Normal People

It isn’t the best time to approach a woman about money when she is pulling in a sixteen ton boat against a strong wind but the C&RT chugger on the Grand Union at Kensal Green was undeterred.  She stood next to me, rabbitting on merrily, telling me everything that I, and every boater, already know about C&RT.

‘Would you be prepared to contribute towards the charity?’ she asked

‘I already do.  £900 a year’

‘Oh, that’s generous is it a voluntary contribution?’

‘No it’s my licence fee for having a boat on a canal’

‘I don’t really know anything about how it works with boats on the canal’

‘Doesn’t your training include details of the boats and boaters and the licence fees they pay?’

‘No we’re only taught how to approach normal people’

 

What a way to spend Sunday ..............

I thought maybe I’d stay on my Camden mooring for a few days or maybe I’d move.  It all depended on weather, visitors, appointments and whether I could get around to making a decision.  Then a family crisis meant the moorings proximity to Kings Cross Station was very useful so I’d stay a few more days.  That was until my Saturday lunch guest, leaving at 9.00pm reported that I had a problem with my toilet.  This was surprising as I’d only pumped it out on Monday. The decision was made for me I had to move.

Boaters always say that when they get together the talk reverts to toilets, I’ve lived on my boat for five years and never had a toilet conversation maybe because I have never had a problem with the toilet. It seems I’ve got one now.

The water point and sanitary station at Little Venice is squeezed around the corner

After the torrential rain stopped on Sunday morning we set off for Little Venice and the pump-out facility. As usual it was busy, this must be the busiest sanitary facility and water point in the country on the busiest stretch of canal and it’s a small space at the narrowest point.  You get to know fellow boaters by having complex discussions about the jig-sawing of boats and who wants which of the utilities and how long each was going to stay.  Eventually moored up at the pump-out, I started the machine, the suction started and nothing happened, the gunge in the toilet stayed where it was.  Was it the machine or me?  I poked sticks in various orifices of my system and got about two inches of nasty stuff removed then the machine timed out.  We let a wide beam onto the pump-out and they used two cards and reported that they didn’t think the machine was working properly.  I tried again with a fresh card, there was some movement but very little. Rang C&RT and reported a problem. I didn’t expect an immediate response on a Sunday but they said an engineer would come out and apologised that he would take about two hours to get there.

I tried clearing any blockage on my boat by pushing the toilet brush down the brim and the end dropped off and disappeared into the murk.  Now the system would definitely be blocked.  Without going into too much yucky detail the only way forward was on with the marigolds and getting on down and dirty. Lets just say I found the problem with my toilet, I blame my guests. The engineer arrived in less than two hours and found the problem with the pump out machine, a faulty seal. Problems solved: sewage tank emptied.

The first thing I needed after mooring up was a shower.  I got into the shower soaped up, loaded my hair with shampoo and the water stopped. I’d run out of water this was despite spending four hours next to a water point and waving people onto the water point saying ‘It’s OK, I don’t need any water’. Four bloody hours we were there moving backwards and forwards, annoying the neighbours and just sitting waiting. Four bloody hours when I could have filled the tank three times over. So do I blame guests for my lack of water as well as my blocked toilet, did I have a boat load of flamboyant flushers and extravagant showers or was it just my usual level of vagueness about the state of the utilities of my boat.

The new crew member had decided after all the chatting and button pushing he had been doing on the machine he was in need of a shower as well.  So it was off back to the water point, we cast off, went down the canal, and did an interesting turn against a gale force wind. Somewhere in the midst of this my tablecloth (£3.50 from a charity shop in Hertford) blew away, the way the day had been going I thoroughly expected to get it wrapped around my prop on the way back.  I didn’t.  If another boat picks it up around the prop I sincerely apologise and if it isn’t too shredded can I please have it back because it matched my paintwork.  So then we were back in Little Venice spending an hour and a half in the gathering dusk filling the water tank (slow tap: thin hose: large tank).

In the last week I had spent more money on my sewage system than I had on wine so in an attempt to redress the balance I went to Sainsbury while the water tank was filling.  Sainsbury was closed.  I went on to M & S in Paddington on the way I spotted a free space in Paddington Basin. When the water tank was filled the darkness had descended and in a howling gale we went round to Paddington Basin and did a wind assisted mooring on the one available slot.

Limehouse at last

Onwards to Limehouse.  I’d chickened out about going along the tideway with friends but I still thought I’d like to get there to wave them off. Circumstances and late visitor arrivals meant I only got there to wave from a distance and watch them bobbing along The Thames like a pair of match sticks on a large ruffled pond.

I saw the next batch out of the lock, three narrowboats all Rea look-a-likes from Braunston.  In centre of the boat sandwich is one manned by a single lady of mature years with only a dog for crew.  She puts me to shame, I’m being wimpy about doing the trip with a boat load of people and she’s setting sail alone.  Good on you lady on nb Charlotte you are my new role model.

