Idyllic

I am off to bed now, but I just wanted to post this picture taken last night. What an idyllic way to spend a Sunday evening.

Idyllic

Back in Harness

We spent quite a while looking at cows. When we had got off the boat, or disembarked, which sounds much grander, the cows had been at the far end of the field, but as we turned from our perambulations they were close by the fence.

NotCat sat down. He watched. He lay down to give them his full attention but in comfort. I stood. The path was damp and muddy. Minutes passed. I took some photos. I got bored, and decided if we were going to watch cows all evening I wanted to sit down. I carried NotCat to the steps. The moment I had got comfortable, he lost interest in cows and turned his attention to boats. We crunched along the gravel.

NotCat did that cat thing of walking along the very edge while I held my breath and suggested the grass was nicer to paws.

Replay: January 2009 First Trip to the Pump-Out

I’m reposting three posts that appeared on MyT in January 2009 and putting them all together. I’m not claiming any wonderful literary qualities, but they remind me of how it felt then when I was just getting used to das Boot, and just how cold a boat can be in winter with the doors open…

Open Waters

I had imagined my first sortie in das Boot as a gentle and short one. Enough to convince me that I am worthy of my Helms(wo)man’s Certificate without being too challenging.

However, the toilet on das Boot dictates otherwise. Either it’s full, or something more serious is amiss. So, in a couple of weeks it’s off to the Pump-Out. The Environment Agency has sent me a lock key that I desperately hope I shan’t need. I have yet to study the map, so I am keeping my fingers crossed there’s no lock along the route.

Pump-out means emptying the tank. I’m assured it’s not difficult and I shouldn’t worry, but of course I am. Gillian McKeith would probably think it a good day out. I’ll reserve judgement.
It may turn out that the tank is not full, but that something moved where it shouldn’t have gone during das Boot’s transportation. If so, it’s a trip to the boatyard. In Putney, a young man at the chandlery where I was buying fittings for the electrical hook-up, told me that boat stands for Bring Out Another Thousand. It’s a phrase that has been proving alarmingly true.

Just Swanning Around

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I took these earlier this evening at the marina. And lots more. There’s actually a fourth photo I’d like to add, but I’m afloat, the internet connection is via my dingle and these three have taken over an hour! I want to sleep now. Maybe I’ll add it tomorrow while I have breakfast.
Sweet dreams.

Down on the Foreshore at Midday

It seems like an age since I posted any photos, and an age since I went on the the foreshore of the Thames.

Lots of people were wandering along today while the tide was out, hoping to find treasure, or an interesting piece of pottery, including me.

The swans swam by giving London a domestic air.

But this was just a bit too big to take home.

Wouldn’t it be nice…

…if  tonight Cat slept soundly and his tummy were settled.

At half past one this morning, I was woken up by a horridly unhealthy noise coming from the bathroom, then a lot of digging. We are afloat, so the geographical proximity of the litter tray to the bed where I sleep is rather closer than at home. Before the smell could invade the whole boat, I cleared it up, replenished the litter tray, tied up the black bag and left it on the gunwhale.

For breakfast, Cat enjoyed half a sachet of Sensitive Control while I had a fried egg, and I rather hoped that was that.

I spent the day with Mother, cooking quantities of root vegetables to put in her freezer, reading poetry – The Whitsun Weddings by Philip Larkin had her transfixed – doing lots washing, tidying the hot press (and discovering a missing sock in the process, these small triumphs count for a lot),  and  chatting. She struggled to get our exact relationship  clear. Today she came up with a new variation, asking me if I was her wife. She was very pleased to find I was her daughter, but asked if she was letting me down, saying she wasn’t being a very good mother. Then she said she’d love me to meet Isobel. A year ago she talked often about the circumstances of my father’s death.  Last week, she asked me why he didn’t visit her.  I never know quite where the cheese holes in her memory are going to be from visit to visit.

I got back to the boat about nine hours after I’d left it, feeling pretty tired, and glad I’d picked up a reduced pizza for an easy supper. Aboard, I discovered that Cat’s upset tum had continued while I was away, and the effects had not been confined to the litter tray. It took a bit of planning, another black bag and quite a lot of scrubbing to put things straight. Thank goodness for wipes and old newspaper.

While I was at work, one of the swan families turned up. The single parent family it seems. My knowledge of swan-sexing being on the limited side, I’m guessing it’s a female Mute Swan. She noticed my windows were open and promptly started knocking on the boat, then moving back to make eye contact with me in a clear demand for food. I’d actually brought back some of Mother’s discarded toast to feed the birds so she was lucky, but it took a while to convince her the café was closed.

Cat refused to eat anymore Sensitive Control, despite the evidence in the black bag that he needed it, and gazed  steadfastedly at the cupboard, then ate his biscuits. I put the pizza in the oven. As it cooked, Cat sat up and looked out, his ears swivelling at the sound of the cygnets nibbling at the weed around the marina. Then he asked to go out. I turned off the oven and chaperoned him ashore . Cue grass-eating. I hoped he’d take the opportunity to have a pee and a poo and if there was any more diarrhoea that it would be buried in a neat little hole off the boat. But despite my pointing out some easy dig soil, he came back on board without digging any holes.

I finally got to eat after nine o’clock. Which might explain why I’m here now, still winding down, instead of tucked up in bed asleep.

Friday Morning Photos

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Swans by the water

This morning was every bit as beautiful as yesterday. This time I took some photos. The swans are so tame they swim up as soon as you appear, so I didn’t manage to photograph them doing as many swanny things as I’d have liked.
The geese looked on derisively. Tonight they and all their pals have taken over the field. They’ll be there half the night, grazing and honking away, like habitual drinkers at a favourite pub.
Cat was happier and more relaxed when I left, sleeping in slanted sunlight.