Sunday, April 4, 2021
Thursday, August 21, 2008
A watched kettle boils problematically
the wisdom of the ages has come upon me. Last sesh, you'll recall, in all humility i offered words to live by. This time, more sage epigrammatry. The title refers not only to our physical kettle, the little bastard, which keeps tripping fuses and leaving us in the dark, but also to metaphysical, noumenal kettles. Kettles in their ur-state, if you will.
Ok, alright. Y'know how when you're just being a twit, with nary a clue as to what you're doing? Turns out it can be ok, as you dont know what probs might crop up, so you go merrily on without much anxiety. Later, if a prob does occur, at least in the lead up to it there's been no psychic damage. Then you deal with the prob.
Tootling along
But when you start to become aware of potential problems, worries set in. So yesterday, we're tootling along in the boat, just leaving liege, and i notice the engine is overheating. This is the kind of thing last year wouldnt even have occurred to me to check for. So we stop to let her cool down, check oil levels etc -the overnight expert!- and then proceed cautiously. Happens again, so we park in a less than optimum place, then i remember to check for water in the cooling tank. Nearly empty, so i fill her up and everything seems fine.
But you get the drift? This is the kind of stuff i wouldnt have even been aware of before, and would have ignored. Ultimately healthier, because as it is, every step of the way i've become worried about every eventuality.
Self-fulfilling prophecy
Hence the connection to kettles, geddit? A watched kettle, a watched boat. So, having read jung on the concept of synchronicity this morning -oh the ideal life, scholarship in the morning, manly stuff in the afternoon, dithering in the evening and maybe watching de telly- where he talks about how the pshyche can have some effects on the physical world, later events were sadly inevitable. so i'm all but saying to dawn, there's gonna be more friggin problems, i can feel it in me water, and the engine starts banging and thumping like a, like a,... like a bollocks! We have to nose her in gently to the side and hold her tight while the big tankers are going by and try to stop her nudging rocks. A dutch couple gave us a tow to a nearby marina, where we are now. Mechanic due tomorrow.
Non-menopausal vessel
So this unduly quick followup post is therapy i suppose, cos i'm starting to have real doubts about the merits of this. Its a 40 or 50 year old engine, vastly underused for a decade, and its being asked to make the biggest trip of its life, mostly against the current. Its barely ever gone more than 200 kms without a problem, large or small. Wheres its desire to defy middle age, strike out for territories new? Wheres its attempt to fit into a pair of tight, buttock-clenching, waist-constricting, faded and torn denim slacks? Its not there, thats where!
Anyway, tomorrow we'll find out if its a solveable problem, or if the engine has finally given up the ghost. If its gone, thats very very very costly. We're discussing contingencies. We might get it trucked to paris, depending on price, and set her up to rent out there. It'd still be a good size live abord, so thats feasible. Later we could equip with an outboard as a runaround, no prob. So theres still possibilities. But it'll all cost.
If the engines ok, thank god, but still. Do we really want to go from one calamity to the next? Maybe we'll get her trucked anyway. What we lose on that, some of it we'll recoup on not having to buy fuel. So that might be the way to go, but its all up in the air.
It was nothing, really...
Just like me! You'll appreciate the completely unforced segue when i tell of the second dunking i just had in the meuse. We're doing our usual incompetent rope work prior to a lock, not helped at all by the crap positioning of bollards in belgium, and i have to hold on to two ropes. As dawn had advised me, i should have had them tied, but anyway, i'm relying on them for my balance, and the rest is easily-guessed history. So i have a moment when i think i can salvage the situation, pure panic, but the second i realise i'm going to go, no two ways about it, completely calm. Ever get that? So in freefall i remember thinking -and i do mean a complete thought process, compressed into about an eighth of a second- the fall will just take me down a metre and then i'll surface and climb back in. Sounds simple, unremarkable, but its deep, dark choppy water. Anyway, it was indeed simple. Plus i get to do the unfazed heroic thing, ample cover for the preceding idiocy.
Anyway, this ones been therapy for me, very unsure how things are gonna pan out now. What about someone else saying something?
Ps dawn says it was all her fault. She's a trooper!
