Dogsontour

It all goes a bit Pete Tong

2011-01-27T22:38:00.002Z

If I see the B&Q in Nelson again, it will be too soon. Flamin’ Ada, I feel as if I’ve spent most of 2011 haunting aisle 5. I’ve lost count of the trips we’ve made – some fruitful, some fruitless, and worse, not once did we hit the snack wagon in the car park for a restorative bacon buttie. Of course, you can guess what’s in aisle 5 can’t you? Here’s a clue. We return to the northern narrowboat – a narrowboat that we weren’t able to winterize before winter arrived blowing a big fat freezing raspberry. We enter boat. Having learnt from last year’s experience (yes, I know only an idiot makes the same mistake twice, so kick me, please) we check the water pump visually before filling the water tank (Last year, tank fills, tank empties, bilge fills, Greygal fills with tears as she realizes what’s happened). So there I am looking at the water pump as A turns it on at the mains and fantastic, no leaks. But then I realize that I’m looking at the part that broke last year so I move my torch beam and focus on the pump itself…which is pissing out water. Cue shouting and swearing. And more swearing, quite a lot more actually as one of the reasons why we’d come up north was to stay on the boat while I attended a client’s site later in the week. So no saying tits to it all and buggering off home, like last year. The time was Saturday mid afternoon – and it was time for action. We checked the chandlery in the marina – the last pump he’d had he’d sold the day before. (Tried to suppress growing rage). But he put us onto Pennine Cruisers – one call established that they had water pumps, not our model, but we reckoned if we hacked bits off or made up our own bits of pipe and connector, we could make do.

So off to Skipton, where we have this rather farcical episode. Don’t ask me why but we can’t lock our car without setting the motion detecting alarm. We hadn’t got the dogs out of the car on our arrival at the boat while we did our checking, so off we sallied to Skipton with the dogs in the back but no means of locking the car. As we had also not got our luggage out, including 2 Apple laptops, we didn’t want to leave the car unlocked. Although why any maniac would want to try and take on six greyhounds going bonkers in the back of a Citroen C8 is beyond me…So off I trot to see this pump…it doesn’t look quite the same as ours in terms of connecty bits so I go back to the car and tell A to go and have a shufty while I take over car/dog minding duties. All this is the hissing rain, with soaked clothes and wet shoes. A comes back, declaring ‘it’ll do’ – which for some reason didn’t inspire much confidence. In fact, I was feeling pretty low all round. A is a genius with electrics and electronics but has a bit of a dodgy track record when it comes to plumbing. There’s usually a lot of effs, his face turns purple, and then there are bits flying through the air. Well, we would see. I had to trot back to the shop to pay for the sodding thing and then at last we were off back to the boat.

For various reasons that I can’t recall – was it the fact that it was raining inside the boat? – I lit the Squirrel before we did anything else. We got the dogs in, so they could warm up, and once we were feeling a little drier ourselves, we set to, A as chief plumber, me as plumber’s mate (which mainly involved stopping Ranger sticking his nose where daddy didn’t want it.) As A cracked on, I became aware of a strong smell of scorched jeans – or was it bum cheek – as poor old A had his rear end jammed pretty much up against the Squirrel door. He didn’t complain though…lost a few pounds in sweat, but trucked on like a good ‘un. As the pump was different to the one that had bust, he did have to get creative with a few bits and pieces. I feel very bad now in that I ever doubted him but it all seemed a bit Heath Robinson to me – and yet it worked! Without a leak! Okay, the dogs might have been covered in PTF tape by then (have you ever tried to work with that stuff?) but we had a working pump!! Hurrah! Shame about all the broken taps…

Cue the first of several trips to B&Q the following morning to get some new taps for the washbasin and a mixer tap for the kitchen. Cue another trip the same day to get something we didn’t know we needed until we took the pipes apart, and I’m sure there was another visit in the week as well….sort of lost the will to live by then. To cut a long story short, new washbasin taps all went in and worked perfectly, while the mixer tap resolutely failed to do anything at all. T’was a bit of a puzzle to us plumbing newbies as statistically this was evenly matched – the chances of a new tap being faulty against both pipes or both connectors having simultaneously failed. In the end, we plumped – for want of anything better to plump for – for either a blockage or an airlock. A decided that the only thing to do therefore was to start taking the plumbing apart from the kitchen sink down…cue a few more effs, quite a bit of water spurting everywhere, and then A getting his massive tool out – a wrench, I recall – and just disconnecting bits from other bits until there was nothing to disconnect. And what do you know? The couplings on both pipes had some sort of spring loaded filter thingy in them that were jammed shut – well, that was our take on the matter, but we’re probably talking rowlocks. They weren’t repairable so off I toddle to B&Q – what a surprise – to see if I can find replacements. I can’t. I return home disconsolate, thinking that we’re never going to have a functioning galley tap again and planning for a life of working with tiny taps and a tiny basin geared to brushing teeth, not pots and pans. And then the gallant A says, never fear! I shall simply knock out the stupid broken filters and we’ll do without them. Will this work, I ask? Maybe those little spring loaded lovelies perform some essential task? Maybe our tap will not take kindly to being denuded of his filter friends? Sod that, out they came, back went all the plumbing bits in roughly the right order, and on went the tap. And yes, oh reader, it actually worked! For how long, who knows, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts. My tap runneth over.

P.S.If we commit the same idiotic mistake next year, then you have permission to call me some very rude words. No, ruder than that.

The blogging ghost of Christmas past

2010-12-23T13:17:00.006Z

Ooh, look what I found covered in dust…my blog…horribly forsaken because real life (don't you mean laziness? - Ed) got in the way! Well, I shall be a real cheapskate (consistent as ever) and send all my friends (3 in total) the gift of a Greygal post in lieu of a decent present.

So, I hear you ask, what have you been doing with yourself? Did your summer trips on the tideway aboard the Indigo Dream go astray and are you now clinging to the wreckage somewhere out by Dogger Bank? Did you foolishly attach your dogs to a sled and let them pull you at speed into the path of a speeding milk float? Have you given it all up, packed your belongings into a shoebox and fired up the motorhome and pointed it to the Promised Land (a large Tesco or similar)? Sadly, no, none of those. Work has been largely responsible for keeping me quiet although we have had one or two diversions.

Our good friends Sue and Richard offered us sanctuary when we needed a narrowboating fix, our own good ship being stuck on the waterless L&L. I’ve lost track of all the good stuff we did with them, but have very happy memories of being stuck in a lock on the Bow Back Rivers for several days and boring everyone stupid with our plane spotting iPhone app. And of course there was the magical trip down to Brentford and back, including the moment when one’s life flashed before one’s eyes as you realized the Thames Clipper bearing down on you was not going to stop or turn. Good job Indie’s captain had a cool head – thanks Richard!

At the end of the summer, we accidentally acquired another greyhound. Now we were only meant to be fostering him but that lasted all of three days. The thought of his little face disappearing in the back of someone’s car totally undid me so we rang up Kerry Greyhounds and said we would adopt Sidney. I reckon that this was their cunning plan all along. So now we are six, and up on Marton Pool earlier this year, we had the wonderful sight of all six dogs careering along the towpath (don’t worry, there was no one else around!), including Monty, who somehow learnt the art of coming back (though not before running off to inspect someone’s BBQ a mile away).

We thought Sidney, being only five, might liven up the pensioners but it has transpired that he is the laziest organism on this planet – he can hardly keep his eyes open most of the time. But he is a big lovely boy, big being the operative word – when he stands next to Miffy, Miffy turns into a whippet.

Now if it had only stopped with an extra greyhound…the thing is, somehow or other, and we’re not quite sure how, we found ourselves the owners of a second boat. Think of President or Vulcan, chop out the middle 30 feet, and you have Henry H – looks like he shrunk in the wash, to be honest. In a wide lock, think toy boat in the bath… Long story short – saw it on the web, screamed at me ‘you must have me’ and I dutifully complied. Well, my savings were doing flap all in the bank and as we’d always intended to have a butty built in a few years time to house A’s workshop, we thought well, it’s a butty with an engine, and getting it now means we can have more fun. That’s why every Saturday in Sep/Oct/Nov we hauled ourselves out of bed at some ungodly hour, leaving the dogs in the tender care of my mum, and went to retrieve Henry for the next stage of his onward journey to Stenson (where he’ll be fiddled with a bit – well, a lot actually, as the shell and engine are great but the interior is, mmm, well, let’s just say it’s an acquired taste. So acquired in fact that we couldn’t resist ripping half of it out…).

So if you see someone waving at you madly on a Saturday, but see no giveaway dogs, then it’s me. If you see someone careering into a lock wall, then that'll be me too (it takes time to get used to a speedwheel and a boat that's built like a brick privy - in the nicest possible sense). I daresay our Midlands narrowboat (oh yes, we're still maintaining our southern narrowboat aka Indigo Dream - they don't get rid of us that easily) will take up a lot of next year’s spare time but we’re also looking forward to going up to our northern narrowboat. Hopefully we'll be returning to Sowerby Bridge via the Rochdale on a boat that will no doubt seem enormous by comparison. Seriously, we’re setting world records for the tiny-ness of Henry’s bathroom. A has to lose weight just to fit…we're thinking of pioneering a new bathroom cum galley combo...

One thing that has not been diverting us is our motorhome, sadly. In the summer, on a rainy day, we discovered that it was raining inside as well. And there I was blaming Miffy for our wet bedclothes…It transpires that our roof (bloody GRP, doesn’t happen with steel!) had developed stress cracks. Answer? Cue sucking in of teeth by dealer and then ‘ you’ll need a new roof – that’ll be 6 grand please’. Cue me fainting. Then cue me recovering and telling them to think again. Think very carefully in fact about what you say next, given that the van is only three years old and cost a pretty penny in the first place, and that I can get au fait with the Sale of Goods act in about three minutes…’Ah, put like that, we’ll do it FOC. Not till May sadly, but think how many lattes I can buy with the money I save?

I don’t even have as much time as I used to to dip into the old blogs. I still follow Indigo Dream obviously although Sue and I are invariably on the email exchanging dog ailment stories, and good chums Joe and Lesley (Caxton) and Jill and Graham (Contended Souls) are always on the radar. I have a weekly dip into Sanity Again with Bruce and Sheila and marvel at the intelligence of Sally in writing such good blog posts. If I could get my lot to do that, I’d only have to write one post in seven.

A is busy with his sideline, fixing up old vintage synthesizers. I’m helping him by seeking out broken old tat on Ebay that he says he can mend. This is the potential ‘business afloat’ idea that could see us sailing off into the sunset with two boats, six dogs and a soldering iron. However, one look at the dining room table – covered in electronic bits and tools and fascias and screws – and I’m thinking that we might go for his n hers boats in future. Where the Xmas dinner is going to go, I have no idea. Ooh, isn’t this stuffing crunchy…ahh, no, that’s a bit of lead solder and a tiny transisitor…yum.

On the dog front, aside from Sidney’s arrival, Arthur has been under the vet for most of the year. He’s hanging on in there, despite our local vet having a Shipman-esque way about her…’ooh, he’s very thin, there’s something nasty going on, I don’t think he’s got too long, you should prepare yourself…’ as she waves a big needle around. The only thing I need to prepare myself for is Arthur hurtling into the kitchen when he hears his dinner being made! Yes, he may be very thin (either meds related or there is something horrible going on), and he may have a very stiff gait (rare condition called myositis) and he may have mouth cancer (too may cigarettes) and he may have Cushings disease…and high blood pressure…and a thyroid problem, but he is still here and enjoying life, especially if it’s chicken-flavoured. Or luncheon meat… I daren’t think of him leaving us yet.

At least he has the good grace to wait until his dinner is served in his bowl….as we have discovered to our cost, Sidney, being so big, is not averse to putting his paws up onto the kitchen counter and nomming everything in sight. ‘Ooh, lovely liver in a pan..’ nom-nom…’ooh, half a baguette’ nom-nom..’ooh, a pack of butter’ nom-nom…’ooh a packet of biscuits’ nom-nom. And he steals Arthur’s donuts…the poor old boy is a very slow chewer and so Sid mugs him. We’ve taken to letting Arthur eat outside unmolested….trouble is, we keep forgetting he’s out there…we find him 30 minutes later with an icicle on his nose.

Anyway, another year done with, almost. 2011 promises much – expense mainly.

Merry Christmas!

Great greyhound extravaganza

2010-06-05T19:14:00.005+01:00

Just a quick post to report on our day out at the Great Greyhound Extravaganza at Newmarket. The good news is that we didn't get thrown out, although Susie was doing her level best to excel in the grumpy/bossy stakes (shame there wasn't a class for that as she would have romped home). The even better news is that lovely old Ranger claimed 3rd place in the 10 years + greyhound boys class - nothing more than he deserves and his yellow rosette is already decorating the fridge. Cue much huffing and 'I'm bored with this now' antics from the shortlisted-but-not-placed Susie, the piece de resistance being a serious amount of nose digging that left a big hole in the gardens and madam with a brown grimy conk..

However, the best was saved for last as Richard and Sue (and Lou and Blue dogs) from Indigo Dream pitched up mid pm - I hadn't even known they were coming until yesterday evening and having had to turn down their kind offer of a cruise on Sunday, it was a real bonus to get some of their company after all. Only sorry it couldn't have been for longer. As they'd actually been cruising that morning in readiness for their charity trip tomorrow, and then had to endure a very tedious drive cross-country, their dedication to the greyhound cause was all the more impressive. And impressive too was the much vaunted meeting of the two ladies...no, not me and Sue, but Susie and Lou - two growl-alikes who after an initial rumble or two (mainly on Susie's side I'm ashamed to say) seemed to settle down okay, even deigning to walk next to one another as we left. The fact that no blood was spilt or fur removed was a great result - I wonder whether they knew they'd met their match?

So this was a real step forward in my 'one day we'll do this' convoy cruise with seven greyhounds in tow...because for once, it would be lovely not to have to call premature time on our get-togethers with Richard and Sue but to have a fab day's cruising in company, have a drink or five, enjoy a relaxed dinner and then retire to our respective boats for more of the same the next day. And they'd probably not mind if we slipped a farting dog or two into their cabin....

Abroad thoughts from home

2010-06-02T19:15:00.010+01:00

Okay, so Skipton isn't strictly abroad but it's very much in my mind as the town - and especially its environs - made such a lasting impression on us. Now we're home, back at work, slaving over a hot Mac and wishing that we weren't. Actually, I'm slaving over a hot calendar trying to work out when we can get back there, even if it's just for a work cruise. I'm eyeing up the first two weeks of July as a possibility but unless the Pennines get some rain, we won't be going anywhere particularly quickly as the L&L is a tad on the empty side at the mo. Obviously the snow and rain that fell in Yorks/Lancs over the winter is very inaccurate stuff - it somehow missed the reservoirs. Or have they all been sold off? I guess I could always ask Arthur to whiz in the cut - with his prodigious bladder, he'd have those levels up in no time.

In the meantime, I'll remind myself of some of our holiday pleasures with a few piccies...(well, pics from the first half of the hols 'cos the rest are stuck on my camera going nowhere until I can find the bloody stupid cable misplaced by a bloody stupid idiot, namely me)

It pays to advertise

2010-05-26T19:15:00.003+01:00

So there we were, pootling along minding our own business, bemoaning the amount of traffic on the adjacent Keighley – Skipton road when what should we see but an A-board stood proudly on the towpath. ‘Bustys Baps’ it proclaimed. Now, while, yes, it could conceivably have been a mobile knocking shop, our money was on a snacks wagon so we chucked the boat in reverse, got about six feet away from the bank before we went aground and then leapt for it. It takes more than a bit of water-filled ditch to keep us away from a well-filled buttie. And we were rewarded for our athleticism/desperation as Bustys Baps was not your average layby snackateria. The proprietor proudly announced that all his fresh food was sourced from local farmers and he even had a bit of roast beef on the go with which he tried to tempt us. I’m afraid A failed completely to get into the spirit by ordering a spam sandwich so it was left to me to keep our end up (a bigger end each day) with a delicate sausage, egg and bacon breakfast bap. Well, I take my hat off to you Yorkshire farmers – it was as fine an assemblage of fried goodies as I’ve had in a very long while. So another happy, serendipitous moment in a cruise that seems to have been full of them.

I left you on Monday evening about to go for a pint and a packet of crisps. Well, that turned into two pints and a fearsome attack of the munchies so we walked into Bingley for an Indian. And yes, before you say it, we are having rather a lot of Indians this trip, but our route has been like one long curry alley and it would be foolish not to take the opportunity to sample the spicy wares on offer. The Shama was excellent, although I’m not sure about my peshwari naan featuring a liberal sprinkling of pineapple. I’m a conventional sultanas and coconut girl, and I wasn’t overly taken with the Hawaiian pizza approach. But friendly staff, sound cooking and great value means it gets a tick in our book - plus they gave us a doggy bag of uneaten naans, so extra points. (We sold them a sob story of five little mouths to feed at home...bet that had them looking up Childline's number). Oh, and I forgot to say the other day....if you've moored up in Clarence Dock and spotted lots of coconut on the jetty, I do offer a heartfelt apology. Five dogs and one peshwari leads to inevitable spillage...

As we left the Shama, we detoured onto the towpath to sneak a look at the three rise. To be honest, coming from Leeds means that you’re quite geared up for it as you’ve already done a fair few risers and got used to the cavernous proportions of the chambers. Even the five rise was not quite as forbidding as I expected and we popped up it the following day very sedately. Barry was keeping a paternalistic eye on things but letting his colleagues and A do the work – the pace is very measured and controlled, they rush nothing and keep a very close eye on how you’re doing. There are a few sticky outy bits in the odd chamber that can catch a gunwale sometimes and a few studs on the gates that you have to watch for, but the feeling is of a very thorough, professional operation that’s leaving nothing to chance from a boater’s safety perspective. That suited me fine and we waved our thanks to everyone as we set off for that evening’s objective, Riddlesden.

And now tonight, we’re in the Yorkshire Dales proper, having passed through the self-proclaimed Gateway to the Dales, Skipton. We’re moored a couple of miles past the town as it was a little incompatible with our doggy needs – instead we’re in the middle of nowhere looking out onto sheep dappled hillsides. Doesn’t get much better than that, does it? Actually, it started to look a bit dales-y as soon as we rounded the first corner this morning. We’d found ourselves a lovely little out of the way spot just past Riddlesden and as soon as set off, we could see the countryside start to swell and roll for miles, blighted only by the sound and sight of traffic carving through the middle of the greenery. The road noise is a fairly constant companion for this section but the knock-out views and the clusters of bluebell flooded woodland more than make up for it. Ever since we got on the L&L, low water levels/dredging issues aside, we’ve thought this a simply stunning canal and one that we are already committed to return to – but why is it so underused? If we were down at Great Haywood or Fradley at the moment, I’m sure we’d easily be seeing four boats an hour – not a day. Where’s the problem? Okay, it is perhaps not the easiest road as the locks are big and heavy and the swing bridges are so many and so frequent that you need to ease up on the coffee or have a big bladder to be comfortable. But like so much on the cut, if you take it steadily and slowly, you can achieve anything – and it would be a terrible shame to miss out as it is truly god’s own country up here. And you can get a mouthful of Bustys Baps too – that’s worth the trip alone.

Toilet humour

2010-05-23T19:55:00.003+01:00

I am writing this blog in the Ladies at Mumtaz. Yes, do read that again as it still won't make any sense. Let me explain. Mumtaz is a rather fab Indian (Kashmiri) restaurant in Clarence Dock. We went for dinner on Thursday night to celebrate our arrival in Leeds and the loos are so amazing that I've moved in. Never seen conveniences like them...there's even a bidet in here. I understand it's been blistering all weekend - wouldn't know, I've been chilling out surrounded by the finest porcelain and chowing down on a dustbin-sized peshwari naan I sneaked off a table. I wonder where A is? Are the dogs missing me? I wonder if I could nab some poppadums and a pickle tray?

Okay, okay, that's wishful thinking on my part. I've actually been melting all weekend at Apperley Bridge, where we stopped, hot, bothered and very tired on Friday evening. Mind, we had done our good deed for the day - cake rescue. Don't ask, because you'll only say I made it up. But where else other than the British canals could you be approached by a man on bike saying that he'd lobbed a bag of cream cakes at his friend's boat (moored on offside), they'd missed, landed in the cut and could we now please rescue them for him? Why would anyone want to throw cream cakes anywhere - they're quite delicate things aren't they? Now not only had they endured a lobbing, but they'd also had an unexpected immersion which probably wouldn't have done much good for them either, and now they were going to get speared by A as he hung off the side of the boat with the boat hook primed and ready. But by jove, he did it first go, and the cake bag was duly returned to its owner with his grateful thanks. Apparently, there was an apple inside the bag too. Don't you just love it? Cream cakes and an apple. That's like ordering half a dozen doughnuts and a diet Coke.

Now today, Monday, has been one of those little gems in the old cruising diary where everything has just plopped into place. After a weekend of total indolence and over patronisation of the wonderful Bridge Street Café (a classic Greek-run greasy spoon with a great line in lattes and bacon sandwiches), we finally set off this morning, still in bright sunshine, getting up the Dobson riser before stopping at the Apperley Bridge services for the always satisfying ‘empty, empty, full’ routine. I was even able to swap a duff BW credits card for a working one, and buy a spare – not sure the pump out machine there had the best suck as it was still going when we ran out of time but I think we’ve hoovered out enough to get us through the rest of the week. Then it was onward, ever onward, through the Field riser where a blueshirt helped us through, and then to Shipley. There we were helped out at swing bridge 209 by a lady from an adjacent snack wagon who was obviously used to lending a hand judging by the way she took charge – A just looked on like a spare part, eyeing up her menu (she was a pretty blond so it says a lot about A that he was fixed on the eats rather than the cook!) Whether it was a clever promotional gambit I don’t know as we’d been eyeing up her wares before she stepped in but her kindness sealed the deal, and we traded helping hands for bacon and sausage sandwiches. Then in Saltaire, we came upon the ice cream boat – ah, pudding! So another quick stop as I ordered two 99 cones and the race was on to eat them before a) they melted and b) we got to the next lock as there’s no windlass belt I know that can take a handle, a handcuff key and a cornet.

We decided to call it a day early and the final part of the jigsaw fell into place with some handy bollards and a decent depth under us for once just outside the Fisherman pub at Darley Gap. There’s no food on Monday evenings but a couple of pints of Timothy Taylor’s and a bag of crisps should hit the spot right enough. We’re pleased to get moored in a reasonably semi-rural spot to be honest – the VMs seem to be mostly in towns and the depth at the sides make casual mooring out in the country almost impossible. Despite some appealingly piled lengths and mown banks, there’s no way anything except the lightest plastic cruiser could get in – I’m assuming dredging has just been a casualty of the cash crisis but it makes you wonder what happens in busier times as there’s only so many VMs to go round and not everyone wants to be in a town. But that’s my only whinge about the L&L so far – everything else has been great. Plenty of facilities, plenty of blueshirts on the ground, fab scenery, hugely entertaining locks and swing bridges (entertaining for me watching A work up a sweat and humphing about this and that), it's been just swell.

The run out of Leeds city centre which we did on Friday was very surprising – attractively sylvan, the towpath well used by walkers, joggers and cyclists and no obvious reason why BW have an advisory on this stretch, to clear Leeds to Newlay in one go and not to moor overnight. I couldn’t resist asking and it seems that it’s no different to many urban stretches, so I’m curious as to why it’s picked out for special measures – apparently at weekends you get large congregations of youngsters and too often they cross the line, moving from plain old high spirits to something a little less savoury like harassing passing boaters. But during the week, especially in the morning, you shouldn’t have any problem at all so don’t let the rather dramatic BW advice put you off. There’s loads of BW help on the ground too – they’re in constant touch with one another, managing boats and water levels, and most of the risers will have seasonal blokes on to help you through so you won’t be wanting for assistance.

Right, I’m off for a pint and a packet of cheese & onion – Bingley tomorrow and A gets to be bossed around by Barry. Can’t wait.

Don't mention the C word

2010-05-19T22:01:00.002+01:00

My life flashed in front of my eyes this evening: we had a C-A-T incident. At this point Sue and Richard of Indigo Dream are doing that ‘sharp intake of breath’ thing, knowing exactly what we’ve experienced and now wondering whether the C-A-T in question made it. Well, I’m pleased to see that my lot, who are increasingly like the cast of ‘Last of the Summer Wine’, couldn’t catch a bloody cold let alone a cat and all they got for their troubles was a load of scratches in intimate places as they ran around like lunatics in search of some feline fun. Serves them right, picking on a one-eyed moggy. But as I saw what was unfolding my heart missed several beats as it jumped into my mouth – I had stupidly (yes, this was my fault undoubtedly) let the dogs off once we’d moored up and I honestly thought that they’d be dying for a wee and I could just do my usual and clip their leads on as they cocked or crouched. Oh no. Tiddles decided to show himself and all hell broke loose but as I said, my lot are getting a bit past it now and simply couldn’t cope with the superior intelligence and agility of puss. The cat went to ground in some very thick bushes and my lot gave up the hunt as we all grabbed for their collars, me profusely apologizing to the cat owner (from the boat next door) who was, thankfully, pretty relaxed about the whole thing. It took a while for her to tempt the cat out again with some food, but we stayed as we were anxious to know whether the dogs had inflicted any damage; during this time, the husband appeared and rather than the 6’ 6” Graeco-Roman wrestler I was fearing (because that’s the sort of luck we have normally) he turned out to be a dead ringer for Ashley out of Coronation Street. Was our luck turning? A totally intact cat that was brought out of its hiding place minutes later would seem to suggest so. More than can be said for poor Arthur…somehow, despite the fact that he was last to the cat hunting party due to a five minute whizathon, he was the only one who sustained an injury with a little cut to his head. Bless.

Anyway, a quick glass of red soon steadied the nerves and I berated myself for being so foolish as not to have had them on their leads from the off. I can’t blame the dogs for following their instincts so it really is a case of bad mummy. We’ve had quite a day of it really…no-one stirred till 9am this morning, and when we finally decided to set off, we hit mechanical trouble. Something to do with the battery isolator switch which went on the wonk and isolated everything whether we wanted it to or not. A soon settled its hash by bypassing it and we’ll aim to fit a replacement as soon as we get to a decent chandlery. However, this unexpected delay in setting off meant we avoided bumping into the massive Fusedale H on a bend; we were still safely tied up on our mooring as it nosed its way out of the lock and carefully past us. We’d been passed earlier by Ferndale H loaded for Whitwood and so it seemed that meeting a really big bugger in a really awkward location wasn’t written in the stars for us. No….instead, I got to play chicken with the returning Ferndale H as it came down to Bulholme Lock unloaded. I was leaving the lock, he was coming towards it and I took the decision to keep left and head for the protection of the visitor moorings. Now we don’t have VHF radio (that’s the first purchase when we get back) and the BW man wasn’t there to tell so he could pass it on, so we had me giving it full wellie and heading left, trying to be as clear in my intentions as possible, and Ferndale H lining up for the lock and not really seeming to care if I was in the way. He kept coming, I gave it more throttle, the lee of the visitor moorings was getting closer, so was his huge bow, I was now at full chat and just in time slipped into the space behind a wide beam….before having to hit full reverse lest I bump him right up the bum. Well, it didn’t happen exactly like that but it had you going didn’t it? Seriously, there was never a moment’s concern, these barge guys really are the pros out there and very friendly with it. But I did have to move my ass out of that lock though…

The day had one last challenge for us – Lemonroyd Lock. I’m not sure why I found it so much more disconcerting than the others but…oh hang on, maybe it’s because it’s 10 miles long and 100 feet deep and has all the appeal of a wet crypt. I think it’s 13’ 6” if truth be told but it still makes for a really cavernous chamber and the modern brick construction makes it feel very clinical and oppressive. I stuck the centre line round one of the poles that run the length of the lock and clung on for grim death as A pressed his button but I needn’t have worried. BW have set these locks up perfectly for boater operation, the paddles going up very slowly to ensure you don’t get tossed about. In several we haven’t even bothered with any ropes going up, and we’ve been fine – can’t believe that I was a bit anxious about all these mechanized locks at the beginning of the hols.

