Tag Archives: travel

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…

IMG-20181223-WA0000.jpgAgain. 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…

IMG_20190124_151209~2.jpg 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…



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?









I do love a list..

12 Sep

google image

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…

Woman Reading Long List

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…


google image

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…


google image

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…


google image

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.

Wait and See..

5 Sep

A much used and predictable response to numerous questions posed to parents by many an impatient child I suspect…


Google image

It certainly featured highly in my youth.

Now I’m a grown up – allegedly – I realise why straight answers are so infuriatingly elusive. I simply do not know what will happen in the future. No-one does.

Whilst we may sometimes have a jolly good idea/strong gut feeling of the outcome of those what if/when/how/who posers, as adults now realise that nothing is set in stone. No-one knows when the fickle finger of fate will come into play and put the kibosh on all those well-crafted plans. Happens all the time.

But that’s not to say we shouldn’t make plans. I do it all the time. Sometimes in order to realise a goal, find a direction or purpose or, as often as not, out of necessity.

I’ll give you a for instance.

As a liveaboard boater, with winter looming large, I have to plan for the worst. This entails ensuring my cosy cocoon stays so…


Meaning I need to prepare my metal tube for whatever the elements may throw her way. Sealing areas that could spring a leak…


And checking my trusty multi-fuel stove over and repairing/replacing/refurbing as necessary being high on the to-do list.


Chimney swept.



Chilly morning/evening…



Never. Not on my watch.

Estimating how much fuel to order to see me through the dark, dank days is really just a guess, albeit after 12 years of the lifestyle, a slightly educated one. But, given that coal bought at the summer price (delivery before October) is £2 per 25kg cheaper, I simply can’t afford to wait and see. It’s a no-brainer.

This time last year I ordered 50 bags – a huge outlay – but, as last winter went on forever and ever, there remains only five or six bags left over. It’s not all about the saving made though. If we have a lot of rain (more than likely), the approach to my boat will without a doubt be soggy  and waterlogged, meaning my marvellous coalman will be unable to deliver right to my boat. I’ve done my share of hauling coal in the cold and wet and, trust me, it’s not happening again. Ever.

I don’t do cold, so have placed the same order this year. Sorted. Well not quite…

Turns out I have the opportunity to spend three months this winter in South Africa, where it will be summer…


After careful consideration – yeah right – I have decided to fly south. Yay! Back of the net! But what about all that coal?

Already taken care of my friends: 20 bags to one neighbour and 10 to another, leaving me enough to deal with any unseasonal coldness before or after my trip. Simple.

It’s a well known fact that I’m a little prone to over-thinking. But I’m learning that there really is no point. We cannot predict what will happen along this rocky road/choppy water we travel and most things can be undone/re-hashed or suitably circumvented with a handy plan B.

As plan B’s go, this one is probably one of the better prospects…


This trip will take on quite a different meaning and shape to previous travels, but I’ll get into that another time.

Suffice to say, it could be useful and helpful to others and, if I get my arse in gear, productive and possibly profitable for me.

But who knows how it will all pan out? What will unfold? Who knows?

We will just have to wait and see…




Time for a re-boot..?

19 Feb

I may be being a little bit previous and don’t want to jump the gun or do whatever the opposite of hedging one’s bets is (rash? intrepid?) but am considering a re-boot here in Boatbird land.

That’s not anything to do with computers by the way – far from it. No, it’s a simple waiving of the wellingtons in favour of something a little less rubbery and cumbersome. The replacements will still have to be sturdy and functional. They’ll still need to be waterproof, so the Uggs are out and, preferably, something that the jeans will tuck into the tops of. Mud is, at the moment, still an issue here at dog-dirt alley, albeit receding slightly.

BB has a very suitable fur lined leather pair, which fit the bill quite nicely. They are waterproof, moderately trendy and dead comfy. If only I could remember where the hell I put them! They won’t be in deep storage at this time of year but clearly out of sight and in some clever hidey-hole on board…somewhere. I shall have to go hunt the boot before I can re-boot.

