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Back to Base

So soon, our mini adventure is over, all is well, and we are now safely tucked up on our mooring back on the island.

But, in the spirit of storytelling, let me expand on that a little. Having spent a very pleasant few days at the chateau, Friday rolled round quite quickly and it was time to reverse our steps.

Foxy was released from jail where, according to the owner, he was a little subdued but not particularly stressed or unhappy. This chimed with my expectations; that he would simply bide his time until the next thing. But who knows what he was thinking? I like to think he knew I wouldn’t have abandoned him completely.

As soon as Foxy was reunited with Hobo, he was happy, ever so fussy and cuddly. Not a second of sulking. Just delighted to be home…

Phew.

Hobo looked extremely smart up to the gunwales with her new blacking, the top half being another story. The original quote had been stuck to and anodes would be good for another three years. Music to my ears!

So we were off again…

John at the helm and boatbird busy restoring order to the indoors. Remember, I’d left in a bit of a rush!

Grebes, swans with their cygnets and the odd heron accompanied us on our way and, with no further time contraints, we lapsed easily into Hobo time and, well, went with the flow.

We made Ely before sunset, where we found a peaceful mooring for the night and enjoyed a late supper.

Foxy became curious…

But still didn’t venture ashore.

Everything was going wonderfully well, boxes were getting ticked, but I couldn’t help expecting the Monty Python foot to descend…

By the time Boatbird emerged the following morning, the John had foraged a huge bag-for-life full of dry sticks and had a nice little fire going in the stove, which warmed the boat a treat. Neither of us like to be cold, both being tropical flowers, and it is a brilliant way to control the rubbish. All that pesky packaging up in smoke.

That was the one thing that didn’t quite come off – the heatwave I had ordered came too late for our cruise and we still had that biting north easterly, keeping us in winter wear while outdoors. At least it stayed dry and, whilst the wind was cold, it wasn’t blowing a hooley.

Almost back on home turf, as it were, we tied up at Prickwillow for a spot of lunch.

Foxy, finding his inner boatcat, did actually venture out onto the lock landing, but not before he saw us safely alongside…

That’s my boy.

On the home stretch now, a couple of wiggles, a zig and a zag, and we’re back to the little cut that we call home.

The last box to tick was retrieving the car, which we did with TJ’s help once more.

Looking forward to the next outing and hoping it’s soon. In the meantime, I’ve included a pic of our route – just in case you’re interested…

X marks the spot.

I did treat Foxy to new food bowls…

The Foxy feeding station.

I’ve been studioudly ignoring the ads for these that keep popping up on my feed, like they do, but now felt like the right time, by way of a reward. They claim to be good for cat posture and anti-vomit but who knows? They certainly look smart and he doesn’t seem to throw food all over the floor quite so easily.

Foxy didn’t bat an eyelid though – nothing gets in the way of mealtimes – but he did re-establish his territory quick quick and brought me a little present the following morning.

Tags: boating, cats, narrowboat, outdoors

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Categories Narrowboating, photography, Rivers, Uncategorized

Bottoms Up!

2 Jun

Not the best attitude when we’re talking boats but in this case more of a catchy title than a statement of fact.

Hobo’s long overdue bottom blacking date has finally come around and, as I write, that’s where she is – in dry dock. Sadly, Foxy and I can’t live on board so have had to make alternative arrangements. I have, as predicted, morphed seamlessly from river gypsy to trailer trash and moved into my brother’s garden, well the static he has moored there, which is fondly known as “the Chateau”.

And a very fine and cosy place it is…

I am occasionally allowed into the main house for coffee or a meal by the way…

Although it is nice to have one’s own space. I haven’t been totally segregated from civilisation, even if my brother and sister-in-law secretly harbour these thoughts.

Unfortunately, it’s not available to Foxy, so I’ve reluctantly had to send him to jail…

Jail being a Norfolk cattery which, on prior inspection, seemed to be very good. My priority is to keep him safe and I hope he will forgive me and not sulk for too long…

The journey began by backing Hobo out of my little backwater home – very smoothly done by the John I have to say. With engine on tickover, and any unwanted bow swinging corrected by a pole, it worked well and definitly the method to employ in the future.

We spent that evening (illegally) on the lock landing…

So as to be ready for the off early the next morning…

The Lark is a long straight river without many exciting attractions, but simply being on the move again…

Was good enough for me.

At the end we hang a left onto the Great Ouse, where there is a little more action and sights to see. A cosy mooring…

Mad rowing people…

The magnificent Ely cathedral from afar…

And closer in…

We – surprisingly on a bank holiday – found a spot for the night on the riverside at Ely.

Where Foxy reluctantly came out for a look…

In truth, John chucked him up on the roof and Foxy jumped down and back to safety inside Hobo seconds later. He initially took to cruising and rapidly became a proper boat cat, but years of being static have made him forget. The moral here being Do More Cruising!

We were joined in the morning by John’s no.1 son TJ, who helped with the moving of my car, leaving it at our destination – Stretham – and also helping at the helm.

