tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36538108894423038922024-03-05T06:41:20.255+00:00Narrowboat: The Green Man.valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-76260444150112216822013-05-03T22:07:00.000+01:002013-05-03T22:07:44.918+01:00And so the reminiscing begins...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I threatened in my last post that I'd start reviewing our life aboard this boat and thought I better honour that promise. This post comes from a blog I wrote before this one was created specifically for our boat life. We were on our way back from having our hull blackened at Tooley's Boatyard in Banbury, July 24th 2006.<br />
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The Storm.<br />
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We collected the tin can on Saturday morning. It now has a lovely shiny black hull. My parents came with us to help crew for our journey back. They are gluttons for punishment.<br />
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We had not long left Banbury when the sky began to darken:<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4183/3284/200/DSCF1380blog.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" />We made it as far as Grant's Lock (only 2 miles from Tooley's) before the Gods decided to scare the living daylights out of us all.<br />
First, came the odd rumble of thunder and a flash or so of lightning. We were safe, it was far in the distance. Then the odd spot of rain fell. Before we got into the lock the world looked a little dark around the edges:<br />
<img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4183/3284/200/DSCF1384blog.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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As soon as we entered the lock, and before we knew what was happening, the storm was upon us. I had to cover my ears with my hands because the thunder was so loud. Fork lighning grounded in the fields and trees around us and my mum ran around informing us that when it strikes the windlass whoever was holding it would die. A game of Hot Potato anyone?<br />
The more <s>cowardly</s> sensible among us took shelter (already sodden) whilst those braver worked hard to get us out of the lock alive. Rob, who loves a good storm, was up for the challenge.<br />
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And scared the bejeebees out of me when he ran off with the windlass just as lightning struck somewhere a little too close by. Whilst mum and dad were discussing how bright and near it must have been, I was running around like a headless chicken shouting "WHERE'S ROB? WHERE'S ROB? OHMYGOD, THE WINDLASS KILLED HIM" just as he calmly walked in and declared that the lock was open and we were ready to go.<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4183/3284/1600/DSCF1392(edited)blog.2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4183/3284/200/DSCF1392%28edited%29blog.2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> There was nothing that we could except find a place to moor and wait for the storm to pass.</div>
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valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-77658837468588751772013-04-23T22:52:00.001+01:002013-04-24T18:31:29.281+01:00Coming to an end. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I know my posts have been sporadic for a long while now but it's time to start to wind this blog and boat down. We are moving on. And we're getting fatter.<br />
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It's been years in the planning - a home that's just a teeny-weeny bit wider than a corridor... And so...<br />
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<insert drum="" roll="">...</insert><br />
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We're building a new boat. A fat boat. I've heard rumours how unacceptable a wide beam narrowboat can be - our neighbours are often blanked by their narrower counterparts as they traverse the river - but why? A boat is a boat is a boat and the river is big enough for all of us. And we don't fit in our boat anymore - there's just too much of us and our lives crammed in and overflowing. I want floor space, I want to not have to store out-of-season clothes at my mum and dad's house, I want a room that I can study in in peace and Rob wants a room he can play music in without me telling him off for scaring the cat away...<br />
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So, wide beam it is. We were offered a choice of just how wide to go and suddenly we found ourselves greedy for space. There's wide and there's <i>wide. </i>12ft then, it seems. I'm actually terrified of this thought, the fear of feeling lost in a space that I don't take up the majority of, but Rob promised me I'd be able to have <i>all</i> my books onboard (oh, to liberate them from garages and attics!) and how could I refuse? <br />
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But it means saying good bye to The Green Man and that will hurt. This was our first real home together, built by Rob and dad (some of us attempted to help and just caused more work...) but we're not ready to leave just yet. We'll be here until work is complete on our new boat and that's looking like it'll be the end of the summer. This blog will remain open until The Green Man is in the kind hands of new owners. But until then, there is a real danger that I'll spam the blog with photos of our eight years of life onboard. Just thought I'd warn you...<br />
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If you'd like to join us and see our new boat and life unfolding then pop over to <a href="http://thegabbleratchet.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">here</a> and join in the fun (and d.i.y. disasters). This will be the home of our new boat blog, The Gabble Ratchet (I'll explain the name in a future post over there) and when I've figured out the new Blogger style - what have they done to the layout widget? - I'll add you all to my new blogroll. You can do blogrolls on the new style, yes? I've not found it yet...<br />
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I hope to see you over there.<br />
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V.</div>
valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-4894705506524546662012-11-29T00:58:00.000+00:002012-11-29T00:58:04.425+00:00DON'T DRIVE INTO FLOOD WATER!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm not known for my common sense. I know, I know, that's a major revelation. But I'm chuffed to announce that I have far more sense than the bloke who tried to drive down the lane to the marina this afternoon. It didn't end well for his car. And I suspect that he might be feeling a little embarrassed too, especially since I sent this photo to the local radio station who put it on their Facebook page for everyone to comment on. And they have, most of it involved insults and swearing though so it's probably best not repeated here...<br />
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Thankfully, no one was hurt (if you don't include pride) in the events of this afternoon but, sadly, a Rover did die. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He'll have fun explaining this to the missus when he gets home.</td></tr>
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valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-79403314553745801272012-11-25T13:51:00.001+00:002012-11-25T13:55:36.292+00:00Floods!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The cat has an uncanny ability to tell us when it's going to flood. She went a bit frenetic a few days prior to the 2007 flooding when she obsessed over a puddle in the car park and "eergh"ed at it. My response was to say "yes, puddle. Pud-dle. Well done, kitty." The next day, however, the puddle had engulfed the marina and cut us off from land.<br />
