Last legs and Chester

A word of advice for anyone considering travelling from Ellesmere Port to Stretton by public transport. Don't. Go to Timbuktu instead. By elephant. It will be easier.

Of course, as the Irishman said when asked for directions, I wouldn't start from here. And we hadn't planned to start from there either, but from Chester. Fourteen quid, one change, and you're in Penkridge, a short cab ride away from the car waiting at Stretton. However, we'd decided that we didn't fancy leaving the boat in Chester - the towpath where we were moored was quiet enough, but 48 hours, and over the other side, where we'd been told was the best place, was right by a building site and a pub, and, we were told, shallow and full of rubbish as well. As we arrived in Chester, we met Laura and Peter on Stanton, and they were about to leave for Ellesmere Port that day, Wednesday. So we decided that we would follow on Thursday.

This gave us a day to explore Chester on increasingly aching feet. First impressions of Chester was that it was a deeply odd place, rather disconcerting. I have never seen so much Victorian Mediaeval in one place before. In fact, I've never knowingly seen any, but Chester's full of it. And where it isn't Victorian ersatz, it's bland contemporary clone-vernacular. We walked down the Dee Branch to the heavily silted lock onto the river, and there saw the most shoddily built flats I think I have ever seen. The town centre is full of expensive shops and tasteful cobbles; bit of a fur coat and no knickers sort of place. I didn't like it.

My favourite building was the Westminster [something I've forgotten] and Motor Car Company, which is now Chester Library, a glorious bit of (at a guess) early twentieth century glazed and embossed brickwork. We also took a long evening stroll to find the Albion pub on the other side of town, as it sounded interesting. It was; it was a bit like sitting in a museum or at least a 1916 timewarp. The place is full of WW1 memorabilia, but I didn't find it oppressive as some reviewers suggested. There were lots of enamel signs and old adverts, and it wasn't too emetically mawkish. Beautiful wall paper and subdued lighting made it feel a bit like sitting in your old granny's parlour. The landlord clearly prides himself on being very grumpy, with a big sign outside telling people not to bring stag or hen parties in in no uncertain terms, and apparently, previously, one saying 'this is a family-hostile pub'. A blackboard on the bar advertised this week's guest lager as 'I Can't Believe It's Not Piss' which would have been funny if they'd had more than two beers (Adnam's Bitter and Rudgate Viking) on, both under 4% (Jim reckoned the landlord didn't allow people anything stronger during the week), and hadn't been serving Carlsberg.

Anyway, I digress. On Thursday morning we duly made our way (after inadvertantly attending the grand opening of Chester's brand new Poundland in search of Fray Bentos pies) through the not very interesting landscape towards Ellesmere Port where we locked down into the lower basin and ties up to Stanton. Then the fun started. Carrying two bags apiece, we made our way to the station, through a very run down landscape and across a couple of busy roads. Once there, we discovered there was no ticket office, no helpful cheery railway employee to advise us on how best to make the journey. There was an interactive touch screen information display but it couldn't find its own website. So we pressed a button which caused a phone to ring, and a man at the other end looked it up on the National Rail website, and told us to get the next train to Liverpool Lime Street and change there for Penkridge, so having got that sorted, we settled down to wait for the train. Just as it rolled in, I realised we hadn't bought tickets! So dashed over to the machine, bashed in the destination, and was offered the choice of 'Any Permitted Route' or 'Via Chaster'. Hmm. Any Permitted then, if we're going via Liverpool. £28.10 each!!! Scream. OK then, what is it via Chester? £17 each. That's more like it. But how do we do it? Back to the man on the end of the phone, who can't understand why we would want to take such a convoluted route, but when we explained, got his colleague to discover that we had to change at Hooton for Chester, and then go from Chester to Crewe, and pick up the train from Liverpool there. Amazingly, we would still get to Penkridge at the same time. So this is what we did, and it involved more time waiting at Chester and then at Crewe than it did actually travelling. Jim rang for a taxi to meet the train, and was told that they didn't have one available until ten minutes later; OK, we accepted that. It actually turned up thirty five minutes later, driven by a lunatic who played awful music. It's the first time I've ever paid a taxi driver without tipping.

After that four hour odyssey, it was a simple matter to get in the trusty Volvo and set a new record of just over three hours for the journey home, to arrive after eleven. So next time we want to come home from Ellesmere Port, we'll start from Chester.

News in brief

As this is the first time since leaving Stretton that I've had a decent signal, there's a lot to cram in.
Sunday, Stretton to Adderley, no disasters, no getting stuck, and one good deed done. Ten and a half hours.
Monday, Adderley to Audlem, no disasters, new friends (Colin and Annie on Eli) and old (Jill Wrigglefingers), three hours and lots of beer.
Tuesday, Audlem to somewhere between Beeston and Rowton Moor. One getting stuckness, and one boatful of annoying people. Nine and a half hours and a very long day; cold wind.
Details and photos to follow.

Grease is the word

And oil, and diesel, and paraffin. A nice day of petroleum based products. Firstly Jim went off to Turners at Wheaton Aston to get diesel. We are really lucky being moored near this cheap and helpful garage, but we still didn't take the boat - couldn't be doing with winding twice before setting off. We'll be passing them in the morning of course, but they won't be open then. Jim went in the car with our collection of containers. He also took the opportunity to buy about 20 litres of paraffin, at about half the cost of the 4 litre pre-packs.

Then we had to change the oil. Jim had removed the old oil yesterday, and today I helped him put the new stuff in, finally getting to open my 25 litre Morris's tin - it was once I had that that I knew I was a real boater! We thought it would take about ten litres but it actually swallowed a fait bit more with its extra-large BW sump. Then he greased all the relevant bits of the engine room, and I attended to the stern tube and prop shaft plummer block.

These have the original cap type greasers. You unscrew it to remove the cap, then fill this up with grease. Of course it doesn't hold anything like as much as a modern greaser so you have to do this quite often. Then it needs to be located on its very fine thread, which is the hard part, and start to be screwed down.This is directly into the stern tube, you can just see it in the dark in the photo above. A turn or two a day when you're boating until it's screwed right down, and then do it all over again! Further back there's a plummer block picking up the propshaft, and this has a similar greaser, which I really should remember to give a trun to more frequently. I just thought I's write about that for people who'd not come across them.

We have the power!

We never could find anything wrong with the dynamo, but the battery clearly wasn't charging. Perhaps it was the regulator (bad news if so!). But to give the dynamo its best shot, we took it to be looked over by a man in Hednesford, and collected it this morning, duly looked at and serviced, and assured that it was in full working order, and with a wiring diagram (given that thde one we were working to previously might have been wrong. So Jim connected it up and... still nothing getting to the battery.

Lots of conversations ensued between John in Hednesford, John here at Stretton who was generously applying his electrical engineering knowledge, and Jim, none of which in all honesty I really understand, but the upshot was, after trying almost everything else, to disconnect the ammeter (that's not it in the picture, that's the oil pressure guage. If you want to see a picture of the ammeter, scroll back a few days). Magic! A quick rev of the engine, and power was going to the battery, and at a good rate too. I can now extravagantly charge my phone without guilt!

A sad success

We got quite a few responses to the Apollo Duck advert for Warrior, and Jim has spent the last couple of weeks answering questions, uploading photographs and searching out engine videos for the favoured few, whilst fending off, with various degrees of politeness (ahem) the less favoured many. Only one - who asked whether it was moored in Brighton Marina - actually had the phone put down on him. Anyway, he got it down to four likely candidates, and two of them were lined up to visit Bill Fen at the weekend, with one other still trying to arrange to come.