When everybody has left we have a choice of mooring spaces. We tie up the boat and then leave for a walk along the fascinating back streets of the docklands area, where old converted warehouses loom overhead and new smart and expensive flats and historic pubs mingle amongst them. At St Katherine Docks the tourists and the locals are out in force and we sit amongst them on the dockside sipping cocktails and feeling in holiday mode.

Walking back in evening sunshine the white outline of a large ship looms close to the shore blocking the view through the alleyways.  It is The Silver Cloud a cruise ship heading for a berth above Tower Bridge.  If monsters like that are travelling on the river I don’t want to be out there at the same time.

 

The next morning the intention is to set off early and progress through Central London but first I need a pump-out and so I have to wait for the Marina office to open to buy a card.  Card bought, engine started a narrowboat chugs around from the marina and heads towards the pump out station.  He takes an age getting into position, revving forwards and backwards and not making any progress, clipping a moored boat, almost getting there then drifting out again.  There’s two other boats moored next to me, us seasoned boaters stand and laugh and criticise and wonder why he is making such a meal of mooring on a small landing between two boats, after all it’s not that difficult. We, of course, have never had to learn, have never made mistakes, have never being made to look a fool by the wind. I make rude comments about his lack of ability conveniently forgetting that only two days ago I completely blocked the Lee Navigation and nearly demolished a bar.  While I’m leaning on the boat laughing at his difficulties another narrowboat comes round the corner to take my place in the queue at the pump-out.  Serves me right.

At last we leave through the first lock a man in a narrowboat coming down says he’s pleased to see two women on board, gives Jessica’s arm an affectionate squeeze then leaves her to get on with opening the stiff lock gates by herself.

We had the intention of going until we found somewhere to stop.  We found a space just after The Islington Tunnel so we stopped.  Yesterday morning a young man asked if I was staying for a few days and if so could I water his plants. After telling him I was leaving I then thought I could stay here for a few days so I am and I don’t feel guilty about declining to water his plants because overnight the rain has been very heavy and the herbs on my roof are having to learn to swim.

Being Wicked

Jessica tells me that she thinks the shiny brass mushrooms on the boats coming through the lock are garish.  The dull and tarnished hue of mine is much more interesting, it has the patina of age (or could be the patina of neglect).  If she keeps on making comments like that she can stay a few more days.

The intention on Saturday is to get from Waltham Abbey to Limehouse, stopping at Hackney to have a walk around the Olympic Park.  The start is delayed by rain then progress is slow for no other reason than every lock is against us and we often have to wait for boats approaching. At Enfield Lock C&RT have been called about low water levels and a man in a blue sweatshirt and orange life-jacket is hovering around but not helping.  It takes us a long time to fill the lock mainly because we hadn’t noticed that one of the paddles downstream was open.  With the paddle closed the lock filled more quickly and the river emptied less slowly.  A crawl along a long and very shallow pound with frequent blasts of reverse to remove debris followed by a period of puzzlement about how the automated locks work and which one of the pair is the automated one slowed us down more.  It’s only a few weeks since I passed this way but at my age short term memory loss can be a problem. Another crawl along a very shallow pound with exposed sand banks to the right.

 

Then we are in sight of The Olympic Park and boats are bow to stern with few gaps. I pass one opposite a crowded outside bar and decide belatedly that it is big enough.  As I reverse to get into the space I say to Jessica ‘I have an audience so I bet I make a hash of this’ I think I’m going to make a hash of it so I do.  That’s the power of positive thinking.  She dismounts: I throw the rope: she misses: the rope goes in the canal: I throw the other rope: she catches it and pulls.  I walk down the gunwale to retrieve the centre rope because I don’t want to risk it getting caught in the propeller, by this time the stiff breeze has caught the bow and the bow has made its way determinedly to the other bank and Jessica has sensibly let go of the rope.  I retrieve the second rope and find we are firmly stuck, my stern against a moored boat on one side my button is under the rather shaky wooden structures of the bar on the other.  I go to the bow and some nice young men put their beer down and help me extricate my bow from under the bar.  Free, I beat as hasty retreat as a narrowboat will allow, I don’t attempt a second shot of the mooring or stop to pick up Jessica. I find another space a few hundred yards further on and wait for her to catch up with me.

The next day the bar is still standing and that piece of wood in the canal is not my fault - honest

The towpath in Hackney Wick is heaving, the bars and bridges and streets are heaving.  There is live music from across the canal and lively music coming in from different directions.  We ask one of the crowd why and are told it is The Hackney Wicked Festival. We decide Limehouse can wait and we will stay here and partake of the Festival. 

We roam amongst the young crowd who are drinking and eating at the mix of venues, eat some street food (South American for me in memory of Ecuador, balls for Jessica in memory of who knows what) but the studios and art installations have closed for the day and the bands have packed their bags and gone home so we come back to the boat to sit in the bow, drink wine and people watch.