The run up to Lemonroyd was interesting – it felt less like the environs of Leeds and more like the Mekong Delta with the river stretching smoothly and silently ahead, trees kissing the water and a preternatural quietness that had me looking out for the Viet Cong on one side and Rambo on the other. In the event, it was not Mr Stallone but Mr Swan who got me, hissing at my heels as he chased me off his territory. I was relieved to get moored up just past Woodlesford Lock…and then wished we hadn’t as the C-A-T incident kicked off. Tomorrow it’s Leeds – and leads.

The dog and tanker

2010-05-18T20:25:00.002+01:00

Picture the scene. You’re having a nice chat with your boating neighbours, the dogs are off-lead having a quiet mooch about, the sun is just nudging the yard-arm, all is right with the world. Then suddenly, one of your dogs decides he’s bored with all this and by way of a star turn falls head first between the wharf and your neighbour’s boat. Cue International Dog Rescue with Thunderbird 1 (bearing a striking resemblance to A) swinging into action FAB style…well, actually more dragging him out by the collar style really. No surprises that the dog in question was Arthur – he was okay, just four wet paws and the odd graze as thanks to the small ledge at the bottom of the wharf wall and the position of the boat, he saved himself from full immersion and just got wedged instead. Not very dignified though…I think all the excitement of the past couple of days must have finally caught up with him. I have never been able to let all five dogs off together for such extended periods of time but as there was nothing and no-one around, I took full advantage. It was useful to see how their recall is these days – Miffy, excellent. Arthur, excellent. Susie, pretty good. Monty, improving but still poor. Ranger, absolutely rubbish…well, it is until you wave food at him when his hearing miraculously returns.

So what have we been up to then? Well, yesterday we went down to Barnby Dun on the Sheffield & South Yorkshire Navigations to drop off some rubbish at the sani station. Oh, and to see what the New Junction canal was like…very straight is the answer. But for my power-mad man, it was also nirvana. Mechanised lift bridges, mechanised swing bridges, traffic lights, sirens, automatic barriers and even a mechanised lock with a swing bridge in the middle of it – top that! It meant that the 5.5 mile run to the junction with the S&SY and Stainforth & Keadby canals was a lot more exciting that it first looked…especially for me as I headed underneath these massive lift bridges with the demon keyholder in possession of the pedestal, getting a bit previous with the close button. We turned at Barnby Dun and came back to our mooring of the previous night, delighted that we’d made the effort and that we have kept some new territory in reserve for next time. Everything we have seen and everything we have heard has made us more determined to revisit this area and give some serious cruising time to both the S&SY and S&K canals.

And then just when we thought we’d had enough excitement for one day, at 10pm last night comes the unmistakeable sound of a big screw in the water and lo and behold, the loaded Humber Princess glides by en route to Rotherham. We could just about make out the tanker outline in the water but it was tricky gauging exactly how big she was. No such problem this afternoon when we encountered sister ship Humber Pride at Whitley Lock! She’d been following Princess last night but had carried on up the A&C to unload at Fleet – now she was running back empty to Immingham and we got a proper sense of scale as she squeezed into the upper lock and then went past us on the mooring. You know those little plastic boats in children’s baths? That was us, bobbing up and down in our insignificance. A wonderful sight, those Whittaker’s tankers, So much more edifying than a tubby trapped dog with his bum in the air ..

Aside from that, we’ve done flap all. We stopped at midday today, having taken the executive decision to have a lazy afternoon in the sun. As a result, we’ve eaten too much, drunk too much and absorbed too many rays, leaving us a tad queasy. Suspect it will be an early night, preferably without Ranger on the bed as it was all through last night. Not usual practice for him, but once he was on there, he wouldn’t be shifted. My legs lost feeling for about seven hours and A kept wondering why I was touching his bum all night. It worries me that my husband thinks I have furry hands with long sharp claws….

Gooley hooley

2010-05-17T10:58:00.000+01:00

A hundred years ago, when I was a teenager doing mad double ring holiday hell cruises with my dad, I had one main responsibility – plotting our course so meticulously that we’d always end up outside a pub for the night. My dad had no problem with the 6am starts and the 40 lock mile days as long as he had a pint or five to ease his aches and pains each evening. And I wasn’t complaining either as I would quite happily wile away the hours playing the fruit machines or the trivia machines, and surreptitiously pocketing the winnings as I went….I do, however, seem to remember paying the price for these intense stand-up sessions with regular bouts of the most agonising cramp you can imagine , so it wasn’t all beer and skittles. Anyway, the point of all this wittering is that I’m pleased to say that nowadays it’s all very different. A and I rarely set ourselves a specific daily timetable, instead choosing to call it a day either when we’ve simply had enough or when we see a seductive looking mooring spot giving us its siren call. And sometimes other delights are dangled in front of us that get reverse gear selected and centre lines chucked before you can say ‘big bollards’ – and among the dangliest delights are those signs that have the words Indian and restaurant in close proximity. And this, dear reader, is a very convoluted way of explaining how we came to be moored above Pollington Lock on a Saturday evening. To be fair, we’d been thinking of stopping there anyway but any doubts were immediately swept aside by the canalside notice informing us that ‘Simply Indian’ was 400 yards to the west. Well, we weren’t going to make the same dallying mistake twice and while it may not have been two steaks and a Vienetta for a tenner, a takeaway seemed like a pretty good substitute. Now in my experience, this serendipitous sort of event ends in one of two ways – on a ‘it keeps getting better and better’ high or on a ‘well that was a bit crap’ low. Sadly, this was very much the latter as the Indian, which promised so much, delivered little more than an oily gloop that had all the spicy sophistication of a cricket bat. It delivered a bit more the next morning but thankfully it was blowing a hooley so the effects were mitigated…

And talking of the hooley, wow….when I was making coffee down below, I was worried that A had ploughed on through Goole Docks and was heading out to sea…there was a fair old bit of pitch and toss, I can tell you, but it’s simply because the A&C is so damn wide and straight that the wind blows right up your bum and whips up the white horses….not to mention green dogs, poor things. Anyway, to paraphrase Caesar, we came, we saw, we turned around again – there wasn’t really anywhere very hospitable to stop so we hovered for a bit just by the Goole sani station, having a good look at all the boats, ships and tankers, and then headed back towards the junction with the New Junction canal. Coming down we’d espied a likely mooring just ahead of the aqueduct and we eventually tied up just after five. Now in the dog rummaging stakes, this has to take the gold medal – even Monty was allowed off! We’re effectively on the offside in the middle of nowhere, with hedges and dykes separating us from fields, so that’s about as secure as it gets for us. I did think there was no way round the aqueduct either – so my heart skipped a beat when I saw a big brindle greyhound sprinting along what was obviously a low level footpath along its length! However, as he has done a couple of times now, he came back to me before too long – now Monty’s never really done this before, always having to be chased and caught. So is he a reformed character? Or is age curbing his spirits at long last? I’m not convinced to be honest and will still be very choosy about where I let him off the lead.

Today’s plan is to go down the New Junction canal and back again to this same spot – no real reason, it’s that Mallory thing, ‘just because it’s there’. The power-crazed one will get to play with swing and lift bridges today – and god help us if there are traffic lights too. They send him into a frenzy.

All quiet on the northern front

2010-05-14T18:29:00.002+01:00

I think the Ouse should be rechristened the Ooze. I took one look at it today, a brown muddy torrent with slimy banks looking about as inviting as a French pissoir. Okay, I probably wasn’t seeing it at its best but I was so pleased that we were already facing the other way, back down the Selby Canal. Ah, the Selby canal, a surprising little number, fresh on the nose, long on the finish, a miniature Northern Ashby with the benefit of water. But this has been just one surprise of many, as the Yorkshire navigations continue to delight in all their languid splendour, their separateness and solitariness and…something else which I just can’t put my finger on….oh, and no boats, that’s it. In fact, at one point, as we sauntered down and around the River Aire en route to Selby, we did wonder whether we’d inadvertently taken a wrong turn – it wasn’t that there were no other boats around but more the fact that there was no hint whatsoever of any life on earth at all. Had Bank Dole lock actually thrown us into some bizarre parallel universe where my only other human contact for all time would be A?

It was looking like that until I saw a dog walker just as we made the turn at Haddlesey – he probably went home to his wife with tales of a mad old bat at the tiller smiling and waving at him like some maniacal witch on a day trip from Pendle. That was the measure of my relief, reader. Think, stuck with A forever, on my own and with no prospect of remission. It’s bad enough after six hours at the tiller. So, reassured that we were not alone, we pootled onto a mooring that a chap at Castleford had told us about. He was a lovely guy, put me in mind of Les Dawson with a beard. He’d bigged up this mooring, saying how nice it was to lay over there for a bit and how we wouldn’t be disturbed. Well, he must be deaf as he omitted to tell us the bit about the adjacent A19 and the artics that rattle the Perspex inserts every time they go over the bridge. Mind, this was the same guy who said Castleford town centre was a nice place. I’ve been to Castleford town centre – just the once, but that was enough. Nice isn’t the word I would use. I can think of another four letter word to describe it though…

So any plans for sitting out and enjoying the peace and quiet over the weekend have been scrubbed and instead we’re going to head back through the ‘land that time forgot’ and rejoin the Aire and Calder. We’ll take up where we left off and head Goole-wards, seeing what else this remarkable navigation has to offer us. Unusually for him, A is rather holding out for a pub. And so am I actually. It’s all the pub at Stanley Ferry’s fault. They were advertising two rump steaks and a Walls Vianetta for a tenner when we passed by earlier in the week. Sadly, we dallied and dithered too long about deciding to stop and we were across the aqueduct before you could say ‘hydrogenated fats’. Trouble is, it’s a prospect that’s lingered and we’ve really got the taste for a big old steak. And yes, I know I could griddle a couple up myself and they’d probably be a whole lot better than anything we’d get for a tenner, but it’s just the idea of toddling off to the pub and having it all served up on a plate, with a nice pint and pud to follow, that’s got us going. So the search is on. As I’m down to my last jar of pasta sauce (of dubious provenance) and last packet of penne (of uncertain age), I’m really hoping that we turn up trumps. Otherwise, the emergency Frosties may have to be opened…

Hebble heaven

2010-05-11T22:57:00.002+01:00

We have something severely hampering our choice of moorings. It’s called Arthur. I’m afraid the old boy is so aged and wonky these days that we’re having to find spots that have ‘doggy disabled access’ ie where the bank is preferably level with the gunwale of the boat. Like tonight. He’s in his element, just stepping on and off. Not like Wakefield, where he faffed about putting his paw up and down, up and down, deciding whether the leap up was manageable or presented a high risk of a ‘missed footing, wet bum’ incident. At one point we did consider putting the life jacket on him so we could lift him in by the handle – this extra disabled facility has been noted for future reference, mind.

So where are we then? Not sure, don’t care. Well, okay then, King’s Road Lock on the Aire & Calder, a nice open spot marred only by the thrum of the traffic on the M62.But I don’t care because it’s all so fab – more new territory, more new experiences, like exposing myself to the demon lock-keeper of old London town. As soon as we were in the first mechanized lock on the A&C, Birkwoods, I saw that glint in A’s eye. Then there was no mistaking his malevolent grin as he slipped the BW key into the control box….and bugger me if he didn’t try and close the gates before I’d even got through them. I was right, give him electricity and the boy becomes power mad! I suppose I should be thankful that I’m not still in there, going down for the 83^rd time.

We bade a tearful farewell to the C&H at lunchtime, giving our trusty handspike one last loving caress before we tossed it carelessly in the back of the Narnia wardrobe aka the bedroom cupboard that swallows up seemingly endless tat. It certainly saved the best till last, the morning’s run from Dewsbury down to Wakefield most definitely ranking as one of our most pleasant pootles in a long, long time. Think Middlewich arm on a slightly larger scale and you’ll get the idea – amazing really when you think that we’re more or less skirting urban sprawl the whole time. But you’d never know and don't go telling everyone as it's secret....

Some idiot had set the alarm for six (oh, hang on, that would be me…) in a concerted effort to get some early morning cruising in. This is such a rare occurrence for us as a) we are genetically programmed to ignore all annoying beeping sounds and b) there’s too much of a to-do what with tea, ablutions, dogs and coffee to be away anytime before ten most days. But thanks to Miffy and her squeaky dance (her equivalent of the 4 minute warning and something that is simply too infuriating to ignore) I had to get up just ahead of the alarm unless I wanted the new sheepskin rugs baptized. And by the time she’d finished her crucial daily business and had a quick scamper back and forth, I was well awake and putting the kettle on. I took a cuppa to the creature from 50,000 fathoms who bore a passing resemblance to my husband and then managed to get everything squared away in time for a 7.30am departure. Now forget feeding the 5000, this was a genuine miracle. But we were rewarded for our superhuman efforts by one of those mornings that you just fantasize about when you’re stuck back at home – clear blue skies, sunshine, lush countryside, just you and your boat chugging quietly along in total solitude. Bliss, absolute perfect bliss.

Excited as we were to drop down onto the A&C, it was not without regret that we took our leave of a canal that should surely be better known and used – and invested in. A little TLC and a pot of money wouldn’t go amiss here, that’s for sure. The locks have got more holes in than my socks, which is saying something. You know the state of my pants, so the parlous state of my socks can easily be guessed at. Let’s hope there’s a decent programme of winter works coming its way…it may not be a fashionable canal, but it’s a pretty fantastic one in my book and we will certainly be back. And did I learn to use a handspike before we left? Yes, indeedy. I know exactly where to stick it now.

And we're off!

2010-05-10T18:54:00.001+01:00

Well, I’m amazed that we’ve got anywhere to be honest. I’m tapping this post out moored just below the Double Locks by the entrance to the Dewsbury Town Arm so the Great Trip has begun – but the number of lovely people we’ve met who’ve either a) wanted to regale us with their complete life story b) impersonate a complete set of Baedecker Guides or c) demonstrate their quite remarkable encyclopaedic knowledge of the world (a single conversation contained the words ‘ dumper truck’, ‘Sebastopol’ and ‘Smith & Wesson’) has meant that progress has been a tad steadier than anticipated. A good job there’s never a queue for any of the locks on the Calder & Hebble – we were stuck in one for 40 minutes yesterday. Or rather, I was stuck at the bottom of the lock trying to lip-read while A was nodding politely while trying to think up some excuse to get away. Dusk was coming on…

But to be fair, a big contented sigh went up last night as we tied up. It was a great weekend all round – good cruising, good weather, good banter, the only downer being a rather excessive intake of double gloucester on my part which led to some rather vivid and unnerving dreams. Oh, and one of our new Thermos mugs fell in the river. That must be some sort of record as it had only been on board for a day and a half. I was in the bow with the dogs at the time so only have A’s word that it decided to throw itself lemming-like into the water…personally I think he knocked it in and is not fessin’ up. And I particularly liked the way he said ‘your mug fell in’ when they were identical and neither of us had yet carved our initials proprietorially into the soft touch casing.

Technically speaking, this is a working cruise week ahead of the fortnight’s holiday – a working cruise week is where we’re supposed to give priority to work, and cruise if time permits, but to be honest we are more influenced by the weather. If it’s stinky grey and wet, we hunker down and crash out the emails; if it’s sunny and blue, we stick our iPhones in our pockets and remember to put the boat in neutral before we answer them. Either way, it’s fab to be back on board. I’ve just rustled up an improvised fire as we didn’t have any coal on board, opting instead to maraud along the towpath, Spear & Jackson Predator saw in hand, leaping upon anything that looked remotely combustible. It’s now the wrong side of 90 degrees in the boat and Miffy is once again trying to get intimate with the Squirrel. But it is so nice to have that chilly edge taken off…bugger the dirt.

At some point this week we’ll take our leave of the C&H, dropping down onto the Aire & Calder. It’ll be a teary goodbye as this canal has really grown on me. Okay, it can be a tight squeeze in places (notably Salterhebble middle and top) but once you have an effective strategy for getting yourself into and out of the shorter locks, it’s just a case of keeping your eyes open and your shoes dry (oh yes, those top gates do spurt rather….) And whatever you do, don’t be influenced too much by the Pearsons guide – he likes the C&H in parts but his praise is quite grudging…and his damning of the stretch between Mirfield and Dewsbury is totally uncalled for. Maybe things have changed a lot in the last 10 years or maybe he was just having a bad hair day but there’s no way that I’d put these few miles in my Top 5 Worst Stretches of Cut list as he effectively does. The constant interchange of river and canal and the totally inoffensive environs make this as enjoyable a semi-urban route as any other…or was it because the sun was shining and I had a bottle of vintage cider inside me?

Mafeking is relieved

2010-05-06T19:34:00.002+01:00

Hurrah! Panic over. A stash of old abandoned pants has been recovered from the back of the chest of drawers. Okay, so they are emblazoned with various legends (I suspect 'I'm luscious' contravenes some sort of Trades Description Act) but what the heck? They are whole, they are clean and they are in my case. I also found A some ancient boxers...trouble is, they're more like trunks now as he's gained a few pounds over the years and everything is a tad... 'snug'. Is that a handspike in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

Pants update

2010-05-06T16:58:00.003+01:00

You couldn't make this up...the washing machine has malfunctioned and shredded my pants. There is total devastation in the drum. Gussets have become wedged in the workings. I am reduced to wearing bits of string. This does not augur well.

Total pants

2010-05-06T00:14:00.004+01:00

It’s a disaster. We’re into the early hours of Thursday morning and my ‘washed knickers’ count is at zero. Ditto washed boxers. In fact, the only things that are washed are the dogs, as they all had a shower on Sunday. Which has left A with a dodgy back, incidentally….not good with locks coming up and me not knowing where to shove my handspike. And please, no suggestions…Seems like he tweaked it (his back, not the handspike) when he was lifting Monty into the bath. And of course, it’s man’s backache…which is akin to man flu, so I’ve had to put up with all these amazingly dramatic oohs and ahhs and sharp intakes of breath. Funny how he sits up in bed of a morning, slurps down his tea and only puts on his ‘agony face’ when I politely ask him how his back is feeling…And just when I should be getting a grip on our smalls, I’ve been tempted into a little bit of plan tweaking and map studying instead…the result of which could well be a little foray onto the Selby Canal. A ‘going commando’ sort of foray if I don’t have any pants available. Now I know how Flash Gordon felt when he only had 24 hours to save the universe...Can I rescue this holiday? Can I find the little string bag to put the Persil tablets in? Can I launder 24 pairs of underwear - 21 for me, 3 for him? Oh and there's my poor blessed mother! What about her knickers? She can't go commando, there's the postman to consider. I think I may have to be sneaky and break the apartheid system just this once - whites and colours in together and then run to the hills! Sowerby Bridge, here we come...trailing our damp grey smalls behind us...

A mother's pride

2010-05-04T00:06:00.002+01:00

I am composing this post with a tear in my eye, reader. No, my mother has not confirmed a six month booking at the Daughter Hotel (5*, dinner, bed and breakfast, pants washed for a small consideration). No, mine are not tears of mortification but of joy, of pride, of joyful pride, of joyful mother’s pride in fact. My baby boy is a star!! I’m so happy….

You’ll recall that I was off to Baldock Services to join the Greyhound Rescue West of England fundraisers in their quest to relieve Bank Holiday motorists of their change. Now I had elected Miffy to be my representative, as she met the essential ‘bombproof’ criterion, but this morning I changed my mind. I was concerned that she might be a little timid or even diffident in the circs – lots of people, hustle and bustle, children poking her in the ear, that sort of thing – and thought that a more confident, demonstrative sort might be a better ‘advert’ for the breed. So I looked around the subs’ bench and decided to give Ranger his first team debut. He’s not ‘gone solo’ before and not done a lot of dog socialization either, if I’m honest, but thought he was worth taking a punt on. He’s incredibly patient with his pack mates, despite amazing provocation, especially from Arthur who incessantly seeks ‘licky winkle’ favours from him, so I thought he’d bear up pretty well. But I couldn’t be sure so I was a little nervous as I approached my fellow volunteers and their dogs….here was the first test…would Ranger be the perfect gent and go ‘round the back’ to make his introductions in the proper way? Well, blow me, he did! I was half expecting a couple of air snaps or even a growl (I’m not pessimistic by nature, I think it’s just the destabilizing effect of motorway service stations) but he sniffed up the collective rears with delicacy and respect – and there’s a delicate balance between a gently nudged hello and rampant rectal ‘WOTCHA COCK’.

And he just went from strength to strength. There was a human tide ebbing and flowing through the quite constricted foyer (constricted because Ranger thought standing in the middle of the doorway was strategically sound – clever boy) and he just soaked up the fuss, the pats, the strokes, the baby kisses and the prepubescent pokes (Is it legal to poke the prepubescents back?) Now he may have been loving all this attention….but I suspect he was actually focused on something else...like the 24 piece KFC bargain buckets….or the Pepperoni Pizza Hut pizza, large, with cheese crust…or the quarter pounder deluxe meal with bacon….of course, if he had a bit more class, he would have been eyeing up the beef stifado from M&S, but you can’t have everything….at least he had manners, and didn’t whiz up the ‘Greyhounds Make Great Pets’ poster. We raised nearly £400 on the day and just as importantly raised a lot of very positive awareness about the breed amongst the Great British public. And they lived up to their name today, thank you everyone. Some might question your fashion sense, others your choice of nutrition, but there’s no faulting your generosity.

And what did the boy get for his fundraising achievements? Well, virtue should be its own reward but this is Ranger we’re talking about so I’ve negotiated a contract with his agent - one Polish kabanos per appearance, rising to a Cumberland sausage if the takings top £500. Not surprisingly, they’ve accepted – well, they know and I know that Arthur is just waiting to step up to the (dinner) plate and take over: he’s a complete tart and will do anything for a chipolata.

Seven days and counting

2010-04-30T14:07:00.004+01:00

Well, the first big cruise of the year kicks off next weekend and I have been busy prioritising my preparations:

Buy new Nespresso machine to replace the one that gave up in a funk over winter
Buy a small mountain of Nespresso capsules to keep body and soul together over three weeks (suspect the trim could be affected as the stocks run down)
Wash knickers

Thus far (cross fingers as there’s still next week) our holiday plans have not been derailed by work butting in. Indeed, I have had a bit of a Mrs Slocombe moment recently – ‘we are going whatever, and I am unanimous in that’. Too often in the past we’ve put our wishes second and you never really get any thanks for it, so sod it, we’re going and that’s that. So it’s goodbye Sowerby Bridge, hello Skipton. Our little recce of last week was very successful, with the chaps at Lower Park Marina doing the usual ‘Oh yes, come along, I’m sure we can find you a space’ thing, that makes you feel welcome but a little uneasy at the same time – visions of being moored on the outside of a three abreast gang, with five dogs to unload. Mmmm…well, I’m sure it will be fine and they seemed very accommodating and relaxed about the whole thing. And the L&L looked absolutely stunning, can’t wait to get there and fulfil a twenty year dream of actually taking my own boat under the double arched bridge at East Marton. I lost count of the number of times I walked under that bridge exploring while dad boosted the profits of the Cross Keys next door…..and as for going up Bingley…well, the first time I visited there I met a young chap who had just started in his new job as lock-keeper...I wonder how many boats Barry has seen through in the intervening years? And hopefully he’ll see us safely through too as big staircases give me the willies….

What’s really exciting about this trip is that so much of it is new ground for both of us. Most of our previous cruises have always involved a fair few familiar canals for me but this time, as soon as we’re past Cooper Bridge, it’s virgin territory. That always gives a little extra ‘frisson’ of excitement to each day…as long as the excitement is not of the ‘missed turn and huge weir’ variety, we should be fine. My main concern is A having to work the automated locks on the Aire & Calder. Give him a control panel and push buttons and he’s like a man possessed…I could be going up and down all day. If blog posts stop mid-May, could someone come and rescue me? A hot pie is probably the best bait to lure him away…

P.S. We’re collecting money for greyhound rescue on Bank Holiday Monday (I didn’t need much persuading but the fact that there’s a Starbucks nearby didn’t hurt…). Miffy has the honour of representing us so she’s going to get a spruce up shower on Sunday.

And mother makes eight...

2010-04-23T11:25:00.000+01:00

Okay, people, you know that very excellent bumper sticker ‘A dog is for life, not just for Christmas’? Well, I’ve got my own variation ‘A mother is just for Christmas, not for life’. So why is she still here? Hasn’t she read my bumper? How come she arrived in December for a couple of weeks and is still here five months later? She’s citing infirmity and memory problems but judging from her hearty demolition of Tesco’s Finest (for two) each night, she’s as frail as a navvie and certainly hasn’t forgotten where her mouth is…Considering this ‘stork-in-reverse’ episode was quite unplanned, we’ve all done pretty well in accommodating one another. Okay, we’ve had to drop our rather liberal washing machine approach – you know the one, the ‘let’s shove everything in and pick a programme that sounds right’ – and accept the more regimented ‘do not on pain of death stick anything remotely coloured in with my white pants’ routine. And we’re not too enamoured of the false teeth leering at us in the early morn…but, looking on the bright side, I haven’t had to empty the dishwasher once since the New Year. I may not be able to train my dogs, but mothers….

Anyway, mum is with us for the foreseeable so we thought that a nice little charabanc trip up to the Yorkshire Dales might be fun. So we’re firing up the mobile dog kennel-cum-granny wagon and heading to a place called Crakehall.

Crakehall has the very great virtue of having a small, 5-van only campsite PLUS a B&B on-site. So while mum disports herself in her en suite hoovering up the complimentary tea and cakes, A and I will enjoy a little respite from the pressures of caring for a septuagenarian eating machine and laundry fascist. And I don’t wish to be unkind but when I appear in the morning (she’s always been up for at least an hour before I surface so she can scoff half a pack of Fox’s Crinkle Crunch while ogling Bill Turnbull), yes, when I appear there is, how can I put it…..a certain whiff in the air…and when challenged, she’s uncharitable enough to try and palm it off on the dogs. Trouble is, as all dog owners will attest, every doggie guff has its own peculiar DNA so I’ve got her bang to rights there.

Of course, in the van, without ma, we will surface to the unalloyed pleasures of a five dog farting symposium, which necessitates the opening of a window or three before one ventures to light the gas. But it will be nice to have our own space and for A not to have to run the naked gauntlet to the bathroom each morning, iPhone poised to cover his modesty should mother suddenly appear from nowhere (curiously, mother makes absolutely no sound when moving around which is amazingly unnerving. I’m thinking of getting her a cat bell). I’ve told A on several occasions that he only really needs an iPod Nano to be decent whereas he maintains that he needs to buy an iPad to ensure an appropriate level of concealment. He wishes…

But I digress. The main purpose of the trip is to lose mother…oops, sorry, that’s another plan….hang on….oh yes, the main purpose is to go and have a look see at Lower Park Marina in Barnoldswick. I’ve identified it as a possible staging post on our leisurely meander through the northern waterways so thought it best to go and have a dekko. It would be the end-point of our May cruise from SB, a place to take a breath and plan what to do next – and as that might involve an extended stay exploring the area both by boat and car, it seems only sensible to go and see if it suits us – and more importantly, if we suit them! Now I did do a bit of Google Earthing the other day and was slightly alarmed by the sight of a humungous factory lying pretty much adjacent to the marina. Now I have no objections to factories per se but knowing the area, I was wondering if this was in fact the famous Rolls-Royce aero engine facility. ‘Cos that would be quiet…Just as A was reassuring me that any noise would surely have to be suppressed to acceptable limits, I discovered that actually the RR factory was in another part of town and what I was looking at was actually the Silentnight bed factory! Result! Unfortunately I now have visions of A toddling off there and trying to inveigle himself in as a bed tester…like the hippo but not so cute. Imagine that…sleeping on the job and getting paid for it…he’ll think he’s died and gone to heaven.

