Visitations expected and unexpected

We were looking forward to an an enjoyable day today as Amy and James from Lucky Duck were visiting. Jim set off to meet them at Penkridge station, stopping on the way at Jaspers to stock up on buns, and at Midland Chandlers, strange as it may seem, for coal. The 'Stoveglow' they sell is slightly cheaper than Taybrite, seems to burn just as well, and leaves far less ash. He bought their last six bags, which might turn out to have been prescient.

Amy had made us a fantastic Bakewell tart. She thought we would have been given loads of them (just as they are always being given novelty duck gifts) but I had to say that while I'd had plenty of jokes about me now being the Bakewell tart (to which I invariably reply that I'd rather be a Bakewell tart than a Bakewell pudding, hee hee, so you needn't bother making that joke now), no one had actually presented me with one before. Amy is going to put the recipe on the Lucky Duck blog; I will just say that it was slightly off the traditional and was absolutely wonderful. And I'm not just saying that; I had three slices. And then, as we were drinking tea and eating buns, it started to snow...

And we went into Brewood for lunch at the Bridge, and it continued to snow; we came back for more tea and buns, and it snowed some more. We took photographs of the snow, and it snowed more still, and by the time Jim left to take Amy and James back to the station, traffic on the A5 was barely moving, and he only just managed to get back up the drive on his return. Meanwhile Willow had chosen today of all days to fall in the canal, misjudging his leap in the snow from butty stern to bank. Fortunately it is very shallow and gently shelving there so he got out without trouble but was a most pitiful sight. However, after a good rub down by the fire and a bowl of warm milk he appears to be restored to his fluffy self - just a little wiser we hope. I was unkind enough to take photos of him in his bedraggled state, but I'm not unkind enough to post one, so here he is earlier, trying to camouflage himself in the snow.

Routine

waking up one morning last week

When we first moved onto the boats just before Christmas I still felt as I needed a complete break from routine; a rest from responsibilities. I was reading the other week about 'seasonal affective disorder' - a form of depression that strikes in the winter, and which is often treated with exposure to bright light. The symptoms, officially, include lack of energy, needing to sleep a lot, and craving carbohydrates. This is supposed to be an illness, a pathology, a sign of something wrong! Bollocks, say I, it's our natural need to hibernate, at least partially; a need that we can't fulfil in this age of electric light, 24 hour capitalism, and rule by the clock rather than the sun, so we call it an illness instead and try to 'treat' the individuals who feel it the most strongly so that they can be made to fit back into the artificial rhythms of modern life.

So, for a month I just went with the flow, slept ten or eleven hours a night, and took it easy. I confess that my job was not a particularly onerous or routine bound one, although I didn't realise until after I stopped how stressful it was commuting to and within London for the past five years. In fact, the lack of routine might have been part of the problem. They may change over the course of the year, but life does naturally have rhythms, and a fragmented and unpredictable working day/week/month constantly throws these into disruption. So after a month, I was ready to find a routine again, and last week started putting one into practice. So far I am pleased to say it seems to have worked; I have achieved everything I set out to during this week just passed.

looking back towards the aqueduct (or approaching home)

I start most days by walking into Brewood to buy a paper and see if there's any post. After crossing the A5 and scrambling up the embankment it's a pleasant walk along the towpath, and makes a round trip of just over three miles. Even over the course of the past week I have observed the weather changing, as the mud freezes harder each day, and is also drying too. Yesterday there was a thin skim of ice on the canal; today it was thicker. Today was definitely a two jumper day. (Keep your fancy high tech fleeces; you just can't beat wool.) On Wednesday there was a craft fair in the village hall; and on the way home I bought a pot of hyacinths for a pound from outside someone's house.

At the beginning of the week I set myself a list of goals, realistic ones, and I have achieved them all, so that's a good feeling to go into the weekend with. When I gave up my job, I asked myself how I would describe myself if someone asked what I did for a living; I realised that I would like to be able to say that I was a writer. Thanks to my efforts this week, that seems to have come a step closer. Next week, I may try to start getting up a bit earlier...

The Beast of Bakewell

Photo: Pete Boyce

He so easily could have been the Beast of Bodmin, but I think we're all a lot happier with the way things turned out, buttywise.

Boat - or rather, canalside - life is certainly bringing out other sides of Willow's character. In the absence of the other cats, he's become a lot more affectionate, on the plus side. But on the minus side, since leaving his previous urban environment, he has become an enthusiastic devotee of country sports, otherwise known as chasing and killing defenceless mammals for fun. Only I don't suppose even the Quorn Hunt used to drag half dead foxes in and release them under the bed.

We were planning to get Willow a catflap, but this idea has been put on hold indefinitely pending the requirement that he be thoroughly searched before being readmitted to the boat. This morning Jim slipped up, whilst struggling out of the door with the porta-potti, realising too late that Willow had slipped past him, ominously purposeful, and even more ominously, silently (on account of having his mouth full of vole). This one was wholly dead, but parts of it still had to be removed from under the bed. The idea of him coming and going at will during the hunting season of the night, and delivering his prizes onto the pillow, hardly bears thinking about.

It's official!

Alan has confirmed it here. There are 33 candidates for the four boater places on the C&RT council, which means that Nick, with his guess of 29 wins the Great Chertsey C&RT sweepstake. (I would just like to point out that I came a very close second, with 38, so not bad guesswork). Step forward Nick, whoever and claim your prize. Er, a ride in the parade at Braunston, perhaps? (if you have a day to spare and a strong bladder).

Alan makes an interesting point about the nominated candidates of the IWA etc (and to a lesser extent HNBOC) not declaring their allegiance in their statement. It might be too much to ask that they waste even a few of their precious 150 words on this, but does it mean that they will have an unfair advantage through picking up individual votes on their own merits on top of the block votes of the unthinking membership of the organisation backing them? No more so I wouldn't have thought than if they did declare their allegiance.

I agree with Alan that boaters' representatives should be representing ALL voters, at least between them even if each individual cannot embody all boaters' different needs. Hopefully once elected they will do so, just as an MP's duty is to represent all the people in their constituency, and not just the ones who voted for them. The IWA, RBOA, and HNBOC have promoted candidates, but these are organisations largely formed of boaters. Different boaters may find that their interests are in conflict with one anothers', but on the whole they have more in common than divides them.

On the other hand, people like anglers, for example, often have interest that are in direct conflict with those of boaters, and this frequently emerges in antipathy between the groups. Some anglers are also boaters though, and thus eligible to stand in the election, but could conceievably act as a Trojan horse for anti-boater interests. I'm not saying this has happened or will happen, but I would consider it a greater threat to boater representation than the election of organisation-backed boaters. However, there is a big downside to the current situation, and that is that the muscle of the IWA, however virtuous their candidates might be (and I haven't investigated them), will lead to really excellent candidates like Alan Fincher and Sue Cawson being overlooked, and that is a very great shame.

Election fever

Polling opens next week in the C&RT elections, but so far, no list of candidates has been published, despite nominations closing on January 18th. Normally as members of an organisation electing its officers you wouldn't notice this; the first you would know about any of it would be when the ballot paper and the candidates' election statements dropped through your letterbox, and I would guess that these are probably beginning to wing their way to licence holders this week. Possibly they are still checking the bona fides of candidates' sponsors (not that that would be so hard).