On Thursday Lolly started behaving oddly again. I think she wanted to evacuate the marina. I jokingly told the manager that she knew we were in for some bad flooding. And lo, it flooded and the water is still rising. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rescuing cars from the car park.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mYJZumH9Tjk/ULIeB1B6LSI/AAAAAAAABpk/DUxSaYEYmBs/s1600/bikelanesplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mYJZumH9Tjk/ULIeB1B6LSI/AAAAAAAABpk/DUxSaYEYmBs/s320/bikelanesplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob cycling down the lane.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SXTxUArBEnw/ULIeSpBdiMI/AAAAAAAABps/MSHnapOR_HY/s1600/roadsuz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SXTxUArBEnw/ULIeSpBdiMI/AAAAAAAABps/MSHnapOR_HY/s320/roadsuz.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, in the lane. Or the Thames depending on how you choose to look at it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCiLiPga-Pzn3fZtexGVDV2tJ-GkNZZ70LMZEbEyaWOHTzJkL85mS4iH0ZTz9KfBZtLGQ7c_qb7zAswRvsyfuTPDPLsSDRaHotW_EtDYrLefY7FDevahH6EUWgE2DzQssimdRH5tx7Doc/s1600/garden1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCiLiPga-Pzn3fZtexGVDV2tJ-GkNZZ70LMZEbEyaWOHTzJkL85mS4iH0ZTz9KfBZtLGQ7c_qb7zAswRvsyfuTPDPLsSDRaHotW_EtDYrLefY7FDevahH6EUWgE2DzQssimdRH5tx7Doc/s320/garden1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bye, bye garden.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlD4FdhZ9oc/ULIe2kORdHI/AAAAAAAABp8/2rnRPkJS77g/s1600/parksuz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlD4FdhZ9oc/ULIe2kORdHI/AAAAAAAABp8/2rnRPkJS77g/s320/parksuz.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having a read in the park.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlZuD6GYhUv1VXOrN2HIAU5A-9-I9hs8fzB7wcJHIKN0kSzMvXkY6O_LXy-BcGm05F4RpNeHBQKsitA7Q85qtxADmCIds3bEgPK-buweZzG_1cNA3C9W0RhKDOUTpCn5OfGbGAECC1d8/s1600/bikepark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlZuD6GYhUv1VXOrN2HIAU5A-9-I9hs8fzB7wcJHIKN0kSzMvXkY6O_LXy-BcGm05F4RpNeHBQKsitA7Q85qtxADmCIds3bEgPK-buweZzG_1cNA3C9W0RhKDOUTpCn5OfGbGAECC1d8/s320/bikepark.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob cycling through the park.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GeSIsFRzIok/ULIfN29gewI/AAAAAAAABqM/FWtQMGnLKNc/s1600/park1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GeSIsFRzIok/ULIfN29gewI/AAAAAAAABqM/FWtQMGnLKNc/s320/park1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least it's stopped raining.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m6T0rUrR-is/ULIfmWruchI/AAAAAAAABqc/l4fdmb_dXXc/s1600/park2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m6T0rUrR-is/ULIfmWruchI/AAAAAAAABqc/l4fdmb_dXXc/s320/park2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abingdon Marina Park. I remember when all that used to be land...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TI2qYiqWt08/ULIf-MW-R7I/AAAAAAAABqk/H3bGzSMgN-Y/s1600/2012-11-24+11.32.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TI2qYiqWt08/ULIf-MW-R7I/AAAAAAAABqk/H3bGzSMgN-Y/s320/2012-11-24+11.32.37.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A braver man than me. It doesn't take much, mind.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3vum1r-M7x77U-MRdQjXLJoaf0bgROOdLMh5IXG8PZKy1jSTtpCzJeycJqxBASW4Ne60qOeEvJsTBTHuPggEHH40A9mj21lyehAXx-dxdRpyFH10I2fKjPqLFJNnnpwJZj3RQxFM3Ps/s1600/standuppaddleboarding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3vum1r-M7x77U-MRdQjXLJoaf0bgROOdLMh5IXG8PZKy1jSTtpCzJeycJqxBASW4Ne60qOeEvJsTBTHuPggEHH40A9mj21lyehAXx-dxdRpyFH10I2fKjPqLFJNnnpwJZj3RQxFM3Ps/s320/standuppaddleboarding.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy didn't tempt fate on the main flow of the Thames. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GPUZ6IUSLqLkQtmlMy_dtv4p1Aofd0NPRuhGU3j7tdfYT59hbppNKQ6GMYlb2Jd3muKURsRZU81rLZgIF7o_Ea0pICWs6b4h5FuUk77ACBGQiaTA3AcbCpzLaulA1AZzg327LkRR6mo/s1600/parkbench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GPUZ6IUSLqLkQtmlMy_dtv4p1Aofd0NPRuhGU3j7tdfYT59hbppNKQ6GMYlb2Jd3muKURsRZU81rLZgIF7o_Ea0pICWs6b4h5FuUk77ACBGQiaTA3AcbCpzLaulA1AZzg327LkRR6mo/s320/parkbench.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bench I sat on to read is now underwater. Rob is having fun.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t5gzIGW2pxo/ULIhEel3crI/AAAAAAAABq8/4aR9rQYJ2Kw/s1600/wilshamrd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t5gzIGW2pxo/ULIhEel3crI/AAAAAAAABq8/4aR9rQYJ2Kw/s320/wilshamrd.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moorings on Wilsham Road.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ejnyIJHio1M/ULIhSXbAOSI/AAAAAAAABrE/iKFRNZBp4jE/s1600/abbeymeadowssuz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ejnyIJHio1M/ULIhSXbAOSI/AAAAAAAABrE/iKFRNZBp4jE/s320/abbeymeadowssuz.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Below Abingdon Lock at Abbey Meadows.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uyOdzTgdr_g/ULIhfTTsBMI/AAAAAAAABrM/uTYxRZZzM4Y/s1600/abbeymeadowboat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uyOdzTgdr_g/ULIhfTTsBMI/AAAAAAAABrM/uTYxRZZzM4Y/s320/abbeymeadowboat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moorings in Abbey Meadows. They're going to need a reeeealllly long gangplank.</td></tr>
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valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-24870212152077020202012-11-19T16:42:00.001+00:002012-11-19T16:42:21.504+00:00Samhain.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is always a special time for us. The last few years have seen a muted observance of the occasion due to my poor health but since I am on the mend we decided it was about time to return to our old ways of marking Samhain.<br />
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We decorated the inside of the boat with foliage of Autumnal hues:<br />
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And carved pumpkins:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZK4kqGubpnsyzhfNhAiZjkGOLew4sZwBm2QEv5NUYMCMkEjcdoiQFTE2WwD-n5f6FAPFNihPUh8-rtmgucuYy0SpVMvZlW_nyfxZW525jYkUyeeFCIoSLOqegZYvMr2RTxnKvUIvYCM/s1600/pumpkinlittle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZK4kqGubpnsyzhfNhAiZjkGOLew4sZwBm2QEv5NUYMCMkEjcdoiQFTE2WwD-n5f6FAPFNihPUh8-rtmgucuYy0SpVMvZlW_nyfxZW525jYkUyeeFCIoSLOqegZYvMr2RTxnKvUIvYCM/s320/pumpkinlittle.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby pumpkin.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Se7NDO4k31Q/UKpdUU0pYKI/AAAAAAAABoY/6aIbZPtMStI/s1600/pumpkinhorse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Se7NDO4k31Q/UKpdUU0pYKI/AAAAAAAABoY/6aIbZPtMStI/s320/pumpkinhorse.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see the outline of a horse in there?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Rob made a pumpkin scarecrow to scare our guests:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eXV_B2Sw4bI/UKpelULxv9I/AAAAAAAABoo/u46iKa8wvr8/s1600/pumpkinman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eXV_B2Sw4bI/UKpelULxv9I/AAAAAAAABoo/u46iKa8wvr8/s320/pumpkinman.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PkvaYkzIOsw/UKpetscO0zI/AAAAAAAABow/Xk_QY_ZU_Uw/s1600/pumpkinmanandrobfromhels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PkvaYkzIOsw/UKpetscO0zI/AAAAAAAABow/Xk_QY_ZU_Uw/s320/pumpkinmanandrobfromhels.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob loves Pumpkin Man.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F15z4-0mpT8/UKpfVhSJcDI/AAAAAAAABo4/AGACwaf0s5Q/s1600/2012-10-31+19.20.13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F15z4-0mpT8/UKpfVhSJcDI/AAAAAAAABo4/AGACwaf0s5Q/s320/2012-10-31+19.20.13.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scary, eh?</td></tr>
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And he made a stew and I baked gingerbread cats, enough to feed ten people (as that's as many as we can cram into the boat):<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--tqCnfbxYTQ/UKpf27QGKEI/AAAAAAAABpI/TPXJgD9L5Y0/s1600/crammingeveryoneinthedark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--tqCnfbxYTQ/UKpf27QGKEI/AAAAAAAABpI/TPXJgD9L5Y0/s320/crammingeveryoneinthedark.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We didn't really make everyone sit in the dark *cough*.</td></tr>
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We also set aside a bowl of stew for those that couldn't be with us. Later, when all was dark and still and everyone had gone home to their beds, we took the time to think of those we miss.<br />
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valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-43005086756933570272012-10-22T12:47:00.002+01:002012-10-22T12:47:56.471+01:00Abingdon Traditional Morris Dancers (Cotswold Tradition).<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Abingdon Traditional Morris Dancers performed yesterday at The Cherry Tree in Steventon. I managed to take a few photographs (especially of Rob in his bells) as they entertained us from the pub car park and afterwards as they played music back in the warmth of the pub.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dGv57R-9xwk/UIUlU4S8ptI/AAAAAAAABl0/N-jr5qI6av8/s1600/IMG_20121021_170823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dGv57R-9xwk/UIUlU4S8ptI/AAAAAAAABl0/N-jr5qI6av8/s200/IMG_20121021_170823.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moo?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-17WocF_m_Tc/UIUly8vZ3qI/AAAAAAAABl8/Rh1hGHCqtEM/s1600/IMG_20121021_172901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-17WocF_m_Tc/UIUly8vZ3qI/AAAAAAAABl8/Rh1hGHCqtEM/s200/IMG_20121021_172901.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parading the Horns.</td></tr>
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The Ock Street Horns are always present at an ATMD performance. History states that after a bit of an ox roast dinner and drinking session in 1700 a fight broke out in the town between the men of Ock Street and The Vineyard. Ock Street won the scuffle and took the horns as a trophy. Sounds like a regular Friday night to me...<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_6XtTgp8Fag/UIUnZr5oxzI/AAAAAAAABmM/mxg_ayyIQiY/s1600/IMG_20121021_172715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_6XtTgp8Fag/UIUnZr5oxzI/AAAAAAAABmM/mxg_ayyIQiY/s200/IMG_20121021_172715.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Fool.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j_mRI9pXE3o/UIUnKUemb6I/AAAAAAAABmE/qH58C15iYQo/s1600/IMG_20121021_172643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j_mRI9pXE3o/UIUnKUemb6I/AAAAAAAABmE/qH58C15iYQo/s200/IMG_20121021_172643.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mayor of Ock Street.</td></tr>