French fancy part 3

2010-04-20T12:24:00.003+01:00

We were a little apprehensive as we approached Annecy as we’d never actually used a French campsite before. And being very British we were a bit worried about..er, you know…the ‘facilities’….I’ve simply never got to grips with the stand-up hole in the floor variety (scarred by my first encounter where I faced the wrong way and flushed while still standing in the pan) and while much less common than they used to be, I didn’t fancy a week of hovering . Yes, yes, I know we have a Thetford in the van but sometimes a girl likes to take her ease in more refined surroundings…But we needn’t have worried, there were Brit bogs aplenty. Indeed, the site in Sevrier couldn’t have been more perfect – it was like a smaller, more relaxed, slightly scruffier version of a club site here but with the added advantage of gorgeous weather and a lakeside position. And Lake Annecy is something to behold really….preternaturally blue, amazingly clean (like it was sacrilege to throw anything into it) and just incredibly enchanting. Every morning and evening I’d walk down onto the jetty simply to drink in the view – not a bad way to bookend the working day, I can tell you.

On arrival, we got the warmest of welcomes from madame and found that there was plenty of availability. Through a combination of my halting French and her hesitant English, we sorted out everything we needed to – our booking, our wi-fi connection, the location of a vet who could sort out our pet passport requirements and a recommendation on where we could get a good meal – well, we felt like celebrating our safe arrival after a somewhat taxing weekend…

It had all started off promisingly enough. A dealt with our minor exhaust issue and we pointed the mobile dog kennel in a rough east-by-south-east direction with the intention of going into the mountains and stopping short of the French/Italian border. Then on Sunday we’d have a little taradiddle into Italy, go up the side of Lake Maggiore and into Switzerland. The original plan had then been to cut across Switzerland back into France but I’m afraid that it all went a bit tits up. Which was a shame as we were on a real high on Saturday – probably something to do with the fact that the air throughout the Rhone valley was about 40% proof. But it was a lovely trip, in glorious weather and as evening drew in, we successfully negotiated our way up the mountain bends, only worrying when the oxygen masks dropped down from the ceiling.

I’d identified a huge aire de services in Montgenevre as our overnight stop, and because it wasn’t the ski season, the whole place was a ghost town – which suited us just fine. The aire, which can take about 280 vans, had precisely 8 in residence so we weren’t exactly struggling for a spot. Why A had to park under a cable car I don’t know but he’d driven so well that I didn’t want to question his choice of parking spot…We were tired but mildly euphoric too (or possibly just pissed as those vinous Rhone vapours were heady stuff). Today’s jaunt had been everything we love about motorhoming – being together and seeing new places, going at your own pace, stopping for a coffee and sandwich whenever you fancy and the sense of satisfaction and contentment you get when you arrive safely, pull up the handbrake and kick back and relax. So we were on a literal and metaphorical high and so looking forward to Sunday and even more new adventures….

Well, what a load of old stinky pants. I’m not going to bore you with the detail but just let me say this – don’t ever go to Italy with just a European atlas, make sure you have a detailed Italian specific one. Why? Well, they have the most fatuous road signs in the whole of Christendom, the worst being on the motorways. We spent most of the morning on the autostrada from Milan to Turin…and then back the other way…and back again in the original direction in desperate search of a sign that either tallied with something in our atlas or better, actually pointed to somewhere we recognized. I mean, is it that unreasonable to expect a motorway to have signs for, say, the airport or the lakes? I mean, the lakes are one of northern Italy’s leading features….not something you’d ever know if you were relying purely on the motorway signs. So up and down we went, in search of the required but elusive turn-off and you could feel yesterday’s euphoria being inexorably replaced by pursed-lip frustration. After about six weeks, we finally managed to identify an appropriate turn-off and, much later in the day than we had anticipated, drove on up the side of Lake Maggiore.

Now I can hear some of you…don’t you know the lake roads are notorious for their narrowness and sharp bends? No-one in their right mind would take a 4 tonne motorhome on them. Well I didn’t know and in fact I’d reasoned that if buses and coaches could get along, so could we. And I was right…but you were right too, as the fact is, you can drive a motorhome alongside the lake but would anyone sane really want to? This was an hour of unmitigated, bum-wiggly purgatory as walls loomed near and lorries came the other way and gaps narrowed in front of our very eyes….heaven knows what my blood pressure was like that afternoon but I had renewed – in fact, total and utter – respect for A’s driving skills. If I’d been at the wheel, I would have wet myself.

It was therefore a huge relief to reach the Italian/Swiss border and to know that normal roads were just a few miles away. And in fact, we were just recovering our spirits when two things happened to dampen them down again. The first was discovering that the Swiss border office, where we needed to get a toll tag for our van, was shut on Sunday. So all criminals looking to get into Switzerland, you know when to go. Now the Swiss are a bit hot on these toll thingies and we didn’t fancy being slapped with a big fine so we were keen to get one and get ourselves legit. So we parked up outside this restaurant and I did a quick ask at the garage opposite who said that they didn’t have any, but we might be able to get one further up the road. Now I was just about to open the van door to relay this message to A when some German harpy appeared from inside the restaurant shrieking ‘Privaat’, ‘Privaat’ at me. When I looked blank, she just repeated it but in an octave higher. I mean, picture the scene. You’re tired, you’ve had an absolutely gutful of Italian motorways and teeny tiny roads, you’ve had to endure miniscule sized cappuccinos from the services, the Swiss border office you need to get into is shut, and you are then faced with this voluble harridan speaking in tongues. Obviously she was indicating that we were on private land but as we were moving off imminently I wasn’t going to upbraid her for her very unique take on tourism relations. ‘Welcome to Switzerland’ ? Bollocks to you.

And then to make things worse, just as we’d set off north, rather aimlessly really but with an idea of finding a toll tag further up the road, A got a call that one of the systems he looks after had gone bandy and could he fix it. Now. So we pull over again, having first scouted around for any old crones, and I take advantage of the time-out to walk the dogs. Now it was only because I was in such a foul mood by that point that I took inexpressible delight in the boys whizzing up the walls and gates of all the millionaires’ lakeside palazzos that we trotted past. You might have your marble pools and your Corinthian columns but you’ve still got dog wee on your drive….pathetic really.

We thought before the collective mood deteriorated any further that we should make some positive decisions. It seems ridiculous now but back then we couldn’t wait to get out of Switzerland fast enough. We spent the night at an aire in Locarno and had a bit of a walk around as you do, and we just found the whole atmosphere….soulless. The people were cheerless and humourless – if this is what chocolate does for you, I’d better give it up quick. The best thing I say about them? They do a nice line in free pink poo bags. Obviously looking back, we weren’t in the mood to find any good in anything so it’s not like we’ve struck Switzerland off our touring list- but back then, on Monday as we sailed back through the border into Italy, we couldn’t have been happier with our new plan. Order four cappuccinos at the first services, put the pedal to the metal for the Mont Blanc tunnel, and then onwards, onwards to Annecy!

That plan, I'm happy to report, actually came together perfectly and we were back on a high that evening as we headed out to madame’s recommended resto. The high went higher when we realized it was an ‘all you could eat’ establishment…but treachery lay inside…The basic concept was…well…perhaps a ‘Swiss/French medieval melange’ would be a good way of describing it. Cheeses and meats that you put on a skewer or on the end of a fork to cook yourself…either over the huge open range barbecue fire or on the charcoal grill pans. So not so much an ‘all you can eat’ but more of an ‘all you can successfully cook’ sort of thing. So we both through ourselves into it – the concept, not the barbecue, but I soon became aware that all was not well in A land. I could feel bad harrumphing vibes emanating from him…oh not, please not a hissy fit in here, not when he's got a huge 3 pronged fork in his hand…on asking him what was wrong, it transpired that ‘I don’t know how long to cook this for…if you don’t get chicken right, you know, you can get food-poisoning….it’s very irresponsible to let people do their own cooking, Health and Safety would never allow this back home..’ ‘It’s not difficult really’ said I. ‘No, I’m just not sure, I’ve never really done this, I don’t want to eat undercooked food’, said he. ‘Do you want me to do it for you?’ I offered. ‘Yes please’ he said, and off he went merrily to drink his pression leaving me as cook/waitress feeling as though I’d been had... I lost count of how many plates I cooked up but by the end I was sorely tempted to take a skewer, stick it in the barbie and shove it where Health & Safety would never find it… Mind you, three trips to the puds section ensured that my equilibrium was duly restored and the evening ended back on a Mont Blanc sized high. Much like my calorie intake...

The doughnut connection

2010-04-18T15:59:00.001+01:00

It’s amazing the old cack we keep in our brains isn’t it? And the odd way synapses fire to link the preposterous? I mean, how else do you explain me sitting in Salterhebble bottom lock and thinking ‘cream doughnuts’? There I was, minding my own business going up the lock, when I casually turned around to have a dekko at the guillotine gate. There in the middle was a little plaque denoting the mechanism’s manufacturers, Ransomes and Rapier. Wow, bang, crash, wallop, I was instantly transported back to my midteens and the school run. Every weekday we’d drive past the R&R manufacturing plant in Ipswich and on Fridays, as a special end of week treat, mum used to stop off after school at the Newsteads Bakery which was more or less adjacent to the factory.

So for a few minutes I was able to marvel at what looked like supersized red meccano pieces strewn all over the place but were in fact crane parts…that is until the cream doughnuts were thrust into my hand and I became weirdly fixated on the squidgy synthetic cream. So I’d always imagined R&R as big in cranes – big in big cranes, in fact. What I didn’t know until I read it in Pearson’s was that R&R were actually also very well known for their railway turntables…and seemingly not known at all for their guillotine gates. I wonder how many they made? Sadly, the R&R factory has long since been demolished but the gate keeps the name alive and triggers, for me at least, happy memories. Actually, now I come to think about it, maybe not all happy…my haircut was abysmal…and the uniform sucked…and Friday always meant loads of homework, most of it biology, which always involved far too much embarrassing drawing and annotating of various anatomical features that I'd much rather have remained unacquainted with…Mmmm, think I’ll unscrew the plaque next time I’m there…

French fancy part 2

2010-04-17T15:15:00.000+01:00

So where were we? Oh yes, tired, a little tetchy and the Thetford cassette giving us its ‘Closed for business’ orange light. Nothing for it but to venture out into the penumbral gloom and use the aire’s service point. Actually, service point makes it sound a very grand affair but the reality was that it was a tiny drain hole set into a concrete surround, not some capacious square sluice like we get over here. Now I’d read about these in a guide somewhere, and basically the advice was to be very, very careful in positioning the cassette and to take things very slowly, as otherwise you just end up with a ploptastic flood and unsavoury shoes – and it is so not the done thing to make a mess with your mess. So I was just about to open my mouth and offer some sage counsel to He Who Has To Obey when he slung the cassette in the general direction of the drain and hit the trigger. Despite the dark, my sixth sense told me I was right in the firing line so I jumped off the concrete base PDQ and started to proffer my advice…yes, yes, a bit late I know but…anyway, that merely elicited a reaction of ‘well if you know so much about it, you do it then’ before himself stomped off in a queeny strop.

Thankfully, none of this had been witnessed by any of our fellow campers and I set about trying to clean up the deluge. Despite my best efforts and my last 2 Euro piece, I couldn’t get the water dispenser to work so was reduced to using our jerry can water to help sluice things away. A was observing me with what I can only call a ‘poached egg’ expression and then started berating me for using up valuable drinking water. I countered that we could fill up from the dispenser in the morning (not confessing that I hadn’t been able to work it) so that was 1-1. I managed to eradicate most traces of our own ‘dark materials’ before retiring to the van to encourage egg-boy to come out and get a bit of dinner. The prospect of food lightened the mood but unfortunately a succession of ‘no, sorry, we’ve stopped serving’ responses from the town’s restaurants had us both stomping back to the van to cook up an emergency pizza. To be honest, it was just one of those evenings where the best thing is to go to bed and hide – everything will seem much better in the morning. And of course it did – the sun was shining, there was little evidence of our nocturnal spillage and I even worked out how to use the water dispenser. Now all we had to do was rendezvous with our host and make it to his villa…

I use the term ‘make it’ advisedly, readers. Having looked at a detailed Michelin map, we’d discovered that the little hamlet where the villa was located was reached by the dreaded thin, white roads. Now Michelin’s thin, white roads to a motorhomer mean only one thing – ‘you’re having a laugh’. So the first thing we’d done when planning the trip was to check with our host that it was possible to get a 25ft motorhome up to his house and he’d very carefully driven the route and reported back that he could only see one likely ‘pinch point’. Now the prospect of having driven over a 1000 miles only to be thwarted 200 yards from the front door was not exactly thrilling so it was with some trepidation that come Monday lunchtime we rendezvoused first and then set off in convoy. Well, the thin roads were bloody thin and the buildings started to press in from both sides and I found myself unaccountably breathing in as if that would help. And then we arrived at the pinch point – the 7’ 7” pinch point for a 7’6” wide van. Well, credit where credit is due – A manoeuvered with tremendous skill while I stood outside with my eyes ‘can’t bear to look’ shut (bit tricky that as I was supposed to be guiding him through the gap) and he made it without a scratch. Full of beans we set off on the last bit of the journey, turned right into the little track down to the house…and screech, bang, scrape, clang, we’d grounded the exhaust out on a treacherous hump. Well, we weren’t stopping now so A just kept going – bugger the brackets, we could fix those later.

Actually we forgot all about them in the week that followed, only to be reminded of our slight mechanical issue as we clanged around the first roundabout we came to on leaving the villa the following weekend. Oh yes, that was an unexpected bonus…we had a cracking couple of days with our hosts before they calmly announced that they had to leave for a prior engagement and would be away for a few weeks, and rather than moving onto a campsite would we like to stay on for a few days on our own? Now why would we want to do that? Why would anyone want to spend time working on a huge sunny terrace overlooking the forests and gorges of the Ardeche, with a Nespresso machine in the kitchen, a swimming pool in the garden and a wine cellar that had been put at one’s personal disposal? Come on, why would you? We grudgingly said that yes, maybe we could stay for a couple of days….in fact, the plan was to use those days (with wifi on tap) to get on top of our work, allowing us to have some leisurely touring later in the week. But it was such a gorgeous place to hang out that the daily mantra became ‘we’ll leave tomorrow – definitely’, and a whole week passed before we did succeed in tearing ourselves away. The dogs were in their element too snoozing in the sunshine and making free in the terrace garden. The only slight unnerving moment was when the goatherd, his goats and his dogs turned up in the field below the garden…we had been given prior warning but we’d just thought there’d be half a dozen or so. More like ten dozen. Well, you can imagine the scene…a marauding caprine force meets fearsome canine defenders..it put me in mind of Zulu with Monty in the Michael Caine role…Thank heaven for the strong fence.

So onto our departure…you couldn’t make this up, truly. Imagine the scene. A tiny French hamlet that had shown no signs of life all week. Having got the van up to the villa we weren’t too concerned about getting it down again but we both knew our nerves would be better once we were back on proper, yellow roads. However, looking on the bright side, at least we’d have an unimpeded passage back down because simply nothing happens here, does it? So Saturday morning comes, bright and early, and we’re ready to go. And so it seems is the man who lives opposite the track entrance – go as in move house. Move house as in hire a big truck. Move house as in enlist all the friends you can to help. The place was bedlam – cars, vans, trailers, furniture – all of which we somehow negotiated only to meet an old boy in his Twingo coming up the hill with his baguettes sticking through the sun roof – and would he get out of our way? No. We had nowhere to go, he had a large area which he could pull into, but no, he just sat there, gesticulating Gallically. Well, I don’t suppose it did much for the Entente Cordiale but I opted for some Anglo Saxon gestures of my own. Eventually, he realized his baguettes were getting stale so he pulled over and let us pass. Yellow roads, here we come. Oh hang on a sec, just better tighten those exhaust brackets first…A doesn’t need an excuse to whip out his tool…er..a spanner in this case, if memory serves.

French fancy part 1

2010-04-15T13:35:00.007+01:00

Now autumn is usually a time we earmark for a couple of weeks’ cruising so what happened to keep us in absentia last year? Well, we got, not exactly a better offer but certainly an offer we would have been foolish to turn down. It was turning into a very ordinary Thursday afternoon when I got an unexpected call from a business acquaintance that went something like this…’Now you know my parents have a holiday villa down in the south of France that we rent out…well, we need some copy for our website and we were wondering whether you’d like to fly down for a long weekend to see the place for yourself, all expenses paid, in return for writing a few words?’ Now normal people would have proffered one of three answers:

1) Yes

2) The suitcase is packed, when do you want me?

3) You have to ask? Are you mad?

But with five dogs in tow you can’t be normal and you have to answer, ‘That’s really kind but Ryanair don’t allow dogs on board, at least not as passengers, so flying’s out – but we could come by motorhome.’ Now anyone with a basic grasp of French geography will know that the department we were aiming for, the Ardeche, doesn’t make a long weekend particularly feasible, not unless you’d like to be driving for the duration, so I grabbed a pen and paper and set about making one of my PLANS. Readers with long memories will know that I do love a plan – they don’t always come together, indeed change wholesale more often that not, but there is no greater thrill than the prospect of pulling everything together. One look at the calendar and the germ of an idea quickly took root….travel down to the Ardeche over the weekend, stay for a couple of days fulfilling my brief at the villa, move onto a campsite locally for the rest of the week, then use the following weekend to mosey back halfway and find a campsite for the whole week before returning to the UK on the final weekend of the fortnight. We knew the villa had wi-fi and we had sorted out special overseas data rates on our dongles to prevent the heart-attack bills (those ones that look normal on the outside but inside seem to have a printing mistake in that the total’s got four figures instead of two), so we could continue the illusion of work while we took the office on a continental excursion.

For the second week, we rather fancied making a return trip to Annecy with its glorious old town and quite breathtaking lake. We had been there very early on in our relationship but for some reason lost to me now my mother had tagged along too. And you know how Picasso had his Blue period? Well, at the time mother was going through her Foul period, which lasted up until…well, last year probably…so it perhaps wasn’t the most comfortable of experiences all told. But the town and surrounds had left their mark, much as the maternal barbs had all those years ago…It would be good to go back and see it again, just the two of us. I found a likely campsite too, though I opted not to book but to take a chance they’d have space – plans could always change…But they started off okay and that’s how we found ourselves at Maidstone Services at midnight, doing a caffeine raid on Costa to ensure we didn’t get tempted to just close those tiredly eyes for a few minutes…a few minutes can’t hu-…zzzz zzzz…cue some bollocky bollock swearing when we woke up all of a fluster, some more when we realized that we’d let our coffee cups tiddle on us, and even more when we realized the motorhome clock was still on French time from our last trip…panic over, we were still on schedule.

Basically, the rough outline was to travel across via Eurotunnel on Thursday night/ Friday morning, travel down through Normandy on Friday for a quick D-Day beach inspection on Saturday morning before cutting across on the diagonal, pitstopping in the Loire Saturday night (the dogs gave the chateau de Cheverny and its avenues of lime trees ten out of ten - with a tree every ten paces they were in leg-cocking heaven) and finally pitching up at Aubenas (our rendezvous point) on Sunday evening. Now admittedly France is not as bad as Texas (where you drive all morning but the scenery in front of you doesn’t change an inch) but it is still quite a big place and if you use RN and back roads, well, it does take time to get places. Obviously it takes more time if you stop every hour to fire up your Bialetti Moka Express to feed your coffee addiction, but at least by the time we’d percolated, Arthur had peed for England and kept his end up. Good boy.

So it's fair to say that both Saturday and Sunday had their longeur…and perhaps it was not surprising that by the time we nudged ourselves into a busy little aire on Sunday evening, we were a little tired and drained. It hadn’t helped that I had made the executive decision to go through Puy le Valences rather than round it, reasoning that nothing much happens in French towns on a Sunday afternoon…okay, so how was I to know that there was a medieval pageant going on that had brought the whole place to a standstill? It was gridlock and worse, the big streets that we’d banked on using were blocked off and we were diverted down little streets, packed with cars and people and oh god, I just can’t look…Somehow we emerged unscathed but the strain had taken its toll. How else can I explain A’s complete sense of humour failure over the cassette toilet incident? To be continued…

Down memory lane

2010-04-14T15:57:00.002+01:00

Going off air last Easter meant that I was unable to share with you the highlights of our three week relocation from Nantwich to Sowerby Bridge. Of course, the original plan had never been to stop at SB, merely to linger, but as stated previously, life got in the way, followed by the weather, and hey ho, it’s Easter 2010 before we’re getting high on diesel fumes again.

But the great memories of June’s trip still linger…the failed starter battery on Monday morning and the kindness of the gang at King’s Lock chandlery in getting us going again…the slow, steady climb up a mysteriously quiet Heartbreak Hill…Monty escaping at Bosley Top and yours truly putting in a stunning 800m to trap him in a garage..a long blissful weekend secreted in Bugsworth Basin with the added bonus of a visit from the Snecklifter Holloways…a magnificent march down Marple in the sunshine…

our first taste of the magnificent Huddersfield Narrow in the pouring rain (A says it’s a fine 20 mile walk – don’t think he actually bothered getting back on the boat at all)…A’s teensy weensy temper tantrum with the paddles on the Diggle flight (calm down, dear, kicking and swearing won’t get you anywhere except A&E)…a truly awesome passage through Standedge tunnel in the company of Fred the oracle, with no bits missing at the end…oh, and a busted bog at Huddersfield.

Sadly A has not learnt the truth of the adage ‘Be sure your sins will find you out’. I asked him whether he may have casually chucked a Flash Strongweave wipe down the bowl (he has previous with a square of Bounty) and he had the brass neck to deny it. So what’s this I see as pipes and valves are taken apart? Oh look, it’s a Flash Strongweave, I wonder how that got there. Cue my exit stage right to Costa Coffee in high dudgeon while he got on with fixing the ruddy thing. As it happened, the fixing took four days as we had to wait for parts so I was immensely grateful to J Sainsbury for thoughtfully providing a loo adjacent to the canal. Okay, the loo was in the superstore and after about my 6^th visit, I did take to switching bandanas in a bid to change my identity and avoid suspicion – ‘Look, it’s that serial loo user who doesn’t make any guilt purchases’. But I can tell you that Huddersfield is a great place to get stuck – the guys at Aspley Marina were helpful and chatty, the neighbours were cheery and welcoming, the natives friendly and very interested in our dogs, and the town itself, with its wide streets and imposing architecture still shows off its mantle of old mill town glory.

But hospitable as it was, after a while we were keen to get going so it was a huge relief when Thunderbirds were go ie the vacuum came up to pressure and gave a fine ripsnorter of a suck to clear the contents of the bowl. There has never been a sound as sweet…especially as I didn’t fancy my chances of making it across the bridge with my legs crossed…

So onwards to Sowerby Bridge and more memories…where were you when you heard Michael Jackson was dead? Er, on the Huddersfield Broad fiddling with my fenders…then the world of the handspike (it’s official – there is something A knows how to do that I don’t! An unhealthy precedent…)…the discovery of possibly the world’s, well, Yorkshire’s best coffee shop in Brighouse (I was tempted to stuff another Strongweave down the loo so we could stay longer and keep sampling the wares…and that obliging chap Mr Sainsbury had put another loo next to the cut, so it was a feasible plan)…the ceremonial moment when we passed the site of the 2002 National recalling our promise to ourselves back then - you will go the ball, Cinders, but under your own steam next time and not on the back of a lorry...and our final triumphant arrival in Sowerby Bridge, where we celebrated by visiting the Mongolian Barbecue restaurant and eating everything on the menu (well, I’d been on very short commons so you can hardly blame me. Didn’t know Mongolians liked sticky toffee pudding though…

And it was with heavy hearts – and heavy stomachs – that we beat a retreat the next morning. One day our journey won’t have an end as we’ll be cruising continuously but on this occasion, as on all the others, we headed for home with happy memories, dirty socks and a leaky pint of milk.

Is there anyone there?

2010-04-13T18:11:00.004+01:00

Okay, okay, so 11 months between entries is a bit poor I’ll admit…and worse, I don’t even have a very good excuse. Or any excuse for that matter, save laziness. If I were to scratch about for a possible get-out, I could proffer the fact that – not by design, just because of life getting in the way – we left the good ship unloved and untended for NINE WHOLE MONTHS, and thus had little to report. (No, actually, it was laziness as we did do a fair bit in my 'off season', including getting stuck up an Alp, discovering pain au chocolats the size of bolsters - the so called Maxi-Pain, maxi pain being what you suffered after scoffing the bloody thing - and pushing the boundaries of cheese fondue consumption).

When we finally drove up to be reunited, we discovered where all the snow that had fallen in Yorkshire had gone – inside the flippin’ boat, along with most of the Pennine rain that had been doing a double St Swithins by my reckoning. However, one week in residence with the Squirrel peaking at 90 degrees and she soon sloughed off her winter blues. And maybe unloved and untended is a bit harsh…she was under the watchful eye of Shire Cruisers the whole time, who also administered to her various needs and wants like bum blacking….oh, and a rather spanking new prop that has turned us from egg whisk to Moulinex in one fell swoop. It’s only taken seven years for someone to take me seriously about our pisspoor performance…thank you Nigel and team!

The week aboard just in the run up to Easter was of course all the sweeter for our long absence. Actually, having been thwarted from setting off the previous weekend by an ‘oops, we should have really ensured all the water was out of the system before the harshest winter in years decided to burst our pipes’ incident, it was very sweet. Very, very sweet in fact as the sun was shining (the town had broken out the party streamers to celebrate this rare occurrence) and we set sail with a couple of rather fine lattes fresh from the handily placed Gabriel’s coffee shop. I think cookies were involved too which may explain why my figure, while still very creditable, is more hourglass than pencil…

You won’t be surprised to find that coffee featured prominently on the cruise. I say cruise…a pootle down to Brighouse where we dropped anchor for the next four days hardly constitutes a cruise but at least we had moved off our moorings. It was a working week you see and we weren’t quite at leisure…besides the river was up and down and we couldn’t afford to get stuck the wrong side of Anchor Flood Lock. So the tenor of the week was set by Monday’s excursion into Brighouse to reacquaint ourselves with possibly the best coffee shop this side of Dewsbury – no, make that Milan! I kid you not, the coffee served at Blakeley’s 43 is some of the best I have ever tasted, and as you know, I have been around the coffee block a few times. Every day A and I would install ourselves in the prime window seat with our laptops like a couple of saddos, pushing the limits of latte consumption to the max – and raising the eyebrows of the serving staff into the bargain. Personally, I don’t think three large lattes in the space of a couple of hours is that excessive…indeed, there are certain boaters who I won’t name but who have two greyhounds called Bum Biter 1 and Bum Biter 2 (oops, no, make that Lou and Blue) who would probably agree that that is a fairly moderate intake. And besides, we had the odd scone and teacake and bacon sandwich to mop it all up with so I reckon that dilutes the effect….(says she as she pogos down the towpath).