'Largely' her fault
Correction, 'largely' her fault.
the wisdom of the ages has come upon me. Last sesh, you'll recall, in all humility i offered words to live by. This time, more sage epigrammatry. The title refers not only to our physical kettle, the little bastard, which keeps tripping fuses and leaving us in the dark, but also to metaphysical, noumenal kettles. Kettles in their ur-state, if you will.
Ok, alright. Y'know how when you're just being a twit, with nary a clue as to what you're doing? Turns out it can be ok, as you dont know what probs might crop up, so you go merrily on without much anxiety. Later, if a prob does occur, at least in the lead up to it there's been no psychic damage. Then you deal with the prob.
Tootling along
But when you start to become aware of potential problems, worries set in. So yesterday, we're tootling along in the boat, just leaving liege, and i notice the engine is overheating. This is the kind of thing last year wouldnt even have occurred to me to check for. So we stop to let her cool down, check oil levels etc -the overnight expert!- and then proceed cautiously. Happens again, so we park in a less than optimum place, then i remember to check for water in the cooling tank. Nearly empty, so i fill her up and everything seems fine.
But you get the drift? This is the kind of stuff i wouldnt have even been aware of before, and would have ignored. Ultimately healthier, because as it is, every step of the way i've become worried about every eventuality.
Self-fulfilling prophecy
Hence the connection to kettles, geddit? A watched kettle, a watched boat. So, having read jung on the concept of synchronicity this morning -oh the ideal life, scholarship in the morning, manly stuff in the afternoon, dithering in the evening and maybe watching de telly- where he talks about how the pshyche can have some effects on the physical world, later events were sadly inevitable. so i'm all but saying to dawn, there's gonna be more friggin problems, i can feel it in me water, and the engine starts banging and thumping like a, like a,... like a bollocks! We have to nose her in gently to the side and hold her tight while the big tankers are going by and try to stop her nudging rocks. A dutch couple gave us a tow to a nearby marina, where we are now. Mechanic due tomorrow.
Non-menopausal vessel
So this unduly quick followup post is therapy i suppose, cos i'm starting to have real doubts about the merits of this. Its a 40 or 50 year old engine, vastly underused for a decade, and its being asked to make the biggest trip of its life, mostly against the current. Its barely ever gone more than 200 kms without a problem, large or small. Wheres its desire to defy middle age, strike out for territories new? Wheres its attempt to fit into a pair of tight, buttock-clenching, waist-constricting, faded and torn denim slacks? Its not there, thats where!
Anyway, tomorrow we'll find out if its a solveable problem, or if the engine has finally given up the ghost. If its gone, thats very very very costly. We're discussing contingencies. We might get it trucked to paris, depending on price, and set her up to rent out there. It'd still be a good size live abord, so thats feasible. Later we could equip with an outboard as a runaround, no prob. So theres still possibilities. But it'll all cost.
If the engines ok, thank god, but still. Do we really want to go from one calamity to the next? Maybe we'll get her trucked anyway. What we lose on that, some of it we'll recoup on not having to buy fuel. So that might be the way to go, but its all up in the air.
It was nothing, really...
Just like me! You'll appreciate the completely unforced segue when i tell of the second dunking i just had in the meuse. We're doing our usual incompetent rope work prior to a lock, not helped at all by the crap positioning of bollards in belgium, and i have to hold on to two ropes. As dawn had advised me, i should have had them tied, but anyway, i'm relying on them for my balance, and the rest is easily-guessed history. So i have a moment when i think i can salvage the situation, pure panic, but the second i realise i'm going to go, no two ways about it, completely calm. Ever get that? So in freefall i remember thinking -and i do mean a complete thought process, compressed into about an eighth of a second- the fall will just take me down a metre and then i'll surface and climb back in. Sounds simple, unremarkable, but its deep, dark choppy water. Anyway, it was indeed simple. Plus i get to do the unfazed heroic thing, ample cover for the preceding idiocy.
Anyway, this ones been therapy for me, very unsure how things are gonna pan out now. What about someone else saying something?
Ps dawn says it was all her fault. She's a trooper!
'Largely' her fault
Correction, 'largely' her fault.
Posted by Dara
man over board
If youre nifty with the knots and have a rudimentary sense of basic geometry youll be alright when tying on in and outside of locks.