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The side also includes the Mayor of Ock Street who is elected every
year by the residents of Ock Street and carries a chalice and sword as
his symbols of his office, and, of course, there is the fool. What's a
morris side without a fool?<br />
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The dancers and the musicians:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8iCuyrayr1E/UIUo61WlhJI/AAAAAAAABmU/TOHTKj4JThg/s1600/IMG_20121021_172814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8iCuyrayr1E/UIUo61WlhJI/AAAAAAAABmU/TOHTKj4JThg/s200/IMG_20121021_172814.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicGLMaHzHv5qf-yRWZ3-iG5S7Ktc1ab44DyjxxD_eulCH2ixtr7NB6KZrJrvzjbOG0zNyL5BgES5gP0BC50RCTD-E3sb0SVI8FZx9wdt5H8DXykBl1gAbEEcnkWxJ2Y-yqZGayLvAhsMc/s1600/IMG_20121021_172428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicGLMaHzHv5qf-yRWZ3-iG5S7Ktc1ab44DyjxxD_eulCH2ixtr7NB6KZrJrvzjbOG0zNyL5BgES5gP0BC50RCTD-E3sb0SVI8FZx9wdt5H8DXykBl1gAbEEcnkWxJ2Y-yqZGayLvAhsMc/s200/IMG_20121021_172428.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OESJe5UKgQA/UIUpy6wVtWI/AAAAAAAABmk/UNPvfshBYJ0/s1600/IMG_20121021_171010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OESJe5UKgQA/UIUpy6wVtWI/AAAAAAAABmk/UNPvfshBYJ0/s200/IMG_20121021_171010.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I recognise him.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And back into the warmth of the pub for a spot of music:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GIGxWeFFYJQ/UIUqf3b1tNI/AAAAAAAABms/yjibWSLDK9U/s1600/DSCF5443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GIGxWeFFYJQ/UIUqf3b1tNI/AAAAAAAABms/yjibWSLDK9U/s320/DSCF5443.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixtsh1yfTNyBfYhwtCCR8zGgq0D2a0sADkvRmGQx01lDY5n68hFL2uZwnomvV3G7Gn64ELr3dRR8qAaKDXcqQO3gqjJrmqZnmSeP_Uu5_yaZnU6Jbe1jUiuL6q1ii9ex4RWlRCjRkvFFI/s1600/DSCF5455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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Want to know how they sounded? <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzRyc_tjszLcJECrzzTYNsLFP99gytzxEWkbzEwOWJSqkUHIjIuMPJlI8ms_ewyBzcFKMIgwvwFsZm1SGNjdw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-83107603412199231192012-10-20T14:14:00.001+01:002012-10-20T14:33:29.507+01:00Through the rude wind's wild lament and the bitter weather.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The title of this post consists of a couple of lines from that old classic Yuletide carol Good King Wenceslas which is primarily about saintly behaviour. I wouldn’t know anything about that and so will ignore it and tell you that my main reason for including it in this post is because of it’s references to the harshness of winter conditions and the need to gather “winter fu(ooo)el”.<br />
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<br />
Ah yes, winter fuel. Where was I on that? I was <a href="http://www.nbthegreenman.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/candle-bridge-canal-carrying-company.html" target="_blank">here</a>, wondering what had become of ours.<br />
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In a last ditch attempt at trying to locate our order I phoned the Candle Bridge Carrying Company on Tuesday and used my Stern Voice to scare the man into delivering it. I was given a lot of excuses (none of which included problems with the delivery lorries as previously stated) and was promised (on pain of death, I like to think) that our coal would be with us on Thursday.<br />
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Thursday came and I phoned to double check. Yes, our coal would arrive that afternoon...<br />
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And lo! it did. There was much rejoicing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uv0huE35YdM/UIKWsatS4WI/AAAAAAAABlA/gVlPelyBA_g/s1600/IMG_20121018_153203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" nea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uv0huE35YdM/UIKWsatS4WI/AAAAAAAABlA/gVlPelyBA_g/s200/IMG_20121018_153203.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woooohoooo!</td></tr>
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But coal isn't our only source of warmth this year. We're using bees. Not literally. We're not setting fire to them or anything. I don't imagine they would give off much warmth if we did and they probably wouldn't appreciate it either. We’re using the wood waste from the production of beehives. It comes in compact blocks from <a href="http://www.burningblocks.co.uk/beekind-wood-briquettes/" target="_blank">Burning Blocks</a> and leaves us happy in the knowledge that we're being a little bit more environmentally friendly than we would be if using coal alone. And we're doing our part to support <a href="http://www.bees-online.co.uk/" target="_blank">Maisemore Apiaries</a>. So perhaps we are a little saintly after all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jqe3JU2lAQY/UIKc5KznPRI/AAAAAAAABlU/yWwckUaAugE/s1600/IMG_20121020_101856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" nea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jqe3JU2lAQY/UIKc5KznPRI/AAAAAAAABlU/yWwckUaAugE/s200/IMG_20121020_101856.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No bees were harmed in the search for winter warmth.</td></tr>
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valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-38772059174108765452012-10-17T00:00:00.001+01:002012-10-17T00:01:42.725+01:00Chalky horses and not the fruit I was expecting. How cryptic a title is that?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There's a lot of white horses in Wiltshire, the hill carving kind of white horse - but you already knew that, didn't you?</div>
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We had a mad plan to visit eight of them all in one day. Yes, eight. We're nothing but ambitious... And a bit rubbish as it turns out: we managed two of them and a kiwi (not the fruit. I expected a hill carving of a fruit, imagine my disappointment). </div>
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I grew up near the White Horse of Kilburn and thought Yorkshire was unique in its ownership of such a magnificent feature (where the Fey resided beneath) but it turns out I was wrong (about the uniqueness, not the Fey, obviously) and you can't move for falling over a white horse down south.</div>
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Our first horse was in Malborough. The Malborough or Preshute horse is a bit anorexic these days. It apparently used to be a bit bulkier when it was first carved into Granham Hill by boys from Mr. Greasley's Acadamey in 1804.<span style="color: black;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2PEknPNDOA/UH3ZRPUCDMI/AAAAAAAABkM/KBKZDzWsdQo/s1600/IMG_20121016_182938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2PEknPNDOA/UH3ZRPUCDMI/AAAAAAAABkM/KBKZDzWsdQo/s320/IMG_20121016_182938.jpg" width="320" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, it really is a horse.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">We were still confident in our ability to fill our day with vast numbers of hill figures at this point and eagerly made our way to our next destination. Well, it wasn't even lunch time and the day still loomed large and bright ahead of us. We were, however, reliant on my map reading skills and "umm" apparently should never be the answer to "which way now?" or "where are we?".</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">We did find our way to the new Pewsey Horse on Pewsey Hill (helpfully named there) and stopped here to have our lunch. This horse is definitely more horse-like and well worth the climb up the VERY STEEP hill to get to - even if it was just to giggle at the 'Animals please shut the gate' sign. Well, it was in a field of (literate) cows. This one was carved in 1937 to mark the Coronation of George VI.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t6j1qmUSlPg/UH3bdvjwyeI/AAAAAAAABkU/Ox64gU2Xa08/s1600/IMG_20121016_193332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t6j1qmUSlPg/UH3bdvjwyeI/AAAAAAAABkU/Ox64gU2Xa08/s320/IMG_20121016_193332.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually, it does look a little whippet-like.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;">Did I mention the VERY STEEP hill? There was a lovely view from the top of it but I did have to hide behind Rob and use him to block my view of the sheer(ish) drop to clamber back down.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9afyVIBTwHA/UH3cTcUJqdI/AAAAAAAABkc/0pip6vzRtoY/s1600/IMG_20121016_183043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9afyVIBTwHA/UH3cTcUJqdI/AAAAAAAABkc/0pip6vzRtoY/s320/IMG_20121016_183043.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't look down.Don't look down. Don't look down...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It was mid afternoon by the time I had been edged down the mountain (I may have upgraded the hill status here) and so we thought we'd make one final push to fit in another hill figure so we could be home in time for tea.</div>