So an inactive, indulgent, rather excellent week all told. The actual cruising bits were fun too, mainly because the boaters up this way are very content to take things slowly and to let others too go at their own pace. Coming up the locks, for example, we choose to take it quite carefully as there is always the risk of trapping your tiller under the walkways that on the C&H are sited inside the lock. We also tend to only work one side particularly if the other side is handspike operated. And us being 58’, any vigorous gate paddle opening results in the dogs getting an unexpected shower in the saloon. So it’s slowly does it and everyone respects that – there’s no harrumphing, tapping of toes, wiggling of windlasses or swinging of spikes, just a helpful push on the gate there, a handy closing of the paddle there. Very civilized, very friendly and for anyone like me who’s been chastened by a locking incident, very reassuring.

At the moment, the plan is to leave Sowerby Bridge for good in May (well, we will definitely be back at some point but we are moving on for the foreseeable) and head Skipton-wards via Leeds. It looks a great trip, lots of variety and a bit of a challenge. Skipton is an old stomping ground for me and I’ve promised to introduce A to the world famous pie-shop there. I suspect that a few doggy snouts may be interested in any purchases and I lay odds of 2-1 that Monty can demolish his first.

And what of the dogs you ask? All still here, I’m pleased to say. Poor Arthur resembles a patchwork quilt following lots of investigatory work on his excessive drinking and whizzing antics. If any reservoir runs dry this summer, check Arthur hasn’t been helping himself, that’s all I say. Seems the old boy has got dodgy kidneys and despite medication, the drink/wee cycle is unbreakable (I say that but interestingly, while he always wakes me in the middle of the night to go out when at home, he sleeps right through on the boat. Mind you, his first morning wee lasts so long that I can get a cuppa brewed and drunk while I’m waiting….) Apart from broken nights, the only real inconvenience is the odd accident indoors – we’ve become quite adept at finding a ‘potty’ to help stop localized flooding but if you’re with us just don’t go round picking up stray glasses of light ale, okay?

Susie is still Miss Bossy Knickers, Ranger is still Mr Loved Up Pup, Monty is still big, nervous and sticking his nose in my tea cup and Miffy is well…just Miffy really. We found her trying to climb into the Squirrel one night and the relief was palpable when she saw mummy return with some more coal when stocks had run out…mummy being stupid enough to think we couldn’t possibly need more coal in April.

Of course, we could not have survived our accidental sabbatical from our own narrowboat without getting some cruising in elsewhere. And for that we are eternally grateful to our good friends Richard and Sue on the Indigo Dream, who have extended what is basically an open invitation to us to join them whenever we fancy.

As they’ve watched their Nespresso stocks dwindle over the winter they’ve no doubt repented many a time of their generous offer made in haste but we love them all the more for never refusing passage and welcoming us as though they mean it! Seriously, these two have been real crackers and so generous with their time and their hospitality – we’ve had great days out in London and just this weekend, had a diamond day in the company not just of the Indigo Dream but old muckers Caxton and Matilda Rose. And having rather turned my back on blogs for one reason or another, I was given a timely reminder by Lesley that this four way friendship would never have come about without blogs. That the diamond day would never have sparkled in the afternoon sunshine….So this blog rebirth is for Lesley…and for Joe, Jill and Graham, and of course, for my greyhound-loving southern boat caretakers, Sue and Richard. Until the Fens, friends.

Smothered in fish sauce

2009-05-13T16:14:00.000+01:00

I haven’t died…but I have been suffering from Nam Pla asphyxia, which has curbed my enthusiasm for blogging. Yes, I know, how can you be suffocated by a cooking ingredient but that Thai fish sauce is dangerous stuff. Especially when it falls over in your motorhome fridge during a ferry crossing and someone hasn’t pressed the lid shut….I’m not kidding, for a week it was like living in an intensely cheesy but essentially rank Wotsit. And despite one’s best efforts to clean it up, it just hung around like a….well, like a bad smell really.

That aside, we did have a great time while we were away but we were also pleased to get home. Unusually for us, we didn’t have any major incidents, unless you count Miffy running off not once but twice from the van as A tried to get her back in after dinner. There she was, scampering around the campsite without a care in the world while I did my best fishwife impression (must be the Nam Pla again) shrieking at her to come back and not get herself squished under the wheels of a tag-axle caravan. She obliged me eventually…

Our BH weekend in Orkney was certainly the trip’s highlight and we took our behemoth down every road we could and some we definitely shouldn’t have. But if there’s a bistro with cakes at the end of a windy narrow track, then what’s a bit of scraped paint and bashed plastic matter? Oh and then there was that episode in Stromness where your head is telling you to turn around, your heart is telling you to turn round quickly and your mouth says ‘carry on, dear, it’ll be fine’. Have you ever been down Stromness High Street? You can walk down it and touch both sides of the street at the same time with your outstretched arms. Well, at least that’s what it felt like, with the walls closing in the further we penetrated. It was a genuine squeaky bum moment but at last we emerged into daylight and breathed a sigh of relief. Very similar in fact to the one we had let out when the marshall at the ferry office offered to reverse the motorhome onto the car deck for us. We don’t do reversing except onto a campsite pitch, ever since we crunched a car with our first van twenty minutes after taking possession. It was good to see how the dogs reacted to a complete stranger getting into the cab and making off with their motorized kennel while mum and dad stood on the quay looking on…not a sound. Useful huh?

That said, the dogs have been very well behaved of late and so we rewarded them with brand new house collars from www.kitschcollars.com as their old ones were looking a bit frayed and shabby. I’ll try and get some pics in due course. Of course, having been home for five days, we’re already looking forward to our time away on the boat in June. If all goes to plan, this should be one week of work cruise to get us to Red Bull; two weeks of holiday to get us to the Pennines; and then potentially another working week to take us to Castleford where A’s client has a northern office and we’re hoping to install some techie bits and pieces. At some point, we shall take up residence in Sowerby Bridge for the rest of the summer before wending our way to Stenson over the autumn.

It’s probably going to be a little quiet on the blogging front until we resume our adventures but I’ll drop back in from time to time. Oh, and all you diet watchers….the weight’s staying off, thankfully, and I think I’ve even lost a little more since hitting my target. It’s a race now between me and Susie as to who can have the smallest waist…

Too busy

2009-04-30T13:37:00.002+01:00

When we came up to Scotland for our working week, I did hope that we'd be able to squeeze in a bit of leisure time too but things have been absolutely manic! This van is a hive of activity, the two little worker bees cranking out emails and copy and software in a show of unprecedented energy and focus while the five doggy drones just....well sleep really. Our days have all had the same structure - wake up - walk dogs - work - walk dogs - work - walk dogs - feed dogs - feed ourselves - go to bed. And nice as it's been to be in such a pictureskew spot, it has been a little fevered and relentless. It's not helped by dogs that insist on extending their walks by disappearing into the dunes or splashing about in rock pools, showing that selective deafness that my husband also appears to be catching. What part of 'do the washing up for once' doesn't he understand?

Anyway, such has been the pace of the week that we've awarded ourselves a long BH weekend and so tomorrow, we're making an unscheduled side trip to Orkney. Judging by the winds today, the crossing of the Pentland Firth - comfortingly one of the most treacherous stretches of water in the world - should be 'interesting', and I'm not overly keen on undertaking any cliff-walking without a carabina or three. We're planning a couple of nights of wild camping - wild being the operative word - before returning to the mainland on Sunday. In the meantime, we're going to try and squeeze a 7.5m motorhome into the local Tesco car park tonight - if you see us driving along with a trolley mangled beneath the wheels, do give us a shout won't you?

Just beachy

2009-04-27T12:40:00.003+01:00

The fact that the highlight of this morning’s dog walk was Susie attempting a ‘wall of death’ run up a vertical sand dune will tell you that we successfully arrived at Dunnet Bay over the weekend. The lowlight was me chucking the pink Frisbee left-handed straight into sea and having to go for a bracing paddle to retrieve it. I later threw it right-handed and the wretched thing, unclaimed by any of our disobliging non-retriever greyhounds, rolled annoyingly into the surf. I couldn’t be arsed with the shoe/sock kerfuffle again so I just got everything wet. Let’s hope they’re dry by now as I’m about to go out.

The journey up, though long, was without incident, except for the small matter of a fridge pack of Diet Coke falling on my head. I’d told A that things shifted in transit and to be careful when opening lockers and what does he do? And with me sitting directly beneath? Of course, it was all my fault as I should have put the box elsewhere although there was no place else for it…never mind my sore head…We overnighted at Balbirnie CC site near Glenrothes which was surprisingly only half full, before making our way to the top of Scotland on Sunday. We were greeted by wind and rain but today it’s sunny if a little blustery, and it does make for a very pleasant backdrop to work.

We’re staying until the weekend when we head a little south east to the Grummore site, by which time the dogs will be completely exhausted if this morning’s antics are anything to go by. Like most greyhounds, ours love the beach, Susie in particular, but I know that what they really want is to get up into the dunes. This happened last year and I lost Susie and Arthur for a good half hour. When they eventually deigned to show up, Susie had to have a lie down and Arthur’s tongue was dragging on the ground… She’s had one failed go this morning but it’s only a matter of time. I ask you, is this any way for a pensioner to behave?

Just beachy

2009-04-27T12:40:00.002+01:00

Cheshire cat - and dog

2009-04-21T10:29:00.003+01:00

Linda the lockie was on duty when we came up Hurleston on Friday and it was a chance for a natter and a catch-up. Of course the big news is that she and partner Mark have taken over narrowboat hire outfit Cheshire Cat – so while shepherding boats safely and considerately through the flight, Linda is also fretting about whether her customers are having a good time. She desperately wants them to enjoy themselves and to have a positive experience of the canals so you can only imagine her reaction when she got a hysterical call from one of their first hirers – “we’ve crushed the dog between the bank and the boat”. It transpired that the dog – as is their custom – had attempted to follow its owner as he jumped off the boat but didn’t make it. Poor pooch then got walloped by the boat as it thrashed around in the water but proving that it’s not only cats – Cheshire or otherwise – that have nine lives, the dog escaped albeit with a broken leg. I’m pleased to report that the vets in Trevor promptly attended to the limb, the patient is now doing well and the hirers, on their return to base, said that they’d had a fantastic time notwithstanding. Now that’s the spirit, isn’t it? Makes you wonder about the odd miserable sod you see cruising for whom travelling our wonderful waterways seems more like a penance than a pleasure.

How can you not love doing this?

The pig and camel

2009-04-20T15:17:00.004+01:00

No, the pig and camel is not some outré new gastro pub that we hit upon as we wended our way back home; no, it’s simply the easiest way to sum up the long weekend that has seen us return to first base (by boat) and second base (by car).

The pig is the large sow, accompanied by her nine piglets (surely that makes them nonolets?) that had broken out of the farm below Minshull Lock and was making muddy merry on the towpath. From the state of the grass they’d obviously been rootling for a while and having a damn good time while they were about it. Apparently, according to the blue shirts who had been summoned to the scene, it’s not the first time it’s happened but unfortunately the farm owner has been watching too many Scorsese films and considers himself the local godfather. We heard all sorts of lurid tales which I won’t repeat here for fear of waking up with a horse’s head next to me tomorrow morning.

The camel is the large humped beast that we found chowing down on the local village green this morning. In fact, it was two camels and they had two mates which looked remarkably like zebras. Had my latte been spiked with some hallucinogen? Maybe the pig farmer resented me taking pics of his porkers and had already wreaked a terrible revenge and I was dead and in some Dantean netherworld? Actually, it appears that the circus has come to town and they thought the lush village green would be a lovely place to peg everyone out in the sun. Llamas too apparently…

So you can see we’re back to ‘normal’ after the perfect execution of the Friday/Saturday cruise plan. So often when we’ve promised ourselves an early start, we’ve simply thrown the alarm clock on the floor in a hail of throaty invective and gone back to sleep. But the threat of Middlewich madness had us walking the dogs at 5.30 (their expressions all said the same thing: what time do you call this?) and pulling the pins bang on six. It all went off very well until Wardle Lock, when a stream of Andersen/Alvechurch/Middlewich boats decided to come down, with one turning the lock in our face so blatantly that A was in danger of having an apoplectic fit until the nice lady behind them came and calmed him down. Let's just say, if he'd had toys, they'd have been out of the pram...and probably shoved somewhere very painful.

I was just hoping that we’d be able to moor up close to John and Fiona on Epiphany and sure enough we slotted in right in front. Yes, get the kettle on, you two! It was really lovely to see them both again after what must be at least a couple of years and I only wished we could have chatted for longer. They have exciting cruising plans ahead of them and I’ll certainly be following their blog with interest. This was yet another meeting (following on from the likes of Caxton, Indigo Dream, Seyella, Contented Souls etc) that demonstrated once again what a diamond bunch of folk there are out there on the waterways. Yes, sure, you get some muppets but you get them anywhere, but on the cut you do seem to have more of those precious encounters with people you quickly realize will be friends for life.

The rest of the cruise back to base was uneventful apart from the Beatrix Potter-esque interlude at Minshull and here we are at home…until Saturday when we take off again for some work-cum-motorhome adventuring. Poor old Arthur….just when he thought he’d escaped the whiz-bang-clonk of the boat, he’s got to cope with the flying baked bean tins and falling ladders in the van. Tune in again next Monday to see just how many Costa outlets it is possible to visit in one trip up the length of the A1.

Homeward bound

2009-04-16T18:51:00.001+01:00

I think today can be summed up as follows: we’ve been passed by more boats in one afternoon on the Trent & Mersey than we have seen in our entire two and a half week sojourn on the Weaver. We just want to go back down again…Actually, it’s always nice to renew acquaintance with this stretch and we’ve had a good run down, stopping just short of Bramble Cuttings on the rings on the right hand side. We had earlier shared the lift up with Adagio on the 11.45am passage and once again were struck by the calm efficiency of the all the staff there (you can give the café coffee a miss though…)

I think the dogs were relieved to get back on the shallower canals as mummy had made them rather nervous with her speed trials – well, I thought I’d use the run from Barnton back to the lift to see how fast the old girl could go as I’ve always had this suspicion that she’s a bit underpowered for some reason (there’s a growing consensus that we should take a serious look at the prop – size, type, manufacturer, with Crowther being the name consistently popping up). Now maybe it’s because I’m a woman driver but I’ve never felt the need before to ‘see what she can do’ and take her beyond her usual 1500-1700 revs but again, my ‘advisers’ said that this was barely scratching the surface and to test her out I should really crank her up to 2400 or so. Well I did and we certainly did seem to shift a bit but A shot out the back wondering why we were making a sound like a torpedo and that if I didn’t slow down and return the noise levels to normal, poor Arthur would hyperventilate into an early doggie grave.

So the results were inconclusive….just for the record, the speed/power thing is not to burn off other boats but for peace of mind if we ever need to punch a tide or cope with strong conditions. Deep down, I feel a 57 footer powered by a Beta 43 should have a bit more grunt on her, in fact a lot more grunt on her…the prop is 18 x 12, the size specified by Beta, but again I’ve been told that three same size props from three different manufacturers could give you three different results. I don’t know if there’s any truth in that, the whole thing is a complete mystery to me in fact, but I may well put in a call to Crowther and see what they say. Shire Cruisers, our likely summer home, recommend them so maybe if there is some work in that department that needs doing, they can do it for us before we return Midlands-wards in the autumn.

This evening we’ve been fortunate enough to find a safe field in which to let the dogs have a run (just by bridge 176) although they all seemed more interested in eating grass. They eventually got going, charging about the place for ten minutes or so before running out of puff - we even felt plucky enough to let Monty off, with me standing with the rest of the dogs at the field exit/entrance and A hand-slipping Monty like in his old schooling days. The question was, would Monty run straight towards us? Yes. Would he try his usual trick of dodging around us and carrying on into the far yonder? No. Would he wait patiently for mummy to come and put his lead back on? Yes. And he got a big warm hug from said mummy who was mightily relieved that he did stop and didn’t tank right into us as he was going at a fair old lick, I can tell you! But it was wonderful to see him in full flight, it really was. We’re just hoping his legs don’t swell up as they’re wont to do after vigorous exercise. Frankenpaws we call him...

We’re looking to make a very early start tomorrow as we’d like to get through Middlewich before any scrum develops, leaving us free to saunter across the arm and back to base in time for a Saturday am getaway home. Home…funny that, as this feels like home now. Actually, it feels like a greenhouse because we lit the fire at teatime and it must be 90F in here!

Spamalot

2009-04-15T21:38:00.003+01:00

Today has been a bit curate's eggy. We awoke to the sound of rain on the roof so promptly pulled the duvet back over our heads, only finally emerging when our need for tea outdid our need for sleep. I was struck once again by the barometric sensor that seems to exist within our dogs, which has them quiescent for ages whenever it's a damp and miserable morning, but squeaking and sticking their noses in my face from 6am when it's fine and sunny. Who needs seaweed or BBC Weather? Just look at Susie - is there any sign of a raised eyelid or not? Is her bum still in her blanket?

Thankfully the rain cleared away by about 10.30am, and the arrival of a boat below Dutton was our signal to get going and save the lockie the trouble of penning us through separately. We took it slowly to Saltersford so that we'd time our arrival for the end of the lunch break, but lost our companion en route who was seduced by the two for one offer on at the Riverside pub. A meanwhile was seduced by the Spam that I'd bought for the dogs. Why did I bother getting Sainsbugs' Taste the Difference Wiltshire Cured Ham for his sarnies when all he wants is bloody Spam? And the dogs' corned beef looks as though it's been tampered with too...

We moored up for the last time in Barnton Cut and I made arrangements with helpful local cabbies, Twinz Travel, to pick me up in Nantwich later in the afternoon. I then recovered the car from Barnton and drove it to Nantwich in readiness for Saturday's return home, eventually meeting up with the lovely Kev from TT; he drove me back to the boat while demonstrating that it was indeed possible to talk incessantly for 55 minutes without pausing for breath or having your passenger leg it at the lights just for some much needed respite.

Tomorrow we're due to leave the Weaver and it'll be with heavy hearts I'm sure. It could be a couple of years before we're back but back we will be, if they'll have us. Thanks for a great time, RWN - we'll miss you.

Easter snapshot

2009-04-13T19:18:00.002+01:00

Now where were we? Ah yes, planning a Saturday ‘from bottom to top of the Weaver’ cruise…Well, that was always going to happen, not. We got seduced by the sun at Barnton and pulled over onto an empty mooring at 2pm, whipping out the chairs for a bit of reading, dozing and footie listening. Our plans had earlier become unraveled anyway as we couldn’t fit under Newbridge swingbridge, forcing us to turn well before Winsford. The compensation was that it was a glorious morning and although it became noticeably busier at Hunts Lock and Northwich with boats heading Vale Royal-wards, there was still a free spot on the town quay that enabled me to do a quick bit of shopping. Then we were off again, with revised intentions of going to Dutton but as I said, the siren call of the grassy bank at Barnton meant that it was a foreshortened cruising day. However, we reasoned that we could equally well go to Weston Point and back to Dutton on Easter Monday, as we had a lunch date with friends in Nantwich on Sunday. And as luck would have it, the car was only parked up in the village so it did all work out for the best really.

Sunday’s strategy was to take the dogs on a mammoth walk before we left them for the afternoon and after 2 1/2 hours tootling along in warm sunshine, they were absolutely shattered – well, not so shattered that they didn’t take a good close look at Neo the Great Dane who was frolicking by the boat on our return. But a look seemed to do the trick as you could see their little doggie minds all realizing the same thing at the same time – he’s very big and I’m very tired, just let me by please. They were still in a fairly somnolent state when we returned a few hours later, which made seven of us actually, as we both had eaten far too much and were just aching for a lie down. In fact, after dinners and wees (dogs), everyone just drifted off to bed and the boat’s complement was asleep by about 9pm. My slight gastro-discomfort, which is still lurking 24 hours later, I put down to my wanting to be a good guest – well, if your host has gone to the trouble of cooking two roasts and enough veg to feed a battalion, it would be a mite rude just to help yourself to half a sprout and a mange (pas) tout. And to refuse a chocolate torte as well….I’d never get asked back.

So for today’s trip to Weston Point and back to Dutton we have been well fuelled, I can say that. Turkey, lamb, roast pots, parsnips, sweet potato, babycorn, greens, carrots, etc etc, they’ve kept me going throughout and I daresay will see me through to tomorrow now too. (Oh and the Cadbury’s mini-eggs we had with coffee afterwards were soooo tasty…all the better for not having had any for months, methinks!).Obviously this was my second trip to the northernmost stretch of the Weaver but A was very excited to see it for the first time, and thanks to a new floating pontoon that’s been installed since last weekend at Marsh Lock, we were able to have a good recce of the Ship Canal too. The dogs weren’t impressed with the pontoon though, its odd surface causing much clawing uncertainty and a couple of 4 fault refusals. Eventually though they all made it up safely and we went off for a look-see-cum-wee-stop.

Now whether it was the wind that’s been with us pretty much all day or the salt in the air (there must be salt, given the briny nature of the whole place!), we’re both sitting here with crusty old sea-dog faces – you know the sort, when your eyelids feel gritty and your face is all reddy-brown bar the white wrinkles round your eyes. It’ll no doubt prompt the usual question when we get back home, oooh look at the colour on you, where have you been? The Carribbean?, to which I will reply, with a perfectly straight face, no, Runcorn.

Easter plans

2009-04-10T20:19:00.004+01:00

If all goes to plan, tomorrow we'll complete the full length of the navigable Weaver in one go. We'll turn in the flash and with a fair wind, we'll hopefully get up to Weston Point, enabling A to finally enjoy what I had a foretaste of in his absence last weekend. We'll then backtrack, probably as far as Dutton, leaving us well placed to go and retrieve the car from Barnton on Sunday morning. We'll need that to get to our lunch date on Sunday and we'll probably take the dogs with us - a Dutton to Barnton trek should seem them pooped for most of the afternoon so it should all work out rather well. We'll probably stay on the Weaver until Thursday, as we really do love the peace and solitude down here - I know that we'll take our leave with heavy hearts but we'll certainly be back.

As for the Easter Sunday lunch, I shall be celebrating the end of my diet with the biggest scoff-out that I can possibly manage. Not edifying I know, but boy have I been hungry and I think I deserve a little treat...And on Monday, the hard work of keeping the coal sack off begins...

Emergency ward quay

2009-04-09T18:06:00.002+01:00

Well I’m sitting at the dinette and things are back to normal. A is scowling at his laptop, threatening it with violence and the dogs are vying for ‘nearest the Squirrel’ supremacy, with Miffy close to opening the door and hopping in. I, meanwhile, am basking in the afterglow of being a good citizen, having come to the rescue of an epileptic on the quay at Northwich. Lots of flashing lights and flagging down of ambulances, much hand-holding and sympathetic words and at last Tony was taken off to hospital, the paramedics perhaps more concerned with his cider consumption that morning than the small fit he’d had. Unfortunately that left Tony’s friend Alan all alone with his cider bottle but actually he was more in need of someone to talk to – cue a fascinating life story (or possible Walter Mitty complex) that involved being recently diagnosed with stomach cancer, getting home one day with Tony to the house they shared with Tony’s girlfriend to find her dead and being subsequently charged with murder, although she was declared to have died of natural causes. And for good measure, there was the confession that, despite denials to his friend Tony that he was not having an affair with the girlfriend, the girlfriend had in fact thrown herself onto him as he kipped innocently on the sofa in his jimjams. He relayed verbatim what the girlfriend asked him to do next, at which point I coughed and made my excuses, citing limited passage times at Vale Royal Locks for my impromptu haste to get away. I mean, you couldn’t make it up could you?

After all that drama, the afternoon’s cruise down towards Winsford could have been a huge anti-climax but was saved by the wonderful workings of the two locks we went through. Unlike the automated locks at Saltersford and Dutton, Hunts and Vale Royal need manual working – not so bad on the diddy Hunts Lock but a real physical effort at the big Vale Royal one. They have to wind up these massive paddles which have steroidal gear and handles and then, to open the gates, they have to walk round and round and round with what looks like a butty ‘ellum stuck in a slot. Then they have to reverse the procedure, open the paddles at the other end and before they can let you go, they need to wind open – by hand – a bridge that rather inconveniently spans the chamber. They earn their money do those boys!

At Hunts I was reunited with lovely lockie Chris who had seen me on my way through Saltersford on Saturday and when I rang to alert them to our approach, he remembered me and asked me whether I was still on my own. He had a colleague with him as both these locks are two-man working and he was just as friendly, as were the two at Vale Royal. In fact, the Weaver lockies are some of the very best BW employees I’ve ever come across and it’s such a shame they don’t get to work more boats through…although the Vale Royal chaps may be pleased about that…

We moored up in a strengthening wind and immediately released the hounds who had a mad gallop about the place – we can see along the towpath either way which is a real boon – and that small amount of exercise seems to have done for them. Which makes for a peaceful boat, well at least for another 30 minutes or so until Ranger’s dinner alarm goes off…

Also enjoyed some retail therapy in Northwich prior to Casualty, flexing the plastic in the marvellous Bratts cookware shop. I didn’t think it would be long post-inverter project before we succumbed to a toaster because our grill is absolutely hopeless, you may as well ask Monty to breathe on the bread…and a girl has to have a decent grill pan…and a big sauté pan for home…and a sharp grater….and, okay, a lemon zester too, but honestly, I haven’t done any serious shopping for weeks!

Tomorrow will probably be a stay put and mooch day, although we'll definitely walk back up the cut and see the work going on at Vale Royal small lock, and I'm in a foraging for firewood mode too - the adjacent embankment looks as though it could contain untold riches. Now all I need is for A's laptop to work properly and I'm all set for a heavenly Easter. Have a happy and safe one wherever you are.

Imminent return

2009-04-08T12:50:00.003+01:00

Wow, I keep having to remind myself that I'm married. I haven't been apart from the crew for this long in years - but thankfully he is due back after lunch and I'll celebrate in my normal fashion with a big shop in Tescos. Well, may as well make use of the car while it's handy...Apparently A hasn't really eaten since he left me - pathetic really - so I will whistle up a fave Thai red curry tonight to bolster his flagging spirits. And tomorrow we'll start our Easter hols early and set off, at last, for Northwich (sidetrip to Costa) and Vale Royal, Winsford etc. We are really looking forward to just relaxing and chugging, cruising and chilling for a few days as it's been a busy old time of late. And it will be very nice to actually see the rest of the Weaver - it's like Tantalus at the mo, all the goodies just out of reach, but we'll make up for this extended stay-put by going up and down a couple of times for good measure. The dogs will certainly be pleased to see their master - Monty has taken to snuffling down inside the bed on A's side, rearranging his pillow, and trying not to get too upset when he rushes into the saloon only to find mummy coming through the door. I wouldn't mind but who feeds and walks him? There's gratitude...

Flat cat

2009-04-08T10:32:00.003+01:00

I forgot to share this with you and I must because I don't know whether it makes Arthur really clever or really thick. We were walking back along the towpath yesterday, me, him and Miffy and he suddenly stops dead in his tracks. He's turned his head and is looking intently at this boat Annie. And I mean really intently, standing-stock-still-and-not-moving-a-whisker intently. I follow his gaze and there's a cat on this boat. But not a 3D live cat posing on the gunwale...but a 2D painted cat adorning the cabin side. A very lifelike painted cat obviously but Arthur would have been a long time waiting for it to move...

Good dogs, naughty dogs

2009-04-07T21:03:00.002+01:00

Choosing to walk the dogs in two shifts each time (while we're on non-home territory) must be doing wonders for my waistline - and it's also opened up a whole new world of the 'walk without fear'. Allow me to explain. When I go out with any combination of the toppest of top dogs Susie, anxious, fragile Monty and the greyhound world's answer to Frankie Fraser, Ranger, I am always anxious. I'm probably overly anxious and it's my own fault for not dealing with the issues at source but I'm constantly on the lookout for 'problems' - problems largely being innocent, nice dogs hoving into view on the horizon that might, just might, come close enough to get my lot kicking off. Now it is limited to kicking off...well, it has been thus far..so maybe I just need to accept I've got a mouthy crew, but it's a shame that I don't feel that I can let my dogs mix and mingle as dogs should (and which would no doubt address the fundamental issue, that they are not fully socialised). But I just don't want to take any risks...