We arrived at Bill Fen on Friday night, having delayed our departure owing to the house's boiler deciding to stop being unreliable and simply stop working instead, and to reinforce the point by depositing a large quantity of water on the kitchen floor. Fortunately, being boaters, we are not deterred by the absence of hot running water, and it is just about warm enough now not to miss the heating. Hopefully it will be fixed tomorrow.

So, with the first viewers due on Sunday morning, we had all day Saturday to clean and polish, and Warrior looked an absolute treat. Naturally we were a bit concerned about what John and Lyn would have to say about us selling 'their' boat but they took it pretty well, consiodering, John's opening greeting to Jim being a cheery 'Traitor!' We must have been forgiven though as we were invited along to the Railway that evening where there was a band on. That's the sort of offer you don't refuse, so along we went. We enjoyed the band.... from the other bar, where the noise level was just about bearable, and spent the evening chatting to two Welsh guys who were trying to persuade me that sailing is a good idea.

Come Sunday morning, a quick wash of the floor and Jim went off to fetch the paper. Before he returned, I was hailed in a Yorkshire accent by a man with a pipe. Clearly a good sign. Adrian and Linda had arrived, and shortly afterwards, Jim returned. We had a cup of tea, and then they looked over the boat - by arrangement, we hid the engine from Adrian until everything else had been inspected, less it cloud his judgement. Then the engine was revealed, started, and we set off towards Ramsey Forty Foot. We went a way beyond the village, winded, and met Moomin coming the other way before stopping outside the George and tying to the tree in time honoured fashion. In the George we had a couple of pints and a roast Sunday dinner, and inspected the guest book where Warrior's maiden voyage (December 23rd 1995) is recorded - as well, we noted this time, as many, many other visits. Then back we went to Bill Fen, enjoyed another cup of tea - and were then taken quite by surprise when Adrian said it was their ideal boat and offered us the asking price! What a wonderful outcome, and to see it go to two such lovely people too, and the first people to ring up to boot - within minutes, almost, of the advert going up.

So we parted as new friends; Jim rang the chap who was coming today and told him the bad (for him) news, and we headed straight for home. So a very successful day, but a sad one too of course, thinking of parting with the boat that we've put so much time and work and thought into - but mollified greatly by the thought of it going into such good and appreciative hands.

Launch of a new era!

Yesterday I wended my way (via Lewes, East Croydon and Norwood Junction) to Haggerston (yes, me neither. It's Shoreditch way, next stop up from Hoxton on the spanking new Overground line), to a canalside community enterprise cafe and conference centre, for the launch of the consultation on what is variously called 'the new waterways charity' or the 'transfer of BW to civil society'.

Now, as my research interests in the day job revolve around public policy, politicians' use of concepts (like civil society, community, local...), and the role of community and voluntary groups in delivering policy, it struck me a while ago that the future of BW would make an excellent case study, and by making it the subject of my next research project, I could be producing something original and worthwhile, and hopefully interesting enough to me to sustain a long project. So for a few months I've been sketching the outline of what such a project - articles and a book, being the ultimate 'outputs' - would look like, and have been drafting a proposal and thinking about who to talk to.

When I heard about the official launch of the consultation process, I knew it was an opportunity I couldn't miss (despite the need to be in Haggerston at ten in the morning!) and requested an invitation. The event was organised by DEFRA and the consultation document can be found on their website here.

It certainly was worth going. I was one of the few women there (there was one from the British Canoe Union and I think all the others were from DEFRA) and most of course were there as interested parties, representing an organisation. People seemed interested in the proposed research, and willing to contribute - hopefully it should be valuable to all concerned. I got to meet Robin Evans, Tony Hales and Simon Salem of BW, as well as Roger Hanbury of the Waterways Trust and a very interesting and helpful civil servant. The relevant junior minister (natural environment), Richard Benyon, was there too, but I didn't get to meet him. He made the right noises and there seems to be a consensus than he is genuinely enthusiastic for the waterways - he represents Newbury, so he has one in his constituency.

Naturally I went along in full cynic mode, but the general feeling was of a cautious welcome from all parties for the proposals, obviously with some caveats and ongoing concerns about funding, but an overall impression that this was the best option available in the circumstances. Unlike many other 'Big Society' policies, this one wasn't scribbled on the back of an envelope by the new government, but the bulk of it is the outcome of a few years of planning and preparation within BW and DEFRA - although if it is successful of course, it will forever be seen as the flagship of the Big Society.

So it's a case of watch this space - and I for one will now be watching it very carefully.

The picture is the front cover illustration from the consultation document; I wanted to copy the whole cover, but I couldn't. You will of course notice that there are no boats in it. I shall try not to read too much into that.

A ledge (edly)

I have no idea what else to call these. The idea is that when the oak gunnels are bolted on at the back end, these plates will be bolted underneath - that's underneath the gunnel iron, with big plate washers, rather than between the oak and the steel. They will then pick up some more planks, the same as the back end planks, extending forward far enough to cover the water tanks. The gunnels themselves will hold these planks in place. That is the theory. I hope that this derbar will be strong enough - if not we will have to fork out and actually buy some steel, whereas this cost hardly anything.

The idea is that the extended boarded area will give us useful space for standing/sitting on, and getting on and off from, and hopefully my bicycle can live there too, chained to the back end rail. It's a bit of a fag hefting it out of the hold every time I want to go lockwheeling (and lifting it back in every time I want to stop) whereas wheeling it on and off a deck should be easy, and I will thus use it more often. Secondly, it will hide the plastic water tanks and make everthing a bit neater, with space to hide other stuff in between them as well. If you can see any hitches with this plan, please do let me know.

Crucially, even if this doesn't prove to be strong enough, nothing will be welded or otherwise irrevocably attached to Chertsey's hull. All must be reversible, shall always be my motto.

Hopeful banter

Last night saw the Canal World Southern Boaters in Exile banter, and if the Hope wasn't exactly full, it was a lot fuller than it would have been without us. Bantering boaters from across the south east descended upon Newhaven - including, but not limited to (unless my memory is far better than I think it is): Jelunga (Keith) and Judi; rjasmith (Richard) and Nessa; Bullfrog (David) and Ann, Ange and DaveL with Graham and Daphne; Alan Fincher and Catrin (Cath); Daftmare (Jo) and Kevin, and of course Paddington Bear (Jim), Chertsey, and Sebastian.

Everyone seemed to agree that the Hope was a good venue. The food was nothing out of the ordinary, but standard pub grub at a reasonable price was welcome enough, and a choice of Harveys Best or London Pride seemed to cater to most tastes. Everyone was jolly excited to see the Dieppe ferry make its stately passage past the window, seeming almost close enough to touch, and our friendly waves were accompanied by cries of 'SLOW DOWN!' Oh how we laughed.

None of my photos of the merry throng came out very well, so here is one of the exterior of the pub that I prepared earlier - it was another nice sunny day. The building has seen a number of incarnations and extensions. Old photos on display inside show it in the nineteenth century as a standard bay fronted Victorian pub; in (presumably) the thirties it was extended with an ambitious moderne style exteripr, which in turn all but disappeared beneath a further conservatory style extension in (at a guess) the seventies. It's now to let, as the landlady (who did us proud) wants to retire. With the closure of the West Beach on its doorstep, it's hard to believe there's much hope for the future of the Hope.