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My navigational skills had improved somewhat by now although I did become a little concerned when we drove down Gaza Road. Gaza? What?</div>
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Gaza Road is next to Baghdad Road and that's not disconcerting at all... Turns out we were in Bulford Barracks and here we found a kiwi (not the fruit) carved into the side of Beacon Hill. It was carved in 1919 by the Canterbury and Otago Engineers Battalions awaiting their homeward voyage to New Zealand.</div>
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It took us a while to find and I was becoming a bit worried that driving endlessly around an army barrack in a white van was a bit conspicuous. There's nothing like vast amounts of razor wire fencing to make one feel welcome. After climbing the hill to see the kiwi and finding a notice about improvised explosive devices I declared that being arrested/shot at/water tortured for looking suspiciously out of place (and clearly dressed as a hiker) was not on our To Do list that day and decided it was time to head for home.</div>
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valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-71208283584128861002012-10-15T00:39:00.001+01:002013-04-16T15:21:40.057+01:00Candle Bridge Canal Carrying Company – Archimedes.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This year we had the opportunity to buy our winter coal and diesel supplies from a traditional canal carrying company. We jumped at the chance as it’s not often we see deliveries by working boats on the upper Thames. It turns out that there’s probably a reason for this: Maidenhead and Reading are full of treacle. <br />
I know that sounds a little odd but it’s the only logical explanation I can come up with that adequately accounts for our lack of coal (that we’ve already paid for). The Candle Bridge Carrying Company *did* bring us diesel and a few bags of coal by river and it was marvellous – can’t fault that at all. Loved it. It was a week or so late but it’s narrowboating and narrowboating rules dictate that Thou Shalt Not Be On Time (it’s a pain of death thing. NEVER break this rule. You have been warned).<br />
<img alt="IMG_20121002_105734" border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhBYyisYEXsbsJTlMjhRDsViyQw20bTyJTcfTzIpR8sUDZfLJlZI05zI21R7CyL6FrQ00yfzunFzK9aVp_QD-uD6qlvqz2ytmlhCJth9_fQ4W38k5aFgLNOtizLfer4w0Lu8DP9fe9LY9/?imgmax=800" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="IMG_20121002_105734" width="244" /><br />
Achimedes struggled a little in our shallow moorings but eventually was secure enough to enable us to moor alongside and fill our tank. Unfortunately, there had been a problem with the lorry delivering coal to Archimedes when she was in Reading earlier that week and so instead of the 60 bags of coal we ordered (divided between 2 boats) we received 15. Not so bad really, that’s plenty to be getting on with and we were told the rest would be delivered by lorry two days later. Great.<br />
Two days later (Monday) and the coal didn’t arrive - but that’s still okay because we were promised it by the Wednesday… <br />
No coal. Still, we have bags of it and we were *definitely* promised our coal by the following Monday.<br />
Monday came. Our coal didn’t. It’s okay though, because it’ll be here by Friday.<br />
No, I mean Monday… Wednesday… Saturday… Next week… Or the week after… Make that 2 more weeks… Sometime in the future… <br />
Apparently the lorry got stuck in Maidenhead this time. Or was it Reading again? Or both?. Like I said – treacle problems down south, obviously. Traffic is unable to move south of Wallingford. Is the country slowly sinking into a tin of Tate & Lyle? <br />
Or perhaps the narrowboating timing rule applies to lorries too? That might make a little more sense than my treacle hypothesis. Let’s just pretend I never mentioned the treacle…<br />
But still, where’s our coal? It would be nice to have it some time this year. *Please*? <--- There’s a note of begging in the tone with which that plea should be read.<br />
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<u>Addendum:</u><br />
I have since spoken with Jay from the Candle Bridge Carrying Company and he would like to have it made clear that his company is separate from that of the coal merchants who caused the above difficulties. I would also like to make it known, as I wrote in the post above, that we had no issues with the service Jay provided upholding his end of the business transaction by bringing us fuel via the waterways. I was not aware at the original time of writing that the Candle Bridge Carrying Company operated separately to the coal merchants and was under the impression that they were two branches of the same company. I would therefore like to officially state that we would be happy to conduct future business with the Candle Bridge Carrying Company and hope this sentiment is reciprocated. I reiterate: it was all the coal merchant's fault...<br />
16.04.2013.</div>
valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-23712238418310375892012-10-14T16:21:00.001+01:002012-10-14T16:21:49.880+01:00Fruit and alcohol. Mainly alcohol…<p>There was a thick fog hanging over the river at 6.30 this morning and this afternoon the sun shines so warmly that there’s no need for a jumper. I love this time of year.</p> <p> Another reason why I love autumn is because of the harvests it brings. I have never been religious but I used to look forward to the Harvest Festival in the Methodist church opposite my school. Not for the<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-onOLkQp2HhU/UHrYW8MdKGI/AAAAAAAABi0/FMn96CIWmiE/s1600-h/DSCF5381%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: 0px" title="DSCF5381" border="0" alt="DSCF5381" align="right" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-7HHn03FlwFs/UHrYYAJaeBI/AAAAAAAABi8/69PfoiG7YrY/DSCF5381_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="184" /></a> service itself, but because of the wonderful display of produce. And then we sang songs at the fruit and vegetables. Excellent. </p> <p> </p> <p>This year the hedgerows have been abundant in their offerings. For us it is the God of Booze that is worshipped and to whom we make our sacrifices (does that make us sound like alcoholics? In case it does I’d like to mention that I love tea too: I love tea too...). But how can you pass up the opportunity for liqueur, whisky and gin when all this is on your boaty doorstep? <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ZqQKLpkCVhw/UHrYZyX9HMI/AAAAAAAABjE/u-oK2WW1JDg/s1600-h/DSCF5387%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: 0px" title="DSCF5387" border="0" alt="DSCF5387" align="right" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-GWOr8I4DcqY/UHrYbriFQ3I/AAAAAAAABjM/aXBZTPn5Nw4/DSCF5387_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="184" /></a></p> <p> <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-EiW22j4abxI/UHrYdP2ChbI/AAAAAAAABjU/BdTIQfKuSsk/s1600-h/DSCF5377%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; margin-left: 0px; border-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; border-right: 0px" title="DSCF5377" border="0" alt="DSCF5377" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-G7Hdg0ULe_w/UHrYeykz4yI/AAAAAAAABjc/A7wacfHXIqU/DSCF5377_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="192" height="252" /></a></p> <p>We usually make b<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-sC5IJNCyQD4/UHrYhGy9-6I/AAAAAAAABjk/8jv6k8UkoFc/s1600-h/DSCF5394%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: 0px" title="DSCF5394" border="0" alt="DSCF5394" align="left" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-qqvHj2Oc5jo/UHrYi5I9GMI/AAAAAAAABjs/3MGjUCHl8S4/DSCF5394_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="184" height="244" /></a>lackberry whisky and sloe gin every year but this time round I wanted to utilise the hips. There are so many and it seemed a waste not to add them to our alcohol collection. The lovely <a href="https://twitter.com/nbluckyduck" target="_blank">@nbluckyduck</a> of the fabulous <a href="http://www.nbluckyduck.