Myself and Dara eventually come to terms with the ends of the boat creating two points of a triangle, the third being wherever we could cast a rope, but our new sense of security was walked the plank along with Dara when we had a spot o bother on a windy day outside a lock just past Liege.
The problem was the lock fixtures had corroded and all that was left was a rusty cable considerately knotted on to an aged bollard a meter above my head. Dara was relying on me holding the ropes tight but I momentarilly loosened the vital one to improve the tie, and in he went. luckily there was no big brutes thundering by making waves in the minute it took Dara to scramble and heave himself back on deck.
The wash from one of the commercial barges can send your cups flying, and they have little mercy when appoching the Belgium locks because those locks are often only big enough for one big boat and the race is to the swift. This situation is worsened by the manners of the Belgian cargo handlers. Their Dutch counterparts politely tie up tight to one side of the lock so another boat can go along side, but when we went to do that, dara still dripping lock water, we were screaamed at and a young lad on the deck smacked his hands together to show us what would happen to us if we dared snuggle up to him and by jaysus was he right.. they seemed to be using a solitary bungee strap and when the water gushed in the lock, their boat took the middle like a bully in a sandpit. We would have been canal kill.
Myself and Dara eventually come to terms with the ends of the boat creating two points of a triangle, the third being wherever we could cast a rope, but our new sense of security was walked the plank along with Dara when we had a spot o bother on a windy day outside a lock just past Liege.
The problem was the lock fixtures had corroded and all that was left was a rusty cable considerately knotted on to an aged bollard a meter above my head. Dara was relying on me holding the ropes tight but I momentarilly loosened the vital one to improve the tie, and in he went. luckily there was no big brutes thundering by making waves in the minute it took Dara to scramble and heave himself back on deck.
The wash from one of the commercial barges can send your cups flying, and they have little mercy when appoching the Belgium locks because those locks are often only big enough for one big boat and the race is to the swift. This situation is worsened by the manners of the Belgian cargo handlers. Their Dutch counterparts politely tie up tight to one side of the lock so another boat can go along side, but when we went to do that, dara still dripping lock water, we were screaamed at and a young lad on the deck smacked his hands together to show us what would happen to us if we dared snuggle up to him and by jaysus was he right.. they seemed to be using a solitary bungee strap and when the water gushed in the lock, their boat took the middle like a bully in a sandpit. We would have been canal kill.
Posted by Dawn
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Words to live by
Belated Greetings fellow farers on the waterways of life. Some words to live by for landlubbers and old seadogs alike:
a little knowledge is a dangerous thing
buy a boat, work till you die
the first has universal application; the second is a warning to those thinking of dipping their toe in the water, so to speak, and the hard-won wisdom of the fully immersed. It's a dutch phrase roughly translated, and it speaks for itself. But to elaborate. Boat owners can go a couple of routes. They can happily use their boat without much of a care, slapping on quick fixes whenever necessary, or they can maintain properly and regularly. With a house, it can be a combo, but with a boat there's no middle ground. They're unforgiving bastards. You maintain professionally and assiduously, they should see out your lifetime. You don't, and they'll eventually let you down, badly.
The dutch seem to have quite an upmarket boat culture, so in our yard we'd see guys and gals who were hyper-efficient, stripping ageing paintwork off, epoxying, priming and painting, getting interiors upgraded and welding done, all on a tight schedule, in and out in a couple of weeks.
Forgotten piss bucket
By contrast, our fluctuating ragtag band -rellies visiting and sloping off as soon as decently possible- an ever-growing array of useful stuff and detritus mushrooming on all sides of the boat -tools, offcuts, knackered paintbrushes, gloves and buckets, clothes turned to rags, lost underwear, toys broken and new, a pissbucket someone 'forgot' to empty- cantankerous, jolly, sweaty, public family life compromising the integrity of the workshop, by turns feverish and glazed-eyed, hopeful of progress and despairing -this stretched into a couple of months.
In the end, only the probable bullshit of the marina owners, that they were waiting to lift us into the water before they could take their holiday, focussed us enough to go without sleep for a few days and get her waterborne.
