I was tickling his head and had been for a few minutes when I actually looked down. To my horror, his head was crawling with fleas! He’d obviously had another close encounter in the garden. I instantly launched him across the room, and then when I calmed down, I spent the next hour picking fleas off his head!

 

Now he’s a little old man and only has one short walk a day, and as he can’t hear or see much he stays on his flexi lead. However, he still seems happy enough, so whilst he is we’ll keep him going. Long may he rein!

 

 

 

VERA

 

 

 

How to construct The Perfect Form

 

The outer casing must be loose fitting and flexible to allow for plenty of movement, and be reasonably tough.  The materials used should provide warmth and be very dark in colour, so that mud and dirt will not show.  The coating will need to be soft to the touch and such that it can be brushed out to allow the removal of accumulated dust.  The frame will be broad and strong, providing sufficient room inside for the apparatus that will power this formidable creature. The body needs to be set on strong, powerful supports that are themselves positioned on large pads so that a high level of stability is achieved.  A broad head must be built with eyes that are dark in appearance, so as to complement the coat, but be bright in every other way.  The nose will be sensitive to all scents and smells, no matter how faint, and the mouth strong, its bite firm.

 

The head should be filled with a large brain capable of clear thought and appreciation.  Additional powers will be built-in that are beyond the scope of this description but can be summarized as ‘psychic’.  The brain must have the facility to switch off peripheral thought and apply all its energy to a set task, usually determined by the brain itself (for example, chasing a pheasant in preference to walking to heel).  This attribute will manifest itself in considerable bravery which, when alloyed to an immense sense of loyalty, can only be considered as being beyond price.  The propensity for loyalty combined with the independence afforded by self belief will manifest itself in an interesting attitude towards affection.  Basically, attention will be gratefully received and returned, but at arms length.  Lap is a word associated with drinking not sleeping. 

 

The physical appearance should be such that any reasonably sighted person would describe it as being beautiful, and such that it would bring a smile to the most ardent dog hater’s lips.  This is achieved by every aspect of the form being in perfect proportion and of ideal size.  Faultlessness in looks is reflected in physical performance, and unprecedented power will be on tap at a moments notice. 

 

If you manage to put such a thing together or you have a Black Labrador that you recognise from this description, then you are surely blessed.

 

Vera:  Black Labrador bitch.  Born in Modbury, Devon.  Dec 1996.

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

An alternative version of the boat hunt, without the poetic licence!! 

 

By Sue 

 

 

The Plan

 

This is my first contribution to the site. Everything else is Simon’s handiwork; he likes to write and has even had some of his articles published e.g. ‘Soar Point’ was in Canal  Boat magazine, which handily won us a free year’s subscription to the magazine whilst we were searching for a boat!

 

We’ve had 2 canal boating holidays, both with Viking Afloat. In 2004 when we did the Four Counties Ring, and in 2006 the Leicester Ring, both over a fortnight. We had a great time, and the holidays made us sure that we wanted to get our own boat. We initially got the idea though from our friends Gloria & Derek, who we had originally met through dog walking. Their border collie Ben was of a similar age to our eldest black lab Jack, and we just used to chat when we happened to meet up. They had always been into canal boating, and had part owned a boat for years before buying their own. Canal boating wasn’t really anything we’d ever thought about, but then when they decided to sell up and move onboard full time, it got us thinking. Hence the 2 holidays to see what we thought of it, and we though it was great! Gloria and Derek have now lived on board for about for 7 or 8 years, and still love it. Sadly Ben died earlier this year, so now their tranquil boating life has been livened up by Jake the pup border collie!

 

We played with the idea for a while of ‘dropping out’ and going to live on the canals. Then we decided to go for it. We are both working full time at the moment, but as of March 2008, Simon can retire on a minimum pension as he’ll be over 50yrs old and have been working in his job for 25 years.  I’ll only have been working 21 years, so will just resign, and we’ll have to be somewhat frugal in our spending. Still, you only live once, and enough things have happened over the last few years to make us decide that as long as we can afford to go, we will.  After all, you’re a long time dead, and there’s no point in being the richest man in the graveyard (as Simon often says!)