But having a closer interest in this particular election, these things become more apparent. Is it a problem? How far in advance should lists of candidates be published? Does it raise issues for the fairness of the election? Already some candidates have been using their platforms as bloggers or contributors to CanalWorld to promote their cause, whilst others have the muscle of a big organisation behind them; however others, either low profile independents or those standing with the support of smaller groups will struggle to get their name known - surely if anything has the potential to compromise at least some concept of fairness, then it is this. But as I said back before Christmas, this is an inevitable outcome of free speech, and in the era of the internet, all but impossible to curb even if you wanted to. And indeed, why would you wish to stop communicators showing how well they can communicate; campaigners how well they can campaign. Yes, people with a higher profile will get more votes; the same goes for MPs - would Martin Bell have been elected if he had been Joe Bloggs in a grey suit rather than a white one? People with big organisations behind them will do better than independents - how many independent MPs are there? It's not fair, exactly, but it is democratic. Blame the voters if you like, for being too ready to be swayed by a familiar name or the endorsement of an organisation whose aims they vaguely understand and approve of. But don't blame the system; it's doing its best. Democracy, as Winston Churchill said, is the worst possible system with the exception of all the others that have been tried. Whether publishing a list of names on the Waterscape website a week sooner would make much difference to this is a somewhat debatable point.

Anyway, blogger Alan Fincher has produced a very smart PDF flyer which is here, so do have a look. For myself, I know that I shall be voting for Alan Fincher and Sue Cawson; people I know and respect very highly for their boating experience, communication skills and the values they hold regarding waterways priorities. As for any other preferences, I shall wait until those personal statements drop through the letterbox.

Until the list of candidates if officially published, there can be no winner of the great C&RT sweepstake. But I will say, it's looking good for Nick, so far...

More veg talk

I was going to say that there hasn't been any boat-related activity today, but that would be wrong, because Jim cleaned out the back cabin. Now that Chertsey's cloths are in place, a lot of the stuff that was being stored in the back cabin has been transferred to the hold. So tomorrow I will try and get some decent pictures of the interior.

But for now, more vegetables. For a while it looked as if we weren't going to find a substitute for Geoff 'n' Col, purveyors of fine vegetables at Newhaven market. Supermarket veg is expensive and often unripe; things like tomatoes and avocadoes that are bred and stored for a long shelf life seem never to ripen, and supermarkets dare not keep ripe fruit and veg for fear of it going past its best and losing them money. There is a 'fine food' shop in Brewood which carries a few vegetables, but only a few and again, they are expensive.

But never fear, for in the wondrous cornucopia that is Cannock, we finally found Jessicas Fresh Foods, a greengrocers more like a market stall (and a sandwich shop attached, which we have never tried but which comes highly recommended by Blossom and dawn). The loveliest oranges, five for a pound. Last week, limes at 5p each (full of juice too); ripe baby plum tomatoes the like of which you would never find in a supermarket; fennel at a third of the price in Brewood. Marvellous crisp and tasty apples, better even than any we had down south.

So I am going to share another dinner with you, as it was a great hit. The tomatoes in particular were wonderful, full of intense flavour. I took two bulbs of fennel and a red onion (peeled) and cut them into slivers, which were tossed in olive oil in a baking tin. I halved the baby plum tomatoes and laid them cut side up on an oiled baking tray (there were enough to cover the surface). The fennel and onion went on the top shelf and the tomatoes the next shelf down in the oven at mark 6, for about an hour and a quarter. Turn the fennel over from time to time but leave the tomatoes alone. When they're done (slightly browned for the fennel; looking dry for the tomatoes) cook some wholemeal pasta shapes. When they're done add a drained tin of canellini beans to warm through (this is the protein). Drain thoroughly then tip everything into the biggest tin/pot and mix it all together. That's it. Though some goats cheese is a nice addition to this sort of thing.

Chilli evening

Recipe corner again! No photo because we ate it (the chilli not the photo, which doesn't exist) instead but with the weather promising to get colder again (and nothing else to write about today) here is my recipe for vegan chilli. Which is splendid whatever your eating habits.

Fry a chopped onion and one red and one green pepper, also chopped, until soft. Add four crushed cloves of garlic, and fresh chillies, the amount of these depending on how big they are, how hot they are, and how hot you like your chilli. Stir in a tablespoon (yes, a tablespoon) each of paprika and ground cumin. Then add a tin of tomatoes and chop them roughly, and stir in a tin of rinsed kidney beans and a large squeeze of tomato puree. Simmer for a long time - at least an hour. Meanwhile, cook some rice, and peel and mash an avocado - it makes a brilliant topping for the chilli.

Mousie!

Willow so enjoyed playing with my short splice, that by this morning it was reduced to six separate strands. So I tied some of them together to make him a new toy, which amused him for all of about two minutes.

Short and sweet

My very first attempt at a short splice - its success rather spoiled by Willow getting hold of it and unravelling it from the other end, but take my word for it, it was actually very good.

Looking like a proper boat at last

As Paul on Prince said. Made me wonder, when did Chertsey last have a full set of cloths on? My guess would be circa 1964.

Yes, at last today the rain stopped and the wind dropped for long enough for us to tackle the topcloths. In the end it was fairly straightforward, although terribly hard on the knees (mine). The positioning of the rings over the notches worked perfectly and hooking them from a kneeling position on the top planks was dead easy. Jim then slipped the hook in on the other side, balancing on the gunnel, braced against Bakewell, and helped pull it tight. I then improvised a tying up technique as best I could, based on a combination of instinct and half remembered examples from the Topcloth and Tippet video.

The cloths fit beautifully; there are four of them, each thirteen feet long, which allows for a foot overlap between them. The tippet however is in only three pieces, and the overlaps haven't lined up with the strings the way they have for the cloths, leaving an end or two flapping. The solution I think may be join the three tippet pieces together; traditionally I think it would have been in a single piece. For the time being I have joined the worst place with black gaffer tape. The tippet by the way is the narrow strip of cloth that goes on top along the top planks, to reduce wear on the cloths themselves.

Unlike traditional cloths, Chertsey's have eyelets in them. This will be useful for keeping the corners down (we went and bought a great deal of black elastic this afternoon) and may enable us to use them more flexibly. I decided to have them on a 'might as well/better safe than sorry' basis.

We hadn't quite made up enough strings, and it was interesting how we can now just nip in and make a couple up. I must say that the splicing had taken a lot less time and effort than I had anticipated. My eye splices have definitely improved with practice, and if you see Chertsey you can have fun working out which were earlier and which later efforts. My back splices too now are lovely although I do still need to refer to the diagram to get started. My next project is to attempt a short splice, whereby you join two lengths of rope together.

Brassed off

It is a well known fact that if you don't polish brass, it goes yellow, then dull, then tarnished. The easiest way to keep it looking good is to polish it every day; that way it only takes minutes.

The process of degradation is speeded up considerably by heat and by exposure to moisture. So the brass bands on the chimney really have a hard time of it. I had got Chertsey's back up to a decent standard, by cleaning them every day, or as nearly as I could. I didn't try to get them shiny in one go, but after a few days, it became easier each time to remove the new layer of tarnish and make some inroads into the underlying ones, and last week they were looking pretty good.

I noticed some interesting things in the process. The tarnishing was far worse on the starboard side of the chimney, away from the outside of the boat. Is this because this side gets warmer, owing to the very slight tilt of the chimney? Or is it because the prevailing winds deposit more damp on it? After a damp night, this side would have a thick, soft layer of tarnish whilst the other remained almost untouched.

Then other things intervened, and the chimney got neglected for a few, damp, days - to quite stunning effect. The fresh layer of tarnish is so thick, verdigris-like, that it is peeling off on its own. I'm not sure the scaled down versions of the photos I took this morning will truly convey the effect, but on the big screen they look like photos of an oil painting, the chimney bands impasto, marked with brush or even knife strokes. It almost seems a shame to clean it off.

Licence talk is really boring isn't it

There is probably something that is more boring to hear bloggers talking about than the process of licencing their boat, and that is hearing them talk about how they get online, and the problems they have with their dongle/software/internet provider. So I (rashly) promise I will never bore you with that (even though it is being 'interesting' at the moment), if you will bear with me for one last heartwarming licencing story, in which NOTHING GOES WRONG SHOCK HORROR!!!

