The weather here has taken a sudden turn and today was cold. Tomorrow I shall wear a warmer coat. I’m glad that butterbeans were already on tonight’s menu; warm and tasty, the perfect dish for an evening where winter is making itself felt.
I am hoping that MasterB’s fans are content with the Instagram pictures which appear on this page. I shall of course be putting up more photos of His Gingerness in posts here, but today he is giving way to swans.
Aunt lives by the river, and when I returned from the ham and rolls shopping trip, I saw this group of swans and had to take some photographs.
Swans in the distance
I am wondering if Blogsy can work its magic and upload a post when again I have a doubtful connection. Thanks for the comments on yesterday’s post. I replied to a few before the connection was lost. It’s a bit breezy this evening, so that may explain the intermittent signal.
But what a glorious evening. The morning was dull at first, then the sun broke through. I was out on the road, collecting my repaired boat cover, and parting with more cash than you would think necessary. Not for nothing do they say that boat stands for Bring Out Another Thousand.
By the time I got back, after a lunch with another boater who had accompanied me, at her house, the sun was doing its stuff and the day was hot. MasterB had found a cool spot on the floor and was stretched out full length. I did a bit more power washing but stopped when I realised a) MasterB was cowering in the bathroom, and b) the window seals on the port side of the rear cabin do not seal. There was an alarming flood right by the electrics. A bit of action with an old toothbrush around the window frames made me feel better, and MasterB resumed his stretched out position.
The trouble with boat cleaning is that you find all the bits that need attention. My list gets longer every visit. Not that that is spoiling my enjoyment. The moorhen and her chicks have quit the marina. Instead there is a pair of swans with their lone cygnet. The parents are proud and protective. Never have I seen a cygnet so closely chaperoned. It quite makes me fear for it when the time comes to leave home. In St James’ Park in London, the cygnets, ejected by their erstwhile adoring parents, hang around in an adolescent gang for the next year or so. There’s safety in numbers, and I imagine many lessons about getting on with their peers. What is this lone cygnet going to do? With whom will it learn from its mistakes? Continue reading
Yesterday morning I was over in Rotherhithe, walking through the old dock area, now home to a smart new library, a less new shopping centre, and lots of flats.
Some of the water has been kept, and the water fowl are well accommodated.
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Outside British Home Stores and Decathlon, one family was attracting a fair amount of attention.
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No wonder. The parents seemed to take the human interest calmly.
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I had a little problem with my car on the way home, meaning that MasterB and I sat in an isolated lane for around forty minutes waiting for the repairman. Actually MasterB lay and I stood. I moved his cat basket from the car and settled him in the shade of a tree.
The repairman would have been quicker had not the person who answered my call, yes Connor, I do mean you, given the address my mobile phone appeared to be calling from rather than where I said I was. It turns out the two are some five miles apart. The repairman, not finding me, called. He quoted the address he had. I squeaked. He took down the details I gave him. He arrived, and despite a distinct lack of underpants on top of his overalls, diagnosed and fixed the problem. Continue reading
A tranquil evening on das Boot. MasterB, a hot cat, is stretched out on the floor; mischief far from his mind. The swans are nibbling and seeking out weedy morsels below the water’s surface; they look like icebergs, or, sometimes, synchronised swimmers.
The Shouty Man is here and I am unsuccessfully blocking out his voice. Somewhere nearby a boy is shouting, and someone else up river is sharing tinny music with us. The sounds carry on the still air. I admit I’d be happier without the Shouty Man or the tinny music. A water tank has just boomed and MasterB has growled and got to his feet. A little while ago a bare chested man paddled by energetically in his canoe.
Although it is just half past eight, I should be happy to call it a day and go to bed soon. Maybe the Shouty Man and his remarkably silent companions will head for the pub.
It’s Mrs Grebe’s turn on the nest. Her two hatched babies have just tucked themselves among her feathers.
Aunt was charmed. I picked her up late morning and we drove through the back roads. She hasn’t been out and about much recently so we made a day of it and the greenery and the fields brought a smile to her face. She exclaimed repeatedly at the beauty of the countryside; the comforting chill of the car. At Reach, I suggested sitting in the pub garden, and we found a table in the shade of a tree by a mass of lavender in flower. There was a light breeze. She pronounced it perfect even before we had established if the pub could meet her gluten free requirements.
I tempted her with a white wine spritzer. Aunt was tea total until Mother and I corrupted her and she discovered a taste for Vinho Verde. However, she settled on an orange and soda and I had a grapefruit and soda. Long, cool and wonderfully refreshing.
Get the popcorn ready; feet up; and enjoy. Another little vid from the brief stay I had on das Boot last week. Enjoy!
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.
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. Continue reading
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…
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. Continue reading
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.