 

So, we started making a plan. With next March as our target date we started looking at canal boats. We searched the internet, went and saw lots of boats, and even ventured to the manic Crick show. If you’ve read Simon’s article on buying a boat, you’ll know that poor old Derek & Gloria have had to field numerous phone calls when we’ve had queries over boating stuff. They came out to Whilton Marina on our first expedition and pointed out all the bits to look at, which gave us a good grounding. Simon was particularly fond of a boat called Decodream, which we went to see several times, and which set a bit of a bench mark. However, I just didn’t like the décor or the general ‘feel’ of it.  We were keeping a very open mind, looking at both second hand and new boats. We quickly found that you get what you pay for. The cheaper new boats were memorably dreadful. I found it hard to believe how bad some of them were. My Dad’s a joiner (or rather was, as he’s now enjoying his retirement), and would definitely have had a Dicky Fit had he seen the quality (or lack of). I had one on his behalf.

 

After a while Derek suggested we take a look at Aqualine boats. We duly went along to the New Boat Company in Reading, where we saw a Manhattan and were pleasantly gob-smacked by the quality, which far out stripped anything else we’d seen that was even vaguely in our price range.  Then we saw a second hand Sandpiper with a rear galley, which although nowhere near the quality of the Aqualine, was nevertheless again far better than anything else we’d seen at a comparable price. We’d always quite fancied the idea of a rear galley too. We mentioned this to Stuart the salesman, and low and behold, he said that they also had a Madison, the rear galley Aqualine on display. Love at first sight!! Wow.  If the rear galley sandpiper was nice, this was superb!

 

Then the dilemma began. We liked the Sandpiper, but we liked the Madison better…..but was it worth the extra money? I took my Dad to Reading for an expert opinion of the woodwork, and he was impressed. It’s hard to impress my Dad. He was actually impressed with both of them! We mulled it over, and then when we wanted another look the Madison was no longer at Reading but at the main base in Hanbury Wharf near Droitwitch. We headed North, and luckily a Sandpiper and the Madison were side by side, so we went from one to the other, and back, and back again…..

 

We had a chat to Sam, discussing the options for both. One advantage of the Aqualine was that we could have an extra foot added to the bedroom (and loose a foot from the saloon) to accommodate Simon (who is rather tall).   Then again, there was slightly more headroom in the Sandpiper. Derek had always said to stay away from MDF, and my Dad also said not to have MDF unless it was marine grade. We almost made a decision. If the MDF on the Sandpiper was marine grade, then we’d go for that. After all, maybe the Aqualine was just too nice for us; we’re heading to the canals to explore not to hold tea parties!

 

The MDF was not marine grade. We agonised. I said Simon could decide, as I liked both and much of the decision hung on how comfortable he would find the boats. So, he headed up North again on his own as I couldn’t get the day off work. It really was a hard decision, I think we were looking at a difference of about £13000.

 

Then I got a text from Simon. He had put down a deposit! Anyone nearby must have thought I was potty as I stood there with a big grin on my face. It wasn’t until he’d made the decision that I realised how much I’d wanted it to be the Aqualine – and that’s exactly what Simon had chosen. He’d even managed to get us an earlier build slot than we’d expected as they let him have the one reserved for the Crick show.

 

So, they’re due to start building this month. Aqualine’s are built in Poland and shipped over complete. We’ve decided on the spec, and the contract is signed and ready to be sent back. We’ve gone for a few optional extras e.g. bed extension (in addition to the extra foot), chrome pack, Pullman dinette, 3000kw inverter, washing machine, and a 2 colour paint job. 

 

It was down to the paint job that we’ve started this blog. We always intended to start one when we set off on our life on the canal, mainly so that our friends and family will be able to keep track of where we are and what we’re up to. However, things kind of happened by accident……

 

Whilst Googling for ‘canal boat paint schemes’ or something similar, I came across the ‘Peter Duck’ website. It was excellent, not only because we liked their colour scheme, but because it practically mirrored what we were about to go through. Peter Duck is a Sandpiper from the New Boat Company, and I read the entries as they appeared. Then suddenly they all stopped. I kept checking, but they seemed to have disappeared. After a while I decided to contact Peter Duck to find out what had happened. It may be because I’m an IT numpty, or it may just be the way it is, but I couldn’t figure out how to send them an e-mail without registering, and in so doing somehow managed to start our website. At that stage I called Simon, who’s more IT savvy than me, and he got started! Peter Duck are now back on the planet, and I await with interest details of their exploits that caused their lengthy absence!