The world descends upon Newhaven

Well, the CanalWorld, that is. Today we are having a 'banter' at the Hope Inn, organised in aid of those poor souls who are trapped in the south east, miles from any useable canal. A 'canal boaters in exile' support group, if you like. I've got my glad rags on, and have painted my fingernails purple to hide the indelible traces of last week's Zebo-fest.

And for those of you who can't make it, here are Diamond Geezer's wonderful photos of his recent visit.

Back cabin baking challenge

Amy Duck has her off grid baking challenge (seems to involve a lot of cup cakes, yum); I have now set about the Chertsey Back Cabin Baking Challenge.

I have equipped myself by purchasing an oven thermometer, which tells me that the Epping's oven will comfortably reach a temperature of 150c without too much effort or excessive heat in the cabin; getting it hotter would be more of a challenge I think.

I started out with something not too ambitious, but a favourite of mine: flapjack.

It took a bit longer to cook than it does at home, and thus came out a bit drier and crispier. This was exacerbated by the fact that, doing it from memory, I think I put in rather less syrup than the recipe required. Also, it didn't seem worth buying ginger specially, although that's what makes this recipe a bit out of the ordinary. It's from Glyn Christian's British Cooking at its Best, published by Sainsbury's in the early 80s. Ahem. Which has gone missing from its shelf in the kitchen. When I track it down, you shall have the recipe. But I'd better not risk giving it from memory...

I don't have scales on the boat, so I used my vintage Tala measure. On my last visit to Wilkinsons, I was delighted to see that these are still available (although I don't think the new design's so nice). I didn't think to look to see whether they'd updated the things you might want to measure - cous cous, perhaps, or polenta, instead of sago?

Farewell faithful 501s

Two in two weeks. Just as they're getting nicely worn in too. I had a pair from new once, when I was seventeen. Every pair since has been jumble sale, or, latterly, charity shop. These were two of my favourites; one was from the strange charity shop in Ramsey (can't even recall the name of it), the others from I know not where. Still, there are another four pairs in the cupboard waiting to be worn in, plus another four with 28" waists, waiting for me to get just that last little bit thinner.

Newhaven honoured

Forget the visit of the Duke of Edinburgh in 1992 (oh, you had) and even Prince Louis-Phillippe in 1848, or the deposit of Lord Lucan's borrowed car two roads down from our house en route to disappearing in 1974... Newhaven has had a visit from Diamond Geezer.

It's given me a new perspective seeing the town (well, not the town centre, obviously, he's got more sense than that) through this super-blogger's eyes, and I think perhaps I appreciate my home town a little bit more. For a while anyway. I also learnt stuff that I'd failed to discover in twenty four years living here. So, better than I could ever put it (and far better researched), enjoy Newhaven Marine Station, Newhaven Fort, and a ten mile clifftop walk from Newhaven to Brighton.

Sorry to have missed you dg.

Spring cleaning

Back to Chertsey at last, for a spring clean and a look over before the season starts. Lots of little jobs out of the way and a lovely couple of days in the spring sunshine.

The first job was to take the dynamo to a man in Hednesford to check it out and if necessary sort it out. You have never seen so many dynamoes and assorted bits in one place before. The trouble is, if the dynamo turns out to be OK, and it's the regulater at fault, then we will have to take that somewhere else. At present, the battery just isn't charging. On the other hand, we hardly notice, as we use so little power - we just take the battery home and charge it between trips, and we now have a spare too. One day, however, I would like some Grand Union style lights in the cabin, and with their 20w (or thereabouts, that was a wild guess actually because I've completely forgotten) bus bulbs, power consumprion will be a consideration. Still, an opportunity to post a gratuitous photo of Chertsey's electrical board, complete with ancient and still working bus bulb.

Other jobs accomplished over the weekend included cleaning all the old leaves out of the hold, refitting the deckboard (needed because it's the mounting for the tunnel light); repainting and putting a liner in the chimney (still needs a bit of tweaking, that); cleaning and polishing everything, including the stove and all the cabin brass. Portholes next time! Jim made a pattern for a piece of steel to bolt under the gunnels at the back end so that we can extend the back end planks over the fresh water tanks. This will hide the tanks, and make a useful deck. All removable of course, absolutely no welding!

Having been shown the under cloth conversion on Prince, I am now quite taken with creating a flexible, dark and cosy space under the cloths - but again, with no permanent or fixed superstructure. Certainy, the constant pumping out of rainwater and cleaning out of leaves (and frogs) brings home the advantages of having cloths! Finally, we attached the fenders. I would say re-attached, but these are not the same ones, the brand new ones that we bought last year at vast expense. Nope, they are now destined for Warrior (cor! New fenders!) while Chertsey now has Warrior's old ones, still in excellent condition and rejuvenated with a fresh soaking in creosote substitute. So why the swap? Because these ones were made by Joe Hollingshead, and belong on the old boat.

Anyway, I must get in the bath now. More on the weekend's activities later.

Warrior for sale...

For all of you who've admired Warrior... This lovely, well equipped, beautifully maintained, boat is now, reluctantly, for sale so that we can devote all our attentions to an enormous seventy-five year old rustbucket. (And, quite possibly, a small plastic tub with sails). Well, who said life was rational.

Hours of hair-tearing went into compiling this irresistible Apollo Duck ad.

Seeing a man about a dog

Today we had another day out looking at sea boats. Little yachty motor-sailory sorts of things for bobbing up and down on the lumpy stuff. First stop Brighton Marina to check out a Colvic Watson 26 on brokerage there. Yep, it's nice; it looks like a boat... the trouble is, whatever boat I look at I can see the merits of, insofar as I can see any merits in the sort of boat where you can't get off and walk.


To get to the brokerage, we had to transit the surreally named 'Brighton Marina Village'. I've seen some bleak expanses in my time but I really think this took the biscuit. So inhuman, so ersatz, so bloody uncaring about anything - aesthetics, friendliness, nature - except hoovering in the maximum number of tasteless inhuman consumer-clones and their money. So this is what Black Rock and the sea swimming pool disappeared under all those years ago. Asda-town, plastic onion domes on stuccoed quasi-pubs, dying palm trees, wind tunnel boulevards. I have seen the eighties, and it is still horrible.

But we still had a lovely afternoon, bacause after that, we went on to the outskirts of Southampton to see a man about a dog. The Hon Sec of the Sea Dog Owners' Club, in fact, who had very kindly offered us the opportuinity to have a look at his 30' Sea Dog, a boat type which Jim was very taken with on paper. We met John and Audrey at their house, along with another man who had just bought a Sea Dog and had come to inspect John's gimbles, and were all driven to the marina where the boat (Two Tails - I think it's a law that all Sea Dogs have to have amusing canine-related names) resides. On board Audrey plied us with tea and lovely rock cakes while John showed us all the features and wrinkles of the boat, and his many ingenious modifications. They were lovely people, and we had a splendid time, and we have extended an invitation for a reciprocal visit to Chertsey, which I hope will be taken up. The Sea Dog was a very nice boat too.
And I have decided that I want one of these, if anyone knows where to buy one.

That four-letter word

The one in question, naturally, being 'work' (I think some people on CWF occasionally take the idea of this as an obscenity a bit far by rendering it as w**k, which leads to all sorts of confusion as that could of course also denote something quite acceptable and pleasant.... still, I digress.)