Chertsey was licenced in June 2010, for the first time since 1983. You may recall it took quite a while to sort out, although this was mainly owing to my insistence on keeping its original five-digit index number. Bakewell's licence was due for renewal at the end of December. But here's the catch. A butty, with a nominated motor boat without which it never goes anywhere, gets a 50% discount, but only if both the motor's and the butty's licences run concurrently. I thought this was going to be a nightmare, and initially rang BW with a sinking heart. But no! The lovely Joelle worked out all the sums for me, and said that if I sent back Chertsey's old licence and applied for a refund, this would then be subtracted from the cost of the new licence and the butty licence, and a cheque for seven hundred and something pounds would sort me out til the end of next December. The sums included Bakewell's 50% butty discount, Chertsey's 10% historic discount (which Bakewell doesn't qualify for on account of being converted), and, somehow, the fact that Bakewell is registered as being under 70' long (well, I didn't want to confuse matters by arguing about it).

We picked the licences up at the post office the other day and are now not only legal but seen to be so. What's more, I now get two votes in the C&RT election! (If they ever get round to holding it.)

Cutting costs

I had my hair cut in Cannock last week. It cost me £9.50. The same wash, cut and blow dry in Lewes cost £35. The cut is every bit as good, and the conversation was better. Thanks, Dawn, Lauren and Sian!

Stringing along

It's been far too wet today to actually try and fit Chertsey's topcloths, but we have completed a fair few of the strings that will, hopefully, hold them in place. Some of our splicing was still a bit hit and miss, and some of the results not the prettiest, but whatever people think, at least we will be able to say that we did them ourselves.

Each string is about eighteen and a half feet long, with a hook attached by an eye splice at one end, a free hook running on the string, and a back splice at the other end. This is just one possible way of doing things. Originally, it seems (at least from watching 'Topcloth and Tippet') that the strings were spliced directly onto the rings along one side of the boat, and once passed over the top planks, were threaded through the rings on the other side. This of course requires you to have a hand at gunnel level; not so easy if you're out from the bank. Also, It was hard to keep the strings clean and tidy when not in use. So boatmen developed the innovation of hooks on the end of the strings. In this way, the strings could be put away when not required, and, when clothing up, with a bit of practice, the ring could be hooked from the top plank. The idea of a second hook, to hook the ring rather than threading through it on the other side, was not something I had seen done before, but I had thought about it, so when Pete suggested it, I didn't have any trouble agreeing. As it happens, we didn't actually have to do the splicing with the hooks in place, as they are 'S' hooks, crimped in place afterwards with Jim's largest slip jointed pliers.

Because I still couldn't get the hang of the crown knot (until I looked it up here), I concentrated on the eye splices; Jim, conversely, couldn't do eye splices to his satisfaction, so an efficient division of labour emerged, and by lunchtime we had completed fifteen strings. We will need slightly shorter (and possibly ceremonial cotton) ones for the cratch, and a couple of longer ones in which to fashion a loop to carry the long shaft, although I've no idea yet how that's done. We're using 10mm Hempex which is OK to work with, although the ends have a tendency to go fluffy and it's bloody hard to cut. It looks really good when it's done though, and is strong.

On the side

Today at last Chertsey's cloths arrived, along with a set of top planks made by Pete Boyce, all delivered by him, and fitted with his help.

Firstly the sidecloths were unrolled along the gunnel. Chertsey's are in a single length along the whole of the boat, shaped at the front to accommodate the inward curve of the fore end. Some people have their sidecloths in two or three sections, so that separate areas can be rolled down, but we thought single ones would be fine for us. In the end we chose heavy duty pvc, as used for lorries' curtain sides, in preference to Regentex (expensive, and we've had mixed reports about its waterproof qualities), 'Top Gun' (looks good but very expensive) or traditional cotton canvas (leaks and rots). The pvc has a side which shows the weave of the reinforcing canvas, and I would have preferred this to be on the outside, but the cloths have been made with a less shiny, but textured outside surface. Never mind though, it only notices if you look really close up.

The sidecloths are attached to the gunnel with oak battens - screwed down in our case, although I think traditionally they would have been nailed (and would have been elm). The edge of the cloth slightly overlaps the inside edge of the gunnel, and the batten is flush with it. The outside top edge of the batten is chamfered to avoid excessive wear where the cloth is pulled over it.

Before pulling the sidecloths up into place, Jim attached the rings for the topcloth strings, positioning them over the notches in the gunnel he made last week. Then I attached lengths of (temporary, I hasten to add) blue string to the eyelets all along one side of the sidecloths.

Meanwhile, Pete and Jim were positioning the top planks, and cutting the foremost one to fit. We were delighted that the height of the stands, the back end beam, and (after a little adjustment) the mast meant the top planks ended up beautifully level. Thanks are also due to Adrian (now of Warrior) who measured the lengths for each plank - they were dead right (of course!).

Once the top planks were laid in place, 'uprights' were inserted between them and the gunnels, to provide support between the stands and extra rigidity. 'Upright' is a bit of a misnomer, as they actually fit at about forty five degrees. Chertsey came with four original uprights, each stamped with their position (P1, P2, S4 etc) and a Grand Union Fleet number. Maybe in the past these got swapped about, because we have one numbered 130 Chertsey), one 134 (Carnaby) and two 101 (Aber). We tried using these but only one fitted - amazingly, it was the one that was originally Chertsey's. Pete trimmed the Carnaby one to fit also, so we have two original GU uprights (the stands are marked with GU fleet numbers too), but the two 101s were not in good enough condition to use, so the remainder were made new.

Once all this was in place, the sidecloth strings were thrown over the planks, through the cloths then other side, back over and tied tightly, holding it all in place. We unrolled one of the topcloths for a look, but as we didn't have the strings made up for them yet, we rolled it up again. Tonight we are a hive of sore fingered splicing industry, as we get on with making them - this time properly, in 10mm hempex. So here's hoping the wind drops so we can have a go at fitting the topcloths tomorrow.

Slow cooker

Having bought a 56lb bag of potatoes (£4) from the splendid, local, Whitegates Farm Shop, we thought we'd better set about using them, seeing as we'd never had so many before. Very nice they looked too, with a good mix of sizes and just enough dirt to show they're real. And, seeing that I have been keeping Chertsey's Epping going 24 hours a day - sixteen days now since I lit it - to keep the cabin warm and dry (which has been very successful) it occurred to me that I could be utilising some of that heat for other ends too, so today I popped a couple of nice big potatoes in the oven, having first rubbed them with olive oil and sea salt (you can take the girl out of the south...) and scored a cross in the top (easier than pricking it to let the steam out, and makes it easier to cut open too). My thermomenter said the oven temperature was around 130 degrees C, and I left them in for about five hours. Although I'm sure they were cooked through well before that, it didn't do them any harm; indeed, it was one of the nicest baked potatoes I've had.

Slow cookers seem to be all the rage again at the moment so I shall have to see what else I can cook in mine (although 130 isn't actually all that slow, I know).

And (very slightly) drunk with Hairy Neil

I'll say this, living on the boats is certainly improving our social life. Most of our friends, by quite a long way, are boaty people, and as such are far more more likely to drop by now than they ever were to be passing the south coast. Last night Hairy Neil, hero of Chertsey's homecoming from the Trent, dropped in en route from Aberystwith to Slough. He arrived at half past nine (pm), and it was absolutely freezing, so naturally we headed into Brewood and back to the Swan, a really excellent pub - the fact that it was packed out on a Monday night being testimony to this. I'm sure no one else got even slightly drunk, but two and a half pints of Directors followed by half a bottle of Old Empire on our return is certainly enough to make me quite mellow... Anyway, we had a lovely evening, chatting until nearly two o'clock. Neil then got to try out the guest room, aka Bakewell's back cabin, with an airbed on the crossbed, and a large collection of tools and toolboxes hurriedly stowed in every available space, and was up and gone again at six. In the course of his departure, Willow slipped out, and then came and found me on Chertsey, so we had a nice little lie in until it was light.