 

So there you have it! They should start building our boat ‘Muriel’ this month (although they are apparently already 3 weeks behind). We’ve sorted a mooring out at the new Pilling’s Lock Marina just North of Leicester.  We’re getting all excited. However there’s only one problem. We need to sell the house before we can leave work and take up a life as Water Gypsies, and unfortunately we appear to have picked the worst time in the last decade to try and sell a house.

 

Still, hopefully we’ll sell at some stage, and by then everything else should be in place.

 

We just can’t wait!

 

Before we even thought about a narrow boat we'd both done a bit of sailing. Sue had sailed with me on our Wayfarer, Mirror and Fireball dinghies, and done some offshore sailing as well. 

 

I'd sailed since I was very young and grew up sailing on the Thames.  I later progressed onto offshore yachts. I took my practical Offshore Yachtmaster exam back in 1995.

 

 

 

 

 

 

YACHT MASTER  EXAM   MAY 1995

 

 

 Instructor .  Ashley Woods .

 

 

Yacht .           Blue Star of Broadway .

 

 

Crew .             Bob Sadler .

 

                        John Tonks .

 

                        Sid Piggott .

 

                       Simon  

 

                                                      

TRAINEE YACHT MASTER’S LOG  

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Sunday 14th May 1995 .

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I left home just after lunch. Sue had gone off to work and as I had the drive down to Southampton ahead of me, there seemed little point in delaying my departure. My Splash Down bag was packed at the last minute , as usual, and with ‘oilies’ slung over the top, I set off hoping everything needed was remembered . It's always difficult to estimate exactly what to take, and to get what you do take into one bag. I had put the usual items in, including the necessary documents - log book and V.H.F. licence .  

I arrived at Mercury Marina  on the Hamble at just after five in the afternoon. The boatyard is typical of its type, with pontoons lined up in front of the marina office, and as seems the norm, full of yachts despite the time of year .  The Sailing Club yachts are kept on the outside pontoon, farthest upriver. After meeting the harbour master - one of the grumpiest I have ever met - and some heavy lugging, I was on board blue Star of Broadway, a Starlight 35, and my home for the next seven days. Looking around the cockpit the gear seemed a little lighter than I was used to with all the halyards and sheets running back to the coachroof adjacent to the companionway - a real luxury in anyones book .

After venturing down below I met my fellow students and shipmates for the week. Sitting in the corner, on the port bunk, was Sid, a part-time sailor from the East Coast . Next to him was John, who was from 'south of the river' and another boat owner. The last of my contemporaries  was Bob, who welcomed me aboard with a cup of hot coffee. Ashley, our skipper and instructor for the week, soon appeared from the after cabin. Introductions and a briefing followed, then we set about familiarising ourselves with  the rigging of storm sails while Ashley was doing some last minute repairs in the cabin.  

After a few hours of toiling and in fading light, we headed up to the clubhouse for a meal and a couple of pints. The conversation was polite and reserved as it always is in these situations, all of us a little apprehensive, no doubt. Sid, it turns out, is along to gain some technical experience and will not be taking any examination at the end of the course. John was intending to go for the Coastal ticket, so it was down to Bob and myself to have a go for the Yacht master exam on the following weekend .        

 

Monday 15th May  1995

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 It was an early start, a theme that seemed to be in for the week. John was cooking breakfast when I emerged from my pit. The others were all in a similar state, all bleary eyed and yawns. Over eggs and bacon we discussed the day ahead, and wondered how we would fare. The first half of the day was taken up with ship handling, on and off the pontoon, time and time again. It soon became obvious that Sid and John’s boat ownership, and experience gained through them, would pay off in this department. I became a little despondent faced with what seemed to be superior seamanship. We continued on after lunch until, just after five o'clock,  we slipped our mooring one last time and headed off down the river towards Southampton water .