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">nbluckyduck</a> blog suggested I try a liqueur recipe from the <a href="http://foraginglondon.wordpress.com/2010/11/26/rosehip-liquer/" target="_blank">Foraging London</a> blog. I must say, it smells divine and very Christmassy already. I think it will be a huge success so I’m not sure whether it will last until Yule time as, well, you know, it has to be tested… a lot. Quality Control and all that…</p> valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-58348091895046681872012-03-14T23:54:00.002+00:002012-03-16T19:01:27.957+00:00The cat that (probably against her better judgement) came to live on a boat.There are three questions we’re commonly asked about life on a boat by those who have no boating experience:<br /><br />1. Do you have a toilet?<br />2. What do you do in winter when it’s cold?<br />3. Do cats make good pets on boats?<br /><br />Well, yes we do have a toilet. And a shower. And a washing machine. And a dryer. We also have a TV, a microwave, a fridge and a cooker. This isn't the Dark Ages, don't you know? We can't use all the electrical appliances at once though. That would cause the universe to implode. When it’s cold outside we shut the doors and when it’s really cold we light the stove. When we are two foot deep in snow and frozen in our mooring we also switch on the diesel heater – or just when we want to have a shower; it heats our hot water. Cats are like people; some like boats and others don't. My neighbour is currently out searching for his as she didn't fancy a boat trip and has gone into hiding. I imagine a lot of cats do make good pets and crew members but ours doesn't - she’s rubbish. She never helps at locks and if you pass her a mooring line she stares at you before walking nonchalantly away. A dog would probably be better. At least dogs look enthusiastic most of the time.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007t67r/"><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007t67r/s640x480" width="360" height="480" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br />The last answer isn't quite good enough for the enquiring people of this world. Why, they demand to know, do we make her live in such abject poverty and pikiness?<br /><br />Well, truth be told, I think she secretly likes it. She’s still here for a start and since she’s a squatter it’s obviously a step up from where she came from. I’d usually go on to tell the unsuspecting passer-by Lolly’s life story but they’re no longer listening. No. They’re too enamoured by the cat lolling at their feet waiting for her belly to be scratched and have, by this time anyway, lost the ability to talk properly. “Poor kitty-catty, do the nasty-wasty people make you live on a boaty-woaty?”<br /><br />It's at this point that I threaten mutiny unless Lolly tells them the truth. She never does and I never mutiny. Who would own me if I did?<br />So, this is the story of Lolly’s boating career otherwise known as How We Came to be Owned by a Cat.<br /><br />She found us on a warm September day in 2005. We’d gone for a walk to take advantage of the late summer sunshine. I like to think that we were putting the world to rights and making last minute wedding plans as we strolled but a) I can't remember and b) I was excused from wedding planning on the basis that I was useless.<br /><br />Cue the entrance of a little scrawny black and white cat. She pounced on us from out of the hedgerow. We had no warning other than a harrowing “eeerrrrrgh” as she charged at our ankles.<br /><br />“She’s broken.” I remember saying as a furry mass of bones with massive green eyes looked up at us, for that wasn't a proper meow.<br /><br />“Eeerrrrgh.” She confirmed.<br /><br />We decided to work on the basis that she was lost. It never occurred to us that she could’ve been abandoned or never had a home at all. So, we led her back towards town in the hope that she’d find her bearings and return home. She didn't. She stayed with us that night.<br /><br />When we led her to our boat she uttered a pitiful “eeergh!” I think she was hoping for a house. I could tell that she wanted to know whether we had a toilet and was conrned for our well-being during inclement weather.* "It’s okay,” I soothed, “we do in fact have a toilet. It flushes and everything.”<br /><br />I lied to her to get her onboard. I told her we had cat food (we didn't) and that we in no way whatsoever had any other pets (we did). Eventually she followed us in.<br /><br />“Oh,” I said feigning surprise, “we have rats. Did I mention the rats?” Nobby and Tain eyed her through the bars of their cage. They were expecting dinner. Her eyes grew in size when she saw them. I think the rest of her head disappeared at some point because all I remember are those massive green eyes. Still, she was only going to be with us overnight – how could the rats possibly eat her in that space of time (I neglected to tell her that they could open their cage by themselves and that Tain, the smallest of the two, already had an appetite for spiders – not their legs though. He’d leave them in a neat pile once he was done. I had visions of waking up the following morning and finding a set of cat legs)?<br /><br />Since we didn't have anything even vaguely resembling cat food I gave her a bowl of Cheerios. “Eeeergh!” She said, but she ate them regardless.<br /><br />The following day I took her to the vet’s. The receptionists declared that she was the most beautiful cat they’d ever seen. Of course she is, I thought, she’s our- I had to stop myself there. She wasn't ours and we weren't keeping her. The rats would eat her, I reminded myself. She’d hate living on a boat – everyone knows cats hate water...<br /><br />There was much “oohing” and “ahhing” by the nurse too. She told me the cat was at least six months old (or thereabouts) and had either just had a litter of kittens or had reabsorbed them because her body couldn't sustain them in the condition she was in. And “ooh, doesn't she have big, beautiful eyes?”<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007r644/"><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007r644" width="570" height="428" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br />“Kittens? But she IS a kitten?” I pointed at the tiny bundle of fluff. They start young, apparently.<br /><br />“You’re a right proper Lolita.” I told her as we left the surgery. I decided against leaving her there after all.<br /><br />We took her back to where we’d found her in the vague hope that she’d lead us to any kittens if she’d had any. She never did and after a thorough search we came to the conclusion that she’d never given birth.<br /><br />Once we were home I made posters to put up around the town. Rob phoned the Cat’s Protection League. If she had owners we would find them - Someone somewhere would be missing her.<br /><br />We thought we’d better name her in the interim. Calling her Kitty and Hey You only went so far (and she ignored them) and she wasn't so keen on Lolita. I think she was worried about her reputation. “Too late for that.” I reminded her, but still, she never answered to Lolita. My dad suggested shortening it to Lolly so we tried it out on her. We waited until she was distracted and I called “Lolly”.<br /><br />She turned and looked at me.<br /><br />That was probably a fluke so I tried the name out on her again. She responded. I later tried out a variety of other names and words that sounded similar. She didn't care for Molly, Brolly, Tolly, Colly, Dolly Holly or Polly. Ok, some of those I’d clearly made up.<br /><br />“Lolly” I tried again.<br /><br />She turned her big green eyes upon me.<br /><br />That’s just not normal. Still, Lolly it would be. I tried calling her again just to make sure. She actually got up and walked over to me. I guess she liked that name... Or was expecting food.<br /><br />No one ever did come forward to claim her and after a couple of weeks Rob declared that he’d found her a proper home – a home with a garden and a home that didn't move or was surrounded by water. Everybody knows cats hate water, he reminded me.<br /><br />It was time to say goodbye.<br /><br />Only I couldn't. I <i>did</i> try but I was in love and Lolly had settled in (if you didn't count being chased by rats and the odd tumble into the water).<br /><br />I decided to sit her down and have a chat.<br /><br />“There’s some people who want you to live with them.” I told her as calmly and with as few tears as possible. “They have a garden. And it isn’t full of water”.<br /><br />“Eeerrgh!” Lolly said.<br /><br />“Blame Rob.” I replied. “He obviously doesn’t love you as much as me.” Really, I wasn't at fault for giving her up.<br /><br />She looked at me.<br /><br />I broke.<br /><br />“I think cats like water just fine.” I said, knowing full well that this particular one didn't.<br /><br />“If you stay and you’re sad or you’re eaten by rats you’ve only got yourself to blame.” I really would feel responsible. “Are you telling Rob or should I?”<br /><br />It turned out that it’d be my job. It also turned out (as I suspected all along) that Rob too had fallen in love with the scrawny bag of bones that had come to stay and our life would no longer be defined by us alone. No, we had inadvertently become human pets. Cunning. Cats are nothing if not cunning.<br /><br />(She was never eaten by the rats, just in case you were worried. They did chase her a lot though).