Getting spliced with Blossom

As promised, Blossom and Dawn came to visit today. We enjoyed tea and buns and catching up with plenty of chat; a tour of Bakewell and a look at Chertsey's paintwork... But at some point we also mentioned that we had once again found that the art of splicing had slipped our minds - despite our having been shown, and grasped it, twice, so Blossom patiently spent a great deal of time tutoring us in it again. I still haven't quite mastered the crown knot, but my actual splicing turned out neatly enough. Jim meanwhile appears to be moving onto advanced decorative ropework so we should soon be self sufficient in strings, droppers and various dangly bits. Just as long as we keep practising this time and don't forget for a third time.

On a cold and frosty morning

This is the way we play with our new camera...


Sadly have had to reduce the file size quite considerably to stand any chance of uploading them though.

Top notch

Today in anticipation of Chertsey's cloths being fitted tomorrow, Jim made the notches in the gunnels, above which the rings for the topcloths sit. These notches seem to serve two puroposes; to make it possible to catch a ring with a hook whilst standing on the top plank, and (this is something I thought of myself) to thread the end of a string through one-handed. On some boats, the rings sit down inside larger scallops, but this seemed to me to be less useful, so rightly or wrongly, I've gone for a notch that, hopefully, the ring will sit flat above, stapled to the gunnel and flush with or just behind its edge.

Jim cut the notches with an angle grinder, amidst much smoke and smouldering oak. There are 28 of them. In total, there are going to be eighteen top strings, four at 13" intervals on the cratch, and the remainder at 3' intervals. This concurs with the drawing I have, which is admittedly for a butty, but apart from the longer hold I don't know why it would be different, which specifies 3' intervals and 15" on the cratch (we were a few inches short once we got to the front, hence Chertsey's being 13" here). It also fits what I have been told by other people (some have said that they can, and should, be even less - 28"). But the mysterious thing is that when you look at old photos of GU motor boats, they only seem to have 13 top strings aft of the cratch, suggesting a wider spacing. There are fewer notches than strings because those at the front, where the gunnels widen and curve in, are set further in and not on the edge.

We drove ourselves mad finishing before the light went (Jim had to go to Screwfix for a new grinder as his old one had broken ages ago), and finally, having got some bitumen on the cut wood, retired indoors to practice our splicing, only to get a message from Pete to say that he can't come tomorrow after all. So it will be Thursday now before Chertsey finally gets smartened up.

A night out in Brewood

For a relatively small place, Brewood has an enormous entry on Wikipedia. Someone is obviously very enthusiastic about the place - and not without good reason; it's very nice and clearly there are lots of interesting things to explore.

Last night we made a start, with a talk, hosted by the Civic Society, by (they put this very proudly on the poster) the local raconteur. well, he didn't sound very local - exceedingly plummy in fact - but he was indeed an excellent raconteur. The talk was about the Tudor housebuilding boom in the wake of the dissolution of the monasteries, not a subject I would have put top of my list of interests, but Richard Field's enthusiasm, especially for the architecture, was infectious and we thoroughly enjoyed it.

The talk was preceded by a brief report on matters of interest to the Civic Society, particularly reports on recent planning applications, and followed by a preview of a charity fundraising 'safari supper'; a variation on the 'progressive dinner', and a good idea, in which groups of people eat their first course in one person's house and dessert in another, getting together beforehand for aperitifs and after for coffee and cake. The only odd thing was that tickets were for sale in pairs - are there no single people in Brewood, or are they simply not welcome at the safari supper?

Before descending on the Methodist Church (and it was packed out; the normal venue of the Jubilee Hall being unavailable because of heating problems) we dropped into the Swan for a pint of Directors. It's a very nice pub; five beers and open log fires. So much so that we popped in again afterwards, for another pint and an indulgent packet of pork scratchings, by which time it was deservedly busy. It was Wolverhampton CAMRA's pub of the year 2010, and their village pub of 2011.

Conversation (bemusingly) overheard on the next table:

'Where are your main markets then?'

'Walsall, mainly, then India, and the Far East.'

I like it here.

With a name like that...

What other job could he do?

I think I have come across one of the best ever examples of a person with an appropriate name for their job.

You might be aware of the sudden closure of then Tring summit owing to water loss issues. I saw an email about this yesterday, with contact details for the person in the South East Business unit with responsibility for it. His name is Lee King.

A bit of demystification

Following some of the recent comments about the use of the Single Transferable Vote system for the C&RT Council elections, I decided to go off and give myself a refresher course in order to try and demystify it and, hopefully, lay to rest a myth or two. I won't try and explain how it works, because there is a really good explanation on Wikipedia here, which, it has to be said, puts the Electoral Reform Society's website to shame.

The first myth that needs challenging is that under STV you only get one vote, whereas under FPTP (first past the post) you get as many votes as there are seats. In fact, under STV, you get to express as many preferences as you like, up to the total number of candidates. What's more, you can differentiate subtly between them, whereas under FPTP you have to pick four (if the C&RT elections were held on this basis) as if you liked them all equally, and reject all the others.

Under STV, it's true, your votes don't all count equally; your first preference carries more weight than your second preference, and so on down your list, but overall, that gives a result that more closely reflects the wishes of the electorate, and your own preferences too. And of course, under FPTP, it is perfectly possible that none of your votes will count at all, whereas under STV you can be certain that they all have weight.

Take an example in which there are ten candidates for four seats, and a total of 10,000 votes are cast. Under FPTP, you vote for Albert, Bill, Charlotte and Denise, but Gus, Henrietta, Ignatious and Jane are elected. Your four votes have all been completely wasted; you might as well not have bothered filling in the ballot paper. Furthermore, say Jane needed 800 votes to get elected (don't forget that under FPTP, especially if there is a large field of candidates, it is perfectly possible, indeed likely, that people will win a seat on the basis of a very small share of the vote), but she actually got 3000. That means that 2,200 of those votes were also wasted; they didn't count.

Under STV however, if you vote for a candidate who is eliminated because they have too few first preference votes to be elected, then your second preference vote will be counted, and so on. Likewise, if your first preference candidate is elected with votes to spare, your second preference will be counted and so on. The way in which surplus votes are redistributed varies, but with computerised counting systems it is now possible to redistribute surplus votes in proportion to the second (or subsequent) preferences expressed in all the votes counted, not just a random selection of ballot papers.

STV encourages positive voting, voting for the candidates you want to win; it makes negative and tactical voting not only difficult, but unnecessary. It militates against party (or other group) domination and is fairer to individual and independent candidates.

It is not a purely proportional system, although in a party based election, where constituencies are large enough, it will produce a reasonably proportional result, and certainly more so than FPTP, but that isn't its only, or even its primary advantage. It is its fairness between candidates, and the accuracy with which it reflects the electorate's wishes, that makes STV the best system for the C&RT Council elections.

Point of order Mr Chairman

Today we had a day out. We went to Tamworth for a HNBOC (that's the Historic Narrowboat Owners Club) committee meeting. It began at ten, with a pre-meeting to discuss media strategy and my role as press officer, with the meeting proper beginning at eleven and ending at half past five. There was a break for lunch though, and it was all very enjoyable and congenial.

One thing that was decided was that we should nominate Sue Cawson as an 'official' HNBOC candidate for the C&RT Council. This is another nomination I am more than happy to recommend. Many people outside historic boating circles will not have heard of Sue, but she has been boating solidly for decades and it is probably fair to say that no one has a better knowledge of the system and where there are problems and obstacles to navigation... Not only does she have first hand experience, but as HNBOC's navigation officer, she receives reports whenever there are issues affecting navigation, and would be another really strong and well informed voice for boaters.

So... we got back to the boats morebthan ten hours after leaving, and... both stoves were still going, Bakewell's Squirrel and Chertsey's Epping. We wondered why Willow wasn't going mad having been shut in all day, until I noticed that I'd left the bathroom window open, and the muddy pawprints on the basin and bath suggested thatbhe had in fact been coming and going at will all day.

Bugger Blogger (and vote for Alan Fincher!)