Ashley had told me that I would be taking us to Bembridge, a small port on the eastern edge of the Isle of Wight. We motored out of the Hamble, L.S.P. fashion, and set a full main and Genoa as we passed the spit buoy. In light airs we turned towards Calshot, keeping as close inshore as possible and away from the main shipping channel, which is always busy with a variety of craft both large and small. It was a lovely evening and we soon settled into an enjoyable sail .

After heading a little too close inshore - I was reading boat speed as depth - we altered course to an almost straight track through the forts. As we closed them my confidence was lifted slightly as John and Sid became unsettled, and then undecided, about the large cross channel ferries entering the Solent from the eastern end. It showed a hint of inexperience I felt , so I asked Bob, who was at the helm, to hold our course - at least for the time being . Ashley all the while was down below, and although working on some urgent maintenance,  had  no doubt  heard every word spoken and felt every move of the boat .

We soon cleared the forts and turned onto a new course for Bembridge . The light was fading fast and it was not long before darkness was upon us . We tacked inshore after a short while, heading for the buoy marking the entrance to the harbour. There then followed one of the most difficult piloting exercises I have ever attempted. Under the guidance of Ashley, and the use of the powerful Aldis lamp we edged our way in. The entrance twists and winds along a channel for several hundred metres, marked only by a series of unlit buoys. Watching the depth gauge closely, we began to 'feel for the bottom' in order to stay in the main part of the channel. After what seemed an eternity we entered the little harbour proper and  were soon tied up alongside the visitors pontoon. It was by this time getting on for 11pm. Bob cooked a magnificent roasted ham dinner, which we washed down with a couple of well earned cans of bear . It was then all I could do to drag myself to my bunk, and to a welcome nights sleep .

 

 Tuesday 16th May 1995            

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  We were up not long after 6 am. I cooked breakfast, an effort in itself in the cramped conditions of Bluestar's galley. The day was outlined by Ashley. We would slip Bembridge and head over to Chichester. Bob was deputed skipper for the trip, his first task to get us out of the difficult Bembridge entrance. 

 We left wasting no time alongside. The tide was on the ebb so we would have to be extra careful not to go aground. We soon became well aware of the tactics for such manoeuvres, 'feel the bottom' Ashley would tell us, 'keep up wind, you can then use the wind to blow you off if you touch bottom', 'plan the headings in advance, you then know which direction to look for the next mark'.  It seemed to work, and it was not long before we set course for Chichester fairway buoy. The wind was a north easterly force 5, and the sea on this side of the Island had become a little lumpy. We began what turned out to be a long beat over to the mainland, the port tack making little progress over the ground. Bob used a system of back bearings to start with and then forward bearings and clearing lines towards our destination. The day continued in typical gloomy English weather, the Island and Chichester keeping station, neither seeming to change in distance, despite our efforts.

We eventually arrived, passing the outer marker late in the afternoon. The wind though, was against us. We had received a gale warning, coming from the south or south east, it would increase to a force 8 soon. With this in mind we quickly turned round and headed for Portsmouth, heaving to on the way in order to eat a late lunch. The days activity had taken its toll on us all, but Sid seemed to have faired the worst.  He looked very tired and drawn .  We finished in Campers at Pompy, along side . A hot shower and a even hotter meal followed, as did sleep, glorious sleep.

  

Wednesday 17th May 1995 .                                        

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The day started with the noise of the howling wind in the background. The routine was by now well established - up , talk sailing over a rushed breakfast, get sailing. After a short pontoon bash we had a magnificent sail around the harbour. Beating up a short offshoot to the main area was interesting to say the least, it showed just how skilful Ashley actually was . We all took turns helming and calling the tacks and gybes, passing close to a couple of moored submarines on a number of occasions .

These gyrations exhilarated us all and boosted  Ashley's 'cred' to a higher level than it was all ready. We returned to the main harbour and picked up a mooring for a quick cuppa. We encountered the scourge of the English home waters while sitting there, enjoying a well earned rest. Most people shudder at the thought of the Great White shark or its like, but they completely drop their guard when at home in the Channel. They fail to notice that marauding predator in their midst, those gleaming gnashers surrounded in whiskers, the Breton cap gliding towards them above the distinctive Dory, displaying  its identifying marks 'HARBOUR MASTER' . Our encounter was short and unbloody, we escaped with a few harsh words about putting our boat on a buoy that was intended for – er, boats . Oh well, as far as being savaged goes it wasn't too bad.

