Mixed Emotions

I am aboard das Boot on a spring evening. I came here this afternoon, after a later start than planned, but I had been weeping over the tributes to Victoria Wood, then my nice neighbour Lawrence was helping connect my television to the internet.

I have a strong suspicion that Victoria Wood’s fame never crossed the Atlantic. In my adult life her writing and performances have been a continued pleasure. I believe sometime in the past I posted a link to her singing one of her many compositions, Let’s Do It. Check it on YouTube and you may understand what you have missed if her name is new to you.

Although I came up to das Boot a couple of weeks ago, I came by train, and met Brian who has been doing some work on my neglected vessel at the station before coming here in his car. Today was the first time I have driven East since Aunt’s funeral, and the first time I think I have ever stayed here without calling her. I want to tell her that the Great Crested Grebes are around and I am crossing my fingers they will again nest near das Boot; that there are new born lambs in the field next door, and pairs of ducks swimming about the marina; that I saw bluebells in the roadside woods, and stray tulips posing as wild flowers on the verge.

My visit is brief. I shall go home tomorrow. Last time I was here I realised the while. Brian has making the necessary improvements the boat’s interior has filled with dust. Like every man who has ever worked on das Boot, Brian does not share my philosophy regarding dust sheets. Whenever I leave, I cover the soft furnishings and the mattress, put bedding into zipped bags, with the aim of reducing the amount of spider poo and other unwelcome additions to them. Brian has removed the dust covers, folded them neatly, and not replaced them. What is it about dust covers that men don’t understand? Continue reading

Of A Less Than Ideal Roommate, Unfounded Complaints, Sunny Days and an Outing for Aunt

Down in the guest room. The woman in the flat above has a television on loud enough for it to be intrusive. I am noting this as this morning she asked me to make sure I close the door to the guest room quietly as she hears it in her flat. Fair enough, and I know that I let it shut behind me with a bang when I arrived yesterday afternoon. After which I made sure to hold onto it and control the closure.

However, she went on to tell me that I had disturbed her several times between nine and nine thirty last night. I frowned at her. She misunderstood. “You'll know now,” she said with a forgiving smile.

“I wasn't in the guest room at that time,” I explained. “I was still with my aunt.” Aunt, who was looking equally bemused by the accusation, corroborated that I had been with her. I don't mind being blamed for noise I am making, but it is a different thing if I am going to get a reputation for inconsideration when I have been nothing of the sort, especially by a woman who listens to her television at full volume, and claimed today that she goes to bed about eight.

Hmmmph.

Continue reading