We’d previously decided that, at the risk of compromising our schedule, we’d take a detour along one of the lodes. Taking a left at Pope’s Corner, up the Cam to the ‘Five Miles from Anywwhere’ pub, then left onto Burwell lode and a right onto Reach lode….

Absolutely stunning, albeit narrow and shallow. We did manage to pass another narrowboat that came towards us but I still don’t know how.

Waterlillies everywhere…

And here’s a short video of my side view from the bow to set the scene a little…

So glad we made the detour. It was lovely.

At the end of Reach lode, funnily enough, is the village of Reach, a pub and a superb Sunday lunch.

Then the slow chug back along the lode, in fact backtracking all the way to Ely, where TJ had left his car…perhaps not the best plan.

A morning thrash to Stretham, a ticking off for being late from Ken, frantic packing up of cat and possessions resulted in an ever so slightly stressed boatbird.

But the promise of a few days away somewhere new and with good company soon had me smiling again.

That was Sunday and Monday. It’s now Friday and this afternoon we will reverse the process, picking up Foxy and Hobo on the way. I’m hoping like hell that both cat and boat are well and pleased to see us…

Watch this space to find out…

Tags: boating, cats, narrowboat, nature, photography

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Categories Countryside, Narrowboating, photography, Rivers

Life as we know it..

11 Apr

I’ve agonised about the way this post should go, not wanting to add to the never-ending torrent of comment, opinion and speculation that surrounds this threat we all face: Coronavirus. There, I’ve said it.

Not only that, but I set this blog up to be a feel-good place, where I could share some of the highlights of my chosen lifestyle, and hopefully brighten the reader’s day a little by sharing some of the delights (and occasional, amusing catastrophes) that go with living on the water. It’s somewhere I can showcase my snaps of stunning skyscapes…

and sunsets…

The countryside…

Even the city sometimes…

And, of course, the ever-present and wonderful wildlife that abounds on and around the waterways – all set to a soundtrack of birdsong.

But in truth, I can’t not mention it. It has had such a profound impact on life as most people know it. A scary new world where time stands still and hugs and socialising are a distant memory. A world where few cars clog up our roads and pollution is at an all-time low. A new quiet world. A world that is learning to think of and care for others and appreciate those who go the extra mile. BB salutes you. A world where one can take time to reflect and simply be.

Welcome to my world dear reader. Being an aspiring writer and living alone, my world is by nature a solitary one at times, where much of my socialising is done via the internet. So much of the current imposition doesn’t affect me greatly. I am fortunate to live in a super place among a fabulous community but feel for those who aren’t so lucky.

Right now, you find me at my outdoor work space…

Enjoying the sunshine…

Scary.

Where the cat and hose coil up…

And daisies decorate the grass.

I get regular visitors…

Thank goodness for this wonderful weather. It goes a long way to cheer us and keep away the gloom that could so easily creep into our heads.

We are all learning to adapt and embrace new challenges on a daily basis. Even my charmed lifestyle has been compromised, being deemed at high risk of serious illness or worse if I catch this thing, and am beginning a strict 12 week stay at home regime. But how hard can that be? My marvellous neighbours are rallying by fetching shopping and generally being there for me.

I, for one, hope this new-found community spirit will prevail and that we will all become stronger, wiser and more compassionate as a consequence. Hopefully society will adapt to the new normal too and that common sense will become a little more common, though I’m not holding my breath.

But for now, my friends, try to enjoy the moment. Be still and make the most of these times. Many will have learned new skills and knocked off a lot of those jobs that have forever been on the to do list, or simply enjoyed having time to relax and reflect.

I will miss the cruising though…

Stay safe xx

Tags: boating, isolation, photography, spring, sunset

Comments 4 Comments
Categories Canals, Countryside, Narrowboating, photography, Rivers, sundown, Uncategorized, writing

Boatlife..

29 Jan

Greetings on this joyful January day.

You might be wondering how I am getting on in my new home on the River Lark where I have a super and secluded home mooring…

So I thought I’d tell you a story – bit of a day in the life type of thing.

Every now and again, I do a physical Tesco shop, which serves to remind me why I normally do a click and collect and end up vowing never again! Today was one of those days; I was feeling quite spritely and it was bright and sunny when I set off to Newmarket. But when it came to loading up the car (with 50% more stuff than when I shop online) it was bucketing down. No covered area like there is at the click and collect. I got wet.

Lucky for me, it had stopped by the time I got home to do the long trek to the boat, and for long enough for me to get the coal in. Just. I’ve a system now for transporting stuff from car to boat, boat to car and rubbish to the bins, having bought a cheapo plastic “rollacart”… which miraculously can be hauled over the bridge with contents inside. My more beefy garden trolley, more suited to grass and mud… that I’ve left the other side is then filled and dragged to Hobo, complete with lightweight cart. Seems to work well.

