French fancy part 1

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

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?

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

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…