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007skq4/"><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007skq4" width="640" height="480" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br />* I may have made that bit up.valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-59445166020884842452011-10-18T20:52:00.004+01:002011-10-18T21:09:26.395+01:00Preserving the old ways: Wilts & Berks Canal (part 1).<u>A potted history:</u><br /><br />In 1795 work started on the construction of the Wilts & Berks canal. It would join the Kennet & Avon at Semington Junction to the Thames at Abingdon. It took 15 years to complete and was officially opened in 1810. Four years later work began on the North Wilts Canal that would link the Wilts & Berks to the Thames and Severn Canal. This was late in the years of canal mania that swept the country during the Industrial Revolution but together the canals opened the west and, more importantly, the Somerset Coalfields to trade to the north and east.<br /><br />It probably wasn't realised at the time, but the canal was to play a part in its own decline. In 1835 a proper genius of a chap, Isambard Kingdom Brunel (well, you're fated for great things with a name such as that), was employed to engineer the Great Weston Railway. Proper stuff too, it was broad gauge and everything, and linked Bristol to London. The canal was used to transport construction materials and probably workers along the planned route. Most of the track was built less than a mile from the canal.<br /><br />The waterway probably hadn't seen so much activity before. However, when the GWR opened it provided a more economically viable means of transporting goods across the south than by water. The shift to the railways allowed the price of transportation to drop and the canal corporations couldn't compete. By the end of the century the Wilts & Berks carried very little traffic and the decrease in revenue meant it was unable to pay for its own upkeep. As the canal began to silt up boats were forced to carry less as, when fully laden, the maximum draft would cause vessels to ground. The <a href="http://www.wbct.org.uk/" target="_blank">Wilts & Berks Canal Trust</a> cite that the last recorded boat at Wantage Wharf in the mid 1890s was only able to carry 17 tons instead of the maximum 34 tons.<br /><br />And, as though to cause insult to injury, a storm in 1901 caused part of the Stanley Aqueduct over the River Marden to collapse thus draining a section of the canal. There was no money and no pressing reason to repair it. Technology had moved on and the railways were blazing a trail to a modern, more sophisticated, future.<br /><br />The end of the Wilts & Berks Canal finally came in 1914 when an Act of Abandonment was passed by Parliament. This allowed the land adjoining the canal to be sold and, in some areas, redeveloped. Many of the original structures have been damaged or demolished, most notably by the army who used them for demolition exercises during WWII.<br /><br />But not all is lost. There are people out there who still see the value of canals – and rightly so. In the 1970s a society was formed to protect The Wilts & Berks Canal and the North Wilts Canal from further development and destruction. Today the <a href="http://www.wbct.org.uk/" target="_blank">Wilts & Berks Canal Trust</a> is actively restoring these old networks. By 2025 there will again be traffic on this once abandoned canal system and you too can be part of its rebirth.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.wbct.org.uk/get-involved" target="_blank">Get involved</a> and help save our waterways.<br /><br /><u>Abingdon</u><br /><br /><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007ddr4" width="484" height="688" /><br />The canal joins the Thames beside Margaret Brown Gardens on Wilsham Road.<br /><br /><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007ea6g" width="484" height="688" /><br />Across the road is an old foundry building. The wall on the left used to be part of a lock which opened into a basin. It is now a car park. Houses have been built over the route of the old system here but the line of the canal can be followed along Caldecott Road.<br /><br /><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007fyfe" width="363" height="516" /><br />Caldecott Road.<br /><br /><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007g7ep" width="484" height="688" /><br />The course of the old canal runs parallel to the Ock stream. This picture shows the line it takes as it emerges from the housing estate off Mill Road.<br /><br /><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007h16b" width="484" height="688" /><br />Following the lane at the bottom of Mill Road the trail leads out of Abingdon and into the countryside towards Drayton.<br /><br /><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007ke8q" width="484" height="688" /><br />Under the low bridge of the A34, we followed the Ock. The canal is on your left as you walk west.<br /><br /><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007p1tq" width="484" height="688" /><br />The canal resembles more of a ditch than a canal at this point but you can follow it as the fields curve towards Drayton Lock.<br /><br />More to follow.<br /><br /><span style="">References:<br /><a href="http://www.wbct.org.uk/" target="_blank">The Wilts & Berks Canal Trust</a><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilts_%26_Berks_Canal" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a><br /><a href="http://northwiltscanal.org.uk/" target="_blank">North Wilts Canal</a><br /><a href="http://www.greatwestern.org.uk/m_in_gwr.htm" target="_blank">The Great Western Archive</a></span>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-42783765531660730422011-08-26T00:12:00.001+01:002011-08-26T00:12:52.906+01:00Sinodun Hills<img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/00076y4p" width="368" height="454"><br/><font size="-2"><a href="http://walk2012.co.uk/blog/?p=412" target="_blank">Walk 2012</a></font><br/><br/><i>In this sweet field high raised above the Thames<br/>Beneath the trenched hill of Sinodun<br/>Amidst sweet dreams of disembodied names<br/>Abide the setting of the August sun,<br/>Here where this long ridge tells of days now done;<br/>This moveless wave wherewith the meadow heaves<br/>Beneath its clover and its barley-sheaves.<br/><br/>Across the gap made by our English hinds<br/>Amidst the Roman's handiwork, behold<br/>Far off the long-roofed church the shepherd binds<br/>The withy round the hurdles of his fold<br/>Down the foss the riverbed of old,<br/>That through the long lapse of time has grown to be<br/>The little grassy valley that you see.<br/><br/>Rest here awhile, not yet the eve is still,<br/>The bees are wandering yet, and you may hear,<br/>The barley mowers on the trenched hill,<br/>The sheep-bells, and restless changing weir<br/>All little sounds made musical and clear<br/>Beneath the sky that burning August gives,<br/>While yet the thought of glorious Summer lives.<br/> </i><br/> - William Morris<br/><br/><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/00078gzb" width="525" height="220"><br/><font size="-2"><a href="http://www.nationaltrail.co.uk/thamespath/downloads.asp?PageId=70" target="_blank">National Trail</a></font>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-19884692786681876382011-08-23T17:37:00.000+01:002011-08-23T17:38:00.804+01:00job #4 - It all adds up.One t'ther half in a <s>romper</s> boiler suit<br/><br/><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007448g" width="216" height="216"><br/><br/> plus one newly fixed water heater home from a spell in a Mikuni borstal<br/><br/><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0007590q" width="216" height="216"><br/><br/>equals <font size="+1">HOT WATER!</font><br/><br/>Yes, yes, we have hot water. Not so pikey now, heh?<br/><br/>Well, okay, we are...<br/><br/>But at least we're clean!<br/><br/><br/>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-27428802569992991672011-08-18T14:13:00.001+01:002011-08-18T14:13:12.254+01:00Every boat should have one (you’ll feel naked otherwise). <br/>It's true. You don’t realise it yet but you will. Yes, you will and you'll wonder how you survived so long without one.<br/><br/>All great ships in history had one (well ok, not all). The Vikings knew how to build a good ship and they used them to ward off evil spirits and scare the Bejesus out of everyone. The fact that not everyone believed in Jesus at the time is a mere technicality. I could have said it was used to frighten the pants off everyone instead, but I’m sure not everyone had undergarments either.<br/><br/>A mere nine centuries later it was introduced on galleons and other such vessels to help a non-literate society distinguish one vessel from another. I guess saying “that big ship over there” no longer held sway.<br/><br/>Yes, I’m talking about fidgureheads. <br/><br/>Their appeal has waned over the years but has never been entirely lost.