Messrs Meteorillogical (sic) Office have sent wind, wind and more wind. Temperingtures (sic) though are almost balmy in comparison to the past weeks of ice, sleet and occasional light snow in these parts. We’ve even had some sunshinery, but not today. Today is dull dull dull and depressingly grey. Mr Engine is running – the better to feed the domestic batteries and to provide a tankful of nice, hot water. I always try to only run the engine when I can take advantage of multiple purposes: moving the boat; charging the batteries; providing hot water. It seems churlish to burn good diesel for anything less than two out of three.
BARGUS came calling yesterday. Their route is somewhat severely injured by the current stoppages (landslide at Beeston; culvert collapse towards Audlem, &etc &etc ad nauseam gadzooks) so the temporary route is a two-hundred mile horse-shoe, rather than the more usual circular confection. Three of coal please, two of kindling, one of Elsan Blue (as opposed to the Esso Blue favoured by my late Father). The Cardinal’s well deck is well and truly stuffed, and that’s a good thing.
Talking of stuffed, and getting, you can see the massively over-crowded moorings above Cholmondeston Lock in the photograph below (towpath side, to right of canal here). There have been knife fights over mooring space of late. Not. That dot is the Cardinal’s stern end.
Many thanks for agreeing to my taking some photos. Oddly, for such a photogenic great lump of canal history (the boat, not Jason), I haven’t yet managed to take a good photograph of BARGUS. I need to re-think it and prepare some more. My theory is that the problem is the many, many colourful and attention-grabbing supplies aboard, and a really totally uncomplicated background is needed. I’ll have a think and a furtle on that one.
Messrs ASDA having called recently (praise be to there actually being the odd available delivery slot!) I have been sitting on my perch and muching my way through broccoli and cauliflower. I know, I know, what may I say except that I am weird, I love my veggies.
Don’t worry though, I always spread newspaper beneath my cage so that everything keeps clean.
As with most things that I do I had intended to slip quietly out, crawl along the hedgerow with trolley and plastic crates, take a swift delivery and then hoof it back behind the steel bulkheads of the Cardinal – leaving the outside world outside. What actually happened though was the slowest delivery in the long and drama-laden history of Commercial Broccoli Delivery… The text arrived advising me that the van was on the way, I arrived at the Ron Dez-Voo co-ordinates early (as is my wont anyway, having been trained at gunpoint by old-fashioned parents a la manners), the rain also arrived early, and the van actually arrived late. Two hours and more from hopping over the Cardinal’s gunwales to throwing my comestibles back aboard and thinking about beginning to consider the benefits of an at-my-earliest-convenience stowing away of same.
For comparison, the shortest delivery ever was twenty minutes including a hoofing along the towpath.
Still, tis done and tis well that tis done. If the planet stops rotating then I shan’t starve for two or three weeks. 😉
My thanks indeed to S for the supply of replacements for the substituted pastry-clad goodies. Also 🙂
The Watery Wellness Trust Ltd (“Making Life Better By Water”) remain silent in the matter of my wellness. Perhaps the new and expensive tag-line doesn’t apply to boaters? Seemsnot. All manner ofsnot. As organisations go they really are a jumbled heap.
The (human) world continues to run screaming towards whatever is beyond, far beyond, insanity. I continue to ignore it as best I can while entreating it to ignore me. I rather think that all of the various strings that make our politicians jump back and forth on the world stage have become tangled somehow, and the global body politic is now merely jerking like a dead frog hooked up to an electrical current.
Something flew over the Cardinal a few days ago and in the space of perhaps one second shat on every canal-side window, every canal-side porthole and all five solar panels. We’re not talking “shat” in the sense of dab at it with a tissue, either, this was a bucket of water and a squeegee job (panels only, I’m not wing-walking to clean the canal-side).
I am hoping that it was a flock of somethings, and not just one enormous bird with a bowel the size of Boris Johnson’s… problems.
Perhaps it was the fabled Politician Bird? They’re well-known for cra*pping on the populace from a great height.
Perhaps it was a(nother) message from the Canal & River Trust Ltd?
Of course, I can’t rule out the possibility that it was one of the many Army/RAF/Police helicopters that we’ve all become so inured to seeing flying far below the “peacetime” lower limit of 500′ these days. Aren’t they the opposite of trains; only supposed to flush while in the station? From mystery Chinooks circling to Police surveillance rushing headlong from (probably) Chinese take-away to Base, we barely notice them now, do we? What a sad, sad indictment and we’re back to frogs again, although in our case, boiled.
If you don’t know how to boil a frog then just review the various joys of Human society for the past year, year and a half. That will give you the full recipe.
Anyway. Wind is still a-blowing, the Cardinal is rocking quite nicely (unlike those poor buggers still living on a tilt beyond the Beeston breach, their boats sitting on the bottom of an empty canal), and I must away and feed Mr Stove again.
Chin-chin chaps, if all else fails then do please raise a fist to the clouds and then light up and enjoy a Hamlet moment. No, not Shakespode’s play Hamlet; Happiness is a cigar called Hamlet… and Air on a G String*.
*Johann Sebastian Barking, as are we all.
Ian H., &etc., Scourge of The Canal System.