There is a long way round, which avoids the bridge, taking you through the lodges and reed beds, over which starlings do that fabulous murmuration thing. When I witness this for myself, I will share it with you here. When it’s not boggy, one of the chaps here runs a buggy (sort of golf cart on steroids) round this way, so heavy stuff like coal and gas can be more easily delivered to your boat. Brilliant. Or, the local coal merchant will deliver to the nearby lock and load the bags onto the roof of your boat, but also only when conditions favourable.

As for physical shopping, despite spending more and taking more time and effort, it does give the opportunity to browse the clothing and electrical sections, as well as other delights on offer. F’rinstance, my dietician has urged me to buy those individual dessert pots in order to gain weight – I’m struggling with this due to an auto-immune condition I have, which, after a lifetime of battling weight gain, I am now a real skinny Minnie and borderline mal-nourished. Bizarre.

They do one called little pots of joy, which is crème egg that you can eat with a spoon and not get covered in chocolate. It’s good but not even close to the ice cream version. So Hobo’s fridge is well-stocked with that one, as well as various mousses and trifles! If I could get to my scales, I’m sure I will have gained more weight. In fact, I’ve been advised to eat all sorts of rubbish that I’ve previously avoided like the plague and give anything vaguely healthy the big swerve. Bit of a win-win really.

So why can’t I get to my scales? Well, Hobo went wonky and, one morning as I got out of bed, found the floor was wet. Water underneath in the bilge. A lot of it. Bugger. Apart from wet feet, I struggled to walk with the boat at such an angle and kept bumping into the walls. And that’s before I had a drink!

I put out the distress call, which my old mate Steve swiftly answered. We checked the usual suspects – stern gland and weed hatch, both ok. He soon had the boat level again (stuck on a ledge after water levels had dropped) and re-tied with the back end further out to avoid getting hung up again. Looks untidy but she is floating free, which is preferable to looking like I know how to moor a boat properly, but leaning over.

Not sure where the water came from but Steve thinks it’s rain water – we have had a lot and my back doors are anything but watertight. I’ll have her hauled out for blacking come Spring so can get the hull checked at the same time, though fairly sure that’s not the problem.

Anyway, Steve’s pump chucked out most of the water, leaving me to aqua-vac daily as the water slowly trickles to the back – takes a week or so to get it all. Then it’s a case of stuffing newspaper into the inspection hatch (which was cut into the bottom of my wardrobe when I inadvertently filled the bilge by overflowing the water tank – a breather tube issue) to absorb any further moisture. As it’s raining again I’ll soon see if any more gets in.

All of this meant I had to empty the floor of said wardrobe and engine room (a useful space for storage when not cruising), deposit stuff in the bedroom and bathroom – hence blocking the way to my scales, plus all sorts of other items I need to access daily). Not to mention making moving around somewhat tricky and upsetting any order I normally enjoy. Feng shui is all to pot!

Don’t know about you but, the minute I let the tiniest bit of disorder into my world, everything deteriorates into chaos, quick quick. Obviously, this is a whole lot more noticeable, with space at such a premium, in a 47×7 foot-ish area. It’s not that I’m a neat freak or anything, but it’s purely practical to be tidy, unless you enjoy falling over things/moving half of your possessions to get to the other half.

But that’s boatlife and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

In other news: my trusty stove is burning 24/7, keeping me snug and warm and my new neighbours are great. Not that I’ve met all of them yet, but I suspect my semi-hibernation has a lot to do with that. Looking forward to spring when, no doubt, we’ll all be outdoors a lot more, making us more visible and sociable. Seems like a great community.

Looking a little spring-like on board…

The hyacinths fill the boat with a delightful sweet scent.

I’m gradually finding my way around, now not totally reliant on Google maps and confident to navigate my own way to at least a couple of destinations. Hobo is moored in Cambridgeshire, across the river is Suffolk and Norfolk is fairly close too. There’s some lovely towns nearby: Ely, Cambridge, Newmarket, Downham Market, King’s Lynn, Bury St. Edmunds to name but a few. Still much exploring to be done. I imagine there’s some good walking hereabouts too – I’ll let you know come the spring and warmer weather.

I have a postbox…And a birdbox…And a butcher within walking distance where all produce is reared right here on the farm. Adjacent is a stall where fresh, local veg is available for sale, by way of an honesty box.

The marina here is on an island where Muntjac roam and swans, ducks and geese abound. There’s nothing quite like being aboard listening to swans smack along their river runway in order to take off , hear the geese chattering or the mad quacking of the duck barmy army.

I’m impressed with the manager here and have found her most helpful and accommodating. So thank you for that, much appreciated.

RAF Mildenhall is close and, as a bit of a plane spotter, is home to some interesting aircraft, such as the Osprey…

Google image

Also big bombers, fighter jets and so on. So, unlike being under Stansted’s flightpath (as I was before) at least there’s something good to look at. And it’s nowhere near as busy; little night or weekend flying.

Foxy has settled really well and loves his new home. He’s a true boatcat, happy to walk the gunwales…And plank…

Though this now superseded by something safer, sturdier and more fitting…Courtesy of the on site maintenance man. Well pleased with this and sure it’s saved me a dunking.