Little fishies
As for the little knowledge? Well if we'd known we knew fuck all, maybe we wouldnt have gotten an old boat in the first place, or maybe we'd have done more research. But thinking we knew more than we did, and going off to a non-native-english speaking place -however excellent the english of many people in holland is- a recipe for diusaster, or at least for delays, redundancies, redoings, wrongdoings and corrections. So for example, because we didnt know what we were doing we had to get the welder back three times, and could have used him a fourth too. And the rails that myself and joe rigged up for him to weld, while a good job for amateurs in a hurry -left it till the last bloody second o' course- are still... 'idiosyncratic', shall we say. Joe also took on a hatch which was a world of pain -no joiner he, as he'd be the first to admit. There was probably a simpler solution, but a little knowledge... in the fullness of time it'll be the absolute biz, but even now it still needs finishing.
And of course, since he was preoccupied up top, the hull was left to me. Jaysus. Really frickin basic, fundamental stuff about a boat -painting the hull for chrissakes- and i'm learning as i go. Won't go into the ins and outs, suffice it to say that our waterline is among the most recognisable in europe, including a couple of little painted on fishies to camoflage the cack job.
Plus, more seriously, at the last second i got into a tizzy about the pipes that drain the deck and go down to the underside of the boat. One of them had needed a weld, and they're sealed at the top for some reason, so i decided they all needed sealing underneath. Thats done and then theres an awful moment with the mechanic we got in at the last minute, when he asks whether i've sealed up the fresh water intake pipe to the engine. This is what keeps the engine cool enough to work, its absolutely vital. Mother of our good sweet lord, we're in the water and for a few horrible minutes i think i've rendered the boat completely unusable without another lift back out, with all the expense and humiliation involved. Getting under way with that pipe sealed would be like driving a car without wheels. Oh the stories they'd regale each other with for years in the taverns around roermond, about the utter plonker -i believe the dutch word is ploenkeer- the plonker amongst plonkers, the plonkiest plonker of them all, the very acme of plonkers, who sealed up his bleeding fresh water intake. Oh the craic, the laughs, the jollity.
None of this is even to speak of the tortuous labour dawn put in inside the boat. Myself and joe had rejigged the already serviceable saloon, and it turned out very unsatisfactorily. So dawn had to put in sterling, soul-crushing work rectifying the situation, which she's still not happy with.
The grumblers
By the end the folks who run the marina were public enemy number one with us. They'd always been a bit abrupt, but over time got almost hostile. Cant say i blame them, what with the unending chaos, plus my habit of not returning tools they'd lent us for fear i'd need them again. But the problem was on their side as well, as they're not hugely warm or communicative, so things probably festered for them. When they were overcharging for the services of the mechanic -and making stuff up to justify it- and dawn was pleasantly querying it, it was implied we didnt want to pay our bill, which is unacceptable in anyone's language. Guy could barely bring himself to shake my hand at the end, very sad way for it to close.
At least it wasnt just us, only probably more so with us than with anyone else. The mechanic calls the boss 'this grumbling man' and other people working on boats there habitually field complaints from him. Dont want to be too down on him and her, myself and joe had a nice evening in their home and he lent us a lot of tools. Just think the pair of them fester instead of communicating.
marlene
Good stuff? Just before we left we had a dinner partay on the half-finished deck with a lovely ensemble of people, a cool woman called gita who dawn struck up a relationship with, her daughter lena and her friend jost. Beautiful still night, the first real use of the new hatch, great food, nice eclectic bunch, me wisecracking, dawn and gita bonding, mam getting into unfamiliar company, fionn mischievous, lena cynical in a cute way, jost quiet but quick to laugh.
Also a super-efficient german guy, marco, working on the boat next to us, incredibly helpful. Also, marlene, who cannot go unmentioned. Met her a few months ago on our last trip over. Myself, dawn, cherri and joe are in the town's gay bar -v kitch, good 80s disco with disco ball, cellar vibe, so i like it- i'm outside and i meet her. Correction, she accosts me, invites herself in to join us. By the end of the night i've had a massage, got the lifestory including recent divorce etc. Anyway, this trip, a few weeks ago i spot her and she pretends to remember me. Since then we've fed or been fed by her a couple of times. In her fifties, child of the sixties probably a bit lost in a more yuppie holland, half bag lady, half artist, half businesswoman. Ok english but not great, so a couple of stock phrases take up the slack for her very often. 'TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT' being the most memorable. Hilarious set piece with mary. Dinner has been served and mary's making nice with marlene, who outs with, 'YOU TALK TOO MUCH, EAT!!' Least thats what i heard, but controversy is rife. Fionn maintains she said 'i' talk too much, the charitable little bugger. I think she was telling mary she didnt have to keep her entertained, and to enjoy her dinner. Mary's interpretation is less charitable, but at any rate she'll probably dine out on it.
