Dudley is here, Eunice is on the way, Franklin is Next … awaiting only Gladys & Herman

We scarpered, the Cardinal and I, this past Monday. Our rozzer-free time in “the neighbourhood” was up and the Met Office, they who purchase the weather on our behalf, indicated a less-rotten spell in the morning. I ended up, as doubtless planned by Messrs Universe, a cold, wind-blasted, drowned rat, but we got the job done. Watered, gazundered, roobish disposed of and moored somewhere with roaring mings, armco, and some mild cover but no huge trees.

Three of your Earth “miles”, three “service” visits – at that time of the dayling different places does do diffrent fings, and three locks (one twice, up and then down, to achieve a., turning without being a pantomime for the marina and b., visiting the water tap a-top the lock).

Just made it by the tin of my skeeth. The last visitation of the cruise-ette involved a simple move from one side the canal to t’other… except, of course, that this was the precise moment when a delicious squall rose up blowing against us. The manoeuvre wasn’t pretty, but it was done. I flew the Cardinal for five or ten like a kite on the centreline, but by simple dint of some zen-minded leaning into the rope while watching the clouds go by we eventually got to where we wam going. You can’t rush a boat when it’s gone for walkies and wants to sniff something on the opposite bank.

Tuesday of course was damned near sunny and mild with light and barely-amusing breezes.

😉

The replacement batteroid for the MiFi unit has arrived – the one coming from Portsmouth, that is, not the one that (only) after purchase decided that it was coming from Mainland China and would be a month or so. Thank’ee kindly for parcelling the take-in, you know who you are. 😉

T’would appear that I now may access the interwebnettings without hanging the “spare” router in a plastic bag outside under the cratch cover, where it dangled like some enormous doggy-poop bag on artistic display. The remote alarms and cctv are back online again, even though speeds around here are – without moaning, I truly appreciate what I’ve got – a tad pedestrian.

I have no idea whereabouts the local mobile mast may be. No idea what lies betwixt it and the external, boosted aerial.

Yestereday and yestereve were in the decided dominion of Dudley, with some interesting winds. Walkies proved to be… refreshing, with the wind in my face, and then on the return… interesting, with the wind up my

my my but wasn’t it muddy too, after the rains (down in A-a-a-frica).

To-morrow we shall be in the grip of Eunice, and from the looks of things Dear Eunice is an all-in wrestler who cracks walnuts with her ear-lobes and eats raw cows, unwashed.

At least, thus far, forecast, the weak of the pinds will be in daylight. I draw your beadies to the gusts of some fifty-eight of the Earth Miles per Hour. Because I can and why might I not we are on four ropes, two doubled up, using two mooring rings and two chains. The Cardinal’s roof is rarely busy but what may be cleared has been cleared, and that which may not be cleared has been tied down. The rear tonneau is more bungee than cover, the cratch is open to all three sides (least resistance for the presenting of). We shall see tomorrow; damp squib or Doomsday Machine.

Is it possible to have a Doomsday Machine named ‘Gladys’ or ‘Herman’? The Met Office obviously think so, their list here. I detest this silliness of “naming” weather events, it is but one small step from where we are to “sponsorships”, when we will be warned of the approach of ‘Storm Coca-Cola’ and ‘Storm Johnson & Johnson’ and ‘Storm Durex’. Ugh. Given the cheap and nasty nature of England’s Establishment and Civic Infrastructure these days I just know that it’s coming.

Moan moan moan, it’s all that I ever do. 😉

When I wandered back up to the Best Chandlery on The System I purchased the basic makings of a good curry, the better to be well-fed as the Cardinal and I pay homage to Mary Poppins. I’ve also changed my shreddies and had an unusually long and notably hot shower, the better to leave a clean corpse with evidence of only “during event” soiling.

It’s all go here on the canals, you know.

Mr Bilious Gates and the other six (mental, moral) dwarves are still fiddling with my computing arrangements, but I am nowhere yet to be able to download the two gigawumps of Linux. I shall be, sometime soon, and then I shall. Meantime I mun just put up with the impression that my every keystroke is being routed for approval via some super-super-yacht moored in Monaco.

So, there you have it, the past few that was, as were. Exciteabode, much.

Wherever you may be moored may your ropes hold fast.*

*Unless you’ve been kidnapped by Baader-Meinhof, Black September or the I.R.A., in which case – what the hell are you doing back in the seventies anyway?

Chin-chin, chaps.

Ian H., and Cardinal W. Bunkered and hunkered.