So how nice it was today to take out Arthur and Miffy on their own and not to have to worry about a thing...they are pretty bombproof these two, but obviously in a pack of five, three baddies always outgun two goodies. But on their own they were a delight, enjoying an off lead romp and rummage along the towpath as we walked from Barnton Pool back to the Lift. They behaved impeccably when they met a young pup - they ignored it actually - and came back when called and didn't hare off to find the nearest road...the perfect recipe for dog walking bliss. So Arthur and Miffy are now officially the A team and Susie, Monty and Ranger are...well, it begins with B, and ends in uggers. Still love 'em though. And I shouldn't really blame them for their mummy's mistakes...

Upside down world

2009-04-06T23:27:00.004+01:00

I shouldn't laugh but this evening I had a call from my absent crew who is 'languishing' at home. I use the word advisedly because a) the broadband's gone phut, b) there's no water as someone's gone through a main down the road and c) there's no heating due to b). I, on the other hand, have hi-speed internet access via my T-Mobile dongle, lovely hot water thanks to the engine and a warm toasty interior courtesy of the Squirrel. Houses? Who needs 'em? Apparently, he's about to put half his worldly goods on eBay in a fit of pique...

Lonesome pine - not

2009-04-05T18:57:00.004+01:00

Okay, maybe this is a naughty thing to say but I've had an absolutely fab weekend as a single girl! Yes, I have missed A, who is still stuck down south, but I've also been able to please myself to the nth degree and it's been great!!! Yes, I've been helped immeasurably by the excellent weather admittedly, but I think what really floated my boat was just having me to worry about and me to indulge for a change. (I know, I know I've got five dogs to care for but they're much easier than a husband!).

So what have I been up to then? Well, Saturday morning seemed to pass all too quickly in two dog walking shifts, a trip to the shops and a coffee break, meaning that I only got away at lunchtime. Having been moored in one place for almost a week, it felt weird to be on the move again, weirder still that I was alone but for my canine crew. However, despite it gusting up once I'd dropped down Saltersford Lock, I made unfettered progress towards Dutton, and tucked myself neatly on to the visitor moorings below the lock with a show of boatmanship that impressed even me. I took everything deliberately slowly, was extra careful with my footing and simply maintained the sort of circumspection that's sensible when you've got just five dogs to rely on, not one of whom can chuck a life ring or give you mouth to mouth if you need it. No, actually, given Ranger's vigorous lickage of me this pm as I had a lie down, mouth-to-mouth is quite possible now I come to think of it.

The rest of the day was passed in a tableau of dog walks and paper-reading, culminating in an evening 4 miler from Dutton to Acton Bridge, up to the Trent & Mersey, along the canal towpath and back down to Dutton via the convenient footpath that joins the two navigations. With all bar one of the Black Prince boats out at Acton Bridge, you can tell the holidays are here. Not that you'd know it if you remained within the confines of the Weaver, mind. I've only seen a handful of boats all weekend and this despite the fine weather. One look out the porthole at seven this morning saw me make one of those executive decisions that you don't regret, well, not until much later when the early start revisits you with a migraine. The mist on top of the water, the still beauty of the day, the promise of meandering delights, it all had far too much of a siren quality about it so no sooner had the dogs done what dogs need to do than they were bundled unceremoniously aboard and we were off. Now, amazingly for me, I'd actually thought ahead about what I'd need during the morning, as my plan was to get to Weston Point/Whites Bridge and then return to Sutton Swing Bridge, where I would stop for a dog/human comfort break. So there I was at the stern complete with thermos mug (full of coffee), thermos flask (full of coffee), two packs of chewing gum, my fleece coat, my radio, my camera, my phone, my Nicholsons, my Weaver guide, my binoculars, my phone charger...You couldn't see me for all the crap I was surrounded by and the only thing I really wanted during the trip was a pee...

It was a grand day though, and apart from the occasional flurry of crews from the Runcorn Rowing Club, I had the river to myself. Mafeking was duly relieved when I made it back to Sutton Swing Bridge, where I also took the opportunity to forage for some wood like a proper liveaboard, and then it was back up river, through Dutton and Saltersford, which were both manned by very obliging relief lockies, to finally draw stumps at Barnton Cut. Ahh, back home..I'm now sitting here with the vestiges of a headache and a very hot face, wondering whether my scurvy crew have earned their dog tack....

Taking root

2009-04-03T17:20:00.002+01:00

I think we're in danger of putting down roots in Barnton Cut because we're still here, our earlier attempt to move down to Dutton thwarted yesterday with the news that a paddle in the big lock had bust. Obviously as the small lock hasn't functioned since Noah was a lad, this left us with the difficult decision - not - of sitting it out in God's enchanted England for another day. This morning we were going to get up nice and early and, in expectation of the lock being fixed by the industrious team from Blackpool that had arrived in a blaze of oxy-acetylene, set off for Weston Point. Well, a call at 7.15am put the kybosh on that and the long and short of it is, is that I've lost a key member of my crew as he's had to travel down south to fix a major problem with a system somewhere. So I'm sitting it out, enduring the sunshine and the peace and quiet and the lack of grumbling from the other side of the dinette, half tempted earlier this pm to cut loose and do a bit of single-handing but opting for walking the dogs in shifts instead. It's a nice life...wonder how A's getting on?

The key to happiness

2009-04-01T21:55:00.004+01:00

Don’t you wish you could bottle some experiences? Like our trip down the lift yesterday. Like our five mile walk in the warm evening sunshine today. Like the peace and tranquility we’ve been luxuriating in for the past 24 hours. This is a wonderful spot down here on the Weaver, and with a booming 3G signal we’ve been able to get on with our work uninterrupted but for interludes of dog-walking – oh, and my successful search for a tin opener. Thanks, M&S Convenience Stores, my dogs’ pilchards have been liberated!

However tempting it is to stay here, tomorrow we will move on down to Dutton for water before pushing onto the northern terminus of the Weaver and break new ground in so doing. We plan to be back at Barnton Cut for the weekend and then spend next week on the southern reaches of the river. We were going back to our mooring in time for Easter but sod that, we’re enjoying ourselves too much so we’ll take a cab to our Easter Sunday engagement instead. I guess we’ll have to tear ourselves away at some stage but I’m not thinking about that yet…too many more experiences to bottle.

A propos of absolutely nothing, greyhounds and stiles do not mix. Under, over, under over, they just couldn’t make up their mind. In the end, they squeezed through the middle, just to be really contrary…

And a tip for marital harmony...don't discover your BW key has been 'misplaced' after your hubby has gone to all the trouble of foregoing his elevenses, untangling the hose and shifting the coal sacks to unscrew the water cap...Note to all careless spouses: spare keys can be bought at the Anderton Boat Lift.

Fudge it

2009-03-30T23:37:00.001+01:00

A quick post tonight as it’s late and I’m cream crackered. A good day though, well at least until 7pm when A and I both turned our attention to the work that we should have done earlier. But it’s a reasonable trade off, cruising in the daytime, slogging away in the darkness, although shoehorning the dogs’ dinner and our dinner in as well has made it a long old night. Not helped much by the tin opener self-destructing and both of us losing our tempers trying to liberate some pilchards with a Swiss Army Knife.

But from the lowlight to the highlight of Monday – mooring behind the fudge boat in Middlewich. I only stopped because I saw them taking delivery of about 10 tonnes of caster sugar. I had mistakenly assumed that they bought in and resold their fudge but no, quite the contrary, they make all of it on board, in a single trusty pan on the stove top. Well that changed things completely – this was something definitely worth breaking the diet for so I willingly took up their invitation to go to the hatch for ‘samples’. I got a bit worried when the samples box emerged as there were 20 plus Tupperware boxes inside it each with a different flavour fudge in – I could see my diet being wrecked for about the next week as I was surely duty bound to taste them all. Thankfully, each sample was just a tiny taster rather than a big lump and I made my excuses after number four, moving to quell any insistence that I try the ‘rhubarb and custard’ or ‘cherry brandy’ with an order for four bags – choc mint, choc orange, choc banana and mocha, which I handed over to A as an early Easter gift. Judging from the alacrity with which he scoffed the stuff this afternoon, it was very fine fudge indeed.

We called it a day at about 5.30, mooring up at Marbury, but only just as we had a massive fight with our stakes and the concrete-bank-masquerading-as-grass, which the bank won of course. We shuffled a bit further on and got in okay, but a few more rings around here wouldn’t go amiss. But it would be wrong to end on a negative note as I absolutely love the run up here from Middlewich and today has been a real joy, recalcitrant tin openers not withstanding. Goodnight.

Years roll back while clocks go forward

2009-03-29T21:28:00.002+01:00

Definitely one of those days I’d happily have back at the end of my life – the first proper day’s cruising of the year and what a corker! Warm sunshine more redolent of May than March, chatty, happy boaters, uneventful locks, glorious scenery, a hysterical dog walk when Monty decided to race the boat with daddy at the helm, dragging us all in his wake, and here we are, tied up snug for the night just shy of Middlewich. Tomorrow, we’re aiming for an early start so that we can get up to Anderton while also making time for a conference call in the morning – fingers crossed, we’ll be down on the Weaver come Tuesday.

Such a contrast to yesterday, which was basically horrible weather-wise but was brightened up considerably by the arrival of Geoff and Mags off Seyella for a cuppa, chat and dog inspection. Two hours later we were still going strong but dogs’ walking needs broke up the party rather precipitately – we do hope we’ll catch up with them again later in the year as they are marvellously warm and genuine people, the sort you feel better for just being around.

One look out of the porthole this morning confirmed that the forecast was accurate and I didn’t hang about, walking the dogs and then pootling onto the service dock for fuel and a pump out. It was there that I had a very uplifting experience – I think. The boat tied up on the other side of the cut is one we’ve seen a lot of and we’ve talked to the owners quite a bit too – we’ve just never picked up on their names. Anyway, his head pops out of the sidehatch and recognizing the boat, says to me, ‘Where’s your mum?’. An odd question but maybe we’d talked about mum when we chatted in Llangollen last year so I said, ‘Hopefully in France where she should be.’ Then he says, ‘That’s your mum’s boat isn’t it?’, at which point I think he’s been on the port a tad early. I replied, ‘ No it’s our boat, the same one we were on when we saw you in Llangollen last December.’ He stops and stares and then blurts out, ‘Oh my god I thought you were your daughter ! You look so young! And half the size!’ Much merriment ensued and I felt elated until at least half past two when I realized that up to November I must have looked like some ancient fat old walloper. Now I’m mistaken for my own ‘daughter’…maybe he should get his eyes tested… come to think of it he was squinting into the sun…

I also discovered during the day that the GPS application on my iPhone has had loads of new features added to it, which I will have a play with over the next two weeks. Out of curiosity I set it running to record our speed, as I’ve always believed that we are the slowest boat EVER in the whole wide world of canals. I was surprised to see it register 3mph so maybe I’m imagining it but we are always being caught by other boats…it doesn’t bother me as you can’t be in a hurry on a narrowboat but it sometimes has me wondering whether we’d have enough oomph to punch a tide or cope with a strong stream.

Interested to see that the old canal stables house at Minshull Vernon is for sale – it’s been beautifully converted although it seems to be fenestrationally-challenged. Took a look earlier at the estate agent’s website to see what it’s on for - £610,000! Are you having a laugh? Yes, it’s got a great view but then so have I – and I’ll have another one tomorrow which will be just as nice. Bricks and mortar? Pah, you can keep them. I’m a confirmed water baby. No, make that a water daughter.

Learning the ropes

2009-03-25T19:21:00.001Z

Although we’re a few weeks away from leaving our long-term mooring, mentally we are already gone. Some people would argue that I’ve been mentally gone for a while but that’s another story…That’s perhaps why these few days pinned by the wind above Swanley locks have been so interesting, because, while not doing anything that we haven’t done a hundred times before, we are thinking differently. I am in ‘Greygal at large’ mode, looking at things from a liveaboard/continuous cruiser perspective. Now I know that we’re not actually going to be these things for some years to come, but cutting the umbilical chord from a ‘fixed marina berth in perpetuity’ situation has encouraged a quasi full-timing mindset.

For example, now I know why ccers are so organized and attentive: they plan when they’re going to shop or when the shop will come to them; they keep tanks topped up/emptied just in case; they keep a good eye on the weather and take advantage of weather windows; whereas we just sat back and enjoyed the lull in the storm when we should have been moving to tackle the ‘no milk ergo no coffee’ crisis that developed yesterday...and potentially the water one if himself decides to shower with his usual gay abandon.

As it was, because we’re still within reach of our car, that little crisis was soon solved with a shopping trip and a double lug down the towpath, once with shopping, the second time with coal. Who needs to diet when you get all this exercise for nowt? But soon we’ll be travelling/working and the car won’t be in reach; the weather may still be bad; we may still be a day’s cruise from a waterpoint; and the fortnight’s supplies that we brought with us may have been polished off within the week. So we need to get our act together a bit, I reckon. Although work/cruises tend to last only 1-2 weeks, I can envisage longer sojourns, particularly over the summer when things are quieter for us – and of course, there is the new dynamic in play of propelling ourselves around from A to B which may well demand extended stints on board. No hardship, but planning will be to the fore.

Despite the grim weather, we’re thoroughly enjoying our time out. Geoff and Mags on Seyella are still with us, our dogs disgracing themselves as we walked past this afternoon, kicking off at lovely Meg through the window. Susie went straight up to the glass, peered at Meg and let rip with a fusillade of bossy barking. Honestly, she is such a show up! After a close encounter with a dead fox (there’s an equation here: the more minging something is, the greater the attraction) we came back and set about lighting the fire, so we are now all toasty and contemplating dinner.

Earlier this morning, we had a visit from Mike of Dutchy Engineering to discuss a few bits and pieces we want doing to the boat before we leave the area in May. If you’re within an hour’s drive of Nantwich, I can thoroughly recommend Mike for all things boaty – he’s conscientious in his work, his rates are very reasonable and he is professional in his approach eg he actually rings you when you ask him to, which is more than a lot of canal-related traders seem to manage. Also to be mentioned in dispatches today are Snaygill Boats and Lemonroyd Marina, both of whom responded to my request for information about casual moorings.

Last but not least, my thanks to all those people who left comments last time round – it’s great to know that we’re not alone on this journey and that there’ll be a welcome in the hillside when we travel Pennines-wards.

Plan C takes shape

2009-03-23T22:18:00.001Z

I don't hang about me. A quick email exchange with the very helpful and obliging Nigel Stevens at Shire Cruisers and we've got ourselves a temporary billet on the Calder & Hebble sorted. So we'll go from Nantwich in late May, taking three weeks to go up the Macc, Peak Forest and Huddersfield canals and onto our summer residence at Sowerby Bridge. We'll probably shuttle between there and the Aire & Calder over the course of a week or two with the odd weekend thrown in, before moving on properly at the end of September. We'll use our autumn hols to tackle the Rochdale and then head as far south as we can before Christmas, the ultimate destination being Stenson, but with probable stop-offs at Preston Brook and Great Haywood along the way. We'll then use 2010 for a good old chug around the southern canals. Wow, this sounds exciting even on paper – what's it going to feel like actually doing it?

Wind of change

2009-03-23T15:39:00.003Z

When we are in our bricks home, we tend to go to bed later than we should and get up at, well, a relaxed hour, shall we say. In our floating home, we go to bed earlier, not for the lack of things to do but because we always find ourselves absolutely plum tuckered out, and we rise earlier. Strange that our habits should change so effortlessly with our surroundings. Yesterday, we were clearing dogs off our bed at about 10pm, exhausted by the spring cleaning and pleasantly anesthetized by the chicken breasts and five veg that I cooked for supper. Being an enthusiastic amateur cook who is just finding her way, my lesson from yesterday was to put the stuffed chicken in a dish in future – that way, you have a much better chance of catching the brie that will make a headlong dash for freedom if given a baking tray to slide over. It was also the first outing for my little steamer and what a revelation – I have to confess I think it’s superior to my all singing, all dancing electronic one at home. It made short work of new potatoes, baby corn, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower and I just need to tweak the timings slightly so I’m on the right side (crunchy) of al dente.

Today it’s been blowing an absolute hooley, exactly the same as the last time we tried this work/cruise lark. However, this time we have a good mobile signal and it’s all quiet on the A front – so far, so good. He also reckons the boat makes him brainier as he is frequently struck with inspiration here, whereas at home he is more stuck in frustration. Don’t now why that should be, maybe just a more relaxing environment? At this rate, the house will be going on the market a few years earlier than planned…

Forgot to mention in my last post that just as we were about to walk the dogs yesterday morning, a fit, lithe chap came pounding down the towpath - aha, I spy Geoff off Seyella. Monty and Susie gave him a very vocal welcome but soon calmed down when they realised there was fussing to be had. We had a brief chat with promises to catch up over a cuppa when they come past us..which should have been today but in this wind, I don't blame him for staying put.

A big decision

2009-03-22T17:46:00.002Z

Do you remember The Littlest Hobo? It was a US kids' programme about a German Shepherd dog that made his own way in the world, stopping to help those in need a la Lassie. It had an annoyingly catchy theme tune, the only words of which I recall are 'must keep movin' on'. Okay, I know what you're thinking, she's been at the cooking sherry and she's rambling...But no, I'm sober and I mention it as it sort of sums up the Damascene revelation we had on Friday/Saturday after arriving at the boat Friday lunchtime. We were looking around us and it struck us very forcibly that we were getting stuck in a rut. You see, quite a few of our neighbours live on boats but don't choose to 'go boating'. They could but don't because they prefer to stay put within the residential community they've created - now we have no problem with that, that's their choice, but we want to be part of a boating community. And yet there we were, sitting tight, not bothering to unplug, untie and get out and about....what happened to seeing the canals? Our boat's got an engine for a reason but we appeared to have forgotten that. But no more and yesterday, after a breakfast pow-wow, we gave notice and will leave our permanent mooring for good in a few weeks' time - we will officially be footloose and fancy free!

At this early stage, plans are a bit in flux but we anticipate moving the boat around the system as other 'must work but want to cruise' boaters/bloggers do very successfully, finding a pace and a way of doing things that suits both our work commitments and our doggy needs. With so many more marinas now open than there were even three years ago, casual moorings for a week, month or quarter would appear to be quite easy to come by, especially as boaters become more mobile and less wedded to a berth for fear of not being able to find another one. We are both very excited by the opportunities that lie ahead, of the greater freedom and adventure it will bring and the large dollop of 'living the dream' that it will inevitably give us.

Although it's been a sudden decision, it's one that just feels instinctively right. My trip last week with Sue and Richard on Indigo Dream, where they relished even a short cruise and for whom a minute stuck in the marina is a minute wasted, may have played on my subconscious a little but I wouldn't have wanted to push the idea of 'must keep movin' on' to A, as the concept, while right up my street, would probably have unnerved him as it introduces a few too many unknowns. Just shows what I know...as long as I do the planning and we have every mobile dongle going, he's game. To be honest, I'm not sure how much more extra boating we'll actually end up doing, as we do both have 'full-time' freelance jobs to hold down, but if we can get even a few additional work/cruise weeks in, in different parts of the country, then that will be a real bonus.

As a result of this change, it looks like we'll be moving on to Plan C for our June holiday. Haven't done any detail yet but if we head roughly north via the Huddersfield Narrow, then we can strike out for a marina on the Leeds/Liverpool. We'll then use the rest of the summer to go east to west over the Pennines, maybe taking in Liverpool, before travelling down to the Gt Haywood area. We'll use that as a base for the autumn hols and hang around in the vicinity until November time when we'll hand the boat over to Midland Canal Centre for blacking and modifications. By then, we should know whether we were born to be Littlest Hobos or whether it was a completely crackpot decision - but I'm confident we'll never be in one place for long again.

Brimming with new found enthusiasm, we cast off on Saturday morning and found ourselves a lovely spot above the Swanley Two locks. Out came all the cleaning materials and the Brassmaster himself, A, and so began a weekend of top to bottoming. And how! The brass, which was truly disgusting, is now gleaming, as are the cabin sides, the cratch, the glass, even the dogs got a little buff in the sun. We're exhausted and stiff but we have a glorious view out of the sidehatch, it's beautifully tranquil and there's chicken breasts stuffed with brie wrapped in pancetta for supper. Oh, and a booming T-Mobile signal too, so everyone's happy!

P.S. My heartfelt thanks to those excellent people who donated money to greyhound rescue as a way of marking my recent weight loss achievement...you know who you are and you are stars.

P.P.S. In answer to Heth's comment, there'll be no before pictures posted if I can help it - I don't want to scare you. As for after pics, I'll see what I can do - I don't want my double size zero dogs making me look fat..

P.P.P.S If you have any recommendations re: helpful/accommodating marinas, safe 7/14 day moorings etc, indeed any advice for the soon to be 'at large' Greygal, please do post a comment

Newsflash

2009-03-18T17:40:00.002Z

Forgot to say earlier...my scales tell me it's game over, target reached, four and a half stone shifted. And that's with both feet firmly planted and no hanging from the shower rail. Now the hard work begins...keeping it off!

Counting down

2009-03-18T15:34:00.002Z

This beautiful Spring weather and everyone coming out of hibernation has given me a real yearning to be back on board and out there asap. Touch wood, plans for the working week on the Weaver are still on schedule. In fact, it looks like we’ll be leaving home a day early, giving us the whole weekend for spring cleaning and maintenance. Cue the rain….I also hope to catch up with Geoff and Mags on Seyella – they’ve had a tough week with Geoff’s brother sadly losing his battle against cancer and it would be nice to see them before they head off to Ellesemere Port.

Next week, I have a meeting in Harrogate on Monday, A’s off to Manchester on Thursday and then we’ll take the day off on Friday to get moving. We need the full works before leaving – water, gas bottle, pump out, diesel, rubbish, but then there’ll be no stopping us. As the Middlewich branch has an excellent Vodafone signal along much of its length, I suspect we’ll stop short of the town to enable us to do a work catch-up in the evening. Then after a quick paper run in the morning, we’ll push on through the locks before it gets interesting with the hire boats coming up, with the aim to get up to the vicinity of Acton Bridge. This stretch is one of my absolute faves and we’ll probably stop there on Sunday before moving back down to Anderton first thing Monday for passage down. That leaves the weekenders on the Weaver to do their stuff without us getting in their way, although we may well walk the dogs down to the river from the cut and have a bit of a gongoozle.

First stop will probably be Barnton Cut and from then on, we’ll potter about as and when the fancy takes us. We do want to see both ends of the river this time but as we don’t have to be back at Nantwich until the 10th , I don’t suppose this will be a problem. Currently, neither of us have anything in the diary that necessitates being at home so we could conceivably extend our stay to after Easter – and if we take a taxi to our engagement on the 11th, we could stay out, rather than come back just for this one social obligation. We’ll have to see…I know from experience that it pays to keep plans fairly fluid but interestingly both of us are showing no particular inclination to rush home...

This trip is important because it’s once again testing the viability of the work/cruise concept. Our last serious trial of whether it’s possible for us to do both ended in a slight marital disagreement and male hissy fit, thanks in large part to storm force winds that pinned us to the bank just shy of Coole Pilate on the Shroppie – and well clear of any serviceable data signal for A’s work. If we’d only been able to get to the embankment at Nantwich, then he’d have had booming 3G and all would have been well. As it was, there was lots of ‘I can’t work like this’ chuntering and the week was a bit of a write-off. Thankfully, we know the T&M is pretty good signal-wise and as we have three mobile operators to play with, we should be okay. My default, as mentioned in a previous post, is to go and colonise McDonalds in Northwich and use their free wi-fi. I can see us building a nice collection of hamburgers to take back to the dogs, although this time I’ll take extra special care to make sure Arthur’s beef pattie doesn’t fall out into the mouth of a conveniently placed Ranger.

One footnote. As you’ll have seen from the sidebar on the blog, you can now follow our riveting adventures via Twitter as I’ve crawled into the 21st century and worked out – roughly – how to tweet. So for the next couple of weeks at least, consider me your roving canal correspondent for the north west. I’m the twit @greygaltweet.

That was the weekend that was

2009-03-16T09:25:00.001Z

Well, what a weekend! It kicked off in fine style with a long overdue rendezvous with my fellow bloggers, boaters and greyhound nuts Sue and Richard of Indigo Dream. For one of Sue’s characteristically brilliant reports of the day, I refer you to her blog post here. Although we’d never met, I felt as if we were old friends from the off, and as the coffee flowed generously and we cruised off into new waters (for me) the conversation flowed non-stop, with the occasional pause for breath as I rudely pointed at something and asked ‘What’s that?’. The dogs obviously got quite a bit of attention and they are a lovely pair with very distinctive personalities – it was strange for me as they reminded me so much of Monty and Susie in manner but had the wrong fur coats on!

I thoroughly enjoyed cruising a part of the GU that I’ve never even seen before, let alone boated on, and to pass through the famous Bull’s Bridge was quite a highlight. By a strange coincidence, later that night I was watching Narrowboat Afloat on Sky and he went over the very same ground that I’d been on just a few hours earlier. Our pub stop was remarkable for the sight of Lou and Blue happily and quietly settling down on their sheepskins by the table, eating their own sausages and behaving impeccably. Why remarkable? Well, if I took my lot into a boozer, there’d probably be a riot with them turning over tables as they hunted down people’s dinners, not to mention them muscling in on us, sticking their noses under our elbows to try and lick the gravy off a nice steak and ale pie. I mean, we just wouldn’t take them within sniffing distance of a pub, not if we didn’t want to be barred from every dog-friendly inn going. But Lou and Blue, you’re a credit to greyhound society – and it comes to something when dogs are better behaved than children.

Indigo Dream ate up the miles on the way back and all too soon Sue was performing an inch perfect manoeuvre back into what is a tricky marina berth. Sad to say goodbye, we promised one another that we could certainly meet up again soon, probably in the Midlands or further up north depending on the ID’s cruising plans. I had a fairly good idea from the blog that I’d be spending the day with a cracking human and canine crew and I wasn’t wrong – and while I made a terrible fuss of the dogs, what I appreciated most was meeting up with like-minded people who were warm and witty, interesting and interested, and just delightful cruising companions. Thanks again, Indigo Dreamers!

Sunday was never going to equal Saturday in terms of excitement but it ran it quite close as A and I went over for lunch with friends that we haven’t seen for over ten years. Mind you, it felt like about ten minutes after we’d done the reintroductions and we had a superb afternoon of food and conversation. By a happy coincidence, they were following a low GI diet so the potentially heavyweight lunch turned more into more of a light middleweight affair. Not that I stinted, stuffing down a big slice of chocolate and pecan pie after my watercress soup and poached lamb. Well, a girl has to treat herself occasionally and as the Indigo Dream had sensitively put a doughnut ban in place on Saturday (you really shouldn’t have!), I thought it wouldn’t hurt…and it didn’t because it tasted fab! One incident to report: the local cat – Hovis Brown, what a name! – took a fancy to my car and taking advantage of the lowered roof jumped in for a gander. We came out at the sound of the alarm to find him pacing the dash – just imagine if he’d stowed away until we’d got home. The gang would have considered that a doggy(catty)-bag beyond price….

