CHERTSEY

BOATS, BRIDGES, BOILERS ... IF IT'S GOT RIVETS, I'M RIVETTED
... feminist, atheist, autistic academic and historic narrowboater ...
Likes snooker, beer, tea, rivets and solitude, and is strangely fascinated by the cinema organ.
And there might be something about railways.
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Wednesday, 30 July 2014

Sticking point


This is the bit of Chertsey - and the only bit - that caused us to get stuck in two of the Stratford canal locks, 45 and 47.

You can see it here just to the right of the muddy patch, in line with the rearmost cross plank.

We will shave a bit off it in the hope that it won't cause so many problems in future, there or elsewhere. Overall it was good to see that Chertsey is good and straight with very few lumps and bumps. Our difficulties at Morse lock on the Chesterfield last year were more likely due to depth than width, with hindsight. Napton and Hurleston still to try!

Tuesday, 29 July 2014

Pretty tight


The southern Stratford canal is very pretty...


And its locks are tight - lengthways as well as widthways.


Pretty...


Tight...


Monday, 28 July 2014

A quick transformation

Here is Chertsey looking smart (well, as smart as you can look with window cloths in) on display in the arm at Braunston...


... shortly before we removed the cloths, dropped the top planks down onto the cross planks, took the stands out and replaced them with boxes, removed the deckboard, put the top planks back on the boxes and clothed it all back up again, far less tidily, with enthusiastic help from the Herbies' friend Rick.

This was all part of our cunning plan for getting through the low bridges of the southern Stratford Canal. The bridges are not only low, but narrow - they have no towpath so are only a boat's width wide. One of them, we were warned, was especially narrow, and more worryingly, narrowed sharply at a height that would be well above the gunnels of a modern boat, but which might catch the sides of Chertsey's very high fore end.


To try to reduce the chances of this happening, we made the decision to acquire some extra ballast in the front. Thus the Sunday parade saw us pause alongside Southern Cross and transfer across a tonne of coal in what was surely record time (definitely a record for us, anyway). With the invoice in the ticket drawer, we were on our way in minutes, fore end lower by some inches, and arse end correspondingly raised, with the propellor burbling away merrily.

So you don't suffer too much suspense, I will tell you now that we made it through the bridge (58) in question. On arrival at Stratford I mused that before going out onto the river, it might be an idea to shift the coal back to the back end of the hold, to give the prop a fighting chance of engaging with the water. This was not terrifically well received by Jim, but to his great credit, and with the help and encouragement of Holland's Ian, he did shift a good proportion of it, with the result, I think, that Chertsey is now as well ballasted as it has been for a long time.

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Brightening up dark corners

I didn't buy any new shinies at Braunston this year, though a purchase or two was made in Stratford (which I fear I have omitted to photograph, but all will be revealed eventually)


However, I did polish up the existing brass (of course) and here it is looking a treat.


You can also see the plates that were part of my Christmas present from Jim last year. They all have some sort of connection - one is Droitwich, where we went for the HNBC gathering in 2012; one the Houses of Parliament (I have lately taken to coming home from work and flopping on the sofa with my knitting, in front of live coverage on BBC Parliament. I am a fan of Deputy Speaker Lindsay Hoyle.), and local ones Brighton, Hastings and Portsmouth (where I once worked). Long time readers may recall that I once professed a hatred of lace plates, so why have they grown on me after all? Put simply, I suppose, they serve a purpose - like everything else in a back cabin. The brighten up a dark corner where nothing else really could.


At Christmas I also received a new (old) headlight for Chertsey - a thirties CAV headlamp. Having finally tracked down a bulb, Jim fitted it before we left for Braunston, on the bracket that he had already made. It was tested in Braunston tunnel and did an excellent job.


Tuesday, 22 July 2014

When it rained on our parade

Now I've sorted the photos out, hopefully a few retrospective - illustrated! - holiday posts.

The weather was on the whole magnificent. When it did rain, it was good enough to do so at night (and on at least one night served well in keeping disruptive local youth - yes, in Stratford - away.

There was one exception though. Braunston, Saturday June 28th, on the morning parade. The only time I have been wetter while fully clothed was when I fell in at Droitwich.

Thanks to Sarah of Algonquin for the photo

Never mind. It was a good opportunity to don my sou'wester in front of an appreciative audience and demonstrate general indomitability.

Because it was a Grand Union year, we got to tie up in the Arm, where it was still raining.

We'd feared we might be disturbed by the loud music from the beer tent, but avoided this by going to the pub.... Actually, I think we went to the Nelson with the Herbies on Wednesday, and the Boat House with the Owls on Friday, so perhaps we did go to the beer tent on Saturday... Yes, we did - crowded in to get out of another downpour and by sheer luck managed to get a table near the front. And the music, though quite loud, was worth listening to.

When we got back, the rain had just about stopped.

Friday, 11 July 2014

Tonight's view from the stern end




In Worcester, showing the fenders not yet properly replaced following their forced rearrangement on the Lower Avon.

Worcester also has good charity shops.

I had not expected to like the Severn - even Nicholsons, which likes everything, describes it as featureless. But, so far at least, it has charmed me. It helps that it is wide, so the ubiquitous trees are not overwhelming. It has flowers, relieving the monochrome verdancy, even if they are mostly the hated interloping Himalayan balsam.