My charity ran out as a result of another... incident. We're in her place having nibbles and there's some music on. She starts doing what can only be described as 'performance art', a gyratory, earth mother poor man's tour de force, the kind of thing that one nods sagely at if the performer is getting paid to do it, but which is unforgiveable in a social setting where it really isn't necessary. She focused on poor old joe like a laser during the performance, eventually practically lapdancing the guy. He encouraged her by default because he basically didnt know what to do with it, shake her off. Take a leaf out of my book dude. When it was my turn i did a alternating-wing chicken dance, insisting loudly that she join me. Which, god love her, she briefly did. But it did the trick very quickly by jove.
Sadly she needed a bit more from us than we were prepared to give, would have liked to hang with us much more. Sad story, apparently her son had just gotten married and hadnt invited her. Plus the divorce. And in the rush we didnt say goodbye...
so thats roermond. We've now gotten out of dodge. Bulleted it down the julian canal to maastricht (these things are relative, we're talking about 8 miles an hour), from where mam and fionn could get a train to charleroi for the flight home. The canal is mainly for heavy industrial traffic, so mams last night was spent in the charming environs of an industrial harbour with cranes on the go. Best we could do in the circs.
Loads of regrets. Most of those who came had a pretty boring time while we continued to work and they had to hang in a small town. And even dawn and myself, who should now get the enjoyable bit, still have a lot of work to do. Funny thing is that although the nou en is sounder than she's been in years, because of all the heavy work on the deck and the attendant scarring, she probably looks worse than she ever has. So theres a job of work, and we cant do it in marinas, so we'll have to do it on the move, while out on the water. Plus, after all that, with the shit job i did on the hull, ideally we'll have to haul her out again in no more than a couple of years to finish her off properly.
As the man said
a little knowledge is a dangerous thing
buy a boat, work till you die...
a little knowledge is a dangerous thing
buy a boat, work till you die
the first has universal application; the second is a warning to those thinking of dipping their toe in the water, so to speak, and the hard-won wisdom of the fully immersed. It's a dutch phrase roughly translated, and it speaks for itself. But to elaborate. Boat owners can go a couple of routes. They can happily use their boat without much of a care, slapping on quick fixes whenever necessary, or they can maintain properly and regularly. With a house, it can be a combo, but with a boat there's no middle ground. They're unforgiving bastards. You maintain professionally and assiduously, they should see out your lifetime. You don't, and they'll eventually let you down, badly.
The dutch seem to have quite an upmarket boat culture, so in our yard we'd see guys and gals who were hyper-efficient, stripping ageing paintwork off, epoxying, priming and painting, getting interiors upgraded and welding done, all on a tight schedule, in and out in a couple of weeks.
Forgotten piss bucket
By contrast, our fluctuating ragtag band -rellies visiting and sloping off as soon as decently possible- an ever-growing array of useful stuff and detritus mushrooming on all sides of the boat -tools, offcuts, knackered paintbrushes, gloves and buckets, clothes turned to rags, lost underwear, toys broken and new, a pissbucket someone 'forgot' to empty- cantankerous, jolly, sweaty, public family life compromising the integrity of the workshop, by turns feverish and glazed-eyed, hopeful of progress and despairing -this stretched into a couple of months.
In the end, only the probable bullshit of the marina owners, that they were waiting to lift us into the water before they could take their holiday, focussed us enough to go without sleep for a few days and get her waterborne.
