life aboard march 2015
A nightmare of a day. Firstly on leaving the pontoon I skidded on some poo and wrenched my knee. Then on returning we encountered the swan locally known as “Asbo” due to its attitude problem. It launched itself at Hub’s backside as he was untying the painter and smeared the seat of his new trousers with green weed. He had a complete sense of humour failure but unfortunately I didn’t, so we returned to the boat in stony silence apart from the odd snort of mirth still escaping me.
I unpacked the shopping. You don’t have drawer handles on boats, you have small finger holes. Now if I bet you I could send a raw egg through one of them you wouldn’t take me up on it but, thanks to wash, I did. Of course it had to fly through the drawer in which I store clean tea towels. Carnage. I shouted to the point that I made myself feel rather ill and had to retire to my berth. I was promptly dripped on and flung a towel over my head which caused me to inadvertently water board myself. Hub was rudely unsympathetic and felt I “fussed like an old hen”. Does he think I laid the wretched egg myself? Anyway, considering the number of slates flying off his own roof these days, I’d say he has a nerve! When I emerged I calculated it would take at least 4 hours to clean up the mess, so I gashed the lot and delivered a good swift hard kick to go with it. This was a mistake. Unbeknownst to me Hub had got there before me and gashed a rusted coal scuttle and I am now limping. So given the strain to my knee and the injury to my foot I am listing both to port and to starboard. I could weep tears of bitter conviction. But I utterly refuse to give in. No. I need a diversion. So I have decided to enter for the Turner Prize. My entry is composed of a half embroidered cushion cover (got bored) a nearly finished water colour (lost interest) a refresher Latin course (too thick) and the Treshnish (work in progress). The entry will be entitled “unfinished”. Must be in with a chance surely? (and mega bucks hopefully).
I wonder if we have gone overboard (no pun intended) with safety equipment – we have currently 3 lifejackets, 1 fire blanket, 9 fire extinguishers, 2 carbon monoxide alarms, 1 loud hailer, 4 smoke alarms, a ship’s axe, 5 torches on wall clips, 6 lifebelts, a grab bag, a “man overboard “ kit, a life raft, a hand held vhf radio, 20 assorted flares, and always keep two buckets of seawater on deck. We also have an array of engine related warning alarms built into the wheelhouse. So I was given pause for thought when out with a fisherman in rough seas (half way through an unplanned handstand) and asked him what his safety equipment was, he kicked it. It was a broom handle. You can feel a total wimp at times. Particularly when you consider that we have left the harbour only three times! But then, when you get to our age, better safe than sorry perhaps.
Generally speaking I feel we have adapted to life aboard reasonably well but I admit to a slight difficulty on the matter of mariners peeing off the deck when we have no less than three perfectly serviceable heads on the boat. However, when mentioning this to a friend who hunts, she reminded me of a saying the Quorn use regarding this issue: “If she is a lady, she won’t look. If she isn’t, it won’t matter.” Well, that’s certainly me told I suppose! I now look as rough as rats and could teach Bear Grylls a thing or two about harsh environments should he ever feel the need to consult me. Wooden boats . How can you apply expensive marine quality paint and before you’ve time to admire your efforts it’s back to bare wood in a fortnight? It has to be against the laws of science!
You can try to seal a leak, but don’t expect much more than for it to simply move elsewhere and continue to pursue you like some eternal maritime nemesis. Happily we have the legendary shipwright that is Chezzie working on parts of the deck. I noticed Hub returning on his dory and commented (slightly puzzled),” He’s got a chap on board” to which Chezzie replied without even glancing up from his expert planing, “Well, he’s got to put him back hasn’t he..you can’t go round kidnapping people – against the law, that is!”. I shall die if I laugh anymore.
But if that’s not all enough I now need new glasses having called out a cheery “good morning” to what transpired to be a large blue outboard cover. Oh dear.
We are so looking forward to the force 11 due. After all, there are not many people privileged to experience zero gravity, unless aboard a space station. (Oh, just bring it on; it’s always good to test your mettle!). My only fear is that she, weighing some 35 tons, will be blown off the trot mooring, taking several large vessels with us, and we’ll be obliged to explain ourselves to the Harbour Master. I dare say I’ll be able to come up with some excuse or another. But “A seal bit through the riser” might not cut the mustard – about as pathetic as “the dog ate my homework”.
Did you make any New Year Resolutions? I did. No swearing and more patience. Then Hub dropped and broke my best Waterford Crystal glass, so that was them over with in half an hour. Hub has a spotted dick (no, not what you may be excused for thinking). It’s his favourite pudding - I made it for him and am thus currently basking in the sunshine of his approval. This cannot last, sadly, as I have found and polished off the remains of his carefully hoarded but ill hidden cognac.
I have often felt that my being of choleric humour was a grave fault but now feel it is the only realistic way to survive life aboard in winter. Give it as good as you get. So, on that note, Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the weevils bite and don’t let the gribbles nibble!
First published By The Dart March 2015
