…first of this year, that is, on which I encountered not a single other boat moving…
Has Winter begun?
The chimney is smoking somewhat in the lead image because I’d just bunged on a slack bucketful of fresh dinosaur remains in order to give Mr Stove something to chew on as I cruised. Thus, if I time things correctly, the inside of the boat remains toasty ready for when we land in France or the Peloponnese or where’er tis that I am aiming for. Anywhere well within two or three hours’ of crusing at my average velocity of 2.75mph. On this occasion the mighty and rugged weatherworn sandstone outcrops of the Area Serveece overlooking the crystal-clear azure-blue waters of the Sea of Calveley, the better to empty the toilet cassettes.
All hail the Greek god Elsan.
There’s something wholly intact about the magic of an undisturbed early-ish morning cruise. Forty minutes up to the Service Area, best part of an hour bunkering (it’s not the fastest tap in the West), then half an hour from there to the winding hole and back to moor on the Singing Ringing Mooring Rings of King Alpraham’s Domain. Plenty for me.
Praise be also to the Roman god Wheelie-Bin, and to the lesser-worshipped but equally powerful Demon of the Hose*.
*Water-type hose, not Elizabethan hose & codpiece.
Ought to have been able to dispose of rubbish where I was, but the Canal Company Ltd have closed the facilty, they’re just too cowardly to actually say so outright. Ditto water a few years before that.
Last time I was hereabouts, about seven weeks ago if memory serves, the place was jam-packed with revellers and ne’er-do-wellums, with not a decent mooring in sight. On this occasion though, praise be…
Oh, by the way, there’s no need for all of those vitriolic and venomous anti-boats-“sans”-home-mooring folk – or even for the Canal Company Ltd., with its insane hatred of same – to thank the Cardinal and me – and manifold others similar – for beginning the task of keeping the waterways and esp. the winding holes from totally silting up during the winter months. We love you all, that’s why we B’Stards do it. [Not.] We should all stop one winter, and benchmark the infrastructure when it hasn’t been used by man nor beast for six winter months.
I did gain a neighbour later in the day.
But, being a rabidly-sociable people-person, I can live with that. Meerkats R Us.
These moorings have one significant disadvantage, and that is the towpath-side treelets and busherings that have been allowed to grow unhindered – they cast a speckled shadow in the low winter sun for most of the day, discomnobulating my solar panels. Still, as the maitre d’hotel at the Grand-Hôtel du Cap-Ferrat said to me as he supervised Les Bouncers throwing me out of the bar and into La Mer; ‘You can’t have everything.’
It’s gone ten of the a of the m and I’ve just been out for the third time to try to squeegee orf Messrs Solar Panels – and they’re still deeply frosted over.
This reminds me of a partially-buried very-young-childhood and fragmented memory of a parquet-floored clinic or surgery at which I seem to remember Mummy and Daddy were engaged in a debate with experts in re treatment of some kind. It’s all very vague but very intense, and I seem to remember the phrase ‘deeply frosted over’ being used there, too. 😉
I’ll try again in twenty minutes. The batteryodes need all of the love that they can get duing this, the Season of Lesser Ergs.
Tis time to break out the scarves and thick socks and bobble-hats from storage. That said I haven’t stopped wearing the fingerless gloves for most of the year. I think that I’ll have a shower before applying the goose-grease and then sewing myself into my WInter Underwear.
I think that my blood is thinner than it used to be, which is wot doesn’t bode well for the season.
I would have it changed, but the National Supply is doubtless now awash with Pfizerisms.
Ian H. &etc.