We’ve gone from mellow fruitfulness (the reds and golds of Autumn) to the inside of a polar bear’s boxer shorts overnight (heavily frosted and blasting a foul wind).
It is lashing down with hailstones as I type this.
We’ve also gone from where we were to where we are.
Never forget; wherever you go, there you are.
There wam ice on the inside of the metal porthole surrounds a couple of nights ago; first of the season (the portholes farthest away from the stove). This really does not bode well for the season, and my psyche, such as remains these days, is ill-prepared for meteorological winter on top of these past years of intellectual, social, and political winter.
I shall have to gird my loins.*
*Also perhaps stop wearing Polar Bear’s boxer shorts.
We moved a tad earlier than I had planned because I looked at Her Maj’s Met Office’s weather forecast, and the Cardinal needs must be in Venetian Marina at the weekend, ready for (indoor) dry-dock and some bum-blackery. On alternate years the hull needs cleaning off and re-painting with protective (black) “paint”. We are as near as can get without actually curling up like a stray dog on the doormat.
It may not look terribly close from the phomatograph above but tis. Immediately through that railway bridge ahead is the marina, and therein layeth my bethtetht chance of a civilised arrival should the blasting winds not abate before Sunday. In, turn to port and oik up onto one of the workshop pontoons is the plan.
Mete and just it be that my once each two years manoeuvres in a marina be undertaken in the flying skirts of the remnants of the first “named” storm of winter; Storm Arwen. Gusting to 48mph for midnight tonight, apparently.
I can’t remember whether it was Mr Confucius or Ms Doris Day who put it so succinctly as ‘Que sera, sera. whatever will be, will be.’
As philosophers they were equally matched.
I like WIndy Alley but I shan’t see as much of it as I might hope in this “not exceeding fourteen days in any one area” sojourn since a week of our stay will be in dry dock. I have little to no doubt that while there a portal from some evil dimension will open, possibly in the corner by the lathe, and a little Canal & River Trust rozzer’s Gollum-eyed head will appear, note down the Cardinal’s position and then disappear again. Pop. Possibly so each day that we’re in there. Or perhaps the regular nice chap and doggo will just list me when doing his rounds of the marina.
Wouldn’t it just be like the Canal Company Ltd to send me one of their ‘Have you forgotten to cruise?’ passive-aggressive threats while I am in dry dock?
The formula for happy life living on a narrowboat on England’s canals is a lengthy and complicated one, there are many factors involved. One of these factors, that of arranging that one moving target (the Cardinal) meet up with another (more swiftly moving) target (Messrs Fuel Boat Bargus) on a regular basis goes awry next week – they are due to pass while the Cardinal and I are otherwise disfacilitated in the facilities. Hopefully we can meet again afore Spendmas, perhaps at Philippi? Perhaps at the dock gates of St Nazaire?
My laptop’s gone loony.
Two or three of this planet’s days ago I discovered that it hasn’t been updating itself for over a year (and hasn’t been telling me that it hasn’t been updating itself)… and I allowed the beast to spend many hours and about 8gb of my mobile data in putting itself to rights. This morning I booted it up to find a message insisting that I do many things, ranging from “connecting my phone” to “giving Bill Gates my blood type and inside-leg measurement”. There was no “close” or “bugger off” option shown, just “do it now” or “remind me in three days”… A machine voice began reading the message out to me…
I have always taken great pains to disable all such techtosspottery as “Cortana” and wotnot, and was most annoyed to hear her oily tones. However, when I did get “Booted up” and went to check that everything that could be set to “off” was off… I was promptly advised that ‘Cortana is not available in English at this time.’
So what they helly welly then was it that had been talking at me?
My next machine will be a Linux beast, come hell or high water, and Messrs Apple and Microsoft can book a room and do unto each other until The Hot Place freezes over.
I haven’t spent ages purging google and youtube and whatever nonsensical “accounts” to then hear my own laptop nagging me to connect my phone (the phone that’s only ever switched on when I want to use it)! As a species we used to use I.T., now I.T. uses us. Or at least seeks to.
Oh look – the hailstones have stopped.
Is it then Summer, Nanny?
Wibble. Leave the layer of goose-grease where it is, you sickly little runt.