We continued after our break with some sailing practice, gibing single handed while facing astern being just one example. The afternoon progressed to picking up buoys under sail, both up wind and down wind, using the tide and wind to control the yacht. The wind, by now, had abated slightly so we decided  to head on out into the Solent again, and stick our nose into the weather in order to test it (or maybe ourselves) before deciding on the nights venue.  Leaving the entrance it soon became apparent that the wind had dropped considerably, and the sea was calm just outside. We started some man over board practice, each having several attempts using the crash turn, then the ‘reach off’ technique. It all went pretty well, so as the light began to fade we sailed over to Freshwater Bay ( I.O.W.) anchoring in the dark.

 

Thursday 18th May 1995. 

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The weather looked like it would be kind to us at last. Blue sky had been spotted, all be it only briefly, and spirits were lifted . The ritual was performed with the luxury of a short rest while Ashley spoke to us all individually on the foredeck, the idea being to give us his opinion on our level and ultimately our exam chances. Bob returned very disappointed: he was advised to forego the exam on this occasion, the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. It was the right decision, but still hard to bare for Bob. John would go for the Coastal Skipper and I was advised to take the Yacht Master (Offshore) as intended . We were soon on the move and entered Cowes for some pile exercises. Lunch time came quickly and passed even quicker, the pace now rushing on towards the exam days. We left Cowes and crossed the Solent to the Beaulieu river, using the entry as a blind nav practice. Once inside we continued the relentless quest for competence with more boat handling, up and down the river, on and off the moorings .

   

Friday 19th May 1995

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 We had sat at anchor in the river over night,  the only disturbance, in this otherwise tranquil spot, being from the gulls and waders on the nearby sand bank . This was the big day, we had to be back in the Hamble for the examiner by 7pm  and there was still plenty to do before we would be ready . After a stop at the fuel barge on the way in, the boat was soon alongside at Mercury, positioned for an easy off when the time came. While Bob and Sid cleared up, John and I went ashore for a shower and some last minute theory. It was at this time that some doubt entered my mind about my ability to pass the exam. The biggest problem being the fact that I had no experience of such matters, having sailed almost exclusively with the Project. I had a word with Ashley who stood by his opinion that I should go ahead and take it.

And so it was, at 7pm the examiner came on board and the final stage had started. His name was Tom, a power boat instructor from Southern Sailing, and as it turned out, a nice bloke. John and I had been given a passage plan to prepare, mine was to Guernsey, John’s to Poole, and it was not long before we were going over these, Tom checking every thing we said in his Almanac.  Other questions followed about the boat and its safety gear. We demonstrated our knowledge of life jackets and flares, both of us wondering if we had got it right and watching our tormentor’s expressionless face for any clues. It became obvious after a while that Tom was nearly as nervous of us as we were of him, he later confessed to feeling like the enemy every time he stepped on a boat to examine members of her crew.

The preliminaries over we left our mooring with John as skipper and once again headed out to the Solent, Johns instructions, to find the Bramble post . All went well if not a little rapidly, under full main and genoa while still in the Hamble. The weather had gradually improved as the week ended and today was no exception, the wind a moderate to light breeze .    

We entered Southampton Water and set course for the Bramble Bank . The post was to prove to be more elusive than we first thought, and as darkness fell being unlit would add greatly to the problem. After a while, and with no sign of our quarry, John began to look a little apprehensive.  He had to make a decided effort to get the navigation right and finally locate the post. After a great effort on his behalf we came upon it and it was a much relieved John who then took us into Cowes and alongside .

 

I was then to take over and after a meal we were to go to Beaulieu and anchor for the night. Tom, though had other ideas. After I had presented him with my passage plan he told me there was a change, we were going to Power Station Creek instead. It was back to the chart table for me and another hurriedly prepared plan, this time to somewhere I hadn't even heard of. 