Well, Blogpress actually. It ate my post again last night... Said it had posted successfully, showed me the post... but when I go to look at the blog again, it's not there, and not saved by Blogpress either.

Anyway, what I posted last night was my endorsement of Alan Fincher's candidacy for one of the four boater seats on the C&RT Council. I know other bloggers are standing, and yet other bloggers have endorsed them on the basis of their blogs, but I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't know Alan personally, which I do, and I believe that he would be an independent minded, strong voice with great attention to detail and dogged determination to the boater's cause, with years of boating experience spread over decades and a real commitment to listen to his constituency. Not that I expct anyone to act solely on the basis of my recommendation, so have a look at his blog here and see what you think.

I'll be giving Alan my first preference vote and wish him every success.

Welcome to Willow's wonderful world 2

The Bathroom



Willow doesn't himself have much interest in the bathroom, especially as 'it doesn't even have a proper toilet you can drink out of', but he recognises the importance of providing little luxuries when it comes to recruiting and retaining high quality staff. Housekeeper Sarah is delighted with the facilities. 'This is the first boat I've ever had where you could actually have a proper shower', she enthuses. 'It feels terribly decadent'. The water is heated by the back boiler on the Squirrel stove, via a simple convection system which also runs a heated pipe through the bathroom.


Jim, Willow's general factotum and personal grooming assistant, has made a few minor adjustments, today, for example, repairing the bath taps so that the cold tap can actually be used - a necessity now that the water is getting properly hot. He has also fitted some new towel rails - Willow understands that humans can never have too many of these, and anyway, they were in the bargain bin at B&Q - a new shower curtain rail, a rail to stop bottles slipping off the shelf, and another on the ceiling from which to suspend small items of washing. Willow licks his feet and looks on indulgently at this strange necessity.

Boat bathrooms are of course notoriously difficult to photograph, and these little snaps really don't do it justice.

Terribly cosy

In the light of the somewhat extreme condensation in Chertsey's cabin, I decided that sleeping without the stove lit was not an option, no matter how mild the night - especially as mild nights are usually accompanied by damp, if not downright wet, weather. Yesterday started dry and bright, with a stiff breeze, so I got the mattress out on the cabin top, attached to various anchors at a number of points, to give it a good airing.

Meanwhile I got down to giving the cabin its first really good clean since Torksey, blacked the cold stove, washed down the paraffin-sooted walls, shook out the rugs, swept the floor, cleaned all the bowls, buckets and bins, and removed the supply of firelighting rags which were imbuing the place with rather too distinctive an odour of diesel and white spirit. Just the brass left to do. Then, yesterday afternoon I lit the stove, and have managed, so far, to keep it ticking over very slowly since. So slowly that the cabin did not get unpleasantly hot last night, but just warm and dry. Long may I manage to maintain this feat! The cabin is certainly a much more pleasant place to be now, day or night.

In a disgusting orgy of domesticity, I have spent today knitting - I started an Aran jumper for number 2 son just prior to Christmas 2010, aiming to have it finished for his birthday in February. After a number of setbacks and discouragements, culminating in unravelling it and starting again, having concluded that it was going to come out too small, I started again at the beginning of this winter. One and a bit sleeves are complete, and tonight I finished the back, so getting it to him for his birthday this year is looking a distinct possibility. Meanwhile Jim has been baking bread, now that we have a lovely little freezer to keep it in... No more medium sliced for us now!

Is taking your own toilet roll as bad as buying your own drinks?

'She's the sort of person who buys her own drinks' - a withering put-down of someone who doesn't stand their round, because, basically, they think they'll be better off if they don't; they're not planning to stay long, or they're only drinking halves, so why should they buy drinks for eveyone else when they won't get the equivalent back in return? The reason they should, of course, is that it's what you do; it's central to English (British?) pub culture. It's an acknowledgement that, in this context, you are not just a self-interested individual but part of a larger community, even if that community is just you and a couple of mates. It recognises that this isn't a one-off occasion, but part of a continuum, in which unequal contributions can be evened out over time; again, part of something bigger than the individual and the moment. It's a homage to tradition; a rite by which we identify ourselves with a particular heritage. Buying your own drinks is a certain kind of meanness which passes itself off as the opposite but's more than that; it's a stand-offishness, a refusal to fully become part of the group.

So... there's a toilet here at the yard. Not a bad one, in fact, as these things go. Not as clean as it might be, of course, but spacious and most importantly, warm. Now, when there's a toilet on the bank, a boat dweller will use it at every opportunity, to avoid too frequent filling and consequent emptying of the on board facilities. As toilets around the system vary in the level of cleanliness and facilities they offer, I always carry with me a 'toilet bag' containing among other vital accoutrements, a toilet roll and a pack of Parazone (or equivalent) wipes. Paranoid I may be, but itnmakes me happy.

The loo here is used by the people working here and other moorers, when there are any. Sometimes there's a loo roll there and sometimes there isn't. When there is, it's impossible to know who's provided it. Because sometimes there isn't one, I always take my bag with me (well, it might need a clean anyway). So, when there is a roll there, should I use that one, or my own? If I use the one that's there, then I am honour bound at some stage to provide a replacement. But if I always use my own, then I don't have to worry about it. As I thought this through, I realised that there is a real parallel with the pub scenario. I could just look out for myself, and not owe anyone anything. Or I could be part of the wider community, using, and providing, the communal resources, without worrying too much about whether it's my turn, or if I'm providing more sheets than the next person. And I realised the answer it clear - next time I must leave the roll behind when I leave.

Eight hours

... of daylight in every twenty four at this time of year. Just knowing that makes it easier to deal with, husbanding each precious minute jealously, not being caught unawares by the encroaching dusk. It makes you think, what jobs need to be done in daylight, and which can be left until after dark. It makes you realise that you shouldn't try to achieve as much in a short winter's day as you might in a long summer's one.

Now, at least, the days are getting longer, minute by minute, day by day, although the most miserable doldrums of the winter are yet to come, unrelieved by the fiery festivities of November and December. It's a long, miserable slog to March now; things improving, but imperceptibly. T.S. Eliot thought that April, with its promise of new life and hope, was the cruellest month, but I love its promise of warmth and light; the first gentle touch of the warm sun on my back. Summer, Braunston, seems so far away at this time of year, the past a barely remembered dream; the future something we dare not imagine. Yet we know that it will come; not what form it will take, or what we will be doing; not even, these days, what the weather will be like. But as long as the earth keeps turning, and stays in its orbit, the days will get longer, and summer will come again.

To market, to market

This morning we finally got around to visiting the much feted Penkridge market. It may not have been at its best or busiest this time of year, but was a trifle disappointing simply because we had been led to expect great things. Lots and lots of the sort of clothes you only see at markets; lots of work clothes and warm fleecy shirts, some hardware, one veg stall and a very big, very flash meat lorry. We decided that on the whole we would be better off carrying on getting our veg at Coopers in Brewood.

I lifted Chertsey's mattress up this morning to give it an airing and was somewhat horrified to discover just how wet it was underneath, where the foam mattress lays on the solid base of the bed flap. When Ed was here he explained how on Bakewell, he actually replaced the flap with a slatted section when using the bed regularly. I didn't want to start taking Chertsey apart like that, but it gave me an idea, so for today's project, Jim made three slatted sections that sit on top of the existing cross bed, designed and made to allow the maximum circulation of air underneath the mattress. All is now in place and tonight I will test it for comfort. The weather has been so mild that Chertsey's stove hasn't been lit for a few days, which probably didn't help the condensation situation.

Tonight, in anticipation of Chertsey's cloths finally being finished before too long, we watched 'Topcloth and Tippet', a DVD showing Atlas and Leo being clothed up, paying particular attention to the knots.

Many thanks for all the comments about the Paloma. For simplicity's sake, it will probably end up being a new Morco, but we will have a look at the Paloma man on ebay once we have a better internet connection.