My work, of course, is neither unacceptable nor unpleasant; in fact I am incredibly lucky to have a job which is reasonably well paid and which gives me a lot of autonomy and flexibility. It is, however, expanding to fill the time available as cuts bite and more work has to be wrung out of fewer people. We full timers have been fortunate inasmuch as the promise of 'no redundancies' has held so far, but this has been possible at least partly because a lot of people on temporary contracts have not had them renewed, or have had their hours cut, and we now have to take their place. In practice this means a lot more teaching, and the associated preparation, which is far more time-consuming than you might imagine. Hence, I have not only not been writing lots of erudite articles and pushing back the frontiers of knowledge, I've not been doing a lot of blogging either.

However, the end of term nears, and next term is all dissertation supervision rather than classroom teaching, so hopefully I will be a bit more flexible again, and will be able to get up to Chertsey for a grand spring clean next weekend, and then even some boating over Easter.

Sliding away

A boaty weekend at last! Yes, this has been long overdue. I shall start with Saturday, which featured the AGM of HNBOC. As Jim is now on the committee as Fens rep, and the committee meeting prior to the AGM was acheduled to begin at ten o'clock, we left home at seven. Naturally, we were the first to arrive, and were admitted to Braunston Village Hall by a bemused cleaning lady.

The committee meeting lasted from ten until twelve thirty. Lovely people, but very comprehensive. Then it was a mad dash down to the Plough for lunch (and I have now already equalled my February draft beer total), which was very slow in arriving, sadly, so had to be rather fast in the eating, in order to get back to a by now packed village hall for the 2.30 AGM. It wasn't the treasurer's splendid graphs they'd come to see however, but this year's honoured guest: Malcolm Braine and his very large collection of slides. So large in fact that we only got through half of them before it was nearly seven o'clock and time to vacate the hall. With a turnout of 150 it was standing room only at the back. It was certainly fascinating stuff, but what with the packed hall and the two lunchtime pints, slightly soporific too.

There was a break for tea and cake half way through, and enlivened by several cups of the former and a couple of slices of the latter, and with the bonus of getting a seat vacated by a less hardy soul who left at half time, the second half, which kicked off with a marvellous piece of film of Claytons' tar boats, flew by. I also visited the club shop during the break and purchased a couple of second hand books to add to the library. Then we hit the A5 (eventually) and wended our way up and across to Chertsey's mooring ready to give the old girl a bit of long overdue TLC in the morning.

Beer I drank in February

Once again inspired, briefly, by Diamond Geezer's February count, I kept track of all the beer I drank during the month of February. I may even continue to do this, provided it doesn't make me look too much of a hopeless pisshead. There was only one visit to a pub (one! in a whole month!) so most of this was bottles, drunk either with my supper, or as a treat on arriving home after work.

The grand total for February is three pints of draft, and seven and a half litres (i.e. fifteen bottles) of the bottled stuff. Broken down and reviewed as follows:

Draft: Three pints of Harveys Sussex Best Bitter, in the course of researching potential venues for a Canalworld Banter (of which more later). One in the King's Head, Lewes, and the rest over supper in the Hope Inn, Newhaven - our ultimate choice.

Bottles:
5 x Marstons Old Empire - This is my current favourite, strong and very hoppy. I think I'm becoming a bit if a fan of IPA in general, and this one in particular.
3 x St Peters Organic Ale - Very pleasant this; I noticed a slightly smokey finish (poser alert!!) the last time I had it. Chosen, as is so often the case, because it was on special offer in Sainsbury's.
2 x Bath Ales Barnstormer - Another Sainsbury's offer, not really my cup of tea - dark and a bit sweet and syrupy for my taste.
2 x Shepherd Neame Spitfire - My selection from the range of two available in the Whistlestop shop at Victoria Station (the other one being Speckled Hen at an even more inflated price) when I can't wait until I get home for my reward.
1 x Sainsbury's IPA - Disappointing, not much flavour.
1 x Sainsbury's Kentish Ale - Made by Shepherd Neame, not bad, but I wouldn't crawl over other stuff to get to it.
1 x Shepherd Neame Masterbrew - Naff name, 99p in Lidl, but not at all bad in fact. Have bought another case of eight bottles for the beer cupboard (yes, I thought that was a funny size case too).

Whilst on the subject of comestibles, may I commend another blog and associated website to you: Tam and Di Murrell, who having run a narrow boat pair in the seventies, now have a barge in France, where they train other people on the art of having a barge in France whilst thoroughly enjoying lots of food and wine, and write about all of it beautifully. I can't give links to particular pages, but do go and have a browse, especially for the 'Good Old Days' post (October 14th) and the recipes.

Day three and day four.

It's Sebastian again, sorry for the unimaginative title.

Jim and I are on the train again, we said our 'goodbye's to Shilling, gave her quick sweep and tidy and headed off forAlvechurch railway station. I even snuck into the toilet's behind the pub and had a shower before we left: wouldn't want to turn up on mum's doorstep looking unpresentable would I?!

Yesterday moring was a fairly relaxed start, no more getting up at six. But we were on our way soon enough. The place where we'd moored was near a few bars but the only real noisemakers were the local geese. Jim decided that they are the undesirables of the aquatic bird world and are, therefore, Chavs. He told them this quite often.

Once again Shilling started and ran with no trouble whatsoever, we kept the fire going so it was nice and warm inside, despite the need for several layers and gloves whilst steering, and that was welcome when our journey ended and we huddled in the warm and waited for the pub to open.

The pub was called 'The Weighbridge' and it was fairly easy to see how it had got its awards. The landlord was friendly, the food was lovely, the building was homely and the beer was varied and tasty. If I remember correctly there were four real ales on tap and three of those were local.

After that was a short walk back to the boat and bed, the story ends there but as I glance out of this train's window it's easy to spot the canal alongside and the route we took.

Shilling - Day Two

I'm afraid that there is nothing much to report today. Woke at six and had several cups of tea. This time with fresh milk rather than UHT which apparently went out of date last november (it says that but surely UHT lasts for ever provided the seals not broken, ours wasn't lumpy oranything, it just tasted of UHT. God, I'm a bit of a snob aren't I?) and a bit of cold pizza for breakfast (also had some for lunch; told you it was massive) and we were off again.

Unlike yesterday:

Nothing go stuck in the prop.

It didn't rain.

There were no boats full of men on probation for Jim to shout 'bad boys' at.

Stopped at twelve and had a bit of a chill, as Jim thinks all young people call it, and we're still chilling. Very relaxed day. Still on schedule as well so that's a good thing.

Everything's fine.

I may go pop the kettle on.

Moving Shilling

This is not Sarah blogging. This is not even about Chertsey. This is a pirate broadcast by her son, formerly known as lock boy, from aboard NB Shilling which he's helping move from Stretton Wharf to Tardebigge Wharf.

Today was the day of 'The 21' (Although there's actually been 22 Locks today, starting with Autherley Stop lock) but before we managed to reach even the first lock we had to set about solving the mystery of the unstarting engine (as the tale will henceforth be called) and Jim set about this mystery quickly and discovered that the leads to the battery had shaken themselves loose of the terminals. Armed with his trusty adjustable spanner and a borrowed battery charger he set about righting this problem and soon enough we were on our way.

