Well, we had a lovely holiday last week, going out on Son's boat. The weather was sunny and cool - ideal really, except for the wind. Canal boats are essentially flat bottomed barges, and have no keel to resist being blown about by the wind. If the wind is above about 25 miles per hour you will find yourself fighting several tons of boat on the end of a thin rope.
Normally that's possible, because, again - flat bottom = easy to move around on the water. But if you're fighting the wind, the wind will win.
So, first day was a case of fighting with all our might to get up the river Trent, to get through the locks and onto the canal. It took us hours and we must have moved about four miles. We were then shattered and decided not to move the next day, but just to have a useful day pottering about doing things.
I had promised Son that I would paint the bows of the boat, which - on narrowboats - usually contain colourful designs of crescent moon, diamonds, sun, maybe a daisy-wheel, that sort of thing. Son had requested manuscript illustrations instead, so I had come armed with the drawings and the paint, and on that first day I managed to do the pink outline and the swan on the Port side (the side I could reach from the bank.)
DH fixed a light in the shower, which had been flickering, and for which he had to trace back the wiring to the skirting board, where it was revealed to have been worn back to bare metal.
After this useful day we walked to a nearby pub and had dinner, and it was all very nice and civilized and exactly what you want of a boating holiday.
The next day we made good time and I think I was steering the boat through the locks - doing the steering because we thought that would be better for my fibro than the heavy work of operating the locks. The responsibility is scary though! What if I can't get into the bank properly and have to leave DH abandoned on the side of the canal? What if I sink Son's boat?
I know I am going to have to get comfortable with this. And also comfortable with steering while sitting on the roof, because it's the only way we'll be able to cope with the physical demands of canal boating in future, but right now I am a bundle of nerves about it.
Anyway, we did eventually manage to get to Mercia Marina, and thought we would tie up to a visitor mooring there. Which was great because they had a grocery shop and restaurants/cafes, and the pontoon they moored us on allowed me access to the Starboard side of the boat.
So I spent another day painting the Starboard side. And then there was a 35 mph wind warning for the next day, so we stayed over and washed down the roof, decks and gunwhales.
Meanwhile DH discovered the location of the suspected oil and coolant leaks in the engine.
This is momentous, because we often come back to the boat to discover the engine bay absolutely awash in oily liquid, which we assumed was water coming in from somewhere - not exactly what you want in a boat. But Son had also noticed that she went through coolant by the gallon, and I had advanced the theory that perhaps the liquid filling up the engine bay was coolant rather than water.
Finding the location of both oil and coolant leaks in the engine will make it much easier to fix them, and perhaps she can have a dry well after that! Fingers crossed.
By which time it was time to start off back. We filled up with diesel and emptied the toilet before we left. Then after an easy day of cruising, when I still managed to fall in a hedge and be dragged across the towpath while DH shouted at me to let go and I refused, we moored at a lovely pub which we were warned away from, but which seemed to me to be perfectly lovely. It was very picturesque with a weeping willow and a garden sweeping down to the canal.
Son had mentioned that it was a bit creepy coming home along the towpath when it was pitch black around him, and he had wanted to put up some solar powered fairy lights to greet him and show him where his boat was. So we put those up, and they did indeed look very cheering.
On the last day we're gently going along the canal, passing moored boats on either side, listening to the distinctive throb of our boat's vintage (read - just very old) engine, when there starts to be a weird echo. Kind of a heart beat with a mirror heart beating in time. It gets closer and then we're sliding past a beautiful boat still in the livery of one of the 19th Century coal carriers.
I raise my hand and wave it excitedly at the guy at the tiller. "Same engine noise! Is it a Russel Newbury?"
"It is!" he beams. "Nothing like them!"
Which was - as Tumblr would call it - a 'same hat' moment, and oddly satisfying. A nice, geeky way to end a very productive week.
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this nice crochet crop top. Which together would make an outfit I would totally wear in real life but I hope will look fancy enough to dance in.