Social whirl

Today we had a visit from the Moomins, Simon and Ann, who moor at Bill Fen. We had mulled wine (a special version with port and ginger wine to eke out the red left over from Christmas dinner) and buns from Jaspers bakery in Penkridge, followed by lunch at the Bridge. This pub is under new management again, and appears to be a Marstons house now, which I don't recall it being before. Sadly the Old Empire wasn't on, but that might have been a bit much at lunch, so I had Cocker Hoop. Despite being a Marstons pub, it isn't one of their chain eateries, and there was a new chef just in post. The prices were very reasonable with many main courses under £6 and the most expensive, the rump steak, at £8.90. We all agreed that it was pretty good too.

Moomin also very kindly listened to our noisy Victron and diagnosed a likely cause, told us how to get the dongle to work (by getting a later version of Ubuntu), and even downloaded for us, via his phone, the plug in we needed to play DVDs, so we then spent a happy hour this evening watching a couple of episodes of Porridge. This really does seem to have stood the test of time; I couldn't believe it was made in 1974. I appreciated things about it that I hadn't noticed first time around, like the wonderful architecture (I must look up where it was filmed), and the fact that Godber (I always had a soft spot for him; I wonder how many people can remember what they were doing when they heard that Richard Beckinsale had died? I was in a science lesson) was from the Black Country.

Una Paloma blank blank blank

When Ed visited yesterday he brought with him a spare Paloma from his shed. Although it was tatty on the outside when we got the cover off its innards looked like new, and certainly in much better condition than the leaky one we've got, so it was with high hopes that Jim set about swapping them. No easy task of course, with both gas and water connections, and the flue to line up, and the whole thing mounted with very awkwardly placed screws. On top of that, the water connections were slightly different and had to be adapted. Still, after a couple of hours it was done, and with some trepidation Jim opened the isolating valve and I switched the water pump on... to find even more water pouring out than the old one, in exactly the same place. Bugger.

It'll have to be a new one then... Deja vue here; exactly the same happened with Andante. As Palomas are no longer made, pipes will have to be moved to fit a different model. On Andante we went for a Morco, but I never liked it; it never lit straight away when you turned the tap on, but after a brief delay, caught with a little whoomph outbof the hole in the front case. I never liked that for reason. On Tarporley they have a Vaillant; until I saw it I hadn't realised that this company, who make high quality domestic boilers (I've had one and was very impressed with it) also made LPG water heaters. But I've had no luck tracking down stockists - can anyone help me with that? I imagine that a Vaillant, if I can track one down, will, like its domestic counterpart, not be cheap, but could be worth paying extra for. Failing that it looks like a Morco or a Rinnai - does anyone have any recommendations?

A visitor

Today we had our first visitor on Bakewell - the boat's previous owner, who came all this way to give us the paperwork and a spare Paloma to replace the leaky part. It's always weird going back to a boat you used to own, once someone else has taken it over, but I hope Ed felt that Bakewell was being well cared for. We were actually late for our appointment with him, as we spent too long in Midland Chandlers selecting a reading light and a new switch for the shower pump.

This afternoon we finally made the decision to throw out the very venerable gas fridge and replace it with a 240v one. I have nothing against gas fridges in principle but this particular one was very old and not in good condition. A new, decent, gas one would be rather expensive, and they do (I am told by Carl the caravanner) get through gas at a fair rate. Previously we have had 12v fridges, on Andante and on Warrior, and have been very happy with them; Andante's was bought second hand and Warrior's came with the boat. For Bakewell, the far greater cost of a 12v fridge just doesn't make sense; in the absence of an engine, the battery can only be charged through a 240v shoreline anyway, so our ability to use a 12v fridge when away from shore power would be so limited as not to be worth the extra cost; we might as well make use of the shore power directly when it's available, and do without (which we know from experience on Chertsey we can) when it isn't. So we have been down to Comet in Cannock and ordered a nice Lec fridge with a four star freezer compartment, for keeping Jim's wonderful hand made bread in, and we shall be collecting it on Monday.

Willow, by the way, has been going out and successfully coming back for a few days now, albeit only when we're around and only while it's light. The fresh air and exercise seems to have improved his appetite; inconveniently his taste for the outdoor life leads him to spend much of the night pacing about, waking Jim up, and pulling all the curtains and blinds about. Yesterday he encountered Charlie the whippet for the first time. Luckily his instinct wasn't to run, but he retreated to the gunnell (so he's already sussed what is his territory), stood his ground and hissed. Later he did make a run for it and scaled a weeping willow at warp speed, but he got himself down again without a problem, so that's another escape option open to him if need be.

Most overrated? P.D. James

Just why is Baronness Phyllis Dorothy James so highly regarded as an author of detective fiction? Her plotting is mediocre and her plots outlandish; her characters are ciphers who strain credulity and are completely unengaging, and her dialogue clunks with exposition, moralising and amateur philosophising, while her hobby horses gallop all over the page. In P.D. James world, in 2003, women wear woollen blouses, police officers discuss whether they think a couple are 'going to bed' (for someone who is so coy about sex, she mentions it frequently, mostly quite gratuitiously to the plot) and everyone has a gas fire.

Now I've got that off my chest, I'm going to see whether 'Death in Holy Orders' can possibly be as bad as 'The Murder Room'.

Meek and mild

I realised this morning that yesterday was the first Christmas day since 1984 that I spent without an offspring or two in tow. They seemed to manage ok without me.

Meanwhile, I have Willow to worry about. He went for his first outing yesterday, stalking about very cautiously, and dashing back to the boat when startled, which must be a good sign.


Today he was more adventurous and stalked further afield, but still keeping us in sight.

He had his Christmas dinner yesterday, and seemed to enjoy it. We were able to open the table out in the back end (usually a sort of office) to have a proper sit down dinner.


And then he had a nap.


Today we set to work on Chertsey. The cloths are apparently finally in the process of being made, so we need to clear the hold out to provide access all the way along each side for fitting them. So, Jim having mended the bilge pump, he finished pumping out the hold, and then we tackled the tent, or shanty town, as it had become, where Jim (and latterly Paul) had been sleeping. For 20 quids' worth from B&M bargains it has done a good job, albeit shored up with further layers of heavy duty polythene. Then we dashed back in to listen to Brain of Britain and to be horrified and depressed at the declining standards of general knowledge exhibited.

Meek and mild of course has been the weather. I wonder what will become of the hard winter that was forecast earlier in the year.

A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS

From all aboard Chertsey and Bakewell

Winter raincoat and winter warmer

It would have been better to have done it on Thursday, before yesterday's downpour, but today Jim sheathed Bakewell's cabin in heavy duty grey polythene, to keep the rain out for the rest of the winter. It should still be well enough ventilated to enable it to dry out, especially as there is (whisper it) a radiator in there, discreetly tucked behind the stove, which while it never gets quite hot, being at the far end of the system, keeps a decent background warmth, and in any case, the back cabin is well ventilated to the rest of the boat.

The heating system on Bakewell is simple but extremely effective. A back boiler on the squirrel towards the front of the boat heats a pipe that runs its whole length, culminating in that radiator, and a calorifier, so we now have constant hot water too. It's all done by gravity/convection, so requires no electricity. I'm only afraid we might get used to this soft life.

Today we picked up our Christmas dinner - a local gamey meaty treat - from the very local Whitegates Farm Shop. This looks like a brilliant place - we have popped in before and hadvsome fantastic stuff. But it will remain an occasional treat. Tonight it's another veggie/vegan recipe; one of my favourites, and loosely inspired by the steak and mushroom pudding my mother used to make (I suspect my father refused to eat kidney), only without the boiling. Or the steak.