<br/><br/>They might not seem an obvious feature on a narrowboat... primarily because they’re not. But this shouldn’t put you off having one. Traditionally ‘eyes’ were painted on the bow of a boat to ward off evil spirits but let’s face it, when you’re drunk and it’s dark and you’re trying to remember which boat is yours as you stumble home, it can be a bit difficult to pick out your boat in a line-up of likely characters – and the spirits (good or bad) don’t lend a hand.<br/><br/>And this is where <a href="http://www.odyautomation.co.uk/" target="_blank">Jon (aka Sasquatch</a> - there have been sightings...) steps in to help. He, of the <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/workboatpug" target="_blank">@workboatpug</a> on Twitter makes figurehads out of rope. It’s like a fender-corndolly-type affair. And they are blimmin’ brilliant.<br/><br/>He’ll make you one – just ask him, and then you, like us, can have delusions of grandeur too. We no longer think of the boat as a humble monkey-come-narrowboat. No, we now sail in a mighty vessel that we use to scare the life out of the local population. In my head we are aboard The Queen Anne’s Revenge and we’re up to no good. That would make the Hubby Blackbeard and me... erm, ok, we’ll leave this analogy behind...<br/><br/>So, here's to Jon, allowing drunkards* to find their boats again.<br/><br/><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/00070gsk" width="432" height="432"><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/00071bds" width="432" height="432"><br/><br/><br/><font size="-2">*Not that we're this way inclined...</font><br/><br/>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-48720964939237266222011-07-19T15:44:00.008+01:002011-07-19T16:47:10.152+01:00Job #3 involved a lot of swearing and some falling over.No, it wasn’t fixing the hot water. The heater has been sent away to a Mikuni borstal in Southampton where it will be <s>prodded with a stic</s><s>k</s> whipped into shape.<br /><br />We’ve got to the point in boat living where in order to navigate our way through the good ship we have to dodge the obstacles littering our path. These obstacles consist primarily of junk. Useful junk though, such as extension cables, tins of paint, art boxes, various hammers and screwdrivers... and an exercise bike (no, really...). There isn’t anywhere handy to store the bike but a nice big sideboard with drawers and cupboards would be ideal for hiding everything else away whilst making the boat look sophisticated and grown up. Sideboards are for grown ups. This is a well known fact.<br /><br />So, we ordered a nice looking one online and were a little surprised to discover we had to pay an extra £10 for delivery. We have a van, we could collect (read ‘we’ as ‘the hubby’) but no, it would take two people to deliver it in a very big lorry. Pah, I thought, I’ll show them when it arrives and I carry it nimbly onto the boat without any assistance. They’ll have to pay me back my £10 because I’m so strong and capable and would have effectively delivered it myself...<br /><br />Ok, so it didn’t quite go according to plan.<br /><br />The lorry arrived eventually after getting lost on the way to our pub.<br /><br />Yes, pub.<br /><br />I pointed at the tiny marina and pulled an expression that I hoped conveyed the message of “does this look like a pub to you?” I fear it didn’t work as the deliveryman asked again if it was. Eventually he lifted my flat pack sideboard into my awaiting cart with such ease that I thought maybe he had accidentally delivered a box of Styrofoam balls by mistake.<br /><br />Now, I am a bit useless at maths, but he drove the lorry, he unloaded my sideboard, he loaded it onto my cart... I count that as ONE man. I was tempted to ask for half my money back since I only got half a delivery service... I didn’t though because he was nice and friendly and I’d only have to phone up the company later to inform them that someone was missing a box of Styrofoam balls and please could I have my sideboard. I'd mention it then.<br /><br />It was only when I came to transfer the box onto the boat that I realised I had in fact mistaken the delivery man for a human and not the Iron-man that he was because I tried to lift the box up and... Nothing happened.<br /><br />It was too bloody heavy for me to lift.<br /><br />So heavy in fact, that I had to unpack it and move it piece by piece onto the boat whilst accepting that I am a wimp with no upper body strength...or lower body strength for that matter.<br />Still, I was yet to prove my capabilities by assembling the sideboard. I’d have it done in an hour or so. I mean, how hard can it be to assemble a piece of flat pack furniture in a confined space?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZImlmlfDdLY/TiWZ98oinVI/AAAAAAAAAn4/jBOh31V5tYg/s1600/p20110712-110510.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZImlmlfDdLY/TiWZ98oinVI/AAAAAAAAAn4/jBOh31V5tYg/s320/p20110712-110510.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631076198623911250" border="0" /></a><br />Look it has knobs, well, feet to most people, but nowt shows progress like a set of knobs...<br />Six hours later the hubby arrived home to find me swearing at bits of wood and screws and he may have taken pity on me because he got involved (with a complete disregard for the instructions...).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D_AU2Av-2SM/TiWaXRLlIqI/AAAAAAAAAoA/s_qCwJNAFAQ/s1600/p20110712-205209.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D_AU2Av-2SM/TiWaXRLlIqI/AAAAAAAAAoA/s_qCwJNAFAQ/s320/p20110712-205209.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631076633636315810" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o1TW4NJgkzg/TiWciqYyWXI/AAAAAAAAAoI/NOEtZLr3ftc/s1600/IMAG0024.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o1TW4NJgkzg/TiWciqYyWXI/AAAAAAAAAoI/NOEtZLr3ftc/s200/IMAG0024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631079028404410738" border="0" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dPtXnKBs_Sg/TiWlcnsEVzI/AAAAAAAAAog/3_ASYHM0HHw/s1600/IMAG0022.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dPtXnKBs_Sg/TiWlcnsEVzI/AAAAAAAAAog/3_ASYHM0HHw/s200/IMAG0022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631088820205410098" border="0" /></a><br />At this point I was left to control the unruly wildlife that was taking an interest in proceedings and consume copious amounts of tea.<br /><br />But we did finish the epic build only eight hours behind my original schedule. It hasn’t stopped us dumping all our junk on the floor and we still trip over everything. Well, I do because I’m clumsy with no sense of balance or self awareness. The hubby just strides over it all... but we do feel all sophisticated and grown up now because we own a sideboard.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGNawOX2XH-geg5jjktbwlvwf215BGytriPFsPbPXCLjeCgpdU-Z7Sd9qTNg4bJstuKXBUWbjiRRpR_r0hzzbiYTAM-w-lC8PtVh9JjhlKBKrwAc_vCPJD96b70BP5N4bCPbfxHAYquM/s1600/p20110713-103655.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGNawOX2XH-geg5jjktbwlvwf215BGytriPFsPbPXCLjeCgpdU-Z7Sd9qTNg4bJstuKXBUWbjiRRpR_r0hzzbiYTAM-w-lC8PtVh9JjhlKBKrwAc_vCPJD96b70BP5N4bCPbfxHAYquM/s320/p20110713-103655.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631083206772603730" border="0" /></a>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-71377788001374235962011-07-10T18:45:00.012+01:002011-07-10T21:33:25.909+01:00HMS LCTNOITRMWWTLI goes for a run. Well, it was more of an amble.Yes, we took the old girl (or should that be boy since we gave the boat a masculine name?) out to stretch her (his?) legs and have a break from all the DIY.
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<br /><div>We didn’t go too far, just far enough to get away from the hustle and bustle of our home mooring. There’s a secret spot that only the locals know and where the world can pass you by in relative silence. I say relative because the geese were noisy beggars and kept up with regular swim-by honkings.
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<br /><div>The only folk we met on the river were the inmates of HMS Salter’s Party Boat of Loud Disco Noises or Goring, if you prefer its proper name. </div>
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<br /><div>We disguised ourselves as a grassy bank: </div>
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<br /><div>Actually, I don’t think the spot is that much of a secret because there was a well used fire pit. I started the camp fire whilst the hubby wasn’t looking (I deny all accusations that I have a habit of accidentally setting things on fire). </div>
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<br /><div>Rob also took the opportunity to stand in a field and play his mandolin. The lengths some musicians will go to to get their music heard. He did a great rendition of Postman Pat though. Yes, that was one of my requests... </div>
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<br />I think I drank a gallon of tea whilst Rob pickled himself slowly in rum. That made winning at cards that evening a lot easier but it did mean I had to do some proper crewing on the way home the following morning whist Rob recovered.