A young man asks if he can take a photo, but he doesn’t want us in the picture he finds the wine, biscuits and cheese and grapes more photogenic than us.  It’s an emblem of our idyllic life-style he says. Idyllic? He should photograph me down the weed-hatch clearing all the muck from the prop and then see if he still thinks it is idyllic.

Locking and Shopping

Jessica has joined me at Hertford to cruise back to London.

By four o'clock in the afternoon we have manged two locks, three miles and eight charity shops.

By eight in the evening we have managed another four locks and five miles and a pub but that was only because the charity shops were closed.

I think I am going to attempt to get to Limehouse Basin without stopping again because to the best of my knowledge there are no charity shops in Limehouse Basin for her to wander into.

Difference of perceptions: I think she has spent £25, she thinks she has saved £125.

(Jessica says I can write anything I like about her as long as I describe her as 5ft 10in, slim, beautiful and charismatic, widely traveled and cultured. I'm sure anybody meeting us on the canal system will recognise her immediately by this description)

Crayfishing

Moving along the Lee Navigation, the Crew is driving the boat and I’ve been relegated to galley slave.  Two boys on the towpath are keeping apace of the boat.  I hear one of them shout

‘Hey mister will you give us a ride’

‘No’

‘Oh why not go one our legs are killing us’

‘We’ve got a vicious dog on board’

The vicious dog must have stuck his sweet shaggy head around the door because they suddenly burst into fits of laughter and shout ‘That’s not a vicious dog’

‘His mother is a Jack Russell so he’s a Natural Born Killer’

The Natural Born Killer wags his tail and smiles at them.

The vicious dog

A bit further on and they have another request ‘Can we borrow your stick with a hook, we’ve lost one of our nets and we want to fish it out’

This time the driver relents, backs up and gives them the boat hook.  They poke around with it and bring up a crayfish net, crammed with crayfish feeding on a large fish head.  Then untie the pot and leg it behind some bushes. When we look we can see a line of crayfish pots strung along the bank-side.  We retrieve the boat pole and leave quickly.  We don’t want to be implicated in the crime of stealing crayfish and pots if the irate owner suddenly appears from the caravan site behind those bushes.

The American Signal Crayfish are abundant on the River Lea.  I’ve seen fishermen catch them and pots full of them.  A boat moored behind me had a pot out and within an hour had three crayfish in them. I quite fancy the idea of a crayfish pot because I like eating crayfish but I’m not sure if I have the stomach to throw the ugly little beasts in a pot of boiling water and then shell them.

The Barge Inn in Hertford is having a Crayfish Fest sometime in August which should rid the river of a few of this invasive species but I think they need a lot more catchers (who need to be licensed) to make any real impact on them.

Going Swimmingly

My Nicholsons guide tells me that Lee Valley Leisure Pool is a ‘fine facility offering fitness suites, saunas and steam baths’.  Moored in Broxbourne I trot off to get a time-table and find it gone.  In its place is a landscaped area of paths and grassland.  I’m used to Nicholsons singing the praises of pubs which are now empty, boarded up or converted to flats but I would have thought leisure centres would have the decency to hang around a bit longer.  As well as not doing swimming pools Broxbourne doesn’t seem to do food shops so I move back to Cheshunt alongside another part of the lovely Lea Valley Park where wooden sculptures lurk amongst the trees.  Cheshunt has food shops and a leisure centre and a very useful railway station with trains to where I want to go.

At Ware where the charming 18^th Century gazebos line the river there is a 1930’s Lido.  In this weather an open air swimming pool is a delight. I plough up and down the pool as the sun glitters on the water.

Onto Hertford. We are told from Ware onwards that one of the paddles on the lock into Hertford is broken and C&RT are coming to fix it and the lock may be closed for a few days.  As I want to leave the boat for a few days prior to picking up a new crew member I don’t mind. I’m given the information so many times, asked if I have seen the C&RT boat coming up from Enfield, helped at the lock by windlass waving men that I’m beginning to think that a broken lock is the most exciting thing to happen in Hertford for a long time.

The good thing about the lock being liable for closure was that visiting boaters left while they could and we had a choice of moorings alongside the allotments a few minutes walk from the town centre and parks of Hertford.

This morning in Hertford swimming pool resting between lengths I listen to a conversation.

”He said, they said he could speak at the planning meeting but he was only allowed to speak for three minutes.  ‘I’ll be speaking for two minutes’ he said

Well I timed him and I said ‘Do you know Jim that was exactly two minutes’

‘Yes I know’ he said 'I’ve spent days standing in front of the microwave getting the timing right’”

In my survey of the swimming pools along the Lee Navigation I have to, unsurprisingly, give the award for the best to the Olympic Pool. Big and beautiful enhanced by the knowledge of the record breaking sporting feats achieved there and with the added bonus of pausing for breath between lengths and being able to watch the perfectly honed body of Tom Daley twisting and turning as he dived repeatedly from the springboard into the diving pool.