Having started off early and missed breakfast we settled for an earlyish lunch before hitting the multitude of locks before us. The last time I came boating the weather decided it would rain pretty much whenever I did a lock so it was comforting to discover that nature had not forgotten my face since then and it dutifully began to spit. No dampening of spirits however: I was back by a boat with a windlass in my hand and that made me very happy indeed.

We progressed through the locks quickly (although my running to the next lock did turn into my walking to the next lock which in turn, towards the end, turned into Jim nudging the gates in anticipation until I arrived) but disaster struck at lock twelve...

First there was a little warning bleep and then Jim announced that there was something stuck in the prop. Ok, maybe calling it a disaster is a little strong. Jim set to hacking what appeared to be a nylon tracksuit jacket (which we decided was either discarded by some chav else some other chav had drowned in it and his body been carried away. Because of the hassle we were both rooting for the latter I think...) So it was intermittent bowhauling for a few locks as new bits of debris were caught up and Jim would disappear up to his elbows through the weed hatch to sort it out.

Nevertheless we arrived at Broad Street basin slightly ahead of schedule so, both of us absolutely gagging for a cup of tea, I put the kettle on. Since then Jim's got the fire going and I've had a delightfully hot shower followed by a pint of beer, half a massive pizza,and a nibble of chocolate.

I'd better say goodnight to you now and do some Philosophy work for university. More tomorrow.

Nightnight.

Sx

P.S. I did give this a quick scan for errors but if you find any please forgive me... I've just typed this whole thing out on my kindle.

Being charitable

Yesterday we went to Eastbourne, because we thought the charity shops might be worth a look. Charity Shop Tourism hasn't made it to Sussex yet, so perhaps I could start filling in the gaps. Newhaven for example, throws up a few occasional treasures, but then I do do the rounds (Searchlight (that's a local one), PDSA and Scope) once or twice a week. Lewes is wonderful; occasionally dear but worth it. I have paid £7.50 each for two Monsoon skirts, but been pleased with them, and the other week I got a pair of Maiko Dawson (no, I'd never heard of her either, but anyone who doesn't even list prices on their website must be good) shoes. Brighton is stupidly expensive. Eastbourne was disappointing.

There are lots of shops, but the stock was generally poor, and I wonder whether this is because of the growing habit of charity shops to try to be clever and cream off the best stuff to auction or sell in special shops in more affluent areas. We ended up going in at least half a dozen shops and buying absolutely nothing - which must be a record.

Then this morning, I read this article in the Observer magazine. I would write in, but they don't have a letters page; or leave a comment online, but it doesn't seem to have the facility, so I will leave my comment here (what else are blogs for).

I was particularly taken by the juxtaposition of these two statements (my italics):

"The idea is to make them bright and vibrant and to remove the stigma of charity-shop shopping"

and

"We tend to think we'll auction all of those clothes that people feel are a bit too good for the charity shop"

Stigma, what stigma, eh.

Now, I understand that the purpose of charity shops is to make money for their cause. But unless you are selling a premium product (and 99.99% of second-hand clothes do not come into that category) retailers for hundreds of years have understood that the most profitable way to do that is to pile it high and sell it cheap. Trying to cream off the best stuff is a waste of time (yes, even volunteers' time) and money, and if it becomes widespread charity shops will lose customers. It's the thought of getting a prize, that extra special bargain, that brings us through the doors week after week - but once we're in, we usually tend to buy something that catches our eye. Once all there is on the rails is Primark stuff priced at more than it originally cost (which happens often), then there will be no point in going at all.

Pirate Baz

When Baz and Jim move Shilling next week, Baz is going to take over the blog. He is going to do it on his Kindle (so no piccies)... a test post has uploaded to drafts so it must be possible. As he is going to do it using my login, this apparently makes him a pirate.

Watch this space... but I am NOT responsible for what follows!

In for a Shilling...

Last summer... it seems so long ago... Bill and Michelle brought Shilling to Stretton for blacking and an inspection and a bit of work. We said that we would take it back to their mooring for them after the work was finished. But there was more work than expected... then everything froze... then suddenly I had loads on at work... and it was starting to look as if we would never achieve the task. But, I am pleased to announce, at last it is in hand. I can't find more than three consecutive days, but Sebastian has a reading week coming up, so he and Jim are going to undertake the task. If it were only a week later he could be doing the 21 on the 21st, which is his 21st! I just realised that.

One worth reading

Creeping up in the charts - and overtaking Chertsey - is the slightly unusual blog of Siskin. Siskin is a new boat, based on a Yarwoods' Cowburn and Cowper boat, in the process of being built at Brinklow Boat Services by Simon Wain, with a great deal of input from the boat's owner, Steve Goddard. It's unusual firstly in being a build blog which follows the progress of a serious, detailed, replica (if I can say that) boat, and secondly, for the detail it provides of the work that goes into it - updated almost daily, often after a really long, hard day. If anyone ever doubted that a quality bespoke boat was worth what one costs, then this will reassure you. A fascinating read.

There is also a Siskin blog on Canalworld, with interspersed comments - and it can be read in chronological order.

Scaremongering?

Or genuinely frightening?

Now, I haven't looked into this too closely so far, but I was under the impression that BW turning into some sort of national waterways charity (details and name to be settled on in due course) was a foregone conclusion.

Tristram Hunt, Labour MP for Stoke on Trent Central, writing in the Guardian this morning, suggests that this might not be the case:

Go inland and a similar battle is raging. The future of British Waterways – the quango in charge of 2,200 miles of canals and waterways – is under review at the department for the environment. More progressive-minded ministers want it made into a National Trust-style co-operative for the good of boat owners, ramblers and anglers. This would protect its endowment and public service ethos from the £400m fire sale that Treasury chief secretary Danny Alexander is considering. An ominous departmental silence seems to suggest the privatisers are pushing ahead.

If Hunt is right, then that is genuinely frightening news.

Male member

Welcome to this post about my membership subscription renewal letter from the Historic Narrowboat Owners Club.

oh, bye....

On the whole I love the rather old fashioned approach and somewhat arcane language surrounding the conduct of the business of the Club, particularly in regard to membership issues. (The word 'shewn', I would hazard, is unlikely to be found in any other contemporary correspondence.)

However, I fear I had to draw the line at the phrase 'wife or partner's name (if applicable)' and have written to raise a wry eyebrow at this terminology. Sadly, I have written via the medium of electronic mail, when I would so much have preferred to have incsribed it with a trusty fountain pen upon best Croxley Script.

Afternoon update:
Action has been taken! I must therefore commend the membership secretary for his promptness in bringing this to the attention of the committee. It seems that the wording is to be amended to 'spouse or partner'. Apparently, when it was first introduced, it did just say 'partner' - a perfectly good term, you might think, for capturing the essence of all sorts of significant others, legally contracted or otherwise. But apparently someone on the committee objected to his wife being referred to as his partner. Just read that again. The woman in question did not herself object; it was the man that didn't like it. Well, let's just hope he's happy with spouse.

New top dog blog

Thanks to my unhealthy obsession with the UK Waterways Ranking site, I was able to observe a historic moment this afternoon - the toppling of Granny Buttons, doyen of waterways bloggers, from the top blog spot, handing his crown over to No Problem. Of course, it may have briefly happened previously and escaped my notice, but this will be the first chance for it to be noted on Halfie's weekly round-up. I wonder what the positions will be when he takes this week's snapshot. Maybe, like me, he was watching the screen, hitting 'refresh' and waiting for that moment...