It even has some aggregate traffic (I'm told that this has now ceased on the Trent).

So the Severn, so far, is a hit. If there is a pattern emerging regarding my riparian preferences, it seems to be that I like 'em wide.

Onwards to Stourport tomorrow and all being right with the world, supper in the Holly Bush.

Oh, and here's last night's view (possibly this morning's)




Thursday, 10 July 2014

Just right

Tewkesbury has got it just right. A genuinely historic town, proud of its history, but living with and in it, without being a theme park.

Some good charity shops too.



Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Turn, turn and turn again

Apologies, I have been most remiss in not posting. I will try to catch up, with photos, later. Tonight finds us in Tewkesbury. We left Stratford yesterday morning and made good time to Evesham, where we spent last night. A strange town, not what I expected, but perhaps I should have done, given its main industry. Yesterday went well, though the weather was changeable. We were warned that we would have to descend Evesham lock backwards, which we did, aided by a rather splendid female lockkeeper in a polka dot dress. We knew too that we would have also to come down Chadbury lock backwards, which was our first lock this morning. What we didn't know was that we would have to repeat the feat at both Nafford and Strensham. I have got very good at turning round in weir streams. In Evesham we could only get down at all backwards; in the other three it was a question of getting the gate open once down.

Today we have also had a broken gear linkage, fortunately when approaching a lock rather than turning round in a weir stream, and, annoyingly, unshipped the rudder in the process of mooring. As it has been rather a trying day, I am feeding Jim up in Wetherspoons before he attempts to right that in the morning.

The Avon has lots of trees.



Tuesday, 1 July 2014

Made it!

For now I will just paste in the post I have just put on CWF -

'Chertsey is currently tied up below lock 50 on the south Stratford - so we made it!

Bridge 58 was not a problem; we got through easily. We did take it very very slowly, dead square, and the ballast in the front *might* have helped. Apparently this bridge has received attention from the local canal society and IWA since 2012 and has been restored to something like its proper dimensions.

The ballast may have helped also at lock 40 where the wing wall does come in a bit but we got out without any trouble.
In lock 42 we wriggled our way down but got out with no problem.

We got stuck in locks 45 and 47. In both cases it was at the bottom and on what appears to be Chertsey's widest spot, the top gaurd on the starboard side adjacent to the rearmost crossplank. In lock 45 this was just below a widening of the lock wall. We could have flushed it out except we couldn't get the gate open as I couldn't move back. So we refilled it a bit, held the boat back, emptied it, opened the gate and flushed out.

47 was trickier as the sticking point was higher above the waterline in the lock. We got over that by Jim jumping down onto the port side, though I guess any moveable ballast would have done.

Lots of CRT volunteers, only one of whom opened the top paddles, chucking the boat around and bashing the rudder against the cill.

Most thanks to Ian on Holland whose experience and quiet authority saved the day.'

Apologies to all those willing volunteers who would have turned out later in the week. We didn't expect to get here so quickly, and having done so thought we would try as soon as possible so that we could call out reinforcements if necessary. Look forward to seeing some of you at the weekend though!

Monday, 30 June 2014

Queens of Hatton

Two big boats, two blokes on bikes, and two women who can steer in perfect accord = Hatton heaven! Two hours fifty without even feeling like we were hurrying.
We left Blue Lias at 0700 and are now tied up three locks down the Stratford canal, where we arrived at 1745, having travelled most of the way with Tina and Ian on the josher Holland.

Very quick update

Sorry for the silence... sometimes you just don't feel like getting the iPad out at the end (or even the middle) of the day. Had a lovely sunny relaxing weekend at Foxton last weekend, then a leisurely run to Braunston and a few more sunny daysnat Braunston before the weekend started. A lowish key Braunston. It rained heavily on Saturday and I got soaked in the parade. Yesterday was nicer, with the Herbies playing on the deck. We sought advice about getting to Stratford and have decided we have to try - lots of people want to know how we get on! So on Sunday we dropped thenplanks before the parade, put a ton of coal in the fore end during it, and have borrowed a blue barrel from Fenny. Last night we filled it and our tanks with water at Blue Lias, having left Braunston at 3.30.



Wednesday, 18 June 2014

Holiday plans

The start of the Big Trip approaches at last!

The trip itself is dependent on almost split second timing, but with stops and festivities built in. The plan is this...

On Friday I have a work meeting at the British Library, so that will be handy as it takes me half way (in terms of time; a lot further than half way in terms of distance) back to Newhaven, so I will then go up with Jim in the car to Foxton, to rejoin Chertsey. Once we've unpacked the car, Jim will take it to Stretton to await our return there and come back to Foxton by train and bus. We plan to spend this weekend enjoying the Foxton Locks Festival and meeting up with the Herbies before departing for Braunston. The following weekend (27/28/29) will of course be spent at the Historic Narrow Boat Rally at Braunston, but we have to leave sharpish as we are due in Stratford upon Avon for the River Festival on Friday 4th. We'll be making the journey there by canal, but when we leave it will be by river - our (but not Chertsey's) first time on the Avon and on most of the Severn. When we get to Stourport we will stop to enjoy the delights of the Holly Bush, before continuing via the Staffs & Worcs and finally the Shroppie to Stretton.  If I've Canalplanned this correctly, it's 171 miles and 149 locks, six tunnels and one major aqueduct (which I have a lovely photo of Chertsey traversing circa 1970).

