Cleaning insanity

Bruce and Sheila Napier of Sanity fame are generous helper-outers at waterways events through the year. They are currently making ready to lend a hand at the Braidbar stand at Crick and Bruce has been getting the couple's own lovely Braidbar boat ready for the occasion. But he’s not overly happy with the results of his cleaning:

“I've spent the afternoon polishing the starboard cabin side, though I'm not satisfied with it, and I think it'll have to be done again tomorrow.”

Well, I’m glad there’s someone else out there for whom cleaning is not all plain sailing. I like to work to the equation of ‘minimum effort + ? = maximum shine. I have tried every know permutation of wash/wax/polish to ascertain the ‘?’ but I’m still looking. If the old girl’s not looking too shabby, I merely wipe her sides down with one of those kitchen wipes for stainless steel and buff her up with a microfibre cloth. Not too exhausting and with very acceptable results. But every so often she needs the full shampoo and set, which leads me to waxing, which leads me to swearing when I can see the smeary circular marks in the sunshine. So is it me? Am I doing it all wrong? Should I be kept well away from wax and given a tin of Brasso as a comforter instead? Oh my god, don’t get me started on doing the brass. In the early enthusiastic days, A used to be the brass master but he hasn’t had dirty nails in years. The job now falls to me and I have used almost everything in my search for the magic potion that just has to smell a tarnished port to start lifting off the grime, leaving a Colgate ring of confidence. There’s been Brasso, Bar Tender’s Friend, Miracle Leisure Products, Peek, Maas and despite all their claims, not one of them works effectively without a whole wheelbarrow of elbow grease. Well that’s no good to me is it? Minimum effort remember? And yes, we have tried Incralac but it just didn’t seem the real deal...and chrome fittings seem to be plain cheating in my book (You’re just jealous, Ed.), so I think it's back to the land of Brasso wadding and lemming-like cloths that have this suicidal urge to throw themselves into the cut. My mother promised me more than this...