We left Cowes at just after 11pm, the place as quiet as I'd ever seen it, and were soon crossing the Bramble again on our passage back to Fowey power station. The short trip went well and we soon re entered Southampton Water. A large ship at anchor just outside the Hamble confused me for a while , but we 'stood on' which seems to do the trick until you can be sure of the lights shown. It was then a short tack across to the creek entrance, which was unlit and marked by a series of short posts. After a close encounter with a moored fishing boat we found the entrance and went slowly in watching the depth as we did so, until we found the right spot and dropped the anchor on the muddy bottom.

 

  Saturday 20th May 1995

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We were up very early because of the tide and began some exercises out in the main channel of Southampton Water. I had to do Man over Board under sail, then pick up a mooring buoy under sail. John then did the same under power. Then it was off to the hamble, entering using blind navigation from below. Inside we picked up some piles, both of us in turn, then it was all over and we went back to Mercury and Bluestars mooring .  

A hearty late breakfast was prepared by Bob and Sid while Tom quizzed John and I about weather etc. Then before we ate he gave us the results . WE BOTH PASSED . The meal was washed down with a can of beer, the best I have ever tasted .

  

YACHT MASTERS  LOG 

---------------------------------

  We stayed on board long after Tom had left us, talking about the past week and what it had meant to each of us. All of us had decided to stay on board until the following morning this would allow us to go to the marina club house that night for a meal and few drinks.

 The evening was very relaxing and we were joined by crew members from the Met boat Phoenix of Broadway. The trouble was that now the pressure was off and the week over everyone began to feel very tired, by the end of the night I found it hard to keep my eyes open, so it was a very weary crew that spent the final night on board .

 

 Sunday 21st May 1995

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  I left the Hamble just before lunch and drove back to Wheathampstead. As always it was nice to be home but it takes a little adjusting to, even after only a week at sea so much space and time to yourself.     

 

We started looking for a boat of our own in early 2007.  Our aim was to find narrow beam of 56-60ft that we could live on during extended cruising in the summer. The only real criterion were that she should have a washing machine and not be over 60ft, as this would stop us doing the whole system.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

NoTime Wasters

 

We’re looking for a boat.  After a couple of narrow boat holidays and many happy hours spent with some friends who live-aboard, we’ve decided that our time has come.  For too long we’ve chanted the old clichés like they’re some sort of mantra: ‘You only live once’, ‘there are no pockets in a shroud’, ‘how much money do you actually need’, ‘you never know what’s round the corner’.  Now it’s time to think seriously about the one real thing those oh-so-easily said words have in common - they are all true.

 

“They’re all true, you know”, I said to Sue as we sat on the sofa thumbing through a copy of Canal Boat.  Her head fell softly against my shoulder.  “I know”, she replied.  “Could we pack it all in, do you think”? I said, “Work I mean, we’re not that old.   Would you be happy without the challenges, without the social interaction, the responsibility?”  I thought I’d toss that in; it was to me an important point and something, I thought, she would want to mull over.  A millisecond passed. “Watch me”, she said.

 

And that’s how we came to start the long haul towards buying our first narrow boat; a journey, in fact, that’s not yet over.  We began by trawling the Internet and magazines, and by visiting our first Crick show.  “Rule number one”, I declared.  “When looking for a boat…”.  “Bring an umbrella”, Sue offered.  “You get what you pay for”, I said.  “You do”, she agreed.   We set off not long after to visit a few marinas, tempted by glossy photos of ‘1500Kw inverter, plus 3 domestic, I engine’ and ‘pump-out and s/s water tank’.  “What’s an inverter?” Sue asked.  “Oh I don’t think you need to worry your pretty little head about things like that, darling”.  I said.  “I thought so”, she replied.  “Well, you’d better find out, it sounds important”.

 

Rule number two when buying a canal boat:  Take advice from someone who knows what they are talking about when it comes to things like inverters.  Someone who owns a nice boat, and has done so for several years.  A boat that’s as nice today as it was when they bought it.  Someone who obviously knows how to look after a boat.  “I’ll ask Derek”, I said.  And I did.  I asked about hull steel and batteries; about washing machines and engines; about wood, wiring, toilets, swims, insulation and paint.  And above all, I asked about whose boats were best and whose boats were not so best.