So all in all a cracker of a weekend, and I was in a very chilled state. Then came this morning and an early walk with the dogs. As A had to be on site by 8.00am I took them on my own and as it was a lovely day I thought I’d let them have a run in the field. Now when in the field they never go near the road, never, ever, ever…cue heart in mouth moment as Susie, Ranger and Arthur hare off in the verboten direction, their attention taken with something or other. Thankfully they stop short of actually jumping down from the field edge into the lane but I could so do without that sort of pulse-quickening so early. A couple of strong lattes back home and equilibrium has been restored. Now I better get on with my work….ah, do you remember work, some of you? Yes, I’m sure you do miss it..

It ain't Friday yet

2009-03-12T22:08:00.004Z

I seem to be having Friday 13th one day early...I get home from a day in London really, really looking forward to my dinner: calves' liver with a balsamic glaze, mash, lots of veg, lovely. Open up the liver and despite having an 'eat by' date of the 12th, it had gone off. Well, it smelt like it had gone off but I cooked up a little morsel just in case I was being neurotic. I sampled it, swallowed it, didn't like it, gave some to A who promptly choked and spat it out. Sensible chap - I fear I may become reacquainted with that morsel later tonight. As all the veg was already prepared I had a quick rethink - slightly tricky when you don't really have much in but there were three eggs going spare so I convinced A that a ham and cheese omelette with mash and veg was going to be his best bet. I'd have a poached egg - poached in my smashing new poach pod - with veg, and cheer myself up with some strawberries for afters. Well, the omelette stuck to the pan; my egg fell out of the poach pod as it hit the water and self-destructed in a sea of raging albumen; the veg - bar the carrots - were decidedly yuk (even the dogs rejected them) and half the strawberries had gone off. And I can feel that bit of liver just waiting to strike...

The story of the gluttonous five

2009-03-11T18:07:00.002Z

An absolute stunner of an early Spring day so cue an extended lunch break for dog walking through the little valley that surrounds the village. It was really quite warm and if this continues then we may see a repeat of that fabulous Easter of 2003 when yours truly was sporting shorts, T-shirt and bare feet. I remember quite clearly polishing the brass…then polishing off about eight hot cross buns.

Talking of which, I was reading a woman’s mag yesterday and fell upon an article on dieting. The usual stuff, don’t deny yourself, have a balanced intake of food and increase your exercise blah blah blah but there was one little nugget I latched onto. It said forget a blanket ban on 'bad foods' - instead you should just try and do without your ‘gluttonous five’, those foods that you just love but that are your serious undoing. Just cut them out, whatever they are. Now what was a little bizarre was that they were insistent that you were specific rather than generic. For example, if your weakness was cheese and onion crisps, ban cheese and onion crisps…but it’s okay to have salt and vinegar apparently. Huh? Well, unless that was also on your gluttonous five list…I guess the logic behind it is that there are some foods more than others that we love to stuff and that bust our diets wide open – if we can at least cut those out, then it’s going to help us lose weight in the long run.

So out of curiosity I compiled my own G5 index, which shocked me with its infinite breadth and variety:

> Cinnamon whirl/Belgian bun

> Caramel shortbread/chocolate tiffin

> Pain au raisin/croissant

> Hot cross bun/Chelsea bun

> Doughnuts

Now you understand why I’ve had to lose that sack of coal….But the thought of going without...If there’s anyone who can supply me with a low-cal recipe for a doughy, tasty treat, please make yourself known to me. Grubby used fivers may be in the offing.

P.S. Someone is bound to suggest Soreen Malt Loaf as a low-fat alternative. Trouble is, I love Soreen and those loaves are...well, deceptively easy to get through. Especially when you've made free with the Lurpak. And don't get me started on the SnackPak version...at one stage you couldn't see the carpets in my car for little yellow plastic containers in the footwell. Oh the shame.

Changing direction

2009-03-10T15:41:00.003Z

The news that boaters will now be able to take their own craft through Standedge Tunnel, albeit with a BW man in attendance for when you chicken out at the pinch points, is a great fillip to our Pennine Ring cruise plans. I wouldn't have minded the 3 mile schlep over the top but it seemed such a shame not to be able to enjoy the full tunnel experience - not when you'd made all that effort to get there. Now we can get mucky aong with everyone else. Goody. However, it won't be this spring - it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind, so I've done a Mrs Slocombe and unanimously decided that the Pennine Ring will now feature as our autumn cruise. Which means that, at last, we get to go south!

My grand plan is to go into work/cruise mode during the last week of May (half-term) and so better position ourselves for a jaunt down to Stratford, returning up the cut to then dive down the Worcester & Birmingham. A quick river saunter to Stourport, a let's-get-a-move-on mosey up the Staffs and Worcester and a breakneck dash back up the Shroppie should see us pushing the holiday envelope to the max. But as we don't actually have to be back anywhere by any particular time, we could just flick over into work/cruise mode again and finish off at a more sedate pace - we'll just have to see how the mood takes us.

I have to confess that the Stratford/W&B thing is an itch that I've been needing to scratch for some time. I've never done the southern part of the Stratford canal and it's been well over twenty years since my dad and I did a couple of mega jaunts up and down Tardebigge. And yet it remains one of my favourite canals and repository of many happy memories. It's definitely overdue a revisit and despite previous plans to get down there, something or other has always put the kybosh on it. Fingers crossed that we pull it off this time. So that's June sorted. Now, can I squeeze in another week somewhere, she says, looking at her calendar? Mmm, Bugsworth in December maybe?

Working week on the Weaver

2009-03-10T12:39:00.004Z

In ten days or so we should be back on the boat admiring our new carpets while simultaneously tutting at the state of our brasses. I've told A that we're not going anywhere while the exterior looks so unkempt so I'll be on wash and polish duty while he gets mean with whatever kick-ass brass cleaner comes to hand. The plan is to do some work-related visits that week while we still have access to the car and then to set sail in the general direction of the Weaver, on which we will pootle about in work/cruise mode and hope for decent dongle reception. If all else fails, we will go to Northwich and find a McDonalds to set up camp in - chips and free wifi? Wahey! The loose idea at present is to meander back slowly in time for Easter Sunday lunch with friends but we'll have to play it by ear, as ever. I can't wait until time is truly our own to do what we want with; work just gets in the way of having a great time. It's a stupid idea, whoever thought of it.

We were blessed with some absolutely delightful weather on our first Weaver trip, which of course helped make the experience all the sweeter, so I'm praying for another burst of Spring to see out March and welcome in April. There's not enough polish to go around for all the brass monkeys out there at the mo...

Summoned the courage

2009-03-09T15:09:00.002Z

I didn't so much summon the courage as let curiosity get the better of me but either way, I stood on the scales on Saturday morning and learnt my fate. First reaction, (inevitable) disappointment that I was not yet at target although realistically I'd have needed to lose a body part to have achieved that in the timeframe I'd given myself. But then after plonking myself down on the loo seat and using my fingers to work out what I'd actually lost over the last month, I realised that I was 12 pounds lighter than I was at the end of January...so not too shabby at all. Now all that stands between me and my target is four measley pounds but I know that they are going to be the most stubborn, intransigent, miserable pounds of the whole lot, the sort of hard to shift pounds that have you asking whether the game is indeed worth the candle and eating into your resolve when the girl at Costa asks 'any cakes or pastries with that?'. But shift them I will, shift them I must, and hopefully in advance of diet D-Day on 9th April. There's a huge Easter egg in Waitrose with my name on it...

The weighting game

2009-03-05T17:09:00.000Z

It has been brought to my attention that there has been no weight report of late. Well, that's partly down to the fact that we've been away (actually, that's just an excuse) - it is, in fact, purely down to the fact that I'm being a bit of a wimp and a coward. You see, I'm so close to target now that if I stand on the scales and it tells me that I'm still a few pounds short, I might (perversely, you may think) feel a bit crushed. What I want is to stand there one more time and for the right figures to flash up. Then it's job done, let's celebrate, don't bother cutting me a slice, I'll have the whole cake. So my thinking is, the longer I leave it, the more likely I'll get the right result when I do eventually brave the scales. Whatever happens, this all ends on April 9th, five months after it started. Whatever I am on that day, that'll be that and I'll move on to a maintenance style diet - in particular, maintaining my love of sweet doughy pastries and Indian takeaways. Which is a roundabout way of saying that you'll have a weight report no later than Good Friday and hopefully earlier if I can summon the courage to step on and let go of the wall....

Midweek report

2009-03-04T17:03:00.003Z

Flippin’ eck, dogs are worse than children aren’t they? Since the onset of canine plague last week, the gang have all been a bit off their food. Well, I say off… Ranger is not attacking his with the same gusto, Monty is leaving some of his, which is unheard of, Arthur can’t make up his mind to eat or not eat and the girls are just disinterested. However, because of the general queasiness that has been going on with the occasional exploding bottom, I haven’t been that surprised at this suppertime malaise…so how come last night, after they have reluctantly picked at the finest offering of pasta, chicken, cheese and pilchards on a kibble coulis, do they suddenly take a huge interest in the jam doughnuts I’m proferring and gobble each one down without a backward glance or indeed a wrinkled nose or cough and splutter? It’s like the kid who pulls a sickie to stay off school but is well enough to demolish four Shredded Wheat, a loaf of toast and play on his Wii all day. I think I’ve been had…

That aside, it’s been manic since we got back on Sunday hence the absence of a post. (I thought I’d better get one in before my legion of fans started begging for more…Oh, too late, she already has, although, in my defence, this was written before I saw the prod! ) It was with great reluctance that we set off for home, especially as it was gloriously sunny when we left and it got more depressingly foggy the further south we came . Having had a fortnight on board, we’d just got nicely into the swing of things and to come away was a fair old wrench, even for big bed loving A. However, we did achieve a fair bit in the old boat enhancement line, which was very satisfying even if a little damaging to the pocket. In no particular order:

- New cratch cover with plans afoot for a table and proper seating

- A new 2000w inverter which A successfully installed – well it didn’t catch fire and it powered the coffee machine long enough for me to get two lattes out of it

- A magnificent new fender arrangement on the stern with a double tipcat/button set-up, which is just the dog’s dangly bits. It gives me a better than evens chance of not smashing up the rudder now

- A freshly blacked stove, courtesy of yours truly. Next time, I’ll wear gloves – black fingernails at client meetings are so last year

- Replacement LEDs in the saloon that actually shed a decent amount of light. The last lot were less luminous that Arthur's white belly.

- New carpets for the saloon and bedroom selected with a fitting date for next week. I knew there was a reason why we kept 800 packets of blue plastic overshoes from the Huddersfield National. The dogs will be sporting a new line in canine footwear, secured by the red rubber bands that the Royal Mail so liberally sprinkle about the pavements these days. Maybe they’d make a profit if they weren’t so careless..

- A new TV that encouraged us to attack the dust cum cable spaghetti that lurked behind the old one. No-one had ventured there for some time and I think things were living in it…

- A bin for the kitchen, the first ever. A has always held that bins fill too quickly so we’ve coped hitherto with a black sack on the floor in the corner. But I was in homemaker mode so decided the time had come to get something a little more sleek and stylish. While walking round Dunelm Mill, I chanced upon a bin with a sensor – the lid automatically opens when you put your hand over it – and realized that this was my salvation. There’d be ructions if I came back with a normal pedal bin – but a bin with a sensor? That makes it a gadget! Obviously, within 24 hours I was regretting the decision as A suddenly became very tidy and the bloody lid was buzzing back and forth like a thing possessed. Unfortunately it also sounds like the electric hare that greyhounds chase so you can just picture the scene..

- I’m also indebted to my friends on Indigo Dream for introducing me to the potential of sheepskins as dog beds. We’ve always struggled to find beds that work as comfortable areas for the dogs AND as manageable obstacles on the floor. We now have about 8 brown sheepskins littering the place but the dogs love them and we don’t trip over them, so result!

I am now going to do some work so I can earn some money to pay the credit card bill which will come with – or probably without – a red elastic band, but either way, will make me wince and fill me with regret for about….well, two minutes should see me right.

P.S. My decision to bunk off last Friday and go blogger hunting was rewarded with a delightful hour in the company of Geoff and Mags off Seyella. Such lovely people, and Meg the dog is a real sweetie. Good to see you all again, guys. Unfortunately, my mission to track down Bruce and Sheila on Sanity foundered as conditions conspired to make Market Drayton a destination too far for them. They can’t escape me for ever…

P.P.S. Another blogger meet is on the cards as I’ve done the usual and invited myself round to see Sue and Richard and Lou and Blue off the aforementioned Indigo Dream. They’re keen for me to bring the gang – obvious gluttons for punishment – but I’d like our friendship to be long-lasting so my hounds will be left to the tender ministrations of himself while he guts another synthesizer. There’s talk of a mini-cruise – never having done any of the GU south of Maffers, I’m already buzzing like my bin lid!

P.P.P.S. Caxton Lesley, don't think you've escaped. Once you're back on board, I'll be coming to find you...

Sickener

2009-02-26T21:01:00.002Z

If anyone's got RN or MN experience, could they tell me what flag to run up the mast to indicate rampant dog sickness? I take a trip to London today only for it to emerge by late morning that I have inadvertently left A holding the vomiting baby in the shape of a very sickly/poopy Monty (who has never, ever been ill). Then within minutes of getting home tonight, Susie decides to get in on the act with a bit of reflux action of her own. I fear a restless night coming on. Ranger, on the other hand, has demolished about three dinners, is fighting fit and delighted that his mummy is home at last after a trip to the smoke. So delighted, in fact, that he decided to brand me by pushing me back on the stove - I guess I'm his property now.

Oh and a word on the trip. All that way for a lunch of bream (and I walked from Euston to Smithfield)...I expended more calories digging the flesh out of the bloody bones and peeing about with the skin than I actually consumed. Steak next time, methinks. And another thing while I'm at it...is it me or do Virgin trains make you queasy? Can't say that was the most pleasant return journey I've ever made. Or maybe I've got the dog bug and will shortly be jostling for position at the sick bucket?

Tune in next time, folks, to see who's still standing.

Pennine plans

2009-02-25T14:33:00.002Z

One of the things that I love about my hubby is that he’s a very trusting sort, quite happy to leave holiday planning to me and to only be informed - when it’s too late to change anything – exactly what I’ve got up my sleeve. In return, I try to be accommodating of his likes and dislikes while also catering for my own, of course. So for our first big holiday cruise of the year, penciled in for the beginning of June, I have been mindful of his preference for excellent scenery and the less busy waterways, and a definite predilection for the circular jaunt as opposed to the out and back. I have overlooked his fondness for lie-ins in favour of my desire for adventure and achievement so I’m just going to tell him that we’re doing a modest northern ring. I’ll omit the detail that we’re actually going to go up and over and around the Pennines via the Huddersfield Narrow and Rochdale canals and that he’ll have to put his back into about 7000 locks. Once we’re off, it’ll be too late!

I don't like Monday

2009-02-23T20:13:00.002Z

How I was feeling at about seven pm last night should give you sufficient indication of how our weekend went. As I sat slumped in the chair, it felt and indeed sounded as if the Royal Philharmonic had taken up residency in my stomach. Heaven, the sounds that were coming from my bloated tum! There was a certain musicality and rhythm to them but I could have done without to be honest. But then again, if I will stuff my face two days on the trot, what can I expect? A’s birthday lunch at the local Chinese did for me on Saturday and before I’d had chance to recover we were round at friends for roast pork, crackling and all the trimmings on Sunday. They were, it goes without saying, absolutely delish but I’m back on the straight and narrow today getting excited about celery. Mind, after the day I’ve had, I could do with a big comforting stew and half a fresh loaf ladled with butter to restore my equanimity.

I had everything planned out, you see. One project to start this morning, conference call at 11am, then a number of miscellaneous items interspersed with liberal coffee breaks to take me through to 5pm. Well, I was just ferreting around for some clean socks, ready to set the world on fire, when I sense that all is not well. I notice that Arthur has had a little accident, tell-tale dribbles on one of the dog blankets informing me that we really should have got up earlier. No problem, I’ll sponge it out and dry it in front of the fire. And then I realise belatedly that while my head was in the wardrobe, Arthur had actually climbed on the bed and done most of his widdly business on our duvet. And on our sheet. And on our mattress topper. There was no time to dwell on how strange this behaviour was (greyhounds very rarely soil their 'kennel' and the boat is merely a glorified floating dog-house) as it was all hands to the pump for a rapid bed-strip and an executive decision that we could do with a new duvet and topper, plus some extra fresh bed-linen. One conference call and emergency dash to Dunelm later, I’m back with a few bits and pieces (well, they just seemed to jump into my trolley) and I’m ready to remake the bed. I go to pick up the remaining, un-weed on dog blanket and discover that it is now a puked up on blanket instead. And in quite a major way too, so it immediately joins the old duvet and topper in the toxic waste bag. There are no further bedroom incidents other than me putting the duvet cover on, which is always a comical interlude

Now I don’t know whether this disruption to the bedroom was to blame or whether there’s just something in the air but the dogs have been a right royal pain in the arse all day. Growling, barking, pestering, snapping, most unusual for them and really, really tedious. Add in incontinence and barfing and they’ve been a real joy! No-one looked out of sorts so it wasn’t until dinner that I realised who the sick puppy was – Miffy was completely disinterested in her dish and she didn’t get a chance for a rethink as Monty decided that Monday night was double dinners night. However, judging from the grumbles and woofing coming from his direction, it’s obviously given him a touch of indigestion. Which is where we came in. Let’s hope a degree of quietude returns in the morn…

Friday doodlings

2009-02-20T17:39:00.001Z

Not much to report really as we’ve been hard at it, but we did sneak off on Wednesday night to a pub quiz with friends. We came second after a tie-break but sadly the runners’-up prize was a trio of naughtinesses – Jaffa Cakes, Chocolate Fingers and Orange Matchmakers, so I didn’t get to enjoy the spoils. However, tomorrow it’s the last of A’s extended birthday celebrations – a trip with more friends (yes, we have more than two) to our favourite Chinese in Nantwich, although we appear to have also received an invitation for Sunday lunch as well. Mmm, testing times for the old diet but I’m sure I’ll survive.

We’ll kick off the weekend the same way we always do when we’re static on the boat, and that’s an early decamp to the Nantwich Canal Centre café. We used to tuck into the full English but for obvious reasons I, at least, am a little more restrained these days and will content myself with a couple of their excellent coffees – and yes, sanctimony is my middle name! We’ll see what A has. When we leave the car, he’s all ‘I’m not that hungry, maybe just a slice of toast.’ Which is odd because when he’s standing at the counter, it comes out as ‘All day breakfast please with beans and extra bacon’. We’ll then have a bit of a towpath jaunt before returning to unleash the hounds and then abandoning them again for lunch. Poor dogs, stupid mummy forgot to pack any dog food thinking we had plenty on board. Sadly not, so I’ve had to improvise – with disastrous effects! Whatever they put in Bakers, they might want to think again because I have never seen such elephantine stinky do-doos as my lot dropped this morning. Unable to easily put my hands on their usual food, I have instead done a mercy dash to Pets at Home today to get them something a little more wholesome and less likely to give them anal pyrotechnics on the morrow….

Now there's a thing

2009-02-18T18:22:00.003Z

Although I can't weigh myself until I get home in 10 days time, I'm fairly confident that I'm now approaching the 4 stone mark in terms of pounds lost (56 lbs in total). Today, because his lordship was doing something terribly important, I had to heft a 25kg bag of coal into the boat (55lbs in total). It was quite a shock to feel just how heavy that was...and to think that my bum's being wearing a sack of nutty slack all this time.

Grass not growing under feet

2009-02-18T15:54:00.002Z

Right, I've planned my first GU walk for those who may like to come and assist, preferably by administering Costa intravenously or just by keeping me company. I'm going to kick off on Saturday 14th and do the Brentford to Uxbridge section and Susie's drawn the short straw and will accompany me. (Er, I love the way some of you think that all the dogs will be involved in this...well they will but not all at the same time. I mean, come on...I want to finish this walk next year, not when I'm about to collect my pension, and dragging the whole lot around would extend proceedings by about 20 years.)

I'm reliably informed that dogs are allowed on the Underground as I plan to park at Brentford and catch the tube back from Uxbridge to somewhere like Chiswick or Gunnersbury. Heaven knows how this is all going to go but Susie has had big city experience - she took a hoity-toity, look-at-me stroll down Baker Street once - so I'm pretty sure she won't be fazed...exhausted maybe, but fazed, no. I'm going to put all my greyhound rescue badges on my hat, wear my greyhound rescue sweatshirt, plus my greyhound rescue wristband and if anyone asks me what sort of dog Susie is, I'll swear blind that she's an anorexic labrador...

Toe to tow

2009-02-17T20:02:00.002Z

So the answer to the plan B poser? Well, Bobcat was pretty much on the money with walking all the canal towpaths – except I’m not quite that ambitious and would happily settle for completing the length of the Grand Union – at least to start with. Yes, there’d appear to be lots in favour of Brentford to Birmingham – two-fifths of it I’ve never boated on and it’s been a while since we did our last jollificating on GU waters. (Most of my memories are from a time when my knickers sported an Age 8-10 label…okay, I was sixteen but times were tough…). It’s practical from an accessibility point of view, with plenty of public transport to get me there and home again. Judging from Google Maps and Canal Planner, it also breaks down nicely into convenient 8-12 mile sections, a sensible pace for someone with a gammy leg and caffeine addiction (I can sniff out a coffee shop from a thousand paces so cue diversions…)

As lots of my weekends are taken up with other stuff, I’m not going to set unrealistic targets either. On the contrary, if I can get the Brentford – Braunston section done this year and then Braunston – Birmingham done next, I’d be pretty happy. And of course it may inspire other adventures – the BCN by bike maybe?

At this precise moment, snuggled down in front of the Squirrel (yep, we did a 3 coffee stop dash for the boat this morning), I’m actually quite content to do nothing whatsoever…although I am ogling the ring doughnut baker’s dozen that was on special at Sainsbugs this afternoon. The dogs are endeavouring to remove temptation though…they’ve thrown up a stockade around the galley and are using a lead to lasso the box…

Plan B

2009-02-16T16:46:00.001Z

Now I no sooner mention the words ‘walking’ and ‘Hadrian’s Wall’ and the old left peg starts bleating and moaning – the ache below my knee I’m translating as ‘you’re absolutely stark raving mad if you think you’re going to drag me any further than about 8 miles a day – if you’re lucky’. And having done some research and then slept on it, and then seen the comments from my kind readers, I thought that actually, no, maybe I don’t have to ‘achieve’ something like that – maybe there’s something else, and yes, a plan is already hatching.

The problem with Hadrian’s Wall isn’t that it’s nastily hilly in some places (I am genetically incompatible with inclines), or that it’s not dog-friendly, or even that it’s so crowded you have to take your ticket from a deli counter ticket dispenser to get on in the first place (yes, I made that up but you get my drift), no, the problem is that, deep down, I just don’t think it’s me.

The Greeks had a little phrase – Know thyself – and after four decades I’m finally getting the hang of it. And knowing me as I do, I don’t honestly think I’d enjoy day after day of walking on my own, and I’m really not confident I’d cope physically. Another thing, as wonderful as the landscape is, I’m still not sure it’s enough, as for something that amounts to a personal challenge, I really feel I need another dimension, an extra ingredient that gives me a bit more purpose, that inspires and drives me on, that, in essence, taps into an existing passion – and then it came to me.

This is something that I can do in stages, over months or even years, it’s dog-friendly and A can join me on it when he fancies, it’s something that, critically, takes me way beyond a walk for the sake of it. And it still measures up to ‘achievement’ status…well, in my book in does. So, what is it? Answers on a postcard…

Walking the talk?

2009-02-15T18:08:00.003Z

We were going up to the boat today but we've just deferred that until mid-week as A needs to be close to one his servers - he thinks he's fixed it but he can't be sure until everyone has come in on Monday and given it a good hammering. We would have all had the pip if we'd gone up only to have to trail back again...Besides, it's given us some recovery time from A's birthday celebrations. He's got another year on the clock and thankfully is sounding better than his car which has got some sort of death rattle thing going on...so embarrassing when he drops me at the station...We had an enjoyable night at Romford dogs where my bets got more and more outlandish and my capital got more and more diminished. There was compensation in the form of very tasty lamb fillets in red wine with herb mash, followed by a toffee crunch gateau that caused me to put on seven pounds just by looking at it. One mouthful and I could feel my arteries hardening and much as I wanted to demolish the whole lot, the iron-willed dieter in me passed it to A - well, it was his birthday and his syrup sponge wasn't that big...honestly. However, I did steal the piece of Dime bar off the top before transferring ownership...blimey, how good was that? And there I was thinking I'd ditched the sweet tooth...

Yesterday I had the mad idea of walking coast to coast along Hadrian's Wall, taking one dog in turn to keep me company every day while A drives the motorhome cum support vehicle. I did wonder whether I'd taken Arthur's pills by accident - why else this flight of fancy - but thinking about it some more, it would be a great achievement. I look back at my life and worry that I've not actually 'done' anything, well not anything noteworthy, like swimming the channel or climbing a mountain. So does that mean I'm not sufficiently dedicated? Mmm, I think the truth may be something even more unpalatable - I'm too bloody lazy! Well, it's never too late to change so watch this space. If Bruce of Sanity can go for a new boat, I can go for a new lifestyle. Follow my adventures at insanebinthaslosttheplot.blogspot.com

P.S. Apologies to dundustin - you left a comment and my stupid computer that's got a mind of its own rejected it, rather than published it. Thanks for taking the trouble and glad it raised a smile!

Ramblings of a food-deprived woman

2009-02-11T10:54:00.002Z

Now this is one of those posts that's going to burble on about nothing in particular so you have been warned...

First of all, I'd like to add my support to the excellent notion that the best form of exercise is that which you can incorporate into your normal everyday life. As one who eschews gyms (except for one sustained period a while back when I was recovering from a broken leg. It was fine for a while but all ended in tears when I kept persisting in lifting heavy weights above my head while listening to Peter Kay and Eddie Izzard on my iPod. Trust me, you can not laugh and lift at the same time...), I've been looking at alternative forms of activity to help me get in shape. Something that doesn't rank as a commitment, but can be worked into a routine...

Our recent embracing of geocaching has reminded me that I do have a pair of functioning legs and now that I'm relieved of half a hundredweight of nutty slack around my midriff, walking is very much more pleasureable that it was. So why not do it wherever possible? Obviously I'm already dog-walking every day and we have some decent cache-based walks at weekends but what about in the week? One idea - How about forgoing the tube/bus and walking everywhere in London whenever I have meetings in town? After my taster last week - Liverpool Street to Islington and back, I upped the stakes a bit yesterday with a round trip of Liverpool Street to Monument, Monument to Oxford Circus, and Oxford Circus back to Liverpool Street, a reasonable 7.5 miles. It was perfectly comfortable, much more pleasant that the underground, all I needed to do was allow a bit more time to get there and remember my trainers - and there was the added bonus of being able to pop into Costa for a pit-stop. At this rate I'll be able to keep up with Caxton Lesley...

Now apparently, if we don't get a grip of ourselves, the whole of the nation will be obese in fifty years time and the island will start to sink...well, no, I added that last bit in, but the rabidity of the anti-fat lobby is such that they'd probably claim anything. Now I don't doubt that there are a lot of chubsters out there (hey, I'm one of them temporarily masqerading as Mrs Average) but to be honest, I'd be more worried by what I saw at the school bus stop this morning. I was struck very forcibly by this group of waiting teens, most in the 13-16 age bracket, for the very simple reason that they all looked chronically undernourished. Mid teens is when you should be starting to develop some shape and stature but the boys were all streaks of piss and the girls, with their bowing matchstick legs and tiny torsos, looked virtually anorexic. That can't be healthy can it? There's got to be a happy medium between worryingly fat and dangerously thin - what is going on in the world? I wanted to rush up and tell them to get a decent meal inside them - I mean, my dogs have got larger waists than most of those on show!