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<br /><div>Was lovely to get out onto the river again. Hopefully, we'll do it a lot more.</div>
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<br />valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-55054681143027122092011-07-06T23:40:00.004+01:002011-07-10T21:29:23.031+01:00Job #2 Prod the shower pump with a stick.And so I did. This is no lie. I also threatened it with a hammer but we don't talk about that.<br /><br />In all fairness, there wasn't anything wrong with the pump per se; it just needed a little bit of love and de-limescaling.<br /><br />The plumbing from the shower to the pump, on the other hand, needed a bit more work (and prodding with a stick). I probably didn’t help matters with my over exuberance to get the work done (let’s just say that water was draining into the bilges for a little while).<br /><br />In the end, Rob bought me this:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TenxLC7UXUM/ThTm9cICiUI/AAAAAAAAAmw/DKRU5tF_73g/s1600/p20110701-150226.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TenxLC7UXUM/ThTm9cICiUI/AAAAAAAAAmw/DKRU5tF_73g/s200/p20110701-150226.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626375777688914242" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Who knew a plunger could be so much fun? And who knew how much limescale grit could get stuck in a plug hole?<br /><br />This really isn’t an exciting post.<br /><br />We now have a shower that drains remarkably well though.<br /><br />Shame we don’t actually have any running hot water.<br /><br />Ooh, could that be job #3?valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-37016662810397754212011-07-05T17:58:00.009+01:002011-07-10T21:30:02.420+01:00DIY? Yes, I know I'm not to be trusted.We've decided that since I've far too much spare time on my hands I should attempt to fix the boat.<br /><br />So, I made a list of all the jobs that need to be done. It went something like this:<br /><br />FIX THE DAMN BOAT.<br /><br />No, it isn't actually a list I know, but if I actually <em>wrote</em> one then I'd reach old age by the time it was finished and I really wouldn't be up for much DIY. And the boat would've sunk. So I thought I'd keep it simple.<br /><br />So, job #1. Fix the lights.<br /><br />This was a pesky one. You know there's that job you've been meaning to tackle for the last few years but have been putting it off because the last time you tried to fix it you just made it worse? Well, okay, you might have done it properly the first time round but read my bio, it says I'm rubbish at DIY. Anyway...<br /><br />It really was a simple job: a 2 minute attach-a-wire type affair, only to get to the wire I had to take the ceiling down first. Not so difficult really, I know, but you have to factor in that to get the ceiling down I had to chip away at polyfilla-ed screws. 25 of them to be exact and that can make you lose the will to live.<br /><br />The last time I did this job it went swimmingly right up until I put everything back together and the wire for the light fitting fell out. So I left it dangling for a year and a half whilst I cursed at it and gave it the Evil Eye. It turned out that this didn’t help fix it at all, which is why, on Tuesday I tackled the job once again. It took 4 hours to remove the polyfilla from the screws; it took 30 seconds to pull the ceiling panel down:<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 140px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625945905950557122" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dhio4JQWN6E/ThNf_nG_A8I/AAAAAAAAAmI/3uAT3kG1tAI/s200/ceiling%2Bdown.jpg" />I reattached the wire for the light and gave it a good tug this time (not chancing <em>that</em> problem again). I then set about my one woman job of putting the ceiling back together.<br /><br />I failed, but it wasn’t from lack of trying. The ceiling panel was big and I’m little. I could hold the panel in place but I didn’t have a spare hand to secure it. I tried using my head but even that wasn’t big enough. In the end I resorted to bullying Smiles, my neighbour, into helping. <br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 140px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625946251958399570" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aRf3U3BCCyI/ThNgTwFrslI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/iTtrp_l-ycs/s200/smiles.jpg" /> And so, tadda:<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 140px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625947856522471282" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9t9YrLVmBHo/ThNhxJjkZ3I/AAAAAAAAAmg/fWGj_n58ABE/s200/lightswork%2521.jpg" /><br />I promptly showed off my magnificent handy work and the fuse tripped. I tried showing off the lights a few more times and each time they tripped and left me light-less. So, I returned to cursing it and giving it the Evil Eye and planned never to attempt to fix it again. It was to stay like that, a constant reminder as to why I should never do DIY. It would be my bargaining tool with the hubby in a “Do you really want me to try and fix that? Look what happened the last time I tried. Really dear, you should fix it yourself,” kind of way.<br /><br />But Rob, the ever practical chap that he is, suggested trying a different light bulb. So I did and it worked. There was much whooping and even a victory dance.<br /><br />We now have working lights and this is good news.<br />Unfortunately, it also means that I’m forced to tackle job #2.<br />Plumbing.<br />I’ll let you know how it goes... </div>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-83620152740207331182011-04-28T10:51:00.004+01:002011-07-10T21:30:34.450+01:00How (not) to be a pirate... or a lesson in how (not) to go boating.Life sometimes gets in the way of boating. So, here are a few reminders to gently ease you back into life on the river. This is especially useful if, like me, you've forgotten what to do.<br /><br /><div align="justify"><img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0006qhwx" /></div><br /><br /><br /><ol><br /><li> Upon setting off untie your own mooring lines and not those belonging to your neighbour's boat. Never admit to anyone that you have made such a schoolboy error. </li><br /><li> Always make sure you are travelling on the proper side of the river. Just like driving on a road there is a right and wrong way. There are various tactics you can employ to ensure you get this right - the most obvious one is to look at the skipper of the oncoming boat. If he/she is waving their arms madly at you and shouting obscenities then you can safely assume that you should move to the clear water and pretend that you knew this all along. Another way is to remember the following phrase: THE OTHER SIDE, NUMPTY. </li><br /><li> Make sure you have enough fuel to get to your intended destination. It's no good just hoping for the best and then hitting a sandbank that tilts your boat so the engine runs dry. Your engine will also agree with this. </li><br /><li> If you forget the above send your hubby, who should be nicely pickled in Pimms by now, back to your home mooring to fetch the bike that you forgot to take. Tell him to collect fuel and cycle it back to you. <img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0006rxad" width="360" height="480" /> </li><br /><li> Call out your neighbour to rescue you. Confuse him by being indecisive as to whether you actually need rescuing or not. Make it absolutely clear that you did NOT phone him to brag about your own idiocy. You should never tell anyone about that.</li><br /><li> Stare forlornly at the engine and shout words of love and encouragement as it gasps and chokes and dies. As a last resort tell it that you'll only have to make it bleed if it doesn't start. <img src="http://pics.livejournal.com/valonia/pic/0006s79g" width="480" height="360" /> </li><br /><li> Cheer madly when the engine responds to these barbaric threats and turn the damn boat around and go home before you actually break something. </li><br /><li> Never admit to anyone that you ran out of fuel. An exploding engine or any other form of breakdown is fine. Running out of diesel is a sign that you really ought not to be allowed on the waterways... at least not without adult supervision. </li><br /><li> If anybody asks pretend you meant to breakdown. Claim it was an exercise in boat handling and competency. </li><br /><li> Make no comment about failing the above exercise. </li><br /></ol>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-43843645966287114202010-09-07T14:24:00.003+01:002010-09-07T14:30:13.566+01:00Goodbye, dearest Lewsey.<div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KgRr1B6DZvw/TIY9_jEtV8I/AAAAAAAAAlE/hplCkDn74_0/s1600/on+roof.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514162955717793730" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KgRr1B6DZvw/TIY9_jEtV8I/AAAAAAAAAlE/hplCkDn74_0/s200/on+roof.jpg" /></a> Lewsey. </div><div align="center">28.02.2008 - 07.09.2010<br />You will always be loved and will never be forgotten. Just, please, dear girl, promise not to pick any more fights with cars in the next world.<br /><br />We miss you terribly, already.<br /><br />We love you.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-5269492847960586012010-05-15T21:53:00.001+01:002010-05-15T21:53:30.290+01:00For DJ and Zhoen<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/50247605@N08/4609929732/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1113/4609929732_36557508c4_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/50247605@N08/4609929732/">are-you-my-mother</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/50247605@N08/">valonia2006</a></span></div>When I was a young girl one of my favourite books was "Are You My Mother?" by P. D. Eastman.<br /><br />It tells the adventurous story of a baby bird who, after falling out of his nest, wanders in search of his mother. Every creature (or object) he meets he asks "are you my mother?" and meets with negative responses. Finally, he asks a mechanical crane whether it is his mother and in response the crane picks him up and puts him back in his nest, thus reuniting him with his mother.<br /><br />It is a gorgeous book and reminds me a little of Giblet's tale!<br clear="all" />valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-35284752302561576342010-05-15T13:50:00.001+01:002010-05-15T13:50:45.404+01:00giblet<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/50247605@N08/4608865184/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1200/4608865184_ca69f29a77_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/50247605@N08/4608865184/">giblet</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/50247605@N08/">valonia2006</a></span></div>The baby coot has been lovingly named Giblet and today my friend George filled his dingy with river water so Giblet could have a swim in safety. Whilst Giblet was swimming, his mother returned, and together they conversed in coot language. George kindly reunited mother and baby and they swam happily away. I am no longer a coot mother. At least I managed to keep it alive and happy overnight. My goldfish mothering skills are slightly less advanced as my previous record shows... Anyway, a happy ending it would seem to this coot related tale.<br clear="all" />valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-39010672732455227712010-05-14T22:31:00.001+01:002010-05-14T22:31:19.076+01:00I Am A Mother...<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/50247605@N08/4606638817/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1398/4606638817_391f62a0b9_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/50247605@N08/4606638817/">14052010407</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/50247605@N08/">valonia2006</a></span></div>...to a lost baby coot. He was abandoned and drowning. He is very much alive now and has taken to running up and down the boat... and shouting at me when I get in his way.<br clear="all" />valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3653810889442303892.post-75305224572795647052010-04-13T14:34:00.000+01:002010-04-13T14:36:32.496+01:00Progress Update.I am happy to announce that today we passed our BSS. This means that all we have to do now is finish decorating the boat and then we can put it up for sale.<br /><br />We love our boat very, very much. I hope the next owners will adore it as much as we do.valoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13644950154869151868noreply@blogger.com4