 

“It’ll have to be a Cruiser, don’t you think”, Sue said, as we headed up the M1 towards the Midlands in continuance of our quest.  “Yes, of course, It’s got everything we’ll need in the summer:  A deck to lounge on if the towpath is too narrow or too busy, and somewhere for the dogs to sit when we’re motoring”.   At one marina, we looked at several new boats.  We ran our hands along panels that felt as if they had been rubbed down with a cheese grater.  We opened cupboard doors, peered inside and then attempted to close them again, often with limited success.  “What colour is the canal water”? I asked Sue on one boat, from the ‘head shoved down in engine room position’.  “Oh, you know, brownish”.  “Well, at least the boat hasn’t sprung a leak”, I said.  “This lot’s rusty coloured”.  “Rule number one?” She said, with a haughty smile.  “Rule number one”, I agreed. 

 

“’Ere, that one looks nice”.  I had seen a second-hand boat moored alongside the pontoon, just up from where we were.  “It’s a Trad”, Sue said.  “I thought we agreed on a Cruiser”.  “Yes, but what about the extra storage space.  And it looks nicer.  Rule three”, I found myself saying.  “Always be prepared to change your mind if a new viewpoint presents itself”.  We got the keys from the sales office and went on board.  To me, the boat had all the things we were looking for:  A reliable brand of engine, which had sufficient power to cope with rivers; a washing machine and travel-pack to run it; a boatman’s cabin to give a bit of privacy if either of us wanted it; a cratch; and a cassette loo, too. Everything.  I turned to Sue, to vent some of my enthusiasm for the boat on her, only to find her bent forward with eyes about an inch from the edge of a cupboard door. “It’s MDF”, she said.  “And the style, I couldn’t live with this.”

 

The style, admittedly, was a bit different and exhibited a personal, and very distinct, taste.  Cost; price; value.  If they are not in harmony, then something has to give.  The price of the boat, close to twenty thousand more than the new boats we’d just looked at, reflected its quality – it was far better than anything we had seen up to then.  (It was also from a good hull builder and fitting-out company).  Part of the boat’s original cost would have been due to the special style the owners wanted.  A cost they were probably trying to recoup.  But to anyone who didn’t share their liking - and we didn’t - its value was far less than the price being asked.  To me, though, it did have potential: a new, more traditional exterior paint job, our own stuff inside and she could be the boat for us – but of course, only at the right price.  Sue wasn’t convinced, “I read it somewhere”, she said.  “MDF shouldn’t be used in boats".

 

We continued looking.  “What about a Polish boat”, Sue said one day, “I’ve seen some on the Internet”.  “Great”, I said.  “We’ll call it Red October”.  And off we went again in pursuit of our dream.  We looked at a number of boats at one particular marina.  “This one’s nice”, Sue called up to me from the rear galley of a reverse layout cruiser. “Very open, bright and spacious feeling”.  “It’s a cruiser”, I said.  “Rule three”, she replied.  It’s MDF, I said.  “I’ve spoken to rule two, and some MDF is OK, apparently”.  “It’s sixty-five grand”, I said.  “Rule one” she said.  “Besides, we’d go higher than that if we had to.”  “It’s not Polish”, I said.  “No, It’s British”, she replied.  “Good point”, I said. “We aught to buy British if we can.  What sort of engine has she got?”  “Isuzu”, Sue said.  “Thank God for that”. 

 

 

The more we looked the more boats we found with bits we liked better than the bits of others.  But none about which we liked everything.  Rule number four, I thought – don’t rush.  “I’m convinced it will be like when we bought our house, you know”, Sue said, as we sat at home in front of the computer one day, looking back on some recent viewings and searching for future ones.  “We’ll feel it’s right for us as soon as we walk in”.  “I hope so”, I’m starting to flag a little”, I said.  “Here’s one”, Sue pointed to a boat on the computer’s screen. “Fifty-seven foot, dinette...”.  “It says no time wasters”, I said.  “We’re not”, Sue replied.  “We’re looking for a boat”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We 'holidayed' on board a couple times before finally deciding to buy a boat of our own.  The Four-Counties Ring was in 2004 and then the Leicester Ring in 2006.  It wasn't all smooth, er ... motoring.