The first week's travel will be very leisurely; the second less so! Hopefully we will be accompanied for part of the way by Herbie, and for another part by Bernard with Enterprise (in case we get stuck in one of those narrow bridgeholes...). New territory includes the Avon, the Severn, the southern Stratford canal and Stratford itself.

So far I fear we have not managed to secure an organ for the hold. But at least we will be there, fifty years after Chertsey's pioneering appearance at the IWA Festival of Boats and Arts in 1964.

Tuesday, 10 June 2014

Orange and date cake

I fancied baking on Saturday when it was pouring with rain, but I didn't fancy going out. So I came up with this rather gorgeous vegan variation on Delia Smith's 'marmalade cake'.

You will need:
8 oz self raising flour
4 oz marg
4 oz caster sugar
grated rind of a large orange
heaped dessertspoonful of marmalade
1 teaspoonful orange juice (possibly not vital; the original recipe has vinegar!)
6 fluid oz milk (soya works fine)
4 oz chopped dates
generous teaspoonful demerara sugar.

I did it all in the Magimix, but the theory is this:

Rub together flour and marg. Stir in caster sugar, orange rind, then marmalade. Gradually add soya milk and then orange juice. Finally (especially if using Magimix) stir in dates.

Pour/scrape into a lined 2lb loaf tin and sprinkle the demerara sugar on top. Bake for about an hour at mk4/180 until you can poke something sharp into the middle and it doesn't come out gooey.

It's rather crumbly at first but firms up a bit (and the crust softens) if you keep it for a day in an airtight box. I kept it in the fridge as I thought it might be prone to mould, but then I ate it so that became academic.

Really, well worth a try. I thought it was lovely and it doesn't scream 'vegan' (not that there's anything wrong in that of course, but sometimes the most appalling stuff gets passed around in the name of vegan cake and you're supposed to make allowances - with this, like Kath/Carrie's banana cake, you certainly don't need to.)

Monday, 2 June 2014

Random record

Randomness is a great aid when one is paralysed by trivial choices. I often enlist an online random number generator to, for example, choose which CD to put on. The day before yesterday it selected the Tom Robinson Band compilation 'Winter of 89' which I'd almost forgotten I had. Being a rather old and probably inferior CD, it skipped alarmingly on 'Atmospherics' but other than that it was a lovely bit of time travel back to my not very misspent youth (although I did miss the last train home after going to the TRB 10th anniversary reunion at the 100 Club in 1987 and ended up rather embarassingly getting a lift home from Lewes in a police car). I still have the T-shirt!



Last night I enjoyed a compilation of Elizabethan anthems and organ music. However, the system cannot be relied on not to occasionally throw up some late Scott Walker, which as everyone knows, is only for decoration. Tonight I could be listening to 'The Drift', but despite having bought it when it came out, I haven't quite gathered the mental strength to actually play it yet.

Monday, 12 May 2014

Looking over Ladybower

That was the title of this weekend's walk, and here we are doing just that.

This week's walk was a bit of a contrast to the previous two.

For a start, the weather was very different - far more bracing, with frequent heavy showers, wind, and occasional horizontal rain.

Secondly, the scenery was different too; heather moorland for the most part, in contrast to the green pastures and twinkling waters of earlier walks.


We set off from (in not necessarily in) Hope and started with a fairly serious climb up towards Win Hill. Skirting the very summit, we stumbled and paddled our way down the other side, where the rocky footpath through the heather had become a brook.

We agreed to curtail the planned walk slightly on account of the weather, and finished off in the very welcoming Woodroffe Arms back in Hope.

Wednesday, 7 May 2014

A walk in the woods


This week's walk, on Saturday, was titled 'The hidden bluebells of the Peak' - hidden they may have been, but we tracked them down, on a splendid walk taking us fro the Grouse Inn at Grindleford via Grindleford station, through Rough Wood, the Derwent Valley Heritage Way, Hazelwood, Mill Wood, Stoke Ford, Eyam Moor, Froggatt and back to the Grouse for a very well earned pint. The walk was nine miles, but with quite a serious climb at the end.

With much of it on narrow rocky footpaths, opportunities for photostops were even more limited.


The weather was fabulous

And here we are having lunch

We were accompanied by three dogs. Wolfie was my favourite.


Monday, 5 May 2014

Last wonder

For some reason Blogger isn't letting me comment on my own blog, so in orr not to keep Halfie and Alan in suspense any longer, the last (and arguably least famous) of Rolt's seven wonders of the waterways is the Burnley Embankment on the Leeds-Liverpool. Which I haven't seen either.

The one out of the seven which I have visited - and indeed traversed - is the Standedge Tunnel.



Sunday, 4 May 2014

One out of seven

How many of Rolt's 'seven wonders of the waterways' can you name without looking them up? Shockingly, I've only visited one of the seven. Must do better.