Sausage and mushroom suet crust pie:



Fry (in an casserole dish) one chopped onion, and add six or so sausages (I like Cauldron), cut into bite sized chunks. Fry these gently until they're browned. Then add some mushrooms; I used a 500g pack of chestnut ones, cut into similar sized chunks to the sausages. Continue frying until the mushrooms start to soften. Then make the gravy. The easiest way I find to do this is to add some boiling water to the pan, just enough to covet the contents and let it come to the boil. In a cup, mix up a crumbled Oxo cube (it's ok, even the beef ones don't actually have any animal in them) and a couple of teaspoons of Bisto with cold water, then add this to the pan and stir it quickly in, keeping stirring while it thickens and comes back to the boil. You can then let it simmer a bit while you make the pastry. Oh, and add a dask or two of Henderson's relish if you can get it (thanks Adrian and Linda!)
or Worcestershire sauce if you're not too precious about the odd anchovie.

For the pastry, mix 8oz self raising flour with 4oz veg suet and a big pinch of salt, then add enough cold water to bind it together. Roll it out and shape it to fit the dish, cut a steam hole in the middle and lay it on top of the filling. Bake at mark 5 for about 45 minutes until the top is golden, and serve with steamed greens.

Welcome to my lovely home

Part 1: The Kitchen

In the first of a new series, Willow shows readers around his luxurious new floating home.



We have hardly had to do anything to the kitchen, says, Sarah, Willow's housekeeper. We have filled up the cupboards with Whiskas and Go-Cat (leaving room for a few chick peas), and have added toggles to stop the drawers flying open. In the longer term, we need to repair or replace the Paloma, which appears to have suffered frost damage while the boat was unoccupied, but the previous owner has a spare which he has promised us. We will also probably replace the fridge, which is rather ancient and unhygenic looking. Whilst we've nothing in principle against gas fridges, and on a boat without an engine they are probably a very good idea, we are considering 12v or even 240v, as I suspect that most of the time we are on the butty we will have access to shorepower; i.e. we will probably not be dragging it around on our travels. But we have the winter to consider that. None of this is of much interest to Willow, however.


The kitchen is bright and airy, with a two large windows, a houdini hatch, and a hardwood door leading into the cratch, which Willow soon hopes to be able to open for himself, as he has carefully observed that the top half opens independently. For the time being however, he prefers to observe his domain through the window.

Hot and cold

Another successful day (boring, boring) with the exception of trying to go to Penkridge market and discovering that it's held on Wednesdays and Saturdays; I don't know where we got the idea it was Thursdays. Funny place, Penkridge. Lots of hairdressers and not much soul, although there is a splendid bakery, Jaspers, where a vast array of wonderful and very reasonably priced cakes, buns and pastries (and chocolate coated flapjack) may be purchased. Other than that, I prefer Brewood.

Now it is my wont, come bedtime, to retire to Chertsey's back cabin, where, having previously lit the fire and set a kettle of water on the stove, I enjoy the ritual of washing in the handbowl, the cabin by now being marvellously warm. Last night though this proved a little too successful; the ambient temperature was so mild, and my fire so successful, that it was far too hot to go to sleep until well after midnight, and only then after lying with the doors open for a while. (Not that I am complaining about the mildness mind; far from it. And today was beautiful, and we finally got Chertsey's hold pumped out and the willow leaves swept off both boats).

Tonight I am trying a different tack. A mild night is forecast again, so I haven't lit the stove - instead I shall rely solely on Lionel the hot water bottle (in the form of a lion; rescued from a jumble sale floor for 10p and as loyal a bedmate as anyone could wish for). Of course the proof will come in the chill of the morning, but I will try and toughen up (I was once described by an old lady with whom I worked as a 'hot house flower' and I don't think it was meant as a compliment).

The whole of Bakewell is tidy now, and there are still some empty cupboards! Hooray! And as tonight's impromptu plant based dinner was such a success I couldn't resist photographing it, and here it is.


Spinach and chick pea curry:
Fry two sliced onions until soft, add two dessertspoons of curry paste (Madras in this case) and a bag of spinach, roughly chopped. Stir in a drained tin of chickpeas. Cook gently until spinach has gone all soggy. Stir in three quarters of a tub of left over hummous (optional). Serve with brown rice and a drizzle of tamarind sauce (Smethwick impulse purchase).

Willow notices the outside world

Another very successful day today as we are really starting to get sorted out and settled in. The problem with the Victron was nothing to do with damp after all; it seems as if the unit was detecting a drop in the 240 voltage and trying to switch to the inverter, but because the battery was flat, this was setting off the alarm and resulting in the fluctuating voltage in the boat. Whether this was a genuine problem with the 240 supply (we were at the time plugged into our neighbour's rather Heath Robinson arrangement) or a fault with the unit, I don't know, because now the battery is charged it might be doing it every five minutes and we wouldn't notice. I thought there was something wrong with it again this afternoon, and was all set to panic, but it turned out that the bulb had gone in the lamp I was trying to switch on... Never forget to consider the simplest explanation!

This morning began with a visit to the wonderful Kelsalls, builders merchant and ironmongers extraordinaire, for various supplies, and then Jim finished building his bed, immediately creating masses of storage space underneath it, which meant that we could unpack even more bags. I also shipped a lot of my stuff across to Chertsey. Then we got some pictures up, and I set about the Christmas decorations, viz. a bunch of holly with some LED lights and some baubles on it. Very trendy even if I do say so myself.


(grainy iPad photo)

Willow, mainwhile, seems to have settled in straight away and got down to some serious sleeping. I don't know whether it's the trauma of the journey of just delight at having got the undivided attention of two humans, but he's a different cat; docile and affectionate... We're keeping him in pro tem, partly so that he gets used to it, but also so as to avoid a run-in with the whippet currently living next door. I'm not sure who would come off worse but suspect it might not be pretty. However, it was only a matter of time before he noticed that there is a world out there, so we are very assiduously keeping the doors shut for now.

Farewell to Newhaven

I moved to Newhaven on December 13th 1986. It was to be twenty five years and six days before I left, at midday today. More than half my life spent in a dying town. When I moved there Newhaven had a thriving fishing fleet; a busy freight port; a number of major manufacturers, including the Parker Pen company; a sandy beach, and, in the town centre, two butchers, two greengrocers, a wet fish shop, and a marvellous rambling independent hardware shop/ironmongers. Not one of those still exists.

So, today was the day we finally packed up and left, pausing only to spend forty pounds on a new travelling basket for Willow, having got tne old one out and realised that he would barely squeeze into it, let alone have a reasonably comfortable journey. So it was off to the new out of town pet emporium to be fleeced for a couple of bits of moulded plastic and a metal grille... because he's worth it.

He complained a bit on the journey, but not much, and once we got onto Bakewell, immediately identified the armchair nearest the stove, settled down in it, and hasn't moved since.

As for us, well, it was dark when we arrived so our activities were somewhat limited. Jim began by dismantling the bunk beds in what is to be his room - a perfect 6'6 x 4' - discovering in the process that they had probably been assembled first and then had the room built round them. A screwdriver proved inadequate to the task and a saw had to be deployed, resulting in more firewood.

The other significant task was to plug in the 240v landline, whichnwe have never used before. We used the inverter last month when we were moving Bakewell, and the 240 circuit seems fine, but there seems to be some sort of problem with the landline/charger, which we suspect is down to damp, the electric cupboard being located against the wet back cabin bulkhead. So it's been an evening by torchlight, but both Bakewell and Chertsey's back cabin are now lovely and warm and things will hopefully soon all be dry and aired.

Tomorrow we go to Brewood, as locals this time rather than visitors, to set up a poste restante, and to find the vegetable shop that Futurest blogged about a few weeks ago. Then we will investigate the electrics, and unpack and sort stuff out. Once it's tidy, I might even get out a few Christmas decorations.

Looks like I get two votes!

Thanks to Alan Fincher for tracking down this rather obscure FAQ about the forthcoming C&RT Council elections on the Waterscape site.

Unlike some other bloggers, I was aware that the elections were being conducted by the Electoral Reform Society (it does say say so on the invitation to stand which was sent out a couple of weeks ago) and having participated in many elections organised by them in the past, I have no worries that the election will be fair and well organised.