Foxy helps me get the coal in, fill up the water tank and other boatie chores, as well as charging around, jumping on the roof, climbing trees…

And decimating the local vermin population…

He’s currently taking an interest in what I’m up to right now…Oh, and he’s been in the river a couple of times already…

He’s also starting his own blog…

boatcat.blog.

As soon as he can get his head around setting it up, the cat lovers among you will be able to see boatlife from his point of view…

I’m guessing that will be riveting.

Tags: boating, cats, feng shui, photography

Comments 6 Comments
Categories Narrowboating, photography, Rivers, Uncategorized

Moving on…

18 Sep

Comes a time when the right thing to do is to move on. And that’s where I found myself earlier this year. Not only had I been at my mooring for eight years – a long, long time for a dedicated liveaboard water gypsy – but I felt I needed a physical move to take me to a better place.

In April, I was at rock bottom. I don’t want to get into all that here, but suffice to say that four months of hospital/rehab/care home all took their toll. I had a lot of time to think during this period and set the wheels in motion to find a new home for Hobo, Foxy and me.

I’ve always thought I’d return to the Great Ouse system at some point. I love the Fens, the big skies, big rivers and good people. Some years back, I’d visited a friend at a super marina on the River Lark where he had a wonderful river mooring. This came to mind again now and I knew that this was where I wanted to be.

You got to get lucky sometimes, and a quick phone call confirmed a similar spot was available. And, by all accounts, this is rare. People tend to stay put and spare berths are like rocking horse shit.

After a visit to confirm all was as I remembered, it was affordable for me, and agreement from the management to take me on, I verbally agreed the terms and had transferred the required deposit by the end of the day.

Now I had something to plan for and look forward to. But could I really make this happen? Whilst my health has improved considerably, I’m still not 100% nor ever so strong, and no way could I take on this cruise by myself. I needed someone to take over when I was flagging, possibly doing the bulk of the driving and certainly working the locks.

There really was only one candidate of course – John. I can count the people who I’d trust to skipper Hobo on the fingers of one thumb. Would he be willing/able?

I’m delighted to say he was.

So, on the late August bank holiday weekend, we embarked on this cruise of 233 miles, 2 furlongs and 170 locks. Some of which we shared with the locals…Here is how they work. In you go…

Close the gates, wind the paddles and fill/empty…And up comes Hobo…Lock keepers take pride in their gardens…

But out on the river it’s also delightful…

With foraging aplenty.

There was the odd swing bridge…And tunnel…And yes, there really is light at the end.

Locks on the Nene and Ouse have guillotine gates, usually electrified but some…Still aren’t, meaning that wheel has to be turned around and around and around forever, to raise or lower the gate. And that’s why I drive the boat!

Our route took us down the rivers Stort and Lea, along the Hertford Union and Regents Canal through London and up the Grand Union to the Northampton arm. Then it’s on to the River Nene, through the Middle Levels, the tidal crossing from Salter’s Lode to Denver Sluice, onto the Great Ouse and finally the Lark.

Hobo loves the big rivers… As do we. You can almost feel her joy at being in deep water…Not to say she didn’t perform well when ditch crawling…She most certainly did – but couldn’t really get up a head of steam, so progress feels slow.

But clearly it wasn’t. It took us just twelve days, which is no mean feat. Dawn to dusk cruising largely, often not mooring up till last light… Hobo’s engine never missed a beat… With no mechanical issues/stoppages/disasters. Extraordinary really, as she doesn’t get a lot of attention – apart from when John is around. He checks the levels and tightens/dresses the belts as necessary, as well as all the other tasks like greasing etc. One day I’ll have her shone up/painted to look like those engines that belong to the real enthusiasts.

We managed 27 locks in one day! Luckily, we often managed to lock through with another boat… Really lightens the load – me on the tiller holding her in the lock, while John and at least one other set of muscles set to; winding the paddles and pushing the balance beams. It’s also a great opportunity for the drivers to have a natter – I learned of a choice mooring on the Nene this way, one we’d never have found. It was up a little cut, which opened into a basin and (you guessed it) was next to a pub.

We fed the swans there…John and I both hugely enjoyed the journey. As each day passed, I was improving physically and emotionally as I mentally moved on from the bad place I was in during the first half of the year. The cruise itself was doing me good.

We did take a break for a couple of days, conveniently moored at the Ship Inn on Brandon Creek… John had managed to hurt his back and needed to rest it. Ironically, it was doing a good deed by helping out a 70 footer when its inexperienced crew got themselves into a bit of a pickle.

Some random pics along the way.

Little Venice I think…Horrors of duckweed on the London canals…Looks so walkable on.

Moored on a towpath somewhere…Hobo nose in as we manoeuvre her to tie to that tree for a brief stop on the Nene…The beautiful church at Fotheringhay…Where we moored for the night and met a dear friend for a pie and a pint at the village pub. Has to be done.

Come Tuesday, we pushed on, making it to my new home a little before sunset…So, here we are in situ…

Where Foxy walked the plank…The views are to die for…How’s that..!