Wednesday, 30 April 2014

Proxy peregrine pets

I don't know why my employer advertises this webcam on the staff homepage if they want us to do any work.


Tuesday, 29 April 2014

A walk in the park

On Sunday I went out with the Ramblers for a second time. This was a slightly unusual walk as it was a 'hen' walk for one of the walkers who is marrying a fellow walker next month, and it culminated in a tea party in Baslow village hall - very kind of Heather to have a total stranger along.


I entered into the spirit by wearing something pink, as requested, but didn't go as far as some who were kitted out with flowers, feather boas and glittery hats (but thankfully no illuminated plastic penis headwear, as I saw once on a train to, where else,  Brighton). It was a serious walk for all that, nearly ten miles with some reasonable hills. The route was described as Baslow - Chatsworth Park - Carlton Lees - Rowley - Manners Wood - New Piece Wood - Baslow, for those of you to whom that means something (I just had to go and look it up again as I have no memory for places at all). Quite a bit of it was within the Chatsworth estate and we saw two sorts of deer as well as plenty of lambs. And bluebells.

The weather was much better than forecast. The only trouble with these serious walkers is that there's barely time to stop and take any photos, and you have to remind yourself to take notice of the view.


Monday, 28 April 2014

Musical interlude

If this works, that is.

Kath and Neil (nb Herbie) on hammer dulcimer and mandolin respectively accompanied by Chertsey on PD2.

Sunday, 27 April 2014

Desmond

After the tat auction, the highlight of the Foxton weekend had to be the Sunday night quiz. In order to avoid entering a competition there was no chance of winning, Jim volunteered for bar duty, while I - with the more modest ambition of Not Coming Last - put together a crack team of (former and sort-of) engineers and seasoned boaters who had just the slight disadvantage of not being steeped in history.

These biennial quizzes, viciously compiled by Peter of Stanton, focus on recognising obscure places and knowing obscure facts, and, this time, on being able to do big sums. Well, that should have given us an advantage at any rate! The interval question asked how many lockfuls of water were lost to evaporation in a day on a typical pound of the Oxford canal. Dimensions and evaporation rates were provided and the boys set about with their slide rules to calculate the total volume lost. This took quite a long time and they came up with different answers, none of which were very helpful as we had no idea of the official capacity of 'a lockful'. Meanwhile I, while completely fazed by the sums, suggested a much simpler process of calculation which would yield a depth in a lock rather than a cubic capacity. This turned out to be 1.5m which it seemed a ptty fair bet was half a lock (it was fortunately multiple choice) and so the answer proved.

Moments of glory for me were recognising Drakeholes tunnel (Adrian and Linda will be pleased) and identifying the head of navigation of the Chesterfield, though I couldn't for the life of me recall the name of the (Norwood) tunnel. Less glorious (also in the 'terminal' round) was when I recognised a photo of Sheffield Basin, aka Victoria Quays, which was part of the question, and bounced up and down in my chair going I know this one! I know this one! And one of my fellow team members said 'it's Leeds...' so confidently that I went 'oh all right then' and wrote down Leeds. It was Sheffield of course. However, this didn't make any difference to the final rankings.

My ambition had been not to come last. After the first round, this was indeed our position, but we climbed steadily (and then dropped back a bit) to finish third from bottom, with a score of 67 out of 120. To salvage even more pride I roughly calculated that this was not just a pass, but a 2:2. Hooray for The Bewildebeests!



Saturday, 26 April 2014

Sugar

I bought some demerara sugar a while ago in my local Spar. They only had one brand: Silver Spoon. I was sceptical at the time, but I didn't have my glasses, and I wanted to tick every item off my list, so I bought it.

This morning I put on my glasses and read the whole packet; the recipe for crunchy gingerbread men and all. Nowhere does it say 'produce of'. I thought every food product had to state where it originated from? I looked twice but it still didn't. My fears were pretty much confirmed.

In short, this is not (what I would consider) genuine demerara; i.e. raw cane sugar, but coloured and flavoured white sugar. I know this because Silver Spoon proudly proclaim on their website that theirs is 'the only sugar grown in Britain'. And that means it's not cane, because sugar cane doesn't grow in cold soggy Britain, but beet sugar, and it also means that it's heavily refined, whatever it may look like, because otherwise it would taste of beet.

Now, I know that no sugar is actually good for you, and to me that means that if I am going to use it, I want it to be worth it. I want the best stuff, with real flavour, not an artificial substitute. And then I started reading about the sugar refining process, and I was even more certain.

While genuine unrefined cane sugar has undergone very little processing, white sugar emerges from a process involving phosphoric acid and calcium hydroxide (yes I know there's phosphoric acid in Coke, that's why it dissolves your teeth and kills germs). The process requires a lot of heat too. It then has to have molasses or even just caramel colouring added back to make brown or 'demerara' sugar.

I have a slightly more than passing interest in this subject, because my late Uncle Woodie worked on a sugar plantation in Jamaica; I think his family owned it. He only talked to us about it once, but it was fascinating. He told us how the cane was cut with a machete; the thick hard stem was cut at an angle and you had to know what you were doing. One worker stood in the wrong place and the cut section slid down and its edge sliced his foot off (I/he may be exaggerating slightly with the 'off' but who knows).