I am also pleased to see that the election will be conducted by Single Transferable Vote. Back when I was a member of the Liberal Party and the Electoral Reform Society, I recall that our rallying cry was somewhat slow to catch on: What do we want? Single Transferable Vote in Multi Member Constituencies! When do we want it? Well, once the House of Commons has been reformed, constituency boundaries redrawn, and the voting punlic educated....

I am not as pleased as might be expected to see this:
'... For fairness and practicality, the election is on the basis of one vote per licence.' People who jointly own a boat should '... agree how your vote is used with your partner'

In the interests of practicality, maybe; it is hard to see how anything else could be done. But fairness? That airy statement about agreeing with your partnerbis far too glib - partners often disagree about many things, and this may call forth conflicting personal loyalties. And what about shared ownership boats, where there are not just two partners, but a dozen or more.

And this seems to confirm what I had wondered about - as the holder of two licences, it would appear that I (and indeed Alan Fincher!) get two votes. This of course would far more easily be overcome, by limiting any individual licence holder to one vote.

All this earnest discussion, of course, presupposes that the Council itself, and the four 'boaters' on it, will have a significant role. We probably might just as well argue about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

Vote vote vote!

So, returning to the subject of boaters' representatives on the C&RT Council, what would I, as a voter, be looking for in a potential representative?

Well, first off, they would need to be a boater - not just a boat owner or a licence holder, although those are the minimal conditions for standing - but a boater who gets out there and boats, over a wide and varied area, throughout the year, giving them a good overview of the practicalities of negotiating the system.

Second, ideally they would be doing this in a full length boat, and a reasonable deep drafted one too. Only then will they have a real understanding of the issues affecting the full range of boaters - moorings near bridgeholes, lack of dredging, falling water levels - for which full length, deep drafted boats (like what I have got) provide an early warning system for everyone.

Third, they should be canal boaters. I like rivers as much as the next person (well, as long as they're the Trent), but rivers, on the whole, look after themselves, or, where they do require intervention, it is generally obvious what form this should take. Canals and their infrastructure however are wholly man made and frequently require decisions to be made that have far reaching effects. My ideal representative will love canal boating because of its unique nature and will be committed to respecting and retaining its industrial history and heritage, rather than trying to turn it into a linear nature park.

Fourth - although really this is a sine qua non - they should be an effective political operator, with a good understanding of how organisations, funding bodies and government work, the skills to maximise their impact on behalf of boaters and the ability to punch above their weight.

Finally (for now) they should hold the view that the waterways of Britain are first and foremost there for navigation. In the case of canals, they exist first, second, third, fourth and ad infinitum, for navigation. Fishermen, walkers, dogs etc etc, are all welcome to piggy back on this, but never, ever at the cost of compromising that primary purpose to any degree. It falls to the boaters' representatives to defend this position, because no one else will.

So, what are you looking for in your reps? And don't forget to enter the 'guess the length of the ballot paper sweepstake'. I wouldn't mind some suggestions as to what a suitable prize might be either.

Election time!

The current hot topic in the boating blogosphere and the virtual Canalworld is the forthcoming election of four boater representatives to the Council of the new charity, the Canal & River Trust (very important, that ampersand, because other wise it would form the acronym CART, and that would never do).

Now the first thing to say, is no, I will not be standing; I think there will be plenty of worthy candidates without me plunging back into the murky and shark infested waters of electoral politics. My experience thereof though does lead me to wonder about a couple of points. The first is that with only ten proposers needed for a nomination, no deposit required, and approximately 30,000 people eligible to be candidates, the ballot paper is likely to be a very long one.

The second thought is slightly more complicated and intractable. In most elections, candidates are limited, in the interests of fairness, to a single manifesto statement (in this case, a very brief one of 150 strictly enforced and very precisely counted words). In internal elections in which I have participated (for example, party selection processes) any additional attempts to communicate with the electorate were deemed grounds for disqualification. In local and national elections, this is effectively imposed by very strict limits on candidates' spending - the exceeding of which can not only lead to disqualification, but a prison sentence.

Limiting candidates' communications with the electorate can be controversial - for example, in that internal party election I argued (unsuccessfully) that the ability to communicate effectively and garner votes was an important factor in selecting a candidate, and candidates for selection should be allowed to demonstrate this. But the counter arguments also carry weight: limiting everyone to the same number of words or the same level of spending means that no one should gain an unfair advantage from being able to afford to print more leaflets, or having friends in the press.

What happens to this principle however in the internet age? The prospective candidates whom I am already aware of are either high profile bloggers or prolific contributors to Canalworld, or both - that, by definition, is why I am aware of them - whereas there will be other candidates whose names I shall see for the first time on the ballot paper, and about whom I shall know no more than they can express in 150 words. Those I do already know, I happen to think highly of, and will very likely vote for. But does that mean that the other, lower profile, candidates have been unfairly disadvantaged?

Disadvantaged they will have been, without a doubt, by not having a pre-existing base of support and established platform to communicate their message; but is that unfair? Or might we say that someone who has already proven their ability at communicating with a large number of people, and who has been and will be in contact with a broad range of fellow boaters, is by virtue of this likely to be a better representative?

In the meantime, shall we have a sweepstake on how many candidates there will be for the four boater rep. positions? I'm going to pluck a figure out of thin air and go for thirty eight. Leave me your guess in the comments, I'll record them all, and the one nearest the actual figure gets a prize of some sort.

Still in limbo

Or Newhaven; there's not a lot of difference. Slipping precipitously down the charts too I see, no doubt as a direct result of nothing exciting happening. Suspect it might well be Sunday now before we make it up to the boats; we could be finished here before then, but I have to be in Brighton on Saturday night so there's not much point in going up and then coming back so soon, so it looks like another few nights on son's sofa. It does feel like being in limbo though; not anywhere, just between places; life on hold, justvwaiting for something to happen.

There and back again

In case you thought I'd disappeared, here is the post I should have written on Thursday. Yes, we did take the van up to Stretton, we unpacked it, and we came back - still a bit of work to do on the house but it's nearly sorted now.

We transferred everything we had brought onto Bakewell with the exception of two chairs, neither of which would go through the door, let alone down the side corridor, so they came home again, along with lots of empty boxes (although we didn't get them all unpacked by any means), three mattresses, three Ikea stools and a drop leaf table which came with the boat. The two-foot wide bunk beds will be dismantled, and their six by four foot room entirely filled with a bed, the base of which has in turn been removed from what is essentially the back end of the hold, leaving an open space which will be our study/office. All will become clearer when I finally get some photos taken.

Thank you toneveryone for your good wishes... I feel a bit of a con merchant for not actually having gone yet, but it will only be a few days now I promise...

Tomorrow's the day!

When we shall at least be moving the van, loaded with stuff, up to the boats. The idea is then to come back, drop off the van, finish off whatever needs doing, and then finally return in the car, with anything we have forgotten, to Chertsey and Bakewell. And that will be it; the great shift, the leap into the unknown, made - as to what happens then, we shall have to wait and see.

So when are you going?

It's a subject of not much interest to not very many people, but a few have been kind enough to ask, sadly rather than hopefully I'm sure. And it's getting to the stage where people have asked more than once... The answer, which isn't meant to sound rude or glib, is when we're ready. As soon as we're ready, that is, as we are already a fair bit behind the schedule I dreamed of back in the summer. Taking four or so weeks out to go to Retord didn't help, although it was well worth it. After all, I can turn out a kitchen cupboard any time, but how often do I get the chance to get stuck in Morse Lock?

We are getting there. We are definitely making progress and it won't be long now. The van is hired until next Friday, but... we can extend this one day at a time. We hired from Choice, by the way. They were not the cheapest of all, but they were the cheapest of the firms that had a usable website and someone helpful on the end of the phone, and they weren't the dearest by any means.

So, apologies to the Moomins and the Ducks who were hoping to visit next weekend, but I don't think we'll be quite ready to receive guests by then... Soon, though, soon...