Janet Eggs

Once clear of London en route for das Boot I generally stop at a supermarket for supplies, things I think I’ll need afloat – beers, coffee and so on. But not eggs. No, those I buy on the road that leads to the marina. Just a quick text to Janet Eggs to let her know I am on my way, and provided the hens are laying, half a dozen eggs are hidden in the mailbox attached to her gate.

Eggs for sale

I don’t know how many hens Janet keeps, nor do I know her real surname, though it definitely isn’t Eggs. I do know the hens are free range and that any money collected from the sale of their eggs goes to support local good causes – someone in financial straits due to illness, the victim of a hit and run accident. Janet is a farmer’s wife. Before you accuse me of sexism, it’s only her husband I seen on the big machinery, his ears shrouded in the big protectors. I know she refers to him as Daddy when talking to her dogs. She has several dogs; golden retrievers, a Jack Russell who escapes under the gate to scamper around my feet, a standard poodle. Janet has never met MasterB, but that doesn’t stop her asking if he is with me and how he is. Continue reading

Settling Down

The sun was setting as I drove the last miles over what passes for a road over the fens. I stopped to buy half a dozen eggs and the Egg Lady came out and introduced herself. She recognised me as the woman who handed her some twenty egg boxes at the start of the summer. I keep them in the boot of my car for when I come East.

We had a brief chat and I explained I was on my way to das Boot. She was interested in why I had it. I explained – Mother's move to sheltered housing, my need for somewhere to stay. She asked what I would be doing this weekend. I told her the main purpose of my visit was to see my aunt who has terminal cancer. Egg Lady promptly told me if I needed a shoulder to cry on and/or a glass of wine, I should be welcome.

She has a pack of wonderful dogs, so I may take her up on it. I told her I knew someone in Colorado who wants her weather vane.

At the marina I hurried to das Boot to run the engine and get sorted before MasterB came on board. A head poked out of a nearby boat. A boat that is newish here. The owner of the head, Gary, wanted to know if I knew the code to the toilet and shower block. He seemed a bit down. Maybe he has been waiting all day for someone to turn up and give him that information. He made some comment about there being quite a few cars here but no people. They're out on their boats, I said, gesturing to the riverfront which was conspicuously empty of craft. He seemed unimpressed. Maybe I would be too if I had been hoping for use of an onshore shower all day. Continue reading