And of course there is a tenuous waterways connection. One of the last four remeining sugar refineries in Britain, producing beet sugar to be sold as Silver Spoon, is located in my favourite waterways town, and locals often wonder at my choice, citing the smell that emerges from it. I can only say that so far, I haven't been at the right time of year, or with the wind in the right direction to experience it.

Expand your knowledge today with interesting Wikipedia articles on sugar cane and sugar refining.



Friday, 25 April 2014

Balls

Many people who know me are surprised to discover that I am a big fan of snooker. I started watching Pot Black as a child, and the course of my life might have been quite different had I spent more time revising for my A Levels and less watching the 1983 World Championship. Back in those days my favourite player was the exciting young Steve Davis. I'm not sure when (or how, really) he acquired a reputation for being boring; when he first arrived on the scene he was a breath of fresh air, the first of a new generation, and brought a combination of potting and tactical skills that possibly hadn't previously been seen in one player.

Given that I have so little time for most sport, what is it that makes snooker different? It took me a while to work it out, but I think the answer is very simple. With most games, as a spectator, you can only appreciate the action in retrospect. As soon as it happens, it's over. Snooker however gives the audience the delights of anticipation, thinking alongside the player in a way that just isn't possible with faster moving sports, nor in games like golf where you can't see an overview of the field of play.

Over the twelve or so years I didn't have a TV, my snooker viewing went into abeyance, so now I'm hooked again I really notice the cahnges that have taken place. None of them really seem to be for the better - although I suppose that overall one should be pleased that it has changed relatively recently.

The first is the players, who seem, to a far greater extent than previously, to be a series of unprepossessing clones. Sometimes it's difficult to take an interest in the outcome of a match because both players are as bland as each other. It doesn't help that they are also nearly all so young. I have transferred my allegiance to Ronnie O'Sullivan, one of the few of today's players who was on the scene when I last watched, because both his age and his character make him stand out - and his game is a joy to watchmof course.

Secondly, sponsorship. Snooker has always been heavily sponsored - Benson and Hedges, Embassy - but 'waistcoat' sponsorship is a new one on me. The shocking thing is how tacky it is - crude badges clumsily attached like a child's 25 metre swimming badge sewn to his trunks. Given that the players' entire waistcoats appear to be provided by the sponsors (surely that many people couldn't spontaneously choose the same shade of pink satin lining voluntarily), I'm surprised that the sponsors' names and messages aren't directly embroidered on. This has clearly served to take another chunk of individuality out of the game - Doug Mountjoy's ruffles and Kirk Stevens' white suit would find no place in today's game, and that's a shame. I was however pleased to note that in the UK Championships (but sadly not the World) they had resurrected the wearing of ordinary ties for the afternoon sessions and reserving evening dress for the evening, as is right and proper, and helps add to the sense of occasion.

Thirdly, the appearance of female referees is, on the face of it, a very welcome development (female players would be even better but I fear the days that might have been possible have passed). However. The female referees are not at all like the male referees. They are not elderly, greying, or paunchy. They are glamourous, coiffed and heavily made up. This does not seem much of a blow for equality, to be honest, and it is hard to rebut the charge that in their current form, they are distracting. This is not because they are female, but it only applies to the females. And that's a shame too.

Finally, in some ways the biggest change, and the one I find hardest to understand and indeed to countenance. The application of the 'miss rule'. It used to be that if a player was snookered, and failed to hit the ball he needed to, he was penalised by giving away points. His opponent could put him in to play again, if they felt this would be to their advantage, and if a snooker was gained as a result of a foul, the oppenent would be given a free ball. Very, very, rarely the referee would declare a miss if he felt that in his professional judgement the player had not made a real effort or had missed deliberately. In such a case, the balls are replaced as they were before the miss and the fouling player has to take the shot again. I think I saw this about four times in all the years I was watching. Now however, a miss seems to be declared literally every time a player misses, even when it's clear they've made a real effort to play the shot millimetre perfect. The crime now seems to be not deliberately missing, but not taking a sufficient risk with regard to subsequent positioning. The balls can be replaced and the shot retaken half a dozen times, giving points away to the opponent every time. This seriously interrupts the flow of the game, and undermines the unstated but central tenet of tha game, that of playing the balls where they lie, and taking them, good or bad, as you find them. It also seems to me to be a dangerous move, in that it is tacitly accusing players of trying to cheat, to obtain an unfair advantage by not playing to the best of their ability. Snooker is a game that prides itself on gentlemanly behaviour - one of the commentators said last night that, along with golf, it is the only sport in which players will routinely declare a foul against themselves, even if the referee hasn't seen it. Treating players as potential cheats can only undermine that.

Anyway, I'm off to go and put BBC2 on. All I can say is that it's a good thing that there was no Red Button when I was seventeen.



Tuesday, 15 April 2014

Beautiful morning

Just in case you thought I was going to do nothing but moan...