My garden is private, perfect and full of potential…Though it needs a little work – I’ve much I want to do here but all in good time. Boarding by plank isn’t ideal but there’s a maintenance man here, who I’m told will build me a platform/small jetty.

I’m full of ideas and inspiration and can see how I want it in my mind’s eye. I’ll update you as it all comes together. But it already feels like home (Foxy thinks so too) and I shall enjoy adding those little touches that will make it truly mine.

First step is to collect all my shoreside paraphernalia from the old mooring. My brother, who is now a lot closer geographically, plus his mate with a van, helped me with this on Monday.

I love new beginnings. And I love my new home.

Cruising with a cat certainly added another dimension, Foxy delighting in his new-found boat cat status…Worrying us at times with his innate curiosity and exploring spirit, but always entertaining and returning to his boat home.

But I think that’s another post…

PS: I didn’t get to say goodbye to all my old friends and neighbours, so if you’re among those I missed…goodbye and good luck!

Also huge thanks to those who were there for me during my darkest hours this year. It meant a lot xx

Tags: Cruising, Grand Union, Great Ouse, Lark, Lea, London canals, Nene, Stort

Comments 8 Comments
Categories Canals, Narrowboating, photography, Rivers, Uncategorized

Foxtrot Oscar..

11 Aug

No, not the slang for a rather rude form of go away, but the full name of my new companion.

As a regular reader, you’ll know (and if not you soon will) that I’ve been hankering after a cat. Not just any old cat you understand, but a ship’s cat. One that cruises with me and Hobo, and one that is good for a cuddle.

So here he is…

What a cutie!

Better known as Foxy, he is all of the above. Well he’s shaping up that way, jumping from the bow of my boat to the stern of my neighbour’s. He is fearless. He runs along Hobo’s gunnels, jumps on the roof and, as yet, has avoided a dunking.

But don’t be fooled by his furry loveliness. He is also responsible for decimating the local vermin population, his oh so sharp claws making short work of it. And that’s a good thing, I just wish he wouldn’t bring me the evidence by way of little gifts.

But Boatbird deals with this, as she does with the cat’s hairs everywhere, the constant ‘need’ for food, stamping on my keyboard, wrecking my furniture and the irresistible urge to destroy my sleep patterns.

He seems to come to life at silly o’clock and wants to play. He will headbutt my chin, rub his wet little nose on my face and mew relentlessly for attention. Not to mention messing up my duvet with muddy footprints…

But he makes me smile, and comes a time when you have to weigh up what is important and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s all worth it for the comfort, companionship and affection he gives. Who wants to live in a show home anyway? Not that that’s an option when you live aboard on the riverbank.

Naturally, being a cat, he is curious and dives inside whenever I open the fridge or a cupboard door…

He can also be pretty chilled…

Usually finding a spot where my feet or my bum want to be. We fight for my chair, he getting cosy the minute I stand up and complaining bitterly when I sit on him.

I’ve modified the vent in the door by way of a cat-flap…

Works well. I like that he can come and go. And by that I mean go in the great outdoors, so I don’t have to provide a litter tray. There’s precious little space on board for such, and besides, I hate them.

He is shortly going to be tested, me about to throw him a curved ball. Boatbird is planning a little jaunt downriver to see how he copes with cruising. A little acclimatisation exercise. I fear he’ll wander off and get lost or be totally freaked by the moving boat and fall in – or worse.

In truth, I think he’ll love it and turn out to be a natural, probably tying the ropes, manning the tiller and working the locks before too long.

How cool would that be?

Hmmm. Not looking likely.

Tags: boat cat, boating, cats, ship's cat

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Categories Canals, Narrowboating, Rivers, Uncategorized

Talking Toilets..

4 Mar

By that I don’t mean a chatty carzy that natters to you while you do the business. Mind you, in this day and age, there’s probably a smart loo available, amassing statistics and analysing your waste. Perhaps even an Alexis-type voice advising you to take it steady on the beans/brussels etc. What a dreadful thought..!

No, today I will be blogging about bogs, so if you are at all squeamish/appalled by the thought, look away now.

When I bought Hobo, some thirteen years ago, she came complete with a Thetford Porta Pottie, which I vowed to replace with a pump-out as soon as possible. A wise old boater told me to live with it a while and let things evolve. So I did and, until a couple of weeks ago, I was still using the same method, albeit a more up to date version – the Qube.

It’s largely been satisfactory and, all this time I’ve lived aboard, I’ve heaved the full tank off the boat, lugged it to a suitable tipping out place, learned how to hold my breath for as long as it takes to empty, rinsed out and cleaned. And repeat. On average, it would probably take about 5 days to refill (less when I’ve had company) so multiply that up and I’ve probably performed this task the best part of a thousand times. Scary.

The emptying process is even more of a schlep when the yard here is muddy – like right now – and frankly I’d been struggling with it. (Three months living in a house in South Africa with the flush fairy probably spoiled me somewhat.) Then one day, my neighbour invited me onto her boat to see her latest purchase… a composting loo made in the USA by C-head.

