Back again

Well, we got off to a relatively early start (7.45, ahem) with the kettle and the porridge on the stove (I think we finally got breakfast about half past ten) and set off into the dazzling golden dawn. Sailing round the turn out of Great Haywood (beautifully, I may say) as luck would have it I saw a boat turning in... so I put it in reverse, stop, back off - didn't even touch the bank... the other guy stops too, and waits while I slowly but gracefully bring Chertsey round... I haven't touched the bank, I haven't touched him, he hasn't touched me, he hasn't touched any of the moored boats... I'm congratulating myself on a nicely executed manouevre and thank him for waiting as I pass... To be greeted with a volley of abuse! The funny thing is, when I do screw things up, eight times out of ten people are very nice about it, and even when they're not, I shrug and put it down to experience. But when someone has a go at me and I know I haven't done anything wrong - that's when it hurts! It seemed so unfair. So I'm afraid I told him he didn't know what he was talking about and probably clocked up another point for arrogant working boat owners.

That was about the most exciting thing to happen today. We've made our way back to Kings Bromley, stopping at Rugeley to restock the stores and left Morrisons with poor Jim laden with tinned stuff and beer. He then went off to get some more tile battten for a grand scheme of sheeting over the hold with polythene for the winter. Just as we arrived back at Kings Bromley though the wind got up to such an extent that the actual job was left until tomorrow. I had a grand clean up of the cabin, and Jim did the engine room. So I guess that's the end of another trip :-(

New tricks

Day 10, Black Country Museum to Penkridge.

Knackered.

I've got some nice photos of industrial dereliction, but I'll save them for a quiet moment. We didn't set off until nine, and started down the 21 at 11.30, taking it nice and leisurely, until about a third of the way up a familiar figure appeared - Henry and Phyllis, retired professional boatman and woman, were following us down. We'd met them at the rally, and they're lovely people - and they insisted that we weren't holding them up, but it certainly put the pressure on. Even though they had to refill every lock behind us, they still kept right with us. And found time to teach us a trick or two as well!

Just keep coming

Dove's recent experiences struck a chord with me. I never really noticed it in Warrior; I suspect it didn't happen. But when steering Chertsey, this is one of the banes of my life. Chugging along, pretty slowly (I still only do pretty slowly, really. 3 mph would be considered rather racy) on a narrowish but not too narrow by a long way bit of canal. A green boat approaches in the distance. I keep going, trying to adjust my speed so that we'll meet in a wider or less tree obscured section, or before the bend of bridgehole he's just emerged from (yes, it is always a he). He sees me - or rather Chertsey's imposing fore end (but it can't just be that, if it happens to Dove as well) and rather than keep coming (let alone adjusting his speed, that would be asking too much) he tries to stop dead. Which of course because he's got a light modern boat with a tiny prop, he can't. He throws his morse into reverse, and the boat slews across the cut, right into my path. Great. So if I keep going I'll hit him and it'll be my fault. If we're still far enough apart, I can stop too. Then what? Well, sometimes he'll get the boat into the bank and get off, trying to hold it with a rope. I kid you not; this has already happened to me at least twice, and that's not counting the times they rather sheepishly say they were stopping anyway, 'for a coffee'. If there isn't space for me to stop, I now have to try to steer around a much wider obstacle (up to 50' rather than 7'), and hope that I'll do no more than nudge him, and won't go aground in the process. Then he'll look at me as if it's all my fault, especially if he's ended up on the bottom or in the trees.

So, the moral of this, and a plea, is just keep coming. I may look as if I'm heading straight for you, but I will swerve at the last minute, honest. And as I'm passing, still keep going; I need you predictably out of the way so that I can swing back in before the next bend/bridge/moored boat. Just keep coming, and keep steering, and we'll be fine. Oh, and I'm not radioactive either, so no need to keep a ten foot exclusion zone between your boat and mine.

Resolution no. 1: Learn to splice

Again.

I was shown once, and did a nice little job, but I didn't practice enough to be able to do it again now.

However, Jim can still do it, it appears. This morning, with the aid of a book to remind him, he successfully put a new eye splice in one of Warrior's ropes that broke on the Nene.

The trouble is, a book isn't much use to me. I think I sort of understand how dyslexic people feel when faced with words and sentences. When I look at numbers, they simply fail to organise themselves into any meaningful pattern. And I have a similar experience with diagrams. I can look at the diagram, and I can look at the real thing, all day long, but they never seem to bear any greater relation to each other.

But I really must have another go and persevere this time, not least because Chertsey will need a full set of ropes, and it would be so much better to buy 100m or so and splice the ends ourselves. Not to mention when it comes to doing the strings, of course. I simply cannot have a boat like this and be unable to splice. It just won't do.