Location:Kings Lock

Sunday, 13 April 2014

This river is not endearing itself to me

Back on my bugbear, the River Soar. For once a nice day, apart from the wind; dry and with plenty of sun. A few things still managed to go wrong though, but we still managed to make it to Mountsorrel, where Jim and I have never stopped before. The first two pubs we tried didn't do food on Sunday evenings, so we ended up at the Quarrymaster. Formerly the Railway, this was clearly a new venture - the owners having been been there since November. Things didn't start well, as the Bombardier was clearly and severely off, but it was replaced without a murmur with Bass which was fine. The revelation though was the food, which was all excellent. We met the chef, who was not long out of a local college, where he had won prizes. So that made a very nice ending to a somewhat trying day.



Location:Mountsorrrel

Saturday, 12 April 2014

Rudder buggered

Yesterday evening, at Fradley, out travelling companions wondered idly whether we had ever unshipped Chertsey's rudder, and if so, how hard it was to get back in. No, I said. No idea; it's never happened. Must have forgotten to touch wood because you can guess what happened today...
No, it wasn't on a lock cill; it was as I was pulling in to drop Jim off at the innocuous and unassuming looking Branston lock, I just very gently reversed onto a rock about three feet out from the sheet piling, and knew immediately what had happened, despite never having experienced it before.

We struggled with it for a bit and managed to get it sitting (as we realised later) on the skeg but not in the cup. It didn't feel right but we struggled on, until it fell off again, catching Jim's hand in the process, as the tiller bar dropped a couple of inches, against the sharp corner of the rear door hasp (important job: grind that sharp corner off).

So we limped on very slowly until we got to Shobnall Fields in Burton, and having fortified Jim with lunch and a cup of tea and a great deal of sticking plaster (and TCP and a rubber glove), resumed trying to resite the rudder in its proper place. The only way really to do it, in the water, is by trial and error, Jim lifting the tiller with his shoulder. Every time we thought it was there though, a few trial sweeps led to it dropping out again. Eventually it was Iain who, employing the same method, either by luck or experience achieved success.

So on we have gone, ending up eventually just beyond Swarkestone lock, where we have not been to a pub but have enjoyed a lovely meal with Clair and Iain on Plover.

The starter motor is performing excellently, and today we have tested it on starting the engine when it's hot, which it has achieved without a murmur.



Location:Swarkstone

Friday, 11 April 2014

A pleasant surprise at the Mucky Duck

A lovely day's boating has brought us to Fradley, where we were lucky enough to secure a mooring right by the pub. I have blogged before about my less than impresssive experiences of this iconic canalside pub, so I'm very pleased to be able to report that tonight it was very good - a good range of beer, not served in hot wet glasses this time, and some very nice food too.



Location:Fradley Junction

Thursday, 10 April 2014

Well, it worked for the Welsh Development Agency

We have made it to Penkridge without incident, hooray. Along the way I have amused myself by memorising the names of the locks by setting them to the tune of Cwm Rhondda.

I know it worked for the Welsh Development Agency because thirty years later I can still remember: Dunlop, G-Plan, Revlon, Berlei; British Airways, Hotpoint, Kraft. Kellogs, Esso, Hoover, Sony; Metal Box, Ferranti, Ford. I wonder how many of them are still made in Wales?



Location:Penkridge

We have lift off

Amazingly, wonderfully, the new started motor started the engine first press of the button - letting us know just how knacked the old one had been. And in the end the dreaded job took less than three hours. So it's still dinner in Penkridge tonight....



Location:Stretton

Progress report


After much swearing, hacking of knuckles and wielding of hacksaw, the old starter motor is off...




... and the new one in place.



Now it needs to be done up and connected and then we will have the moment of truth that will make or break this Easter trip...

Location:Stretton

Last minute hitch

Well here we are, all ready to set off...



And the starter motor decides it's finally going to give up the ghost.



This starter motor has been problematic for a while, insofar as it wouldn't engage when the engine was hot, unless hit with a sledgehammer kept in the engine room for the purpose.

So, we had been preparing to replace it. We had a spare, which we got completely rebuilt last summer by the nice man in Hednesford, and it was just a matter of getting round to fitting it. However, it appeared that in order to undo one of its bolts, it would be necessary to lift the engine. Thus the job kept getting put off.

This morning however, the old one finally decided to stop turning over with anything like enough power to get the engine running - despite trying it with two newly charged and one brand new battery. Jim is now, as I write (and I have to keep breaking off to fetch him tools) seeing if, by cutting the straps on the electrical conduit, which are fixed under the engine mounting bolts, he can get to the recalcitrant nut without having to undo these.

If this can be done, and if the new starter motor works, we will still hopefully catch up with Plover in time to leave tomorrow morning. If not, then disaster - because I have the bar rota.

You may ask why we don't hand start it. Well, firstly because we haven't put the hand start chain back on since fixing the high pressure fuel pump cam, and secondly, because the reason there wasn't any point in doing that is that only one person has ever succeeded in hand starting it, and we can't take Mike Askin everywhere with us.

The latest cry from the engine room indicates that while the nut has been undone (on the right hand end in the photo) there isn't room for the starter motor to clear its studs because one of the engine mounts (on the left) is in the way. The trouble is, these engine set ups were never designed to be worked on in situ; for any major work they would be lifted out and swapped.

Such are the delights of ancient boat ownership, and the perils of procrastination.