My own experience suggests that regular - and frequent - updating is the key to keeping up a position in the rankings, and since landing a job in the (ha!) old media (i.e. printed on paper and trucked around the country to be sold, for money, in retail outlets, how quaint) this is something Granny, aka Andrew, has neglected somewhat. I hope he won't be abandoning it altogether though; it would be a sad loss indeed of not only an entertaining read but a piece of blogosphere heritage. I must admit No Problem hadn't been on my list of regular reads, although I knew about the information Sue and Vic compile about which marinas allow self declaration and which don't, and other stuff, so I had a peek today and it is certainly comprehensive, informative and friendly.

And now having noted this momentous shift of the blogosphere on its axis, I must get back to writing a lecture about Local Strategic Partnerships. And you wondered why I was staring at the ranking site for the past two hours.

Catmap

Unfortunately, I forgot to put the map away again afterwards.

Where to next?

Now Chertsey's home, where shall we go next? Well, the simple answer is Braunston, via Ellesmere Port. The latter for the working boat gathering (my first time there with a boat); the former, to have the oak gunnels made and fitted.

The detail, however, is something I had put to one side, mental geography not being my strong point. I can read and follow a map, as long as I've got it in front of me; I just can't bloody remember it.

So, the map is unfolded on the bed behind me, and I shall keep getting up to consult it as I write.

From Stretton to the Port, that's easy; even I can do that in my head. Straight up the Shroppie, past Warrior''s old mooring at Golden Nook and into terra (aqua?) nova. No Ship Canal or crossing the Mersey for us this time, but back down again to the Middlewich Branch - another new waterway for me, and it remains so as far as Harecastle, after which it's down to Fradley and more than likely retracing last year's route via the Coventry and Oxford. The plan is to stay at Braunston while the gunnels and the cloths are made, and remain there for the Big One at the end of June, and after that... well, that's definitely not decided yet.

Washing machine

It seems that a washing machine is a must-have for many boaters, so I am very pleased to have acquired one of my own - and for just £7.50 as well. Used in conjunction with the tin bath, it should make washing even heavier items a breeze.

Now all I need is a mangle.

Made it home

Up with the alarm at six again today, ready to make the fire up... to discover that unlike the previous night, it had gone out. Oh bugger. So I picked out the biggest lumps of unburnt coal, emptied the ash and set about lighting it afresh. No rag, so some kitchen paper , followed by sticks, doused in a generous measure from the mysterious can of flammable substances kept for the purpose - usually diesel, oil, and/or paraffin*, but in this case a healthy proportion of white spirit from the summer's little painting jobs, so, after throwing in a match, with a very satisfying woomph, off it went, and back in with the coal. On with the kettle and back into bed with me until 45 minutes later I could hear it boiling.

Next, get up, get dressed, call Jim; put the porridge on and make some tea. Even I am eating porridge now; I have always liked the idea in principle but have never really managed to get it down in practice, but when boating, all things are possible, and two days in a row now have got off to a healthy start, albeit augmented with copious quantities of brown sugar.

And so we were ready to leave at eight, and off we went again up the Staffs and Worcs. It was only actually once we were on the Shroppie, some time later, that we fully came to appreciate that it's not just bad luck; the S&W is a horrid canal; bendy, shallow and with vicious bridges. In the wind, of course, it's horrider still. We played stuck in the mud a couple of times, and stuck on some rocks or something once, I think, but not seriously; i.e. not requiring external assistance to be extricated, just much pushing, pulling, grunting and swearing, and in one very effective (though I hasten to assure you, very isolated, geographically speaking, case) howling in despair. Well, it worked. (As an aside, I wondered at the time, why is shouting and swearing considered a perfectly sane and acceptable response to a trying situation, while spontaneous howling is liable to get you marked down as a raving lunatic?)

Anyway, at a quarter to one we made the turn into Autherley (that made it sound easy, didn't it) and then we were on the lovely straight, mostly deep and very often wide Shroppie, where I actually got some speed up for the first time - but NOT while passing that hippy boat that floated free just as we passed, having apparently not been tied up at all, or at best to one (remaining) pin in soft mud. I was sure it was completely adrift, and said, should we stop in the bridgehole (all other moving boats had been left behind at Autherley) and go back and try to catch it, but Jim said it was still tied at the back. Then as it started following us, it was obvious that this wasn't the case, so being a good citizen, I was all set to tied up and walk back, when we saw someone emerge from its companion hippy boat and take the matter in hand. And I just know they'll blame me, sigh, even though nary another boat moved at all as we passed.

But that was quickly forgotten as soon we were passing the familiar landscape of Brewood, and then in the distance was the aqueduct, with a welcoming party of swans (possibly bouncers, actually), and drawn like eels to the Sargasso Sea, we were back at Stretton Wharf again, this time as Chertsey's home and not its hospital. It was a good feeling.
We tied temporarily next to Shilling (and another, longer boat as well), and had a cup of tea. The Volvo we'd left there six weeks previously (and at Kings Bromley for nine months before that) started first turn of the key, and after a final tidy up, we headed for home. Mission accomplished - and only seven weeks behind schedule.

*and no, not petrol, because I am not that stupid.

Felled

Good as our word, we were up early and off as soon as it was light - about quarter to eight. For three hours or so we had the canal to ourselves, then suddenly there were boats everywhere. Following us, and very kindly closing the top gates for me, was Mollie, whose crew had apparently been following the blog to decide when to make a break from Great Haywood Marina! All we going well, despite a bit of a breeze, until we got to Penkridge, where we started to hear rumours of a fallen tree, blocking the canal. With no idea where this was, we kept plugging on until we were waved down by Festina Lente, and there it was - an ivy covered arch low across the cut. It had landed, on the far side, on top of a boat, but didn't appear to have done any damage. After some effort, owing to the wind, we got Chertsey into the towpath and tied up.

A couple of boats behind, there was a man with a chainsaw... he set to, removing branches from below the arch, amid some fears that this might increase the weight on the boat opposite, or have some other unforeseen consequences, but he seemed to make a good job of it. He and his partner were able to get through, and the rest of us were preparing to - when two BW chaps arrived. We had just untied Chertsey at this point, and so went through the exact same rigmarole - pulling the front in with the long rope - of tying up again. The BW guys, armed with chainsaw and Tirfor (sp?) made pretty short work of it and we were all impressed by their efficiency.

So it was only an hour or so before we were on our way again, and we were hopeful of getting to Gailey tonight as planned. It wasn't to be however; Rodbaston Lock was unbelievably slow (thanks Festina Lente for leaving it empty for us), and we could scarcely get out into the wind; we managed one more and admitted defeat when we couldn't get off the bank after coming out of Boggs Lock; the wind had certainly got up and the light was going. Nice to know that our ten hour day used all the hours of daylight. So another early start tomorrow; 14 miles and just four locks to go, and hopefully the wind will blow itself out overnight.

Breaking away!

Hooray! We have untied from Great Haywood and are on our way again. Following a completely uneventful - indeed, enjoyable - train journey, we arrived in Stafford at five to two, and chickening out of taking the bus, got a taxi to Great Haywood. I lit the stove while Jim set about pumping out the hold, and then I walked into the village for milk and bread and cheese. Wot no buns, said Jim on my return, but miraculously, I found some biscuits in the biscuit tin which were nearly as good as new, so we had them with our tea.

