Life Aboard August 2014
A Life Aboard: August 2014
This column would have been better written on Halloween!
I have two – equally peculiar – possibilities currently under consideration. One: by some strange coincidence, we are both simultaneously trying to have each other sectioned under the Mental Health Act, or Two: the boat is haunted. Examples: we were sitting in the Day Saloon so, about nine feet from the Port gunwale, chatting over the day, when we were interrupted by a very loud (and close) cross between a snarl, howl, roar and growl all in one. We shot to the gunwale (rendered fearless by wine) but there was nothing to be seen and the water was a flat calm with no disturbance. Hub tutted … which as responses go for some reason had me in fits.
The next strange event was when Hub was in bed but had indigestion. He likes to make his presence felt by fidgeting and moaning until I wake up. My berth was leaking so I was sleeping on the other side of the door and offered to fetch some indigestion tablets as I was nearer to the first aid kit. I handed them in, closed the door and went back to bed. He felt a female touch checking his pulse and place a hand gently on his stomach and assumed it was me (as if!) and said “I’m fine now, thanks, love”. It was then that he heard me snore. His hair lifted gently from his scalp but he knew he had to turn over to see what or who was there. Nothing, of course. In the morning when he told me about it, I declared, merrily, “It was an Angel” because I knew it would annoy him. He tersely stated “be that as it may, I take great exception to being “interfered” with – even by an Angel”. I felt obliged to point out that at his age he should be grateful to be “interfered” with by anything, human or not!
One night I woke up to hear Hub on deck. He was obviously having trouble dragging something heavy. I wondered if I should go up and help him.. He stomped loudly around and then actually rang the ship’s bell! Given it was two in the morning I thought this was a bit antisocial so I called up “Hang on, I’ll come up”. From Hub’s berth came a sleepy voice, “Wake up! You’re talking in your sleep”.
I informed him there was somebody on the deck but he said he was always getting up to check on footsteps which weren’t real and anyway, it was “my turn”. So, armed with the ship’s axe (I don’t take prisoners), I went up to check. Dead calm, no wind, nothing. This has happened many times, sometimes in broad daylight! There was a time I’d have asked fellow Dart users if they experience this sort of thing but these days I know better. They would take huge delight in regaling me with tales that would guarantee I never sleep again for the rest of my life!
Moving on to Poltergeist activity. I am the first to admit that even after all this time we have yet to master the art of stowage. I can never find anything; it drives me mad. Exasperated, I went from stem to stern writing down where everything was, but then I lost the list. I think I may have burst into tears at that point. When we lived ashore, not in mansions, but large-ish houses, I don’t recall ever losing anything or not knowing where it was. Here, in a much smaller space, it just drops out of the universe. We lost a saw. I ask you, how can you lose a three feet long yellow handled saw? We searched the whole boat and gave up. A few months later I noticed it on the sole in the wheelhouse. “Found the saw then, Hub!” “No - why?” We were astounded. We have found a way round it though. If you buy another one, the original one will instantly appear, or if you are looking for your penknife, pretend to look for your glasses and the penknife will be right in front of you. Is it any wonder that I can feel my (always tenuous) grip on sanity begin to loosen?
I decided the answer was to have less stuff on board. Especially rusting tools. I filled two bin liners but unfortunately Hub intercepted me and rummaged through, pouncing and retrieving various items with an anguished squawk, stroking them and looking at me reproachfully as if I’d binned baby ducklings or something. Somehow the tools all seem to have belonged to his Grandfather. High time for a new one then, I’d have thought …
On a completely different subject (or is it?), sometimes your boat just dies on you. The batteries go flat, the lights dim, the outboard won’t start, the gas runs out, the water pump blocks and whines, the head overflows, the gas solenoid sets off an alarm, the smoke alarm batteries need replacing so it starts peeping and you can completely forget starting the main engine. You could tear your hair out as it seems sometimes to be just one damned thing after another. You might think you could prevent it all, but how can you know when a fuse will blow or a filter fail, and when it comes to the heads and their complex valve systems I wouldn’t be at all surprised to end up with a fish stuck out of my backside that got in through some pipe or another. You have to grit your teeth and sort it out step by step, one job at a time.
Never a day goes by without some interesting occurrence on the Dart. This one is a classic. A man in a smart suit carrying a lap top was delivered safely to the steps of a Ferry by the Yacht Taxi. He somehow lost his grip half way up and plunged into the river. He was fished out instantly by the skipper (they’re good like that!) soaked through (still grasping his lap top) and said wearily, “Take me back.” And then, “I’m a Health and Safety Inspector”. Oh, the sweet, sweet irony!!
Remaining with the theme of horror, there are many grim things that can happen to you like, oh … throwing up over the Queen, your knickers falling down in M &S, mislaying your winning Euro Millions Ticket but, trust me on this, nothing, absolutely nothing is as appalling as anti-fouling a large wooden boat. Load 25 containers full of water to lean it to 5 degrees, lower it (endless faffing about with ropes and fenders), scrape it (nauseating), scrub it (exhausting), hose it (soaking yourself), dry it (impossible), fill it (pointless) and paint it at high speed whilst the tide starts to lap round your ankles. You cannot imagine the vile things that cling to and gnaw at your hull – think a cross between ‘Aliens’ and an explosion in a jelly factory – which have to be scraped off. Each tentacled orange, pink or brown gelatinous pulsating mass is full of writhing worms and scrabbling insects. There are ropes of mussels and clusters of limpets. It is beyond disgusting. Since my mouth is seldom closed, I suffered greatly. Hell over, Simon of the fuel barge steered us off the scrubbing grid, whereupon we took him hostage for safety purposes and set off for Castle Ledge. She flew! Harbour Patrol and our fellow River users were, as always, of immense help. Thank you!
Hub has just peered over my shoulder and read the first sentence. He sighed “I hope to God we don’t come across as nutters”. I was able to kindly reassure him that there wasn’t the least need for Heavenly intervention in the matter … that ship has long sailed!
By the Dart August 2014