Location:Stretton

Wednesday, 9 April 2014

Post about nothing very much

Basically, we're ready to set off tomorrow, nice and early, to catch up with Plover in Penkridge and thence make our way to Foxton in convoy. Of the three possible routes we are taking the one that was initially bottom of our list - via the Soar. It is the obvious way to go, the shortest and quickest route, and it hasn't rained for quite a while now has it... Anyway, we will be travelling up river so it won't be as exciting as our first experience of that waterway on Warrior was.

The glamping boat has survived the winter well and is proving most commodious. Last weekend we put in one of the window cloths so now have natural light to the bathroom (well, it does have a bath even if it's not actually a room. Although it is in the sense of being the space between two stands, or possibly a few knees) and the living/kitchen area.

Most of the brass is polished, and there is a modest floral arrangement of willow and blackthorn on the cabintop.

Easter here we come!



Sunday, 6 April 2014

Late entry in the battle of the stoves leaves the field standing

I'm just back from a weekend spent preparing Chertsey to set off to Foxton next week, and the most exciting thing I have to report on is Jim's new purchase - a two burner Origo stove. He's been quite keen on getting one for a while; they are all the rage with the lumpy water mob, apparently, and Alan Fincher was waxing lyrical about his, which he showed us at Braunston last year. I of course was dubious but I am happy to admit that I am completely won over.



The Origo is fuelled with alcohol, giving a hot, virtually soot free flame. It is as easy to light as gas - just turn the knob and poke a long lighter down into the burner. When the kettle boils, turning the knob back puts it out. The flame is adjustable - not quite as finely as gas, but it goes low enough to cook a squash curry without catching it. It boils a kettle pretty quickly, comparing favourably with the Primus and certainly faster than the Beatrice, although possibly not as fast as gas. You sometimes get some condensation from the flame if the kettle's cold, but it does no harm.

The unit is compact and stable, as it is designed to be used at sea. The alcohol is held in a kind of wadding so it is completely spill-proof, making it very safe. The only downside I can think of is the cost - they are expensive to buy, ours having been on offer on Amazon at £135 - and to run. Jim bought a case of 12 x 1 litre bottles of fuel for around £36 and we got through one of them in the time I was there, cooking one dinner and making lots of tea. But for the convenience, cleanness, speed and lack of worry about safety, I think it's worth every penny, and we will probably find cheaper sources of fuel. The alcohol is uses isn't meths, by the way, and compared to meths hardly smells at all.

One Beatrice is being kept in case we run out of alcohol; we have just stocked up on paraffin for the Tilley lamps so there is still a frisson of danger to keep life interesting. Particularly the danger of banging your head on one. The Primus (which was actually a Monitor, bought unused, boxed and dated 1953) appears however to have sprung a leak. I haven't investigated in any detail, but the bottom of its windproof biscuit tin was swimming in oil - so it's lucky we didn't need it. I have three other old pressurised paraffin stoves, including a genuine Primus, so I shall keep one for display, but I don't think I would really mind if I never had to light one again. On the other hand though, I'm glad that it's a skill I've mastered. But it's mod cons all the way now!

Monday, 17 March 2014

Bridgehopping

As Halfie correctly identified, I was in Hebden Bridge on Saturday. This was as part of an outing loosely organised by the Sheffield and South Yorkshire vegans. The only part of it that was actually organised was the meal in the evening, but most people decided it would be nice to spend a day in Hebden Bridge first.

In truth, there wasn't really enough to fill a whole day. I was a trifle disappointed. Not only because the streets weren't after all thronged with living Liberal Democrat Focus leaflet artwork from the early nineties (when I was a councillor, the Association of Liberal Democrat Councillors was based in Hebden Bridge, so that was where we got our artwork from, on paper, ready to be photocopied, cut out, and pasted onto layout sheets with Cow gum. I wonder if young people these days realise that cut and paste was once a literal activity...) Furthermore, I was expecting it to be a lot more visibly 'trendy' and right-on. It's supposed to be the lesbian capital of Britain, for goodness sake, but this wasn't readily apparent. Nor was there a noticeable contingent of people wearing yak wool jumpers who knitted their own yogurt ((c) Alexei Sayle). Maybe Lewes just sets the bar too high.

Nonetheless, it was a pleasant enough little town, but not sufficiently special to deserve its reputation as a tourist destination. There was sufficiently good charity shopping to completely defenestrate my resolution to buy no clothes this year - I came home with a dress (East; my favoured successor to Monsoon), a skirt, a blouse, a jacket, a bracelet and a brooch. I didn't fancy eating here, vegan or not.

The town centre's possibilities exhausted, I took a stroll along the towpath, pausing to remonstrate gently with a hire boater doing useless and pointless things with ropes in the lock (Shire Cruisers, you don't really tell them to do that do you?) as far as Mytholmroyd, the birth place of Ted Hughes, squatting sullenly under a suitably leaden sky, before turning back.

In many places the towpath was collapsing into the water, taking the coping stones with it - presumably as a result of all the recent rain.



