Winter Wanderland

AWOOGAH! AWOOGAH! Said the Met Office – snow… and ice. Oddly, perhaps – I suspect – knowingly – they oft issue “Yellow Snow” alerts. Let’s face it, no-one in “government” or the senior “Sybil Serbice” is going to have a clue about yellow snow, are they?

Anyone else here remember proper winters in England? I remember coming out of work and all that was visible in the car park were car radio aerials poking out of one giant slightly knobbly drift. In those days – when cars had grip, narrow(er) tyres, and human drivers at the wheel we just got on with it. Now with everything automated and/or drive-by-wire with ABS EBD AWD DDT MGB CBT 600 BHP und Mudflaps traffic seems defeated by half an inch. I watched a “Motorist” this morning getting into their car, presumably to go to work. The car was frozen of course. They sat there with the windscreen wipers groaning horridly on the frost for about fifteen minutes until there was a patch of windscreen that they might peer through – goodbye blades, hello no visibility when next it merely rains.

Yonder canal froze again last night, although the AWOOGAH Office reports only a -5.8° of the Celsinghams.

For once, of late, the Cardinal and I got ourselves properly moved yesterday – oh frabjous joy – through the Service Area. Better yet, on approach, the water standpipe wasn’t frozen, so the Cardinal’s tank is full once more.

Notice the snow on the railway tracks themselves. There wasn’t a train all day. I don’t know if they were on strike or whether the snow was simply too deep for modern lomocotives. Tis the same with modern cars, they’re so fancy now with 600BHP huge fat tyres ABS EBD drive-by-wire autopilot MGB DDT und Mudflaps that half an inch makes them grind to a plastic-bumper crunching halt. Snow was much easier when cars had 6″ of ground-clearance, skinny tyres, 50BHP and a human driver. I repeat myself. I repeat; I repeat myself. Not all “progress” is progress.

In my day the train companies used to employ smelly peasants to walk along in front of engines to clean the tracks. Tell the youth of today that though and they won’t believe you. On the steeper inclines we used to throw old people and unwanted children in front of the wheels to help with the grip.

Three hours or so it took from start to finish, for five miles and to do the necessaries. The main water tank took a while to fill. The actual it of the cruising was most splendid, too, there being no other boats on the move (we went at Winter’s “first light”) and on occasion something of the local system’s star shine.

The move was accomplished without the discomnobulation of other boats in any ice-manoeuvres, and we did not get shouted at by Mr Grumpy in Nantwich who, while he was out on the bow of his new boat, ready to abuse, failed to find reason, and answered my ‘How do’ with a grunt.

Oddly – everything seems odd to me in this parallel universe of yours – the generally more (rabidly) popular moorings were nigh-on deserted, while the moorings more popular with me (as in generally unpopular with others) were nigh-on full. My target moorings had but one space left, although it must be said that it was of civilised length and sported two ideally spaced mooring rings. This is to the greater good, since messing around with chains as well as ropes is a finger-numbing experience at -5.8° Centigrodes. It’s a bit of a bugger when the mooring ropes won’t bend because they’re frozen solid. Tying and untying knots can be problematic.

As has become customer-y when lashing onto these parts I bunged in a comestibles order (yesterday, for today). There were mayhap half a dozen slightly adventurous items by way of treat. Received the order confirmation email this mornibode and guess which half a dozen items have been substituted for other, more dreary, more domestic nonsenses. Yep. Still, mustn’t grumble, we shall still have vesh freggies again – and we’ll see how long these last when in comparison to those purchased from Messrs Co-operative Ltd.

Mr Stove is doing a splendid job, even though I neglect him terribly sometimes, it being both irresistable and prudent to spend more time than is strictly necessary in the Land of Nod, under Messrs Quilt Blanket Blanket & Quilt.

Memories of cruising with a wet bum are, as I had hoped, fading.

A wet bum? Yes. There being ice and snow abounding at these locks there was insufficient dependable grip to rope the Cardinal in and out, and the lock ladders were just itching for a kill – so, these being of modest depth, I had no other course than to sit down on the lock edge and step aboard. Thus it was that I looked as though I’d had a serious trouser accident, had there been anyone about to see and/or rude enough to look at the seat of my pants.

I haven’t looked at the forecast since landing here. I suspect that we’re in for more of the same; a little bit of everything winter. The snow we got the other day was of the distinctly wet variety, and was highly unsuitable for skiing.

Right, I’d best away and don my boots again, and go out to stand around and wait for the lurid green van to hove over the horizon. At least in this order they tell me that they have my sourdough bread, so the toast and Mardymite will be good.

Keep warm or cool, depending, ma/mon petite chihuahuaii, wherever you may be.

Gossip and scandal when I have any, if pertinent. My love to the llamas.

Ian H., & Co. I should cocoa.