OK, so we’re a long way off from plimmies and flip-flops but, forgive me, it’s a big deal for the riverbank boat dweller, even the merest hint of not needing to be constantly constrained by sensible footwear that you have to be forever changing into and out of. Or, in my case, be stylishly sporting down the High Street here in Sawbo central.

You cannot fail to have noticed that the last few days have been positively spring-like. Apologies to those of you living in a less clement part of the UK, that is the north and west, but here in the south east, at least, it has been glorious – off and on – and I’m struggling to contain my optimism. I’ve even been out without a coat…

The bulbs I stuck into boxes in autumn are shooting and hope to soon have some spring flowers adorning the deck, not to mention some pics worth taking.  Amazing really, considering the local wildlife were having a field day digging them up as fast as I could put them in.

Speaking of wildlife and pics worth taking – South African style…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-02 at 16.33.51

Leopard claw marks. Close to where John had been exploring – in the wilds of Toast River.

He found a  natural spring…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-02 at 16.29.30WhatsApp Image 2018-02-02 at 16.30.21

And…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-02 at 16.28.10WhatsApp Image 2018-02-02 at 16.38.51

Back in Bot River…WhatsApp Image 2018-01-22 at 17.45.41

Edible fruit that no-one knows the name of.

Big game…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-02 at 16.43.18


Birdlife…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-16 at 16.12.55WhatsApp Image 2018-02-16 at 08.52.18

Buzzard and heron came calling by the bus.

A baby weaverbird…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-16 at 16.20.28WhatsApp Image 2018-02-16 at 16.12.12

That flew into and couldn’t get out of the bus.

Birds love to feed on John’s sunflowers…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-15 at 11.33.00

And drink at his bar.

Obligatory cute cat pics…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-15 at 12.02.43WhatsApp Image 2018-02-15 at 11.09.47

More wild fires…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-05 at 17.33.29

This one too close for comfort – just across the road.

Ash on the steps of the local store…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-05 at 17.35.25

Damage to local scrappie…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-05 at 17.33.06

Cape Town and thereabouts…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-18 at 16.09.23

Disused quarry.


What’s Hobo doing there? Surely not rushing!

More like art…WhatsApp Image 2018-02-11 at 14.16.12

Love this.

And that’s all from the SA album for now.

Finally, back on the water, I so want one of these…


And have challenged John to make one for Hobo’s stove.


Writing course tutors urge their students to bury newly written work for a day or so before submission/publication; editing then being more objective.Being the good little student I am, that’s what I did with this post. Which is just as well because it has rained all night and day, so it seems I was indeed being a little rash and it looks like I’ll be booting up once more…IMG_20180219_153733.jpg







In the wellies.


Mr and Mrs B do Bolthead

23 Sep

In the little aeroplane!

Boatbird not looking great in this shot but she was concentrating ever so hard, trying to compose the perfect pic in a bucking bronco – some turbulence you understand – and at the same time maintaining a modicum of sanity and dignity. Whereas Mr. B is merely flying the plane so completely relaxed (when he isn’t sleeping) with nothing better to do than to pose for the camera.

We’d wanted to do this trip for ages and finally got the three day weather window we needed last weekend. In case you’ve never heard of Bolthead (I hadn’t) it is close to Salcombe, which is in Devon, meaning 2-3 hours in the air. The longest trip I’d ever attempted in the S10. It took us 3 hours to get there with a strongish headwind, cruising at 100/110mph and not including a fuel, comfort, coffee and bacon sarni stop at Dunkerswell. But more like 2 and a half on the way back.

Cute little office isn’t it?

The S10 is a homebuild, small but perfectly formed (if you can take the bungy straps, holes in the floor and total lack of sophistication) and surprisingly comfortable once installed (the getting in is a whole other story). But it performs superbly and, well, let’s just say you really know you are flying.

We set off around 9am on the Sunday with John’s GPS on the blink (literally) but he does a sterling job with map and dodgy compass. The city shows up quite soon after leaving Hunsdon (the local airfield here) and a bit further on we pick up the Thames. It’s quite something to fly the river we cruised Hobo on last year, spotting places where we moored, bridges we went under and other well known landmarks.