Talking of dogs, some sad news yesterday. We are in touch with the owners of Arthur's brother, William, and they have just been told that William has an inoperable brain tumour. They can't be sure but he's probably got between 6 weeks and 6 months left and Colin, his dad, is understandably devastated. He's ruled out radiotherapy because it's a horrible treatment and is focusing now on giving William the best possible time he can in his final days. It brought home to us that every day is precious with our family, friends and pooches as you're never quite sure what life's going to throw at you. The only thing I find problematic with the 'carpe diem' philosophy is that it tempts me to go and 'carpe half a dozen doughnuts'. Hey ho.

Chillin'

2009-02-08T16:33:00.002Z

Well we’re so pleased we braved the slush because that was a top weekend getaway. Obviously as every sane person had stayed at home, we more or less had the campsite to ourselves, which lent a certain tranquility to the whole proceedings. Having been bolstered by my steamed broccoli (with a pork and apple steak on the side, I should add), the next morning I duly roused the kraken and left him getting the van into day mode while I trundled around the adjacent forest with the dogs. Now have you seen a maypole after 20 maidens have done their stuff? That was my legs after two minutes amidst all the woodland smells and snuffles. I was trussed up good and proper and every time I untangled myself from my leather lead bindings, the boys wanted to get frisky in the ferns again…and so it went on, with me more rotating than walking along the paths, with the occasional tottering hiatus for poop picking.

We’d already decided that we would head off with Susie and Monty for a spot of geo-caching, encouraged by the glorious chilled sunshine and excellent conditions underfoot. So I deposited three dogs in the van, collected A, picked up about six different devices and gizmos for the GPS/mapping side of things (don’t ask why so many, we’re not like normal people) and off we marched to find Pingo-it. There are two things that I absolutely love about geocaching – it gives a walk purpose and a sense of anticipation, and it also takes you to parts of the countryside you might never otherwise see. Saturday’s jaunt was a case in point. We ended up walking along the Crab and Winkle Line that once ran from Thetford to Swaffham – long disused but unmistakably an old branch railway that fascinatingly dived across acres of primeval landscape, pockmarked with pingos – small ponds leftover from the depredations of the Ice Age. I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen anything like it before and I’m glad it was bright and sunny otherwise it would have been verging on the sinister, with its eerie silence and heavy stillness. If you’ve seen ‘Deliverance’ with Burt Reynolds, you’ll know where I’m coming from… The dogs didn’t seem to mind though, with Monty weeing up the surrounding flora with gay abandon and Susie getting excited at the occasional muntjack bobbing and weaving in the trees, shaking its tush in that ‘come and get me if you’re hard enough’ sort of way. Susie is hard enough which is why I kept her on her lead.

Success was ours at the end of the trek, with A having a good old ferret up a tree for the cache and bringing out his booty triumphantly. We signed the book, swapped geocoins and then turned for home and an urgent date with the coffee machine and a comfy chair. The trip back was notable only for Monty barking at some Highland cattle (rather him than me – did he see the size of their horns?) and the rest of the afternoon was spent tutting at the papers and listening to Five Live.

The Sony Reader came out in the evening and I really am very impressed with it, mainly because I can hold it and turn the page with one hand, leaving my other hand free to drink – very important. Dinner, a stupid film, more reading, made up the rest of the day, so all in all a very relaxing, hassle-free Saturday – and Thetford really is a perfect location for these veg out mini-trips. It’s an attractive, well-laid out site, with friendly managers, modern amenities and loads and loads of forest walks on your doorstep – no need to move the van once you’ve parked up, which is just the way we like it. And in winter it’s a godsend because the ground is always so firm – a refreshing change from all the mud we’ve had to trudge through lately.

Another good thing, judging from this trip, is that the dogs have finally understood that at night, it’s dogs on bed by request only. Now I’m happy for Susie and Ranger to sleep with me and they seem to have sussed that they’re allowed, while the others also seem to have twigged that they’d be better off staying the other side of the curtain - if they don’t want to get short shrift and a slipper up their bum. The only trouble is that while Susie tends to go straight through to her sleeping quarters/my bed, Ranger drags a little and will often come in (barge through curtain) a little, and sometimes a lot, later. Of course, to get to his desired sleeping position (usually stretched out behind me with his paws in my back – nice), he has to leap on the bed first. Now this led to a bit of a contretemps on Friday night, so I’ve explained to him the one rule of the house: even though it’s dark, even though he can’t see over the bed, even though she’s half-hiding under a duvet, he really mustn’t use Susie as a trampoline. Not if he wants to see ten.

In the forest

2009-02-06T18:08:00.002Z

Well we weren't going to let a little snow (actually, a lot of wet, if truth be told) stop our fun so we fired up the behemoth this morning and pootled through the slush to Thetford Forest. On arrival we did the usual - hand-brake turned the van onto the pitch, plugged in and got the coffee on. Feeling suitably refreshed, I then took the dogs out for an amble around the woods, finding them beautifully mellow and muted with just the sound of water droplets plopping onto the undergrowth to disturb the calm. On my way back, I met our camping neighbour out with his three Belgian shepherds and despite their friskiness and vocal harmonies, my lot were remarkably restrained. That may have had something to do with the treats I was distracting them with though...I've worked a lot recently on drawing their attention away from other dogs and onto what's coming out of mummy's pockets so that we don't have the usual fusillade of growls and barks from madame Susie and whoever else wants to pitch in. The one downside to this is that there's invariably a needle nose ferreting round my trousers for most of the day...

Because the ground drains so well around here, we should have the opportunity tomorrow to get some good walking/geocaching in - I define' good' as the avoidance of two tons of mud collecting around the bottom of your boots and your dogs' legs remaining the same colour as their bodies. There are two caches within walking distance of the site and I have a geocoin to drop off, so no excuses really - unless it's cold and miserable and wet in which case I may just walk from my bed to the kettle and back.

Before I go, I must share one of those 'differences between men and women' things. Ask a woman the calories in a large pack of Waitrose creamy mash and she'll most likely pull a face before reeling off a figure in the mid-hundreds. Correct. Ask my beloved, as I did just now, and he'll say, 'Fifty'. So wrong but god, how I wish he was right.

P.S. I think the food situation is getting rather desperate. I'm now counting the minutes till I can tuck into some steamed broccoli...for heaven's sake, the only words that should come after 'steamed' are sponge and pudding. I could be close to breaking....

Teeny trip

2009-02-04T21:34:00.003Z

We've been static for a fortnight so cue another gallivant. Just a small one this time, to Thetford Forest in the van for the weekend. Hopefully the weather will allow us to get some walking and geocaching in and if it doesn't, I've got my new toy to play with. Encouraged by 'Sanity' Bruce and Sheila's positive experiences of the Sony eReader, I've treated myself to one as part of my on-going streamlining process (having fewer bits and pieces about me although the greatest streamlining effect is currently on my bank balance). I've been surfing the US ebook malls for cheap potboilers and have loaded up the beast with a right load of old tat - great for a wet Saturday though. I must just be careful not to leave the eReader around like I do my paperbacks, otherwise I might find its silvery gorgeousness colonised by Ranger's bum.

Eccles flakes

2009-02-03T17:20:00.002Z

Do you know who I feel sorry for at the moment? Eccles. Who? Corrie initiates will know that little Eccles is in fact Ken Barlow's dog - and from a dog we never once saw walked, she is now being put through her paces every day. And what paces! Ken is using the dog walk as cover for his assignations with Martha, the liveaboard boater whose literary and cultural bent has taken the old lothario's fancy. But Martha moors at what looks suspiciously like Worsley and it must be a fair old trek from there to Weatherfield (maybe Ken is from the Caxton school of walkies?). Surely dreary Deirdre will get suspicious when her pooch is permanently exhausted and two inches shorter than she was six months ago?

But fair play to Corrie. Any soap that manages to get the word 'recondite' into the script has my vote.

Waits and measures

2009-01-31T20:13:00.001Z

So apologies for the delay in the weight update but today's the day. I always step on the scales with a sense of trepidation, just because you rarely ever do as well you want to do and you almost inevitably set yourself up to fail. Plus, as experienced dieters will tell you, you are forever haunted by fears of 'plateauing' and the accompanying spectre of a reduced rate of weight loss the longer you go on. Now I don't like to feel miserable first thing on Saturday morning - it puts a bit of a dampener on things - so I was really chuffed to see that over the past three weeks, I've lost another 10 pounds. That makes 47 in total and just another 16 to go till I hit target.

Well, it may be more or less than 16, it depends. I've decided to end this diet on 9th April - Good Friday - come what may. It seems a good day to call time, because I'd like to scoff a big Easter lunch and maybe the odd egg or 6. It will also be five months exactly since I started this regime and that's enough for any mere mortal. And I'll be happy with what I've achieved regardless. I don't think I'll ever be sylph-like (I'm missing the size double zero gene) but I'm certainly less flabby and wobbly than I was in November. When we finally catch up with the Caxtonites, they will be a good arbiter of how far I have progressed as Joe and Lesley were two of the last people to see me at my peak, as it were. It's tempting to go on and on but I've been there, done that, got the size 10 T-shirt, been slightly unhinged about it all and would prefer to be a bit more relaxed about food in the future. I'll worry about a maintenance strategy later - maybe as I lick the top off my first creme egg of 2009.

Train takes the strain

2009-01-30T16:13:00.001Z

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Hey all you narrowboating dudes blogging at 4mph – I'm on a train blogging at 140mph, so nah! Actually, it's only going about 14mph and I don't think its top speed is much more than a ton but I've never blogged on a choo-choo before so poetic license is permitted. I'm trying out my road warrior kit (or should that be train warrior) – a nifty little Samsung NC-10 netbook plus hi-speed dongle, a crafty combo that gives me about six hours of mobile computing time to wile away tedious journeys.

The lady opposite me this morning was obviously jealous as she for no apparent reason kicked me in the shin – hard. She tried to make out it was accidental but unless she's got St Vitus dance, I don't quite see how that can be – she swung her leg through a good 50 degree arc before clobbering me and she had Doc Martens on. I spent the rest of the journey ostentatiously rubbing my shin and muttering about assault and battery with a deadly shoe... My trip from home to Reading and back was notable only for a jammed level crossing, a broken rail, a missed connection, no Circle Line and 3 lattes from Costa, so just a regular day. I can't abide going anywhere on Fridays but at least I won't be home too late. Now I've written this post, let's see if I can actually post the damn thing....

At home

2009-01-27T19:46:00.002Z

Not much to report here except that I seem to be indulging in a little too much retail therapy...oh well, women were born to shop! I was interested to read in this month's Waterways World that the BCN Marathon Challenge is returning..we're giving it some serious consideration although I reckon those intrepid Indigo Dreamers might fancy having a go too. Could be a serious greyhound tear up on the Walsall Town Arm..

For those of you thinking that she hasn't mentioned her weight yet, has she?, well, our trip north last week meant a missed weigh-in day so we'll be having an update this weekend. Meanwhile, my TV viewing is oscillating between the masochistic (MasterChef) and the depressing (lots of programmes about obesity/dieting and how even if you lose all your excess weight, you're bound to turn back into a lard-arse at some point -with extra lard. Well, I'll worry about keeping it off when I've finally got it all off and not before.

This weekend's amusement is a trip to East Coast Leisure to buy a porch/awning for the motorhome. We think the extra space won't come amiss and of course it will make an excellent dog drying off area. Unfortunately everyone I've ever talked to about these contraptions tells me that putting one up for the first time is the stuff divorces are made of, so A and I are going to make a pact that what's said/sworn outside stays outside and that we'll all be peace and light indoors. Yeah right...I have visions of a half-built porch hanging off the side of the van, crumpled and torn, the rock pegs hanging on for dear life as A drives off in a huge huff through the gawping crowd...I think I may do a build blog on this great event, save the epic saga for posterity. We're off to Thetford Forest the following weekend and the plan is to have a first bash then - if we do divorce, at least we won't have very far to go home.

Awash, but only with coffee

2009-01-21T17:46:00.004Z

Well, the good news is that the Ure didn't get beyond the wheel arches. No, only kidding, it never topped the banks thankfully, so we were spared a midnight flit in the all-together to drier, higher ground. Despite the fact that we're having to work, we're really enjoying ourselves this week. That may have something to do with the rather shameful regularity with which we are visiting the services to get our Costa fix - or the fact that dog walks are now a mere 100 yards to the exercise area where we let the hounds run wild and free while checking our emails. Yesterday the mobile office had to move to Castleford for the day and tomorrow it will return there - I prayed for views of the Aire and Calder but was rewarded for my general lack of piety in all things by a vista of rubbish bins and delivery lorries. Today was better from a scenery point of view as we went to Harrogate via a very circuitous route that allowed me to get - yes, you guessed it, two lattes from my favourite coffee shop. We even managed to park the behemoth within a two minute walk of my client, and without hitting anything - we are definitely getting better at this motorhoming lark.

Right now as I type, I would be eagerly looking forward to my supper - baked potato with Alphabetti (and before the smart alecs pipe up, it's got fewer calories than baked beans so nah!) - except for the fact that you need a microscope to see my chosen rhizome for tonight. How can they call that a baking potato? When I was a child, jackets were the size of footballs with half a pound of butter forked into either half. Now I have to make do with something invisible and only a diet Dairy Lea triangle and some tomato-ey letters to spice it up. I'll be offering my opinion on the matter later, as long as I can find the three consonants and one vowel to spell it.

Monty and Miffy take a breather

Come on in, the water's lovely

2009-01-19T13:44:00.002Z

Well here we are hunkered down in Boroughbridge enjoying/enduring amazingly regular maelstroms that are threatening to raise the levels on the (literally) adjacent River Ure and so give us our first flooding incident (how ironic it should prove to be if we get flooded in a motorhome and not a narrowboat). But despite the pants weather, we are having a lot of fun with the Dolce Gusto coffee machine in overdrive, the heating on warp factor 10 and shameless exploitation of the club site’s excellent wireless connection.

We arrived mid Saturday afternoon with joyous hearts having just discovered that Costa Coffee are apparently taking over much of the Little Chef fiefdom. So not only do we have Costa available at the new Wetherby services on the Al, we now have it at the old Moto services at Ferrybridge too. My cup runneth over…We were given the warmest welcome ever by the site manager, who proceeded to put us on the best possible pitch with the easiest of all routes out to the dog walk – plus views over the aforementioned Ure, so a result all round really. Oh and not forgetting the fenced dog exercise area which has meant Monty has got to run around like a loon for a change – his ‘run-at-full-tilt-and-stop-and-sit-in-one-motion-in-front-of-mummy-for-a-treat’ manoeuvre has to be seen to be believed. He’s got some nasty grass stains on his bum mind…

In the one window of nice weather yesterday, we headed off for some more geocaching fun. As there’s nothing better than combining motorhoming with our other great love, canals and rivers, we set our GPS device to the Milby Lock cache. After a lovely walk down and through the town, we hit upon a footpath that took us straight to a not-seen-one-quite-like-that-before lock with the cache duly located just beyond. We both wondered whether we’d ever get to go through here in our own boat? Looking at the tree trunks that have been hammering down past us today, I can’t help thinking discretion might be the better part of valour. Having bagged a further two caches en route, we repaired to the van before the evening storm duly arrived right on cue. We’d elected to take Arthur and Ranger with us and after a five mile stint they were completely zonked, as were we, so there wasn’t much for it but to sit back, drink yet more coffee and finish off my book. One other piece of dog-related news – on our travels we met our first ever Borzoi. A curious but noble looking creature that looks like a greyhound that’s been put through a mangle – everything stretched and elongated and on a much bigger frame than our regular mutts. Another one to add to my spotters' book.

The coming week will be dominated by work-related trips to Harrogate and Castleford, that is, if we are not swept downstream first. You start to worry when you see your fellow campers walking around in mask and flippers…

Forty winks

2009-01-14T22:30:00.004Z

It's great to have such high octane, buzzing dogs to go and exercise with...

Plans aplenty

2009-01-13T18:44:00.002Z

I did make one New Year's resolution earlier in the month - to get out more. Now don't laugh, I know we always seem to be ducking and diving somewhere but we still spent an inordinate amount of time at home when we could have been off jollificating..oops, sorry, I meant working, either from the boat or the motorhome. Work and family commitments meant that we had virtually no summer cruising and no autumn cruising, that is, actual holiday time, so 2008 was a bit unsatisfactory to say the least. 2009 will be different...

Boatwise, there's already a working week on the Weaver planned for late March - great mobile coverage all the way there and it's wonderfully quiet, just the way we like it. Autumn's traditional holiday fortnight will see a pilgrimage to Bugsworth (always shut on previous visits) and then a foray up the Huddersfield Narrow, turning before the tunnel.

Vanwise, we have a working fortnight lined up in Scotland for late April (let there be no 'I need you on site now' emergencies, please!). We'll be returning to Dunnet Bay near Thurso for a week (brilliant beach, Costa Coffee served nearby, RIB trips out to Stroma) before wild camping on the middle weekend and then heading off to Skye. Comms are okay at Dunnet Bay and we're keeping our fingers crossed for Skye - Scotland does seem to have excellent coverage generally, so we're not too worried.

If no-one susses our absence on either of these occasions, then I also plan to head off to two places I've never visited - Pembrokeshire and Cornwall. Out of season would be best, though. And there are a couple of targets on the canal network that fall into the 'really must visit' category but I'll be buggered if I can work out quite how to shoehorn them into the year. Despite several attempts at the Caldon including a successful tootle down to Leek, Froghall still eludes us - and Stratford on Avon doesn't seem to come any nearer either. The latter was a putative destination for last Autumn's holiday until work got in the way - trouble is, we'd definitely need a fortnight to get down and back to Nantwich so I'm toying with the idea of either temporarily swapping marina berths with someone a bit further down south or just moving the old girl down to somewhere more convenient over the course of a weekend, paying for a visitor's mooring and then starting the holiday some 40-50 miles to the good a week or so later. But I suspect it'll be more likely to happen in 2010 that 2009...

More working weeks on water could see us revisit the Shroppie north of Barbridge - maybe just as far as Beeston - and to make a more leisurely exploration of the Llangollen, especially the arms that we missed out on in December. From memory, the mobile phone signal wasn't great so maybe we'll keep that for Christmas when everything's a lot less pressured. Ah Christmas...yes, we've decided that we don't want to be static next year so, weather permitting, we should be able to squeeze in another couple of weeks.

The only redemptive thing about the start of yet another year is that you have it all ahead of you and you can fill it with plans. So what if they don't always come off? The fun's in watching A's face as I tell him we won't be home for about 50% of the year....With luck.

Cache and carry

2009-01-12T22:54:00.003Z

We'll be off to Boroughbridge first thing Saturday, Cambridge services first stop. Sadly, the services don't have quite the attraction they once did, which may well have something to do with the fact that I just have a pathetically small thimbleful of latte these days, as opposed to my previously traditional bucket to help wash down the raisin whirl and/or custard danish.

I'm hopeful that in amongst the work duties, A and I may be able to get some more geocaching done - a) I'm in need of some lengthy walks and b) we've got a Travel Bug that needs relocating. I've done some research and it looks like there may be a few caches within walking distance of the site, which would be a bonus. We just need to be careful not to get too addicted to this little diversion - we couldn't get enough over Christmas and A's PDA-cum-GPS-transmitter went into overdrive with all the coordinates we were bashing in. Somehow I don't think 'I'm so sorry I forgot our meeting this morning, I was crawling under a hedge looking for a tupperware box' will cut much ice with my clients so maybe we'll designate one weekday afternoon for playtime and save the rest for earning some money.

As soon as we're back, we'll be off again almost immediately to the boat, where I'm planning to meet with a number of useful chaps who can help me with the various improvements I've got in mind. That's why we need to earn some money - my original short list has become quite a long list but you know, why spoil the ship for a ha'porth of tar and all that...That's certainly what I'll be telling A when I present him with the bills.

P.S. Susie is not pleased to hear of Fletcher the labrador's (NB Caxton) exploits as she deems him a great big show off for pirouetting off the lock gate and acrobatically crashing into the murky waters below, prior to a prompt and safe rescue. She feels that this is outdoing her own rather lame sub-aqua efforts viz. missing the bank and submerging herself in the tail of Colwich Lock; and as she absolutely has to be brasher, bigger and better than anyone else, she is currently planning a plunge from the top of Anderton Lift into a dog bowl of water. Hope she deflates her armbands before she jumps.

Big bed bonanza

2009-01-09T16:30:00.005Z

Do you remember the wonderful Dick Emery and the regular ‘dad and son’ sketch he did with Roy Kinnear? As the hapless Gaylord, he had this catchphrase ‘D-a-a-a-d, I think I got it wrong again’. Well, I had one of those moments this afternoon when the new dog beds arrived. I knew they were big but I didn’t quite appreciate how big. Definitely overclubbed that one, methinks. One end of the living room looks like a gigantic prostrate sheep..but if A’s snoring gets too much tonight, I know where I’m heading…

Fighting the flab

2009-01-09T09:33:00.002Z

I know what you're thinking...that Greygal, she's probably wimped out of her diet, seduced by all those Christmas temptations. We haven't had much scales action lately have we? QED.

Well, the fact of the matter is that this is the first time in three weeks that I've actually been home on weighing in day. But even so, it was not with a little trepidation that I stepped on this morning, expecting to be disappointed....would all those Thorntons chocs on Boxing Day come back to haunt me? I closed my eyes and slowly opened them to read the dial and....cor, a 10 pound loss! I'm pretty chuffed with that, not least because it means I'm past half way, with 35 pounds down, just another 28 to go! My BMI is also looking a lot more respectable now - officially I'm just overweight as opposed to dangerously heffalump like. One thing I have realised is that when I eventually reach target, I will have lost more than a 25KG bag of Taybrite. Coo, that's a lot of slag to carry around...

Here we go again

2009-01-06T17:07:00.001Z

Cripes, we’re no sooner back than we’re planning to be off again in a week or so’s time. We’re doing our classic combining of work and play by heading north in the motorhome to stay at the Camping and Caravanning Club’s Boroughbridge site for a week, allowing us to conduct some essential training for a client as well as get some geocaching and general loafing about in. Mmm, I’m going to miss my new luvverley bed, methinks, particularly when all five dogs try and join me in the smallish camper double every night…since Ranger has worked out that he can just barge through the dividing curtain, there’s no stopping any of the buggers. Love ‘em….

We’ll also be back at the boat mid Feb for a round of maintenance and meetings with various peeps to sort out a number of improvements – a cratch table and seating, a new cratch cover, some new carpet and an extension to the hearth so the new carpet doesn’t go the way of the old one. Curious pattern? No, burn marks…

A has also promised that he’ll fit the new tank watch gauge at long last – he’s been promising to do it for the past nine months so I’m not holding my breath. Actually, I will be because that tank’s going to stink when we open her up…Anyway, hopefully everything will all be ready before Easter and once the holiday scrum has subsided, we can pootle off to the Weaver for another work/holiday week. Can’t have too many of them in a year…

And maybe, just maybe, all you lot down there colonizing the Leicester Arm might like to move your bums north so we can get a bit of socializing in…I should be thin and gorgeous by then and allowed to eat more than half a tomato.

And so to bed

2009-01-06T12:27:00.002Z

One of the (few) compensations of leaving the boat to go back home (clean, non-coal fingernails and a humungous fridge being the others) is that we get to sleep in our big bed. We as in me, A and Susie,that is. Except this time I got home and just thought that the whole bed department was looking a bit on the sad and tired side – knackered pillows, lumpy duvet, boring bed linen and no mattress topper! Quick, back to the boat! No, better than that, cue a trip to Dunelm Mill on Saturday for some serious retail therapy. After one of those ‘ouch, how much’ moments at the till, I beetled off home to conduct my bed makeover. Oh my, was it worth the money. The bed is now simply divine and delicious – and bloody difficult to get out of in the morning. (Slightly tangential this but I had to share - one of the funniest things I have ever seen was the aftermath of A's attempts at changing a duvet cover. With a red angry face he told me that I'd need to go and sort it because he'd failed - I went upstairs and there, basically, discovered that he'd achieved the 'swag bag' effect: duvet balled up into one corner and the rest of the cover completely empty, ideal for throwing over the shoulder and swinging from side to side. Unbelievable - I couldn't do that even if I wanted to.)

I can’t believe the bed transformation, to be honest. And as if to emphasise just how comfy it is now, my dutiful, early morning tea-making amanuensis, Ranger, actually had the temerity to bugger off half way through proceedings today and leg it back alone to the bedroom. He never does that, preferring to trip me up on the stairs as I carry a cup of tea to the Kraken. I found him ensconced, no, nesting would be a better word, in my new duvet-pillow-topper finery and looking very pleased with himself that he’d left absolutely no room for me to get back in. Hence me sipping my tea with one bum cheek perched perilously over the edge while he snuggled down even further, but not before he’d decided to brush daddy’s hair with his paw. That went down well….

Having had a couple of absolutely fab nights’ sleep, I suddenly felt a bit guilty that I’d spent quite a lot on our bed but nothing on the dogs’ beds (although they were treated to some gorgeous thermal fleece blankets for night time snoozing). The dog beds are situated in the living room (for daytime snoozing) and to be quite frank, they are gross. They are old, dirty and full of smelly blankets and cushions and biscuit crumbs – but they love them. They happily move from basket to basket, luxuriating in the familiar doggy stink, pawing at the contents and rearranging them to get their perfect sleeping position. Buy them something new and they just sniff it with suspicion and disdain but the time has come – I’ve had enough and the plague-ridden beds have to go. Which means, of course, having to find replacements. Now this is easier said than done because a) I want baskets rather than cushions and b) baskets in the size I want (massive to accommodate a leggy supine grey) are not that common. Well, after much searching on the net, I came across Snuggiepets (sold through Amazon as well). They do a wide range of beds including an XXL faux suede/sheepskin version coming in at a whopping 48” x 36”. I’m not actually sure they need something that big (it’s the size of a small room, after all) but I got carried away and added five to my basket and checked out before I could change my mind. If there’s any nose turning upping when they arrive, I’ll revoke all bed privileges and give them some newspaper to sleep on….and not a broadsheet either. Make them really suffer.

Eat, drink and be very fat

2008-12-29T17:46:00.004Z

My Christmas in a nutshell: Furious eating, furious indigestion, furious walking. Like so many boating bloggers out there, we too have joined the g eocaching fraternity and thank god for it: eleven miles and five caches over two days sorted out the bowling ball in my stomach and eased the guilt I felt over consuming my own body weight in turkey and roast potatoes. And ice cream. And chocs.* To eat heartily was good though....in fact, it was bloody fantastic, but you'll be pleased to hear I'm back on the straight and narrow with a rumblin' tum, looking fondly upon a tin of soup and half a Ryvita. With maybe a tangerine segment for pudding...

* I was offered the turkey and sprout consommé by my hosts but just didn't think it in the Christmas spirit to decline the full nosh-up. It is, after all, only once a year...except that we did it all over again on Boxing Day. Hey ho.

Merry Christmas

2008-12-22T16:41:00.002Z

To blog readers and especially diet supporters, may I send you warmest wishes for Christmas and the New Year. I will be toasting you all with a lime and soda as I sip my turkey and sprout consommé!