She’s often seen me trudge, grim-faced and with toilet in tow, in all weathers and when conditions underfoot guarantee a sense of humour failure – not that there’s ever a good time to undertake this dreaded task. She thought perhaps something similar would be a good idea for me too. I was given a no-holds-barred guided tour of her facility, with explicit explanations on its workings, cost and told how easy it was to empty. (I think she’s on commission.)

To non-boaters, this may seem a little strange but, trust me, it is quite the norm for boatie folk. And, as boaters will know only too well, when two or more of us get together, it is where the conversation ends up. Always. We do talk a lot of shite.

It’s something I’d been considering for a while, but more or less dismissing it, thinking it complicated and/or messy. Not so. Boatbird isn’t easily impressed but on this occasion I was. Very. I saw with my own eyes how simple yet stylish it was…

Screen_Shot_2016-03-28_at_7.48.53_PM.png

Image courtesy of c-head website

and how it fitted into the confines of a boat bathroom. And there was no smell at all. This would be perfect for me: no more heavy lifting, costly chemicals or worrying, when out cruising, where the next usable Elsan disposal point is.

I was so sold on the idea, that when I got back to Hobo, I was straight on the wonderweb at http://www.c-head.com placing my order. OK, it’s not cheap and, given recent expense, I should have restrained myself but it was such a no-brainer. No more dates with gross and grotty tip-outs, resulting in a happier and more eco-friendly boatbird. Anyway, that’s what credit cards are for. And I am so worth it.

The actual cost was: 599.00 + 150.00 p&p = 749.00 USD. At the current exchange rate this equated to 594.31 GBP. What I hadn’t accounted for was the import duty of £161.62, which brought the total up to £755.93 and was only made aware of this when Parcelforce notified me they would be holding on to my new loo until I paid this to them. Bugger.

It did piss me off a bit. I still don’t think that going green should cost me but that’s greedy, grabbing governments for you.

Fast forward to now and I’ve been (very happily) living with the c-head composter for a couple of weeks. It is every bit as good as I’d hoped – and more. Its footprint is actually smaller than that of the old portaloo but a little taller, which is a good thing. It looks good, dead easy to clean, there’s no smell and it’s a doddle to empty. It does come complete with a venting kit which, as my neighbour said, is really not necessary.

It is also easy to move, which is vital for my set up as it sits in front of my washing machine…

so needs shifting on wash days. A kit is supplied to fix to the floor/wall but this is not for me. Seems sturdy enough without anyway.

It works so well because liquids and solids are directed to separate containers…

because, apparently, it is when the two mix that the stink happens. Wee is funnelled to a plastic five litre bottle (easily disposed of under a hedge) or, if diluted 5 parts water to 1 part urine, can be used on the garden. It’s a high nitrogen fertiliser so very good for plants. I find this needs emptying every two or three days but will need to be more often for two or more users. Obviously.

Poo goes to a plastic bucket, into a measured amount of composting medium and then, with lid back down, churned by the handle supplied…

Clever. I’m using sawdust (free and readily available) but many other types will work: animal bedding, cat litter etc.

Extra medium can be added if necessary – when diarrhoea strikes or wee is misaimed. It is recommended that men be seated to avoid the latter. You can put toilet paper into the compost but this will fill it far sooner, so it is suggested this be placed in a separate bin for later disposal. (Mine gets burned promptly on the wood stove so really not a problem.)

When this is used up (you know when because cranking becomes harder) it’s fine to double bag and dispose of with the rubbish. Or, line up a suitable place outdoors and start a heap – should be fully composted in a few months and ready to spread on the garden.

I’ve emptied it once now – simple enough – and pleasantly surprised by the scent of forest floor. Doesn’t look like what it is and not at all noxious. It really is clever.

Another neighbour, into all things organic, wants to use it to grow mushrooms in. I’m thinking this could be marketed – extract of Annie – so the mushrooms are bound to be magic!

Tell you what was magic; that last time I tipped out the old camping loo, knowing it would be the last time – EVER!

So good, I did a little dance. Right there and then.

Tags: boating, composting toilets, human waste disposal

Comments 4 Comments
Categories Canals, Narrowboating, Rivers, Uncategorized

So long South Africa..

1 Feb

For now.

My three month stay is now a distant – yet not dim – memory…

Glorious sunsets over the estuary

Just as well because I need all the help I can get to blot out my return to the UK. I will elaborate in due course.

In case you were thinking it was all beer and skittles, and that I was having a wonderful time…

The wild fires came way too close.

The aftermath…

And I was bitten…

Again. I always react badly.

The Mighty Uno showered me with rust…

As we bumped up a mountain pass. It was in my hair too but the photographer saw fit to exclude this. I was not amused.

I should have known that something was amiss when I attempted to clear security at Cape Town airport. That moment we all dread when they take just a little too long in their scrutiny of your passport, escort you to a side room and then make you wait. And wait.