At Reading we follow the Kennet and Avon, seeing many longboats. We are yet to cruise this one…

We fly over Wiltshire and its numerous white horses – one of which I just about captured (if you look jolly hard) see bottom left corner. You may have to click on the pic and enlarge – working on the aerial photography, it can only get better.

We see the Somerset Levels, Glastonbury Tor, some stunning skyscapes and England’s pretty patchwork spreads beneath us. It is truly fabulous.

This is how the coast looked as we scour the landscape in search of the landing strip approach Bolthead.

The next shot shows the farm where we are staying and (we think) our tent, which, by arrangement, is ready pitched for us. How cool is that! A couple of fields up and to the left a bit is the actual strip; only a short walk away. Couldn’t be better.

Again, clicking and enlarging may help. Sorry about the glare; it’s a difficult plane for photography but, like I said, we are working on it.

John flies an inspection pass over the strip, as is good practice in places new, circles round, down..down.. then throws the first attempt away so round we go again and down.. down..down..nearly there..

Then.. Bugger! The plane tips violently on the diagonal, my head hits the canopy then the engine roars as John applies power to take us back up and round again.

What the hell happened there?

The airman’s bible, Pooley’s guide, warns of vicious turbulence here but it had all seemed so perfect before the picture went so suddenly and horribly wrong – just goes to show what a dasterdly downdraft can do – with all the potential of a nasty incident.

I’m scared now and pray to a god I don’t believe in as we descend for attempt number three.

John is a good pilot though and gently puts us down (third time lucky) with no drama and I’m counting my blessings as we taxi to the parking place.

And here she is, safely tucked up, tied down, no damage done.

We do the short walk to the farm, John scaling and me crawling wormlike under a wire fence along the way, to be greeted by the owners who turn out to be South African. Small world.

It is indeed our tent and I reckon it would sleep between 8 and 12 people, depending on how friendly they were, and comes complete with LED lantern, camp beds, sleeping bags, blankets and pillows.

All this AND dinner, breakfast and unlimited tea/coffee for £35 per person per night, which we thought a good deal.

Trying to pack all this into the S10, as well as ourselves and luggage, would be difficult given the weight restriction for safety, not to mention the sheer bulk. We’ve not really done weekends away in the aeroplane and see this as a bit of an experiment or training exercise even. So far so good.

Over the weekend we walk into town both via the wooded lane, which runs through pretty woodland chock full of what looks like giant rhubarb..

beautiful blue hydrangea..

and swathes of wild pink cyclamen..

and coastwise…

with some brilliant views of both sea…

and estuary…


We pass this (cowshed?) that we rather fancy as a seaside home..

and some neat stone walling..

and the beach at South Sands…

from where you catch the tractor…

that takes you out to the ferry to Salcombe…

and catches you on the way back…

Clever. Very clever.

It’s a boatie sort of place…

one way or another…

In fact the Ferry Inn barman’s T-shirt said it all: This is a drinking town with a sailing problem.

And lunch there was pretty good too.

Of course every silver lining has a cloud; this one being that the walk home is pretty much all uphill. I hate uphills. And this one was very steep.

We caught a shower too and, neither of us having very appropriate footwear (trainery type), meant wet feet. It was hot and sunny when we set out and yes, I know, shoes (the right ones for the occasion) have never been my strong suit.

There’s tea and cake back at the farm but nowhere to get warm. The eating shed is just that – open-fronted too.

Given this place is in the heart of serious walking country, a wood burner (or bloody great bonfire) wouldn’t go a miss. Even with all the proper gear, I’m sure those dedicated ramblers would appreciate a snug place to warm up in as they top up on tea and cake. They must get cold and damp too.

The showers (wet rooms) on the other hand are brilliant. Endless piping hot water and not a coin meter in sight. Loos are modern and spotless – in fact the whole place looks brand new and no expense spared. It has National Trust money in there somewhere – so that could explain a lot.

Once dinner (delicious) is devoured we are off to our beds (2 camp beds so can’t even cuddle up to get warm) before our feet become permanent blocks of ice.

Whilst we take responsibility for maybe not having our stall set out (remember this is a training exercise to be learned from so next time we’ll definitely be packing the bedsocks and thermals) and realise the best of our summer (???) has gone now, I can’t help but think this place would be more suited to the South African climate.

