There was another outbreak of “Winter Supermarket Car-Park Syndrome” on our previous moorings, and really there were things that needed to be done anyway, so we mooched on, mooched on, with a hope in our heart, and we’ll neeeee-veeerrrr mooch a-lone (other football terrace songs are available, mention here does not imply endorsement).
I’ll just have to come to terms with the realisation that I am insanely attractive, obviously.
Scooted we on then via the services (one of the things that needed doing) – and you do not want to know what I had to do with a “stick” there (under C&RT suggestion and supervision). Suffice it to say that there was a stoppage notice (quite literally a notice of stoppage) the next day. I have my suspicions that C&RT HQ don’t empty anything until it’s reported as overflowing…
It made sense for me to poke the sh****it with the stick, since I was the one already wearing gloves. On a cheerfullerer note, my new rubber gloves passed the test with flying (matt black) colours, and another two pairs are now on their way. Tis rare for me to be able to find glover rubs that fit my hands, so I am stocking up.
One of the dings that needed thooing was to be somewhere convenieabode for in order to meet Messrs BARGUS, the fuel boat. As you may see from the lead image; job done.
There’s more juggling afoot since the C&RT “winter stoppage” works are preventing Messrs BARGUS from following their usual route and timechair (a “timechair” is similar to a ‘timetable’ but different in shape and also smaller), and they won’t be back for some four of your Earth “weeks”. We – the Cardinal and I – will be at least some two elsewheres by then, so ce sera sera &etc.
As a quick perambulatory aside, have you ever wondered about ‘Verboten’ signs such as these? I have a problem with this whole concept of “authority” (and especially that of “authority over me“). Given that we, Messrs The Public, are supposed to be the be all and end all, the it in its entirety of human life, and the public servants paid to serve us are just that, supposed to be servants, who was it who gave these little people “authority” over use of and access to every single square inch of our land, England? We – the Public – are not here by default, or by grace and favour – it is they, the governments, the councils, the fake “charities” and the corporations and institutions that exist only on sufferance. In spite of this we seem to accept that all power and permission is vested in them and not in us.
Am I alone in finding this to be most peculiar? Am I alone in thinking that everywhere you look there is tangible, plain, obvious, unquestionable evidence that human society is set up for the benefit of some body other than the great unwashed? As with the old tried and tested ‘follow the money’, try ‘following the restrictions; who gets to impose and who must obey’.
The entire planet is covered in a rash of signs and signposts dictating to us what to do, where to go, how to behave, what not to do – and setting out the penalties, imposed by our servants, for our non-compliance with their orders. Everywhere you look in the human world; signs.
The Canal Company Ltd is soon going to need to install taller totem-poles, otherwise they’ll run out of space for all of their “authority”.
Even the ground itself is not sacred or above – or below – this cat urine-spraying “claiming”… for for example (forty-four egg-sample?) this environmentally-sympathetic beauty has recently appeared on the towpath at Wardle. It is matched in subtlety only by the Canal Company Ltd.’s “corporate branding” of “screaming blue” signs everywhere.
A “Ground Mark”, whatever that may be. There are no overhead power cables to be ware of, no obvious gas pipeline running from Kamchatka to the Home Counties via the Wardle towpath.
Not even any indication whom a Snowflake might sue, should they fall over it and break an eyelash or something such. A compound fracture of the feelz-bone or a bruising of the emotionz-gland…
Some “authority” has just wandered along and – quite literally – staked a claim. Banged their “authority” into – public – ground, into the fabric of England, right beneath our feet.
I wonder what the penalties would be were I, the (putative, highly-unlikely) employer of these (anything but servile) public servants, to do something similar?
What might the penalties be were some grumpy old fart to sashay along there under cover of darkness with a crowbar and just remove the thing?
I think that I think too much, certainly so for one of my lowly status.
Nanny knows best.
I’ll give you a head-start, Justin Case, you want to apply your brain-gland to the concept.
As a human bean I might, should C&RT decide to do so, have my home confiscated and sold from under me should I transgress not in law, but simply transgress in their opinion agin one or any of the “License Terms and Conditions” unilaterally invented and privately imposed by the commercial Canal Company Ltd. No-one would have “responsibility” for my welfare, not one august body would care a jot whether I lived, died, or simply froze solid in my homelessness – unless my cadaver came to be regarded as litter, in which case the fine that my mortal remains might incur begin at £1,000.
The penalty in England for disturbing one bird and/or one nest – any sort of bird, not just “endangered” species – potentially thus even a feral hen nesting in my gas locker – is an unlimited fine and up to six months in gaol. The consequences increase from that starting point. Prosecutions are frequent and numerous; the Police Force (it is not, and never was, whatever they try to say, a “service”) has an entire branch dedicated to the welfare of our little cloaca-bearing feathered friends – and none specifically dedicated to the welfare of grumpy gits living on their narrowboats.
Whither then the true, real-world value of Human Beans? Not the value that we assume for ourselves, but that placed on us by “our” public servants.
I really ought to think less when I am out for walkies. Perhaps leave the old brain-gland at home.
Does anyone know what the laws relating to and penalties for leaving a young brain-gland alone at home and unsupervised might be? I’m sure that they’re severe…
Chin-chin. Ian H., & Cardinal W.