Turns out, in their estimation, I had overstayed by one day. This would result in a punishment of not being allowed to return for a year. And, upsettingly, declared an ‘undesirable person’. I may just frame the paperwork that indicates this…

Form filling followed and I was sent on my way – reeling a little.

To me, the period between 17th October and 16th January represents three months. But, if you take a month as 31 days and times by three it makes 93 days. Count on your fingers from 17/10 to 16/01, it is 94 days, so technically one day over what is permitted. Seems harsh to me.

They gave me ten days to appeal, which I did – humbly and apologetically. Now I wait for the verdict.

Then there’s the weather. It’s bloody cold…

In case you hadn’t noticed. Bad timing on my part but unavoidable.

Then there’s the hairbrush I lost on the plane – the one I bought to replace the one that I lost on the flight out. I’m really not suited to travel economy (who the hell is?) and find it impossible to keep myself and my belongings together.

My friend and neighbour, who kindly collected me from the airport, had to physically put me into his van. My ankles were swollen and my legs were constantly cramping, finally seizing up altogether.

He had lit the stove on Hobo though, so at least the boat was warm, allowing me some degree of comfort. Or, more accurately, I could collapse into the chair by the fire and begin my recovery, not needing to move further than the kettle, the loo, the drinks cupboard and eventually bed.

It takes a day or two for the boat to properly warm up, but an absolute eternity when the trusty Squirrel stove is, for some reason, not performing. It wasn’t. Struggling to draw, smoky and sluggish. Can only mean one thing: chimney needs sweeping, which means I have to let the fire go out.

Fortunately, this was before the current cold snap. Could have been so much worse.

I imposed on the good nature of another lovely neighbour to scrape the flue. Much easier for him to jump on the roof and wield the heavy metal tool designed to do this job, given that I was still in a state somewhere between semi-paralysis and total collapso.

Shame I forgot to close the door of the stove though, resulting in every surface inside my home being coated with filthy black soot. Now I have to clean. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the fire box still wasn’t performing. We wrestle with the baffle plate, which did seem to improve things. A bit.

Several not-quite-warm-enough days later, I discover that the blanking plate had dropped off the back of the stove…

The real culprit.

There was now a hole in the stove, possibly releasing potentially fatal carbon monoxide fumes! I had no choice but to let it go out again, in the hope I wouldn’t wake up dead the following morning (even cooling embers will emit CO gas).

Again, my neighbours rallied and helped me out with an interim heat source…

Natty eh?

Clearly I survived, and was soon off in search of help in the form of an effective temporary fix, which was successful and still holding. Thank goodness. I will of course order a new one.

While all this was going on, my car spectacularly failed the MOT and some ******* had clouted one of the door mirrors and left it dangling.

Choose your favourite expletive here. I used several.

Need some cute animal pics..?

Thought so.

Fast forward to now and all is well once more. Back to tropical temperature, warm and cosy. Car back on the road and I am returned to what passes as normal for me body-wise. Unpacking done, laundry sorted (not done) and order – more or less – restored.

Spot the driver…

Spooky.

I’ll end the SA saga here for now, except for the occasional pics that pitch up periodically from our own correspondent.

My posts will be returning to more boatie things for a while and the next one will be on our favourite topic: toilets.

I have ordered a new one…

It’s a composter!

No delivery date as yet but hope it’s soon. Can’t wait to tell you all about it.

One more thing… I want a boat cat. Anyone know of one that needs a lovely warm, cosy home/loving owner?

Tags: boating, cats, composting toilets, South Africa, sunset, travel

Comments 4 Comments
Categories Canals, Narrowboating, photography, Rivers, south africa, travel, Uncategorized

Wind in the Willows..

22 Sep

You, as precious and perceptive readers of this blog, will have noticed how windy it’s been of late. You know only too well. That is, of course, if you are in the UK.

It has played havoc with my hairdo…

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Not that you’d notice.

Had a go at ripping my car door off its hinges and swung my TV aerial round a full 180 degrees. Considering this was held by three wire stays and numerous magnets, was no mean feat.

What you may not know is that four trees have fallen into my little river over the last few days, at least two of which have blocked the navigation. Fortunately, none has done damage to boats/people, not that I know of anyway.

Unlike this poor couple..

https://www.facebook.com/rachel.m.harper/videos/10160772556430109/?t=24

What a nightmare. One that I have, yet again, escaped by the skin of my teeth.

In case you didn’t know, I moor beneath a very old, fragile looking willow. One that looks like it would fall over if I exhaled sharply in its vicinity. One that disintegrates when pushed against as Hobo leaves her mooring, and one that creaks in the wind at the best of times.

It’s more wobbly than whomping…

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But, against all the odds, it remains upright.

When I say upright…

As upright as its ever been in all my years of living underneath it. We (that’s the royal variety) do what we can to keep it from being top-heavy, as you can see here.

One the whole, I don’t like the wind. Not if I’m outdoors. But if I’m all cosy inside, I love to watch its effects on the water, the plant life, wildlife and the clouds. I like that it rocks the boat, making windchimes out of my hanging utensils and the crystals in the window sway and sparkle. It reminds me of how safe I feel (despite the threat of my feeble tree) and gently rocks me to sleep.