I've lost a turkey

2008-12-19T18:13:00.003Z

According to our Christmas Day lunch hosts, we'll be tucking into a turkey that, avec le Paxo and an orange and apple up its bum, will be topping the scales at close on 25 pounds. So when I look at it next week, I will be face to face with what I have lost since 9 November. Yes, folks, another 3.5 pounds of flab shifted this week has taken me to a 25 pound total weight loss, which I am obviously quite chuffed with. Mind you, the hard work is only just beginning and I'll probably be switching to fortnightly weigh ins from now on. There is nothing worse than slogging your guts out all week only to find you've plateaued...much nicer to go a fortnight and be rewarded with 3 or 4 pounds off instead. Because it's a fact that the rate of loss is going to slow from here on in and I couldn't bear to be disappointed every Friday...might just have to sniff a Crunchie to cheer myself up and that's the fat end of the wedge...

P.S. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep my dinner down. It's doing a pretty good impression of a Force 10 outside the hatch and I'm feeling queasy...

Hey ho and off we go

2008-12-18T18:10:00.001Z

We’re off to the boat tomorrow, which means the Christmas holidays are here! In fact, it’s been so quiet this week that I think everyone’s got fed up and buggered off early. There’ll be a few work things to finish off on Monday and Tuesday but from then on, it’s books and coffee and chocs and roasting tootsies…oh no, sod it, no chocs. Bummer. I am determined not to undo any (well, not much) of my good work on the dieting front so while I shall be laying about me and demolishing a big dinner on the good day itself, the rest of the time I shall be sat there muttering dark things under my breath as A unwraps yet another Quality Street.

Looking on the bright side, I’ll have a fantastic head start on my New Year’s Resolution (the same one every year) to lose a few stone and I’ll be a couple of weeks nearer my target. If I’m brutally honest, I’m not actually getting a huge kick out of my weight loss this time round – don’t know why, I’m getting lots of support, lots of nice comments, my clothes look like they no longer have a grudge against me, but I can’t get excited about it. I think there is some physical and emotional correlation between eating and mood isn’t there? Well, limiting my intake is giving me the pip more often and not and I’m not exactly bursting with joy. Mind you, in one sense this is a good thing. The last time I dieted on this scale I got so into it that I repeatedly bought new jeans in progressively smaller sizes just because I could. Cost me a small fortune as those were the days when Levis set you back about 50 quid a pop!

I shall also use the holidays to continue my new regime with the dogs. This week I have been dividing the midday walk into two halves – a regular 30 minutes for a gang of 3, then an hour for a pair. My thinking is that if I exercise them more – and in manageable numbers – I will improve our relationship, have more control, make them work a bit harder for things (which is a good thing in doggyland) and generally enhance my leadership credentials and their obedience and passivity. Certainly walking with reduced numbers has been a real pleasure – I’m more confident, I can pay more attention on a one-to-one basis and can assert myself more easily. Monty was so tired after his hour yesterday that he went straight to bed – at 2pm. Today it was the turn of the two fawns, Arthur and Ranger, and they did pretty well, although Ranger was starting to flag on the way back, throwing me his ‘not impressed’ look. I said he should think himself lucky that we’d only done an hour – I could get Caxton Lesley down here and then you’d be gone all day. Every day. That shut him up.

A spoke in the eye

2008-12-17T12:24:00.001Z

Now this is curious. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that organizations sending out Christmas cards would take the opportunity to use a relevant image. Indeed, it was lovely to get a seasonal greyhound illustration on my Greyhound Rescue West of England card and a photo of a fleece-adorned lurcher in the snow on my missive from Forest Fleece (dog coats). So how come, when they must have 1001 suitable pics to choose from, did Waterways World send out a card with what looked like a bicycle spoke on the front? Admittedly, a very festive spoke that had a hint of Christmas decoration about it, but still in essence a spoke. That’s like me sending cards featuring the C word – C-A-T-S.

Dog Whisperer Woe

2008-12-14T19:23:00.003Z

This morning I really, really wanted a Dog Whisperer walk. Having read a couple of Cesar Millan’s books recently and seen quite a few of his TV shows, I thought today was the perfect time to put some of his lessons into practice. Now don’t get me wrong, the hounds are excellent 99% of the time. There’s no intra pack aggression, they’re hugely friendly towards people, they’re neither possessive nor food obsessed, in fact, they are generally lovely. Unless you’re a cat, that is. Or for that matter, some dogs. Yes, passing some dogs is our one and only ‘issue’ and if I’m to believe the dog man Cesar, it’s all down to the fact that they don’t see me or A as a sufficiently good pack leader, so take the job on themselves. How this manifests itself with a dog they take umbrage with is usually Susie doing a lot of barking and the rest of them looking curiously on until the moment has past and the other dog has gone on their way. So not really too bad…but still a bit worrying as one is always concerned that things may escalate. And of course, the dogs sense the tension we feel and it’s a bit of a vicious circle as they play up to that.

So this morning, we were all ‘calm assertive energy’, walking tall, thinking positively and visualizing a great walk. You can see where this is leading can’t you? I took the decision to keep to the lanes as the fields are so boggy and that’s where the problem started. The main lane we walk down is quite narrow with high hedges either side – there is no space to get into if you want to give your dogs some room in their passing of/encounters with other dogs, but we haven’t really had any problems before so we duly set off, dogs trotting obediently by our thigh. Well, first up, we meet the village psycho dog – lovely owner and I’m sure she’s a lovely dog in the house but she starts to pull violently whenever she sees another dog and the initial ‘I’m going to get you and duff you up’ puffing and panting and choking soon turns into a full-on visceral ‘I’m going to rip your throat out’ bark. Well, this of course is like a red rag to a bull for my own psycho Susie – she can’t abide girl dogs with a bigger attitude problem that she has so she immediately joined in and there was a right old tooing and froing as we got past without them knocking seven bells out of each other. To be fair, as we owners talked at a safe distance they both shut up and I’m sure this is a classic case of letting them off in a field with a muzzle on and letting them sort it out for themselves. The other dog is a grey/lab/Staffie cross and I’m sure would love a good old tear up with Susie – they’d probably end up being bosom buddies. Well, maybe.

As you can imagine, we were somewhat discombobulated by this encounter as we’d had such high hopes for a Dog Whisperer walk, but we took a deep breath and carried on. Two hundred yards further on, we spotted a border collie off lead but with his owner, a hardy Suffolk country type with a crook, just behind and seemingly in control. I mean, every BC I’ve ever met has been intelligent, obedient, placid and biddable…no worries there then.

Even so, I just know that A and I both tensed at that stage but before we had to worry about passing the dog, we had to get the dogs to the side of the road to let a car pass. I had charge of Monty, Ranger and Miffy and A was ahead of me with Susie and Arthur. I had just stood up from keeping their bums in with my hand when Susie lets rip with barking and dancing all over the place. She doesn’t like the collie either seemingly. But then, before I have myself on an even keel, the collie suddenly rushes my group, with Susie looking on frantically but held firmly by A. My immediate thought is to hold Monty as I’m fearful that he’ll react – stupid really as on every other occasion when he’s been faced with a confident dog in his face, he just freezes. I think I just worry about the potential, given his size and strength…

I then look to restrain Ranger but before I can, he’s in there, wrestling the collie and me and Monty and Miffy to the other side of the road. He’s gone for the neck, determined to subdue the interloper and while, in retrospect, I think they would have both worked it out by themselves, one’s natural instinct is to stop the fracas before anything nasty happens. The trouble was, mister with the crook had about as much control over his dog as I did with Ranger and his commands fell on deaf ears. Instead I got a crook up the bum as I moved to take hold of Ranger’s coat to try and restrain him, and then suddenly it was over, with me in the hedge, Ranger looking pleased with himself and the collie bouncing off down the road looking none the worse. He got a right ticking off from his owner mind…something along the lines of ‘You were asking for that, you were’. I was very worried that Ranger may have done him some damage but the chap shouted back that he was fine – I somehow got the impression it wasn’t the first time the collie had enjoyed a bit of rough and tumble with the local dogs.

Looking back now, all the noise and terror and confusion came from the humans, not the dogs – maybe we just make things that much worse? And annoyed as I was at Ranger, I was more annoyed at the chap for not having his dog under complete control. I have no problem with people walking their dogs off lead but they need to have 100% control over them. I can remember our gang passing a collie on the towpath last year – she walked beautifully at heel, eyes ahead and our lot went past no problem. Even so, it was not the behaviour I wanted off Ranger, even if he did think he was protecting the pack – guess he needs to learn who’s boss.

After all this we decided to turn for home and a welcome cup of coffee. On our route back, we had to pass ‘the house with the caravan’. Now ‘the house with the caravan’ is home to a very vocal, very territorial dog, breed unknown. He’s rarely out but when he is, he patrols the hedge that divides his garden from the pavement. And for the hat-trick, he was out today. Off he went, off Susie went, with barking that was apparently heard on South Uist. A tried to manhandle Susie past the garden but she was obviously so wired from the previous incidents that she was completely unmanageable, even turning her ire onto poor, innocent Arthur as he bumped into her accidentally. I was set for a repeat performance from one of my lot as we went past but thankfully, at last, they behaved themselves. In fact, in fairness, Ranger and co do not tend to react to barking dogs on the other side of hedges and fences; Susie speaks for everyone.

You can imagine that we were relieved to get home and whistle up a quick latte to calm our nerves. But then I started to think about why it had all gone so tits-up – what would the Dog Whisperer say? My best guess is that of the five dogs, four of them have the same low energy as A and I do (Monty can run like the wind but he’s very, very laid back indoors). But Susie is different – she is a medium or high energy dog and perhaps she’s not getting sufficient exercise or stimulation as we’re catering for the needs of the lazy majority. Susie is the only one that has a mad five minutes in the living room. Susie is the only one that will run without any stimulus. Susie had her career cut short whereas all the others have raced hard. Susie is a bossy cow. When we travel with all of them in the car, the only one who growls at the others is Susie. We once travelled back from somewhere with two cars and Susie went with A and the rest went with me – god, it was bliss! So I am slowly turning my attention away from Monty, who I thought was the problem because of his nerves, and refocusing it on Susie. (At the same time, I am working on Ranger and reinforcing my boss status – he now waits at the bottom of the stairs for me to call him instead of barreling up past me sending the laundered knickers every which way).

And it’s this refocusing that explains why I was to be seen huffing and puffing up and down the village this afternoon, with a beautiful black greyhound called Susie by my side. She wasn’t puffing, she was just looking at me like I was an idiot, but I do think she enjoyed herself. Interestingly, she jogged perfectly by my side, whereas when we do it as a group she’s always jumping in front of me trying to trip me up. No, throughout all the running bits, she behaved exquisitely, not pulling and only giving a dog on the opposite side of the road a look before turning her attention back to her running. Painful as it was for me, I think we both benefited and certainly when we all went out for our evening walk, the dogs walked extremely nicely, even passing another dog without a whimper. Were they taking their cue from a tired, happy Susie? Who knows but I’ll be keeping up with the Cani-Cross and possibly rotating my running partners more than I originally envisaged. I understand that you can run with two dogs but I sense that may just be asking for trouble and I’ll be back in that hedge before you know it.

The weight is over

2008-12-12T09:55:00.002Z

So how did I fare on the scales this morning? Well, I stepped on in trepidation a toe at a time, let go of the wall and discovered that I’d lost seven pounds in two weeks. Or put another way, half a stone in a fortnight, which I suppose is quite good isn’t it? If I could get another half stone off before the end of the year, then I’d be pretty happy – I want this dieting lark to be over by Easter so I can stuff my face with Cadbury’s crème eggs….

P.S. Apparently, a propos of yesterday's post, there's a proper name for running with your dog - it's called Cani-Cross or Canix. I was reading about it last night and my left knee is already hurting in anticipation...

On the run

2008-12-10T18:29:00.005Z

Every time I let the dogs off to have a romp, I always feel sorry for Monty who has to stay on his lead. It doesn’t matter how much work I’ve done on his recall, once he’s off, he’s off and totally heedless to anyone or anything. He’s had so many close calls already that I can’t bear to think of something awful happening to him so I keep him close by my side. It doesn’t seem to bother him that much but I know he’d like to exercise his long legs a bit more than he does – what greyhound wouldn’t? Thus I have been pondering how to let him run but run safely. As a fan of Cesar Millan the Dog Whisperer, I have obviously given consideration to rollerblading or cycling but abandoned them both quite quickly as I thought there was every chance that I’d end up in casualty while Monty ended up somewhere west of Cambridge. I thought about a treadmill but realized that that was just lazy and sad, and I ruled out swimming because while there are adult and child prices at the local baths, there’s no dog tariff – curious that.

Then I remembered – in my halcyon days, I used to run…well, jog. As part of a former weight loss regime, I decided I’d get fit by jogging and I built up from a ’20-yard-stagger-and-where’s-the oxygen’ first attempt to a ‘this is a breeze 5km’ on a regular basis. But that was then and this is now. I’m still horribly overweight and having broken my leg five years ago, the old left pin is not as cooperative as it once was. However, on a positive note, I am getting lighter and if I don’t overdo it, there’s no reason why my leg shouldn’t stand up to a bit of moderate impact. And best of all, I’ll have a running mate this time round – what better incentive do I need to get back on the road than knowing Monty’s benefitting from it as much as I am? And one thing’s for sure: no-one’s going to shout abusive names as my wobbling bum recedes into the distance with him by my side. Do you want to say that again, sonny? Monty didn’t hear you…

I probably won’t start until the New Year now…I’d like to lose a few more pounds first and then I can enjoy a bit of retail sales therapy and choose some ridiculous looking trainers. I’ll have to help him with the laces though.

Young Geoff on Seyella, do you have any training tips?

A week in pictures

2008-12-08T12:30:00.019Z

Heaven

2008-12-07T20:21:00.004Z

Well, all good things must come to an end and here we are, back at home, having enjoyed a simply scintillating week on the Llangollen. It's fantastic to know that even after all these years, a cruise can instil such feelings of excitement and joy and we're not getting blase and jaded in our old age. Having waited over thirty years to do this particular canal, it didn't disappoint - indeed, it exceeded all my expectations and it was with real regret that we pointed the car south this morning.

Looking back, we were blessed with generally excellent weather, ever changing, ever dramatic landscapes, a glorious isolation and solitude that were only reinforced by the singular lack of boats on the move, all building towards a most magnificent climax as we chugged up to the head of the canal, with aqueducts and mountains vying for top billing.

Once we'd turned around first thing Thursday, we absolutely zipped back, tying up 3 days and 43 miles later just after 11am this morning. I think Saturday's cruising must rate as one of my finest ever days at the tiller, the stillness, the limpid blue skies, the sheer peace all combining with the beautiful countryside to raise things to near heavenly proportions. Oh why did it have to end?

Mind, I did learn a few things this week:

1) Thank god for thermal underwear - a life (and nipple) saver
2) I need to buy some gloves and boots with thermal insulating properties
3) We need to stop working as soon as possible
4) We need to get the Mikuni fixed
5) You can only drink so many cup-a-soups in a day
6) You can't coil a frozen rope
7) Dieting and boating don't mix - I would have killed for a curry (but womanfully resisted)
8) We need to encourage Ranger not to get on the bed at 3am - using me as a springboard
9) We are totally, utterly privileged to be able to do this

Going with the flow

2008-12-04T16:40:00.005Z

Now that we're going with the flow, we’ve aquaplaned to New Marton in record time, getting here so promptly in fact that we decided an early finish was called for. Apart from getting stuck on something in the run up to Trevor, we’ve had a relaxed cruising day marred only by some dodgy weather for some of the time. But we’ve also had a decent slug of blue skies and sunshine so we’ll count ourselves lucky. We’re once more moored in the middle of nowhere which means the dogs can have a bit of off-lead time.

Mind you, there was a case of copybook blotting this morning from Mr Monty who decided to lunge at a passing dog. It wouldn’t have been so bad except dog and master fell back in surprise only to find that the towpath sheered off down a steep bank. With profuse apologies, we helped them on their way and the chap was actually very decent about the whole thing. I’m still trying to fathom out why Monty behaved the way he did when he’d been so good yesterday passing all sizes of dog without a murmur? Was it because today he was being walked by A, not by me (the ultimate top dog, of course)? Was it because this time he was with Arthur and not Ranger, the alpha boy? Was it because A was walking those two ahead of my three whereas yesterday Susie was in the lead with Arthur, and Monty was bringing up the rear? I am convinced that this morning’s episode was down to him trying to protect us but being pretty rubbish at it. Thankfully, he doesn’t go in with teeth bared, barking and growling with his hackles up, but because he’s such a big, strong dog, he is quite enough on his own to put the wind right up you. I am still at a bit of a loss so if there are any dog behaviourists out there who’d like to venture an opinion, go for it.

Now, before I sign off, I must just let you know about the recent addition to the dogs’ capsule wardrobe. They’ve been sporting their new bespoke designed ‘boat coats’ this trip and very snazzy they look too. Each coat has the boat’s name embroidered on one bum cheek and the dog’s name embroidered on the other – just in case we forget who’s who. My thanks to the wonderful Sioux Rix at Forest Fleece for these magnificent creations. It comes to something when your dogs are better dressed than you are…

Monty on the Ponty

2008-12-03T17:40:00.002Z

Well, where to start? Perhaps at the end would be best. We’re here all snug as a bug in the delightful little mooring basin at the end of the Llangollen, plum tuckered out after an afternoon’s exploration. Funny thing is, we hadn’t planned on staying as we were on a tight schedule. It was going to be a quick in and out, stopping just long enough for water and rubbish, and then we’d point our nose east for the return journey. But as you well know, serendipitous things happen on the cut and we met some friends in the basin who urged us to stay for at least the night so we could go and have a look round. We didn’t take much convincing, to be honest – well, why be your own boss if you can’t make unscheduled changes to your holiday plans?

So we locked up and toddled off with the dogs down to Horseshoe Falls. It was a bit dicey underfoot as the winter sun hadn’t permeated through to melt much of the ice but we came through unscathed. And it was very well worth the effort – not only was it extraordinarily pretty on what had remained a classic winter’s day but there was also a sense of real achievement in getting to the very end of the canal, albeit on foot. It appears that horseboats work this stretch and A was all for harnessing the dogs up and trying it ourselves. I gave him a look, mindful that it had been difficult enough up to now without having a crack at something with a No Entry sign at the beginning.

Oh yes, there were two or three occasions at least when I thought we’d fall short of our ultimate destination. The notorious Llangollen flow coupled with too little water under the boat made for painfully slow going wherever the channel narrowed. Most of yesterday seemed to be spent going backwards as we crawled an inch at a time over the aqueducts and through the tunnels. Passage through the latter was particularly difficult as the flow kept pinning you to one side and I had to crab along the whole way. For a while I thought it was just me but then I saw a following boat experience exactly the same difficulties. Today’s trundle through the narrows on the approach to Llangollen itself meant more of the same, with occasional underwater obstacles forcing me to retreat and take a run up to get past/over them. My tiller arm is sore and tired but I guess we will absolutely zoom back on the return trip.

There was a blogger sighting as well this morning, as Elsie and dog Ben of Bendigedig hoved into view on their morning walk. Typical dog owner, I recognised Ben before I recognised Elsie – sorry Elsie and lovely to see you again!

Tomorrow we return over the aqueducts. Now coming over yesterday was okay, with Chirk being a slightly more comfortable proposition than the Ponty. I’m okay with heights but I don’t really love them that much, so I was obviously keen to regain the other side of the canal and get out of mid-air. My unease wasn’t really helped by the fact that A kept ogling over the non-towpath side and saying ‘Coo, isn’t it high up here’ and ‘You’d never be able to get your boat out of this metal trough’; all the time there’s me, looking straight ahead, clonking the side every two seconds, thinking the whole structure looks horribly precarious and whose stupid idea was it to come here anyway?

But it was all worth it because as soon as you turn at Trevor, the canal delivers its ‘save the best for last’ smack in the kisser, with hills and mountains rising up before you with little white houses nestled in their folds and ridges. It may as well have said Welcome to Wales in forty foot high letters – we loved it!

Today’s walk also told me something I didn’t know. I have always wondered a bit about Ranger, as to whether he’s a bovver boy where other dogs are concerned. I’ve never really let him that close to another dog to find out but today we met a lovely chap who was doing some work around the hotel near the Falls. His little dog – a Border Terrier sort – was actually chained up and we didn’t spot him at first until he came out of hiding and announced himself in front of Susie and Arthur. The owner returned at that point to take his dog out of the way so we could get past – in fact, he picked him up and I was feeling so relaxed that I let Ranger approach to have a sniff. He was absolutely fine, not even reacting when the dog growled at him. Then Susie went over to do her ‘Call me madam’ act and she remembered her manners as well – amazing. Monty was okay with it all too and Arthur and Miffy couldn’t have cared less, so I was greatly cheered by the results of this cautious meet-and-greet. Maybe I should just stop getting so worked up by the whole thing but I am a bit wary of the pack mentality – five against one isn’t really fair is it?

I’ve also had to put up with some moans today from himself. He’s claiming that the weight’s falling off so fast that he’s had to take his belt in by three notches and that this may still not be enough to stave off a flash of boxer as his jeans fall down around his bum. I should add that he is not officially on a diet but as I’m living on short commons, so is he – most of the time. I was kind enough to include a stash of Ginsters pasties in the boat provisions – he’s unkind enough to eat the damn things in front of me. Have men no sensitivity to these things? You can stuff your face, just don’t do it in front of me. I mean, I’m so desperate, I’m eyeing up tiny bits of Steak and Onion slice that have fallen onto the deck…

Monty on the Monty

2008-12-01T18:10:00.002Z

Well, wasn’t December 1st ushered in in style? We woke to a real winter wonderland, a heavy overnight frost coating everything in hoary white. In fact, it was so glorious that I had been out of bed for a whole five minutes before I even thought of food. I’m usually dreaming about it as I crawl out of unconsciousness…

I thought it was going to be another heavenly day as we pulled away, noting as we did so that we hadn’t actually seen another living soul from the time we’re moored up the previous evening to the moment we let go this morning. Sadly, the weather did deteriorate and for most of the day we had cloud, interspersed with the odd blue sunny patch and indeed the odd snow flurry. However, stoical me stayed at the tiller all day and I was rewarded with some very attractive evening sunset stuff in the distance. I have to say, the Llangollen is surprising me. It’s wider than I’d imagined for a start, and has all sorts of different characteristics depending on how far along you are. At times it reminds me of the South Oxford, at others the Leicester Arm and of course, the Shroppie influence is never far away. But through the primordial mosses and the meres, from Whixall through to Ellesmere, it really does have a personality all of its own. The film Deliverance kept coming to mind for some reason…

We saw four boats on the move, which is four more than yesterday. These included two intrepid Canaltimes and Braidbar No 51, Cedar. I really should keep a Braidbar spotters’ book as I’ve seen a fair few now, although I’ve still to clap eyes on my blogging muse Bruce of Sanity. One day….

So we’re now moored up just past Frankton junction, and we’ve settled down for the evening having taken Monty along the Monty. I don’t think he appreciated the link as he just kept cocking his leg everywhere, but we enjoyed the trundle down to the bottom of the locks and back again. In fact, we’re enjoying everything about this trip and in the winters of the far distant future, I can see cold cruising in Clwyd easily vying with motorhome marauding in Morocco. I mean, A only wants to do the latter because he fancies wearing a fez….maybe I could cut down a traffic cone….

P.S. I'll be posting all my pics retrospectively when I'm back on something resembling an internet connection. If I hang out the side hatch jiggling my dongle, I may well get frostbite on my particulars and we wouldn't want that, would we? I think losing parts of my anatomy is going a bit far diet-wise...

Cruisin'

2008-11-30T17:29:00.000Z

It’s days like today that remind you why you love narrowboating so much. The early morning mist gave way to clear, crisp skies lit by a wintery sun, just the perfect backdrop to a cruise through the gorgeous Cheshire/Shropshire/Welsh countryside. I’m so glad that we didn’t have our views obscured today because it was really wonderfully pretty…why do people go hell for leather to get down to Chirk and beyond when it’s so tempting to linger further down the cut?

Amazingly, we were the only boat on the move today. Even as recently as a couple of weeks ago, apparently, it had been boat carnage at Grindley Brook, according to a couple of friendly gongoozlers. No such problems for us today as we zoomed up unmolested and untroubled. I decided to get some exercise by doing a couple of the lift bridges and I’m now absolutely shattered…I can’t believe how out of condition I am. Or maybe I’m just lacking vital energy as a I nibble on my mung beans and cress….

The dogs have had a great old romp on the towpath this evening as we’re miles from civilization and well clear of any sheep. We’d passed a notice earlier warning that any dogs found worrying sheep would be shot, so we weren’t going to take any risks. It’s Ranger’s ninth birthday tomorrow but you wouldn’t know he was that old from the turn of speed he showed earlier – he was a good sprinter in his day and I think he’s still got it. Mind, he did tend to accelerate more when he could sniff a treat in my hand…

So a great day all in all. Easy locks, despite the odd fierce bywash, scintillating scenery, perfect weather, hot coffee on tap and a warm fire to come down to. Full time liveaboarding? Bring it on.

Dog in the fog

2008-11-29T20:11:00.001Z

Gosh, the Llangollen Canal is beautiful, isn’t it? Well, I’m guessing it is as we haven’t been able to see a thing all day. Yes, the foggy shroud was a permanent fixture of today’s cruise but it didn’t spoil our enjoyment. We only saw three boats on the go from start to finish, which is about as busy as we like it.

From all of this you will gather that we have at last begun our holiday. We are now moored just past Marbury Lock having enjoyed a very pleasant day’s pootling, although I was hallucinating half the time and seeing bacon sandwiches and chocolate Hobnobs on the hatch in front of me. The good news is that I didn’t wilt under the pressure of an insidious damp cold that tried to crawl up my Damart and down into my boots; more importantly, amidst all my angst, my stern rope remained neatly coiled on the back of the counter rather than being kicked into the cut. You see, I am in rehab, having been a tiller pin rope dangler in a former life.

Tomorrow, we’re planning on an early start but that sort of depends on whether we’ll be able to see our hands in front of our faces. Or indeed, a bridge or lock or similarly solid objects….

Oh, and just before you ask, yes, I’m coming to that. Weight loss this week was four and a quarter pounds – not bad. Sue of Indigo Dream was wondering whether I’d gained 30 kgs in the shape of a new greyhound…no……well, not yet….

Scalloped edge

2008-11-25T21:17:00.002Z

A low point has been reached. At today’s client lunch, when asked ‘Would madam like a side order?’, madam replied with the soul-crushing, never before spoken words, ‘Mixed leaf salad, please’. Oh god, that things should come to this….

In fact, they’d already reached a pretty pass on Saturday when we went down to Kent for lunch with A’s mum. There on the menu, leering at me, teasing me, seducing me was not one, not two but three of my favourite puds: sticky toffee, spotted dick and Eton Mess. I contented myself with just scallops. Again. I had them for lunch on Thursday and funnily enough again for lunch today. In fact, now I think about it, I am bloody sick of scallops and want a Big Mac.

Moving on....Is it only idiots that keep making the same mistake? Or maybe gluttons for punishment? We know what happens when we call into the greyhound rescue kennels ‘just to have a look’. We know, we’ve been there, got the T-shirt, got the stupid dog with his tongue hanging out in the basket, farting for England. And so why, oh why, did I say on Saturday morning, ‘Oh, as we’re going to see your mum, let’s call into Croftview on the way and have a look at the inmates.’ Big mistake…possibly. Watch this space.

P.S. We're off up to the boat on Friday and the first thing I'll be doing is dusting off my thermal underwear. I could do without the Arctic winds whistling up my jumper next week and there's only going to be a Cup o Soup between me and incipient hypothermia. I'll have to ensure the galley slave keeps a continuous supply of hot drinks coming my way, although the effort of keeping warm does burn off the calories, I believe. See, every cloud....