The evening's meal was taking place not in Hebden Bridge, but its neighbour Sowerby Bridge (I was very pleased when the woman in the Hebden tourist information centre confirmed, by her example, my pronunciation of this as 'Sore-bee'). Dandelion and Burdock is an entirely vegan restaurant, and the meal I had there was very nice. The starter of a garlicky spinach 'cream cheese' dip was very good; the main course South Indian Curry was fairly run of the mill (even though the guy sitting opposite me kept saying, 'I really enjoyed that okra'), and the dessert, ice cream sandwiched between oat, raisin and choc chip cookies was a bit special, and you would never have guessed it was vegan. Sadly, most of the assembled company at my end of the table had only one topic of conversation, which was 'being vegan', leavened with anecdotes about how hard it was to be vegan whilst on their foreign holidays.

Prior to dinner, while it was still light, I went to take a photo of Tuel Lane lock This is the deepest lock in the country, having replaced two former locks for which there was no longer space when the canal was restored in the 1990s.


The lock was all locked up for the night so I circumvented the sign prohibiting climbing over the railings by squeezing between them, to get a not very impressive photo - it was half full so the full depth of 19'8" was not readily apparent from the inside.

I've not boated on the Rochdale canal; must get round to it one day.

Friday, 14 March 2014

Mystery destination

Tomorrow I visit a town that was for many years the centre of my little universe; my Mecca, my Shangri-La. It's on a canal, but I've never visited by boat, nor by any other means, even when I lived in the same county.

I know what to expect though. A smiling sun will preside over the scene. The streets will be thronged with harassed looking alarm clocks, dashing to appointments on stubby little legs. Looking benignly on, despite the discomfort they must be suffering, are herds of elephants with knots in their trunks. There will be a race course, but only a small one, as every race is a two horse race.

Gosh. I hope it lives up to my expectations.



Location:Mystery destination

Thursday, 13 March 2014

Walkies

If you're a keen walker (which I've been known to be), and you live in Sheffield, then how can you not go walking in the Peak District? Well, in my case, by having no one to walk with, and definitely not being brave enough to set out on my own. But the other week I had an epiphany of the blindingly obvious.

As I got up at 5.30 am in order to get the train to Lapworth for the HNBC AGM, I caught a bit of Ramblings on Radio 4, a bit in which Clare Balding revisited groups of people she'd walked with ten years previously when the programme started. And I stood there open mouthed (and half dressed) and thought: I'll join a walking group!

A quick consultation of the internet revealed that such groups abound in Sheffield. Surfing the wave of enthusiasm, I'd joined the Ramblers before leaving to catch my train.

Thus it was that on Sunday I found myself locating (with far less difficulty than I had anticipated) a car park on the Chatsworth estate for the start of a ten mile walk entitled 'Around the Carlton Pastures'. I'm afraid this didn't mean much to me; I know we took in the village of Edensor and passed Bakewell station (deceased; the railway line is now a walking route) and ended up where we started in Carlton Lees car park, seeing fields, sheep, sparkling water, dry stone walls, and in the distance, Chatsworth House. The walk was graded B1, meaning (B) that it was between 8-12 miles, and (1) that it wasn't difficult; no steep or sustained climbs. I managed it easily in my trusty Boating Boots, which was a relief. The weather of course could not have been better.

En route I chatted with a few new people, all of whom seemed very nice. After we finished, we found our way to the Rutland Arms at Baslow for a well earned drink, soaking up the last of the sun on the terrace overlooking the river Derwent.


Next Sunday I am bestowing my favours on a different group, The Sheffield Wanderers, who are doing the Sheffield Canal and Five Weirs - down the canal to Meadowhall (or Meadowhell, if you're local) and back via the River Don, with a buffet on the way! And I have an outing planned for Saturday as well. Hope we get more than one weekend of nice weather!

Monday, 3 March 2014

Incredible claim

Not really a book review, but it was the HNBC AGM on Saturday, and I was one of two members to take advantage of the meeting's new Lapworth venue, chosen for it's railway station, to travel by train. On arrival I had nearly finished the book I'd brought with me, so had to choose something from the second hand book stall to occupy me on the way home. I settled on Iris Bryce's trilogy of memoirs of travelling the system in the 1970s and early 80s, Canals are my Home, Canals are my World, and Canals are my Life.

These proved to be a pleasant enough and undemanding read, containing nothing earth shattering - apart that is, from the shocking claim made on page 97 of the final volume, viz: 'We enjoyed Worksop very much.'



Wednesday, 19 February 2014

Sorry, I forgot...

Belated happy birthday Chertsey...

Amy and James celebrated Willow's birthday at the weekend, yesterday being the 79th anniversary of its first health registration.

Chertsey is a couple of years younger, celebrating its 77th birthday on January 29th. This is the date given in Alan Faulkner's book which I have always assumed to be when the boat was handed over by Harland and Wolff to GUCCCo, although I realise I don't actually know exactly what it signifies.

Sunday, 16 February 2014

Sunday sunrise




Impossible to capture of course, especially with just a quick snap of the iPad (2). In reality as I sit having my breakfast looking out of the kitchen window it looks completely monochrome, bands of grey and the trees stark black against the glare of the new sun, which twenty minutes ago I watched creeping over the horizon. Sheer luck, but I'm so glad my flat faces east. Every morning now, the first thing I do on getting up is stand and have a long look out of the window.