By half past three the engine was running and we were ready to set off, so we did. There's no ice at all now, and we got safely through Tixall Lock - although you can see why it needs repairing, water is gushing out between the bottom gates in a torrent. That's scheduled to close on Monday, so we've got through that hoop. Not long after the light began to fade, but we kept going as long as we could see and have tied up just beyond Milford Bridge, so near to the railway line that we can't just hear the trains, we can feel them too. Boating - makes you so hungry you could eat a Fray Bentos pie, so we did, enjoying this peculiar traditional delicacy with beans this time, and the obligatory bottle of beer of course.

There were little lambkins cavorting in the fields, and... Jim caught the frog that's been living in the hold for months. Heaven knows what it's been eating, but hopefully it will be happier on the damp towpath. We passed Debdale tied up on Tixall Wide, and I guess they'll be catching us up tomorrow... but maybe not; the alarm's set for an early start so hopefully we'll be 'getting 'em ahead'. Meanwhile I'm looking out at the stars and the water, and just feeling glad to be back.

Fantastic Fazeley

Following Adam's earlier comment, and my own doubts, I rang BW again this morning and Kate in the Fazeley office was as helpful as before. She told me that the lock works were finished at Shutts Hill, but because of problems with their pumps, they hadn't been able to rewater it. However, she rang up the man on the ground and rang us back, to say that it should be done by Friday evening. So fingers crossed, and lots of praise to the Fazeley office for their friendly and efficient service.

Cold feet

Only metaphorical ones, since I treated myself (as well as everyone else) to a pair of thermal socks as recommended by Starman for Christmas, but just thinking about how much could go wrong with this boat moving lark at the weekend. Not go wrong as in sink, but as in, not get to our destination and have to get back from the middle of nowhere...

We arrive on Friday afternoon, quite probably too late to set off before dark. I have to be at work in London on Monday evening. So we have two days to do what is theoretically a day and a half's trip. But there will no doubt still be some ice to slow us down. Our timing is dependent on the lock works all happening on schedule as promised. It seems likely that lots of boats might be trying to make a break for it, which could mean hold ups. The weather forecast is for rain, which is not favourite, but worst of all, it's forecast to be windy. We've tried to do this stretch in the wind before and it was not fun. In fact it was so much not fun that we gave up. So my biggest hope is that that bit of the forecast will turn out to be wrong.

Ever hopeful

Ever hopeful that the thaw will continue apace, and that the window in the stoppages will occur, we are making plans to move Chertsey next weekend. We have one trusty Volvo already in place at Stretton, to come home in, so don't really want to drive up there - and, we've just calculated, it would cost over £100 in petrol to get there and back. Eeek.

Anyway, we always planned to go by train - and even, if we're feeling very adventurous, bus - so I just settled down to investigate fares. At first sight it didn't look too good - the best price shown by the National Rail website was £75 for the two of us. Cheaper than driving but still a lot to risk on an advance ticket for something that might not come off.

A bit of shopping around later, and I'd got it down to £41.10; worth taking a risk on and a significant saving. That's £25.30 with Southern for an off-peak single for two with internet discount; £1.90 each to get from Victoria to Euston on the tube, and then - the real bargain the National Rail site keeps quiet - £12 for two from Euston to Stafford with London Midland. Slower than Virgin but oh-so-much cheaper. It's not quite as early in the day as we'd ideally like to go, but it will certainly do.

Now I just have to look up the buses from Stafford to Great Haywood again. It can be done!!

Unseen pictures (by me, anyway)

Everyone else has probably found these long ago, but Jim just came across them on the HNBOC website - two photos of Chertsey at Oldbury in 2005, taken by Matt Beamish.

Window of possibility

All may not quite be lost. Yet. I rang British Waterways at Fazeley yesterday to ask whether the ice might have caused the stoppages to be postponed. The answer was that they started Shutts Hill on schedule, yesterday, but it is due to be finished by the 14th. They will then start work on Tixall Lock on the 17th, and finish that by the 28th. So... IF the ice melts, and IF the works happens according to this new schedule, then there could be a window of opportunity to get through over the weekend of the 15th/16th. For the time being I shall pin my hopes on that.

That dread word

Stoppages. Just as we were starting to see a thaw, thanks to Debdale I've just been alerted to a couple of scheduled stoppages which could bugger our plans right up.

We only have - in an ideal, melted, world - a day and a half's cruising to go to get from Great Haywood to our destination at Stretton. Within the first hour or two we should be clear of Tixall Lock and Shutts Hill lock. These locks are scheduled to close on January 4th - and stay closed until March 11th, in one case. So will it be thawed enough for us to be through before the stoppage hits? Will the stoppage maybe be postponed? (I shall ring them up and ask).

On the plus side, at least we are more or less free to leap into action as soon as the thaw lets us. It's just a case of keeping our fingers crossed and waiting. Any updates on the state of the S&W will be most welcome.

Later update
In the process of trying to find a phone number, I've downloaded the Boater's Guide for the S&W which contains the welcome correction that the Tixall Lock works are scheduled to finish on January 28th, not March 11th, which is good news, I guess. Tried phoning them but they're all off until the 4th.

Laid up

Wot no Christmas picture? No seasonal greeting to the loyal throng of readers? Well, no. Because I've had flu, and frankly, communicating with the blogosphere was pretty low on my list of priorities. (Top of the list came activities such as coughing, moaning, and lying on the sofa). In fact it was only yesterday that I first turned the computer on after more than a week - which must be a record - I half expected it to have seized up. Bit like me. I'll not go into details, as there's nothing more boring than other people's illnesses (yet they feel so fascinating and unique to the victim).

Given that there is still little sign of a thaw, it doesn't look as if I'll have to break off from recuperating any time soon to move the boat. So I'm off back to the sofa.

Cards in the post

My Moo cards arrived today and I'm pretty pleased with them. The card is nicely stiff, the matt finish printing sufficiently crisp, and the envelopes good quality. Even though I didn't take much trouble over choosing the photos (I didn't decide until the end of the process that I was actually going through with it) they all look reasonably good (though I could have done with removing that sign on the aqueduct by Anglo Welsh). At around a pound apiece for the minimum quantity of 25 they're expensive for bulk Christmas cards, but as birthday or other greetings cards that'd be a hard price to beat - and you really can have up to 25 different images for your 25 cards. Uploading the photos and designing the cards was simple too, and, as you can see, they arrived within the week. I don't think I'll ever buy a card from a shop again now!

On the cards

I am SO organised this year. Most of my Christmas shopping is done, and yesterday we went out into the outbuilding and fetched in the Christmas decorations. There were about three big boxes of them, built up over the years, but as we seem to be downsizing Christmas a bit lately, and a lot of it is old tat anyway, I decided to have a good sort out. Out went all the plastic baubles (superseded by beautiful old glass ones from a jumble sale); the envelopes of old cards going back decades, the tinsel and beads that are more trouble than their worth to put up each year, the cards without envelopes, the cards with damp envelopes, the stuff that it seemed a good idea to buy in the post Christmas sales... It all went on Freecycle and this morning is off to a local primary school.

Well, not the old cards. I put them in the recycling, but not before taking the pinking shears to them and making about three years' supply of gift tags - a family tradition which I'm very happy to continue, and now finally looks environmentally responsible rather than just mean.

I am left with the lovely, specially chosen tree ornaments collected over the last few years, quite a few from my childhood (although it was a little sad to open the box and discover the shattered remains of the very last one of the set of 12 glass baubles that, for some reason, I was given when I was about four).