That said we think it’s a good place and had a fabulous time there. We will go back on our way to Cornwall – if this year has any decent flying weather left – when we plan to fly in to Lands End!

We hit some weather on the way home (bit bumpy up there) and had to do a bit of cunning diverting to miss the worst of it so we were pleased to get back to Hobo and roast ourselves in front of a roaring fire. With our toes now positively glowing with warmth, we agree it has been a fabulous trip – cold, scary landings, uphill route marches and iffy GPS now consigned to history. All part of the adventure.

Marks out of ten for Bolthead? Why ten of course!

And What of Bella…?

5 Sep

What indeed.

No doubt there will be those of you who couldn’t give a monkeys  are gagging to hear news of Bella, having waded through three previous posts that detailed her progress only to be left midstream, so to speak, wondering what happened next and where she is now.

So now, if you are sitting comfortably, Boatbird will reveal all.

Dah-dah-dah….da-da-da-dah. No not like that stupid!

If I remember rightly, we left her waiting it out in the new marina at Northampton until the Nene strong stream advice was withdrawn. It had to be so frustrating, having made such good progress to date, to be stuck like this – not to mention damned expensive. So we took a drive over there to visit Bella and her keeper, Dave. We thought it would be good for a laugh the supportive thing to do and anyway, John could retrieve his canoe – the one he fished out of a skip on the Lea.

Did I tell you about that? No?

Well, never let it be said that John will pass up a chance to hoover up someone else’s junk; hence the about turn we did that day on the river in order to grab this bright yellow beauty. Just what he’d always wanted.

It was an interesting manoeuvre that wasted a bit of time, saw us in shallow water and me panicking slightly. The mission was eventually accomplished successfully and canoe hoisted onto Bella’s roof. It wasn’t like we stole it – it was in a skip – but felt a bit naughty all the same.

Just one more obstacle for me to bitch about.

I have to say that the Nene didn’t look that angry when we pitched up at Northampton but further downstream, where the river narrows, it could be a different story. We had a very pleasant visit, met some more of Dave’s friends (also nice people) and John left by way of said canoe – de-de-de-de-der-der – just as far as the car park that is, where he loaded it onto the van roof and tied it down.

You keeping up with the tunes?

We’d arranged to visit one or two spots on the Nene on our way home to check on the raging river and report back. Which we did and, whilst the odd bridge height looked slightly iffy, it didn’t seem to be flowing that fast and we thought it was worth a go. With Caution.

I think they got as far as Thrapston before high water defeated them – a bridge too low. Bella was there for a few days before the water dropped enough so they could proceed. What can you do but wait?

John joined them further on for the tidal crossing to Denver. There was weed in the lock at Salter’s Lode, which naturally ended up on Bella’s prop, stopping her dead as they left the lock. Great. Tidal water with no power and no steerage. The weed hatch was quickly lifted, weed pulled off and all was well once more. But a bit exciting for a moment there…

They managed to negotiate the sandbanks and, once through Denver, Bella and co were nearly home. The Lark isn’t far away. In fact they made it – against all the odds – in time for the weekend so could settle in and have a much-needed rest (some very long days boating – like 16 hours) before work on Monday. Excellent.

We left it what we thought was a respectable time before we popped along to Isleham Marina to re-visit Bella. Let them get established. It’s a very pleasant place with all the usual amenities, interesting boats and lovely people. We’d been there before, a while ago, and liked it. We thought the place had a good feel then and am pleased to  report that it still does now.

Bella isn’t in the marina basin but out on the river in its own little spot, which is very private yet still connected to the populated part for socialising when desired. Trees and bushes had been hacked down in order to create a shore side access and patch of ground for the BBQ/sun lounger/garden/shed/place for the dogs/piles of junk/whatever.

As we arrived, Dave was getting the shore power hooked up – courtesy of a few helpful souls – cable connected to supply, buried and connected to the boat. He was able to switch on the fridge for the first time since arriving. A special moment!

We thought it was perfect – back of the net in fact – truly the best of both worlds.The Lark is a peaceful little river with just the one lock and no significant water movement. A super little haven. And a pub within cruising distance – what more could you want?