 

 

 

SOAR POINT

 

I don’t really know why we went wrong: there were enough signs telling us we had strayed from the main navigation.  But wrong we went, blissfully carrying on down the un-navigable River Soar - towards a weir.

 

We had set off from Rugby on our second narrow boat holiday and had been going for just over a week - long enough to get half way round the Leicester Ring (travelling clockwise).The June weather was glorious with long, hot and sunny days followed by evenings made for canal side barbeques.  There were six on board: Me, Sue, Sue’s mum and dad, and Jack and Vera, our two labs.

 

As we left Cossington Lock, chatting amongst ourselves on the large cruiser stern, I looked up and saw the expanse of open water directly ahead.  I steered straight for it, missing the junction of the Soar and the River Wreake, and sign number one: an enormous deviation left marker mounted on the opposite bank that tried its very best to send us the correct way, into the Wreake.  I was pontificating on how we were crewing one of the true workboats of the modern Cut: a hire boat, which provided a service, and created revenue and employment.  I’d forgotten what the original bargees had that we lacked: knowledge and experience.

 

And so I missed sign number two.  On the right side at the junction there was a large trad on a permanent mooring.  A small group sat round a garden table nearby looked up as we passed by.  They grinned but didn’t wave; their look said it all: ‘Oh dear, how awful – what fun’.  I should have seen it but my mind was set; this water was wide and deep, it must be right.

 

Sign number three couldn’t have been more obvious if it was six foot tall, clad in a yellow jacket and standing next to a big white car with a blue flashing light on top.  The river was covered in lily pads bank to bank, bar a small, weaving channel up the middle.  How many boats had passed that way recently?  Not many.  Did I recognise the significance?  I saw what I wanted to see: a big river.

 

No sooner had we rounded the next bend when sign four presented itself: two sunken wooden hulks straddling half the river.  “Cor, look”, I said.  “You’d have thought BW would have cleared that lot away, wouldn’t you”. 

 

On we went.  Sue popped below and was soon back on deck clutching a copy of Pearson’s.  “There’s an un-navigable section of the Soar here, you don’t think we’re on it do you”? 

“No, we’re alright”, I said, authoritatively.

“I hope you’re right, if not, there’s a weir at the end of this lot”

The river was now getting pretty narrow, and very winding.  We passed a short section that broadened a little, with rushes on one side and a steep, muddy bank on the other.  After two more bends, the river changed completely: it lost all pretensions of grandeur and started to look as if, eventually, it would become a stream.  I stopped the boat.

 

“There’s another boat coming”.  Sue had spotted a narrow boat travelling behind us, quite a way off, and sure enough the boat was following on the same stretch of river.  It was a shorter craft; one which we realised had been in the last lock with us.

“He’s a local boat”, I said, remembering the conversation I’d had with the owner as we worked the lock paddles together.  “He must know what he’s doing”.

“He probably does”, Sue said.

“Told you.  I thought we were alright, I’m a pretty good judge of these …”

“He’s turning round”.

“Ah”.

 

Our final sign had come.  A local boat, much shorter than us, was turning round and going back – from a much wider part of the river than I had brought us to.

“We’ll have to turn round and go back”, I said.

“What, from here, we’ll never do it”. 

“We’ll reverse back to that wider bit by the rushes.  We can’t reverse all the way out; we’ve only got a week left”.

 

With Sue working the pole from the bow, I gently backed the boat round the previous couple of bends and then tried to turn it around.  The first attempt failed: it was impossible to bury the bow in the reeds.  We tried again at a different spot.  Too narrow, even with the bow well and truly in the mud on the far bank.  Third time lucky.  We reversed a few more yards and tried again.  This time she went, slowly pulling herself round on the bow, with just inches to spare.

 

We retraced our steps passed the sunken wrecks and the sea of lily pads until we reached the junction.  The little group on the private mooring rushed to the bank side, as if to witness some unexpected spectacle.

“Nice down there, isn’t it”?  I shouted.

“Don’t know”, come the reply. “We’ve never been”.