Then I wrapped up my presents and wrote my cards, finally nearly getting to the bottom of the Amnesty bargain pack I bought a few years ago, and using all my IWA cards, so I thought I should order some more, as Jim hadn't written any yet. So I went on the IWA website and ordered three more packs of ten, and only then did I read Debdale's blog about how they designed and ordered their cards from Moo, (with a handy link) so I thought, hmmm, I must look into that - and ended up ordering 25 Chertsey cards from there. Well, I've never had such great Christmassy pictures before. (Although ever canny, I haven't put any seasonally-specific greeting in them, so they could be used for wintry birthdays too.) Can't wait to see how they turn out. The site was certainly easy to use, once you get past a slight cutesiness, and even techie-boy was surprised that you can have up to 25 different pictures for your 25 cards. I've shared mine between seven.

Only problem is that I've posted all this year's cards now, so you'll have to wait until 2011 for your exclusive Chertsey greeting.

Getting the measure

Without wanting to be obsessive about it, I do like to keep an old fashioned feel in Chertsey's cabin. It's a chance to use all the old bits and pieces I actually like to have around. In many ways it's practical too - for example, I keep my enamel washing up bowls under the stove, where I'm not sure a plastic one would sit very happily. I'd love to live in a world where it was possible never to buy anything plastic - such a nightmare for resource usage and subsequent disposal (and more than other materials, plastic does seem to be treated as disposable, despite its durability; maybe because its cheap and easily made into fashionnable shapes and colours) - but it's very very hard to avoid. I certainly don't want to be looking at it in all its gimcrack garish forms more than I have too though.

What I do like is enamel. Always have has a soft spot for this heatproof, easy to clean and cheap (albeit chippable but otherwise everlasting) all-purpose material (or combination of materials) of its day. Plates, jugs, trays, ovenware; hopsital equipment; fire surrounds... pub ceilings - its versatility must have seemed endless.
Until now though Chertsey has lacked a decent enamel jug. I've had a few, but all too battered and rusty to actually be used. However, whilst Christmas shopping yesterday in the charity shops, antique shops and flea markets of Lewes (finished off with an excellent and very reasonably priced lunch at the Lewes Arms, just thought I'd get a plug for that in) I came across not one but two; and not just milk jugs or pitchers, but proper measuring jugs, so I treated myself to the nicer of the two. At six quid it cost about fifteen times as much as a cheap plastic one, but well worth it I think. I shall put up a hook for it and dsiplay it with pride, and use it with pleasure.

The sound of the snow

The thing with a thick blanket of snow is how quiet everything is. No passing cars, no singing birds, no echoes, and distant noise absorbed rather than travelling onwards to our ears.

Sleeping in Chertsey's cabin last Friday night, I could occasionally hear the fire settling in the stove, the kettle gently singing sotto voce. At midnight I stoked the fire, and moved the kettle, not wanting the place to be full of steam, and all was quiet. Until at four I again awoke to a gentle rustling hissing sound, like but not like that of light rain on the cabin top above me. I checked and it wasn't the kettle; it wasn't the fire. I opened the hatches and saw that it had just begun to snow, lightly, onto the frozen canal. Could I really have heard it, I ask myself now, whispering on the steel above my head? It seems incredible. Yet at the time - and what could be more reliable - it was certain that there was nothing else it could have been. And by the time the grey dawn broke, there was a light dusting of white over everything, as light and dry as icing sugar dusted from a sieve (not the wet claggy stuff we get down here that turns into treacherous ice as soon as you touch it).

Meanwhile, back in the sunny south-east...

The difference is, everyone's surprised when it happens here. Might as well have stayed on the boat for all the chances of getting to work are.

click for legibly large version

Rethinking winter

As regular readers will know, I'm a summer person. A hothouse flower, as an old lady I once worked with called me. I get annoyed when people moan that it's too hot; if it's too hot to work, I say, it's not the heat that's the problem. I've always approached winter with fear and loathing, felt threatened and oppressed by the cold and the wind.

But I have changed my mind. Last weekend's boating has been a revelation to me. OK, the weather was ideal, winter at its very best - but it was cold, and snowing, and that wasn't a problem (well, not for me personally. It was admittedly a bit of an issue navigation-wise). I have now come to the conclusion that if it's too cold to get to work, too snowy for the trains to run - it's not the cold and the snow that's the problem. It's our attitude and the attitude of the world that says we have to get to work at all costs, and the view that we should really just be able to get on with our lives without giving much thought to the weather. If that was ever true, it seems increasingly less so.

So it seems I am ready to embrace the winter as wholeheartedly as I do the summer. But here's the rub. You can only really enjoy - even survive - the winter if you dress for it; six or seven layers, thermals, thick socks, boots. And the fact that buildings are all centrally heated means that immediately you go indoors, you're miles too hot, red, sweating and extremely uncomfortable. OK, you can take off the top few layers, but not the thermal vests, still less the leggings (particularly if you're at work). So basically you have to make a choice: dress for indoors or outdoors, but you can't have both. Which is why winter still finds us trapped indoors, and why the boating felt so liberating - for once I was a cold weather person, ready to take it all on (though the cabin was relatively warmer, with the stove going, it can't have been anything like as warm as a house as I never took off more than a couple of outside layers). But it's not worth getting undressed and dressed again every time we want to go out, so we end up shivering and suffering as before, or just staying put. And what I've realised now is just how much we're missing by cowering indoors by the fire.

Icy pictures

As promised, here is a selection of photos from the weekend.

The coldest journey

Was, without a shadow of a doubt, the journey home today. All the time I was on the boat I didn't feel the cold at all; wrapped up and with the stove going constantly, the biggest surprise was that the cold just wasn't an issue. Instead it was something to be marvelled at and enjoyed. But coming home.... I've never really noticed a car's heating system before. Handy for defrosting or demisting the windscreen, but hardly used otherwise. What I never realised was that even when you're not actively using it, that heater is taking the chill off the air. We discovered last week that Tufty's heater isn't working, but only really felt the full implications today - feeezing air constantly circulating around our feet and legs and the whole of the car, despite my best offorts to staunch it with a blanket. Even though I kept all my boating layers on, including two pairs of socks and my very excellent new boots, by the time we got home my feet were frozen, and the rest of me well chilled. None of that happened while we were actually boating.
I've interpolated a few photos from this morning and I'll upload a selection tomorrow (or sometime soonish). It was another lovely bright crisp morning, and I even suspected that the canal was starting to thaw a bit - but not enough to take a chance on. So I rang up a taxi to take Jim back to Kings Bromley, where he collected the car and dropped off the keys, and perhaps said a small final farewell. Meanwhile I took the rubbish over to the rubbish point where I met Adam of Debdale and his partner whose name I'm afraid eludes me, which was a nice surprise. Having passed us at Kings Bromley on Saturday morning, they'd got as far as Tixall Wide before becoming stuck, and they likewise were awaiting a taxi to Norbury to collect their car. I took the opportunity to show Adam over Chertsey, and when he had left to drain down Debdale's water systems (what a boon it is not having any! Talking of which, I think it is a myth that you keep the water can next to the chimney to stop it freezing. Ours still froze solid), I got chatting to Annaliese from one of the hippy boats (I hope they won't mind being called that) that we're tied up behind, and she promised to keep an eye on Chertsey until the thaw.