Seems Parrot and Annie (the dogs) had settled in well too..And Dave has been getting up to some serious cleaning…When he wasn’t poling about…Or fishing off the roof…Or off the sharp end…He and Bella seemed to have adapted well to the new life and location.

It’s hard but someone has to do it.

The Week That Was…

20 Apr

Last Friday two of my neighbours set off for their summer cruise, earlier than usual so as to avoid the Olympic nonsense, vaguely headed for the Llangollen – or Llangollywog in Johnspeak.  I watch them chug away,  all smiley faces and waves;

two narrowboats travelling in tandem towards places as yet unseen and adventures unknown.

I am a little envious and question my decision to not cruise, as such, this year. My plan being to stay put, earn some money and give Hobo some attention – that much needed paint job being top of the list. It’s the right thing to do but still I feel unsettled. Or, more acurately, settled.

John, via e mail, reassures me this is the way to go and speaks of the fun we can still have, exploring more of the upper Lee, playing with anchors as we try out wild mooring techniques. Well done John, I am once again convinced I know what I am doing and  look forward to spending some time here just messing about on the river. What could be better?

Saturday turns out to be my really good news day. John is booked on a flight that gets him into Heathrow at stupid o’clock on the morning of April 30th.  My birthday. Hallelujah and Happy Birthday to me!

I ran out of gas on Monday, not like me at all, probably due to the 12kg cylinder (smaller than usual) only lasting just over two weeks. I am used to getting around six weeks worth of hot water and cooking from my normal 13.5kg – still not making sense. Anyhow, off I trot to fetch more so I can at least have a cup of tea. A 12kg costs £29.50 and a 19kg £31.50 – how does that work? Scandalous. I can’t woman-handle the bigger size so cough up the £29.50 but order a 19 for delivery – I hate not having a spare. I’ve been spoiled up until now, having access to gas  at cost price from John’s farm. The real world is painful.

The rest of the week sees me beavering away and my current assignment is almost complete. I’ve established a routine that works for me and I hope to continue to be productive and less likely to succumb to the many distractions that go with life on the water: jumping up to watch and wave as boats go by, staring out the window at birds/sky/rain/planes/trains/sunset/towpath traffic/canoeists/wind in the trees and all sorts of other interesting stuff that conspires to take my mind off the job.

There are unavoidable diversions though. Feeding the fire (and me), dealing with essential chores, invariably involving people interaction – no-one walks by without engaging in conversation here. But that’s nice. And there’s the shopping, not my favourite thing but has to be done. And Thursday was the day.

I’m usually on a mission to get this over with and managed to get there, done and back inside an hour. Pretty good. I had a phone call on the way back – my gas delivery had arrived and where was I? Two minutes away to be precise. Of course it is chucking it down as I lead the way through dog dirt alley to the boat and a dip in the field en route has turned into a pond. This causes my delivery man and his sack barrow some concern so I wade in, ankle deep, to show it’s OK really.

This was a pond yesterday - honest

But the real fun started when we reached the ruts made by the JCB when the tree murder was going on a few weeks back. It’s very uneven and the gas cylinder wasn’t secured to the barrow and, you guessed it, it jumps off.. We both stood there, like two drowned rats,  watching in disbelief as the bloody thing rolled and rolled and rolled……right in to the river. Splosh!  You couldn’t make it up – hilarious. Well I thought it was but disguised my giggles by grabbing the boathook off the roof, resisting the urge to fetch my camera and capture the moment. I think this may have induced a total sense of humour failure on the part of the gas man…

The rutted road

We fished it out without further trauma, thankfully. He told me he was having a bad day and just wanted to go home. Poor man. I paid up and probably overdid the thanks by way of trying to make amends for my part in it. I then had to repeat the process (squelching through the bog but not throwing it in the river) with the shopping. All good fun and just part of life as a boatbird.

the river that waits patiently for that lapse in concentration.....

It’s just as well John will be back soon – I don’t think I dare order any more gas for delivery…..

Left a 12kg @ £29.50. Right a 19kg @ £31.50.

Well that’s my week. How was it for you?