This year’s wonderful summer has come to an end and we’ve slipped into autumn, even though my diary tells me it doesn’t become official until the 23rd.

The autumn equinox…

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Nights are drawing in already, leaves are beginning to fall and it’s all downhill from here. There’s definitely a whiff of wood smoke in the air – there is around my boat anyway. I’m not one to tough it out till it’s ‘acceptable’ to light one’s fire. The first hint of a chill in the air and the old Morso gets fried up.

And yes…

It’s blazing away now.

I’m mostly only burning those 99p a pop faux logs at the mo, usually more than enough to take the pain out of a chilly morning/evening. Last night though, I did add a proper chunky real log – one foraged by the John last year – and regretted it a couple of hours down the line, having to open doors/hatches to avoid overheating/paint blistering!

We’re not yet at that burning 24/7 stage and, hopefully, I’ll miss most of that.

Did I tell you I was going to overwinter in South Africa..?

Sure I did.

Tags: autumn, boating, weather

Comments 4 Comments
Categories Narrowboating, Rivers, Uncategorized

I do love a list..

12 Sep

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No, not that sort of list.

A list of what to do – must do, could do, should do. A list of what to take – must take, might take. And a list of what to get – most items here followed by a question mark at this stage. All growing by the minute…

As a wannabe spontaneous person, I guess that’s a huge fail. But, in my defence, I am planning a three month excursion to the southern hemisphere and have to be prepared…

Third world. Don’t you just love it?

I’d already started the process of renewing my passport, it expiring in September, not realising I’d need it so soon but knowing I couldn’t not have a current one. Turns out this was a good move as, whilst the online renewal process is agreeably simple and speedy, the courier designated to deliver the finished product wasn’t.

Living on a boat/being of no fixed abode has its challenges and getting one’s mail is one of them. No friendly postie for me. I collect my mail from the Post Office, which works wonderfully well. Usually. When it comes to ‘signed for’ items, life can get a little complicated and, depending on the individual tasked to unite you with your precious/ID sensitive package, can be fraught with frustration. And it was. Very.

After several abortive attempts to meet with this (non) delivery person, I did what I had to do and arranged to collect from the local DX depot. Simple. Well it was, if you don’t count the numerous phone calls to the passport office (@ 35p per minute on the mobile) and those to the courier.

Still, mission accomplished. I have my new passport…

Shame it’s not the new British version as promised with the exit from the EU but hey, let’s not go there. And no, you’re not getting to see the photo!

Another item on the list (must do) is to ensure my ~~drug dependency~~ medication needs are catered for, so a trip to the surgery and pharmacy required. Now sorted and another box ticked. Going well.

Well it was. Opposite the chemist shop in Sawbo central is a trendy little boutique with all sorts of desirable things in its window…

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It’s the kind of place that never displays the prices so I’ve always avoided it like the plague. Like they say, if you have to ask…

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But yesterday there was a couple of lovely, loose fitting, linen frocks hanging outside with big red sale tickets attached. End of season and just the job for my upcoming trip. My ‘what to get’ list includes ‘clothes?’ and, before you could say that now was the perfect time to bag a bargain, I’d been sucked in and handed over the plastic to pay for both of these. Plus a (not in the sale but just what I’d been looking for forever) top.

But, no guilt here. I am so worth it.

The ‘get Hobo ready for winter’ list has morphed into a ‘prepare Hobo for abandonment’ list. And I do feel guilty about that. But, willing neighbours/friends have offered to be there for her/care for her, so I am reassured on that front.

My immediate neighbour will take on the role of looking after of my feathered friends…

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag. For the Disney fans among you.

Takes me back. In another life, when I had the pub, we hosted many impromptu jam sessions. All sorts of musicians would turn up, from far and wide, and strut their stuff…

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As time went by and sobriety went out the window, the local musos would progress from classic rock and blues and turn to Disney. They’d belt out tunes from the likes of Mary Poppins and Jungle Book and we’d all join in. We all knew the words. Let’s go fly a kite… I’m the king of the swingers... and many more. Good times.

Ha ha, got you! Bet you’re all singing now!

Back to the future, said neighbour will take me to the airport too – probably just to make sure I’m really gone. Seriously, I’m always blown away by the kindness of boatie folk, yet never surprised. Looking out for each other – it’s what we do. And I love that.

Something I must do, sooner rather than later, is to order some currency…

Right now, I can get almost twice as many Rand to the Pound than when I last visited.

My trip may be a month away but, as you know, time waits for no man. Or Boatbird. Before we know it, I’ll be winging my way to sunny South Africa, ready or not for what is to come.

Get to it BB.

Get those boxes ticked.

Tags: boating, South Africa, travel

Comments 2 Comments
Categories Canals, Narrowboating, Rivers, south africa, travel, Uncategorized

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Life as we know it..

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Moving on…

Foxtrot Oscar..

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So long South Africa..

Wind in the Willows..

I do love a list..

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