Little fishies
As for the little knowledge? Well if we'd known we knew fuck all, maybe we wouldnt have gotten an old boat in the first place, or maybe we'd have done more research. But thinking we knew more than we did, and going off to a non-native-english speaking place -however excellent the english of many people in holland is- a recipe for diusaster, or at least for delays, redundancies, redoings, wrongdoings and corrections. So for example, because we didnt know what we were doing we had to get the welder back three times, and could have used him a fourth too. And the rails that myself and joe rigged up for him to weld, while a good job for amateurs in a hurry -left it till the last bloody second o' course- are still... 'idiosyncratic', shall we say. Joe also took on a hatch which was a world of pain -no joiner he, as he'd be the first to admit. There was probably a simpler solution, but a little knowledge... in the fullness of time it'll be the absolute biz, but even now it still needs finishing.
And of course, since he was preoccupied up top, the hull was left to me. Jaysus. Really frickin basic, fundamental stuff about a boat -painting the hull for chrissakes- and i'm learning as i go. Won't go into the ins and outs, suffice it to say that our waterline is among the most recognisable in europe, including a couple of little painted on fishies to camoflage the cack job.
Plus, more seriously, at the last second i got into a tizzy about the pipes that drain the deck and go down to the underside of the boat. One of them had needed a weld, and they're sealed at the top for some reason, so i decided they all needed sealing underneath. Thats done and then theres an awful moment with the mechanic we got in at the last minute, when he asks whether i've sealed up the fresh water intake pipe to the engine. This is what keeps the engine cool enough to work, its absolutely vital. Mother of our good sweet lord, we're in the water and for a few horrible minutes i think i've rendered the boat completely unusable without another lift back out, with all the expense and humiliation involved. Getting under way with that pipe sealed would be like driving a car without wheels. Oh the stories they'd regale each other with for years in the taverns around roermond, about the utter plonker -i believe the dutch word is ploenkeer- the plonker amongst plonkers, the plonkiest plonker of them all, the very acme of plonkers, who sealed up his bleeding fresh water intake. Oh the craic, the laughs, the jollity.
None of this is even to speak of the tortuous labour dawn put in inside the boat. Myself and joe had rejigged the already serviceable saloon, and it turned out very unsatisfactorily. So dawn had to put in sterling, soul-crushing work rectifying the situation, which she's still not happy with.
The grumblers
By the end the folks who run the marina were public enemy number one with us. They'd always been a bit abrupt, but over time got almost hostile. Cant say i blame them, what with the unending chaos, plus my habit of not returning tools they'd lent us for fear i'd need them again. But the problem was on their side as well, as they're not hugely warm or communicative, so things probably festered for them. When they were overcharging for the services of the mechanic -and making stuff up to justify it- and dawn was pleasantly querying it, it was implied we didnt want to pay our bill, which is unacceptable in anyone's language. Guy could barely bring himself to shake my hand at the end, very sad way for it to close.
At least it wasnt just us, only probably more so with us than with anyone else. The mechanic calls the boss 'this grumbling man' and other people working on boats there habitually field complaints from him. Dont want to be too down on him and her, myself and joe had a nice evening in their home and he lent us a lot of tools. Just think the pair of them fester instead of communicating.
marlene
Good stuff? Just before we left we had a dinner partay on the half-finished deck with a lovely ensemble of people, a cool woman called gita who dawn struck up a relationship with, her daughter lena and her friend jost. Beautiful still night, the first real use of the new hatch, great food, nice eclectic bunch, me wisecracking, dawn and gita bonding, mam getting into unfamiliar company, fionn mischievous, lena cynical in a cute way, jost quiet but quick to laugh.
Also a super-efficient german guy, marco, working on the boat next to us, incredibly helpful. Also, marlene, who cannot go unmentioned. Met her a few months ago on our last trip over. Myself, dawn, cherri and joe are in the town's gay bar -v kitch, good 80s disco with disco ball, cellar vibe, so i like it- i'm outside and i meet her. Correction, she accosts me, invites herself in to join us. By the end of the night i've had a massage, got the lifestory including recent divorce etc. Anyway, this trip, a few weeks ago i spot her and she pretends to remember me. Since then we've fed or been fed by her a couple of times. In her fifties, child of the sixties probably a bit lost in a more yuppie holland, half bag lady, half artist, half businesswoman. Ok english but not great, so a couple of stock phrases take up the slack for her very often. 'TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT' being the most memorable. Hilarious set piece with mary. Dinner has been served and mary's making nice with marlene, who outs with, 'YOU TALK TOO MUCH, EAT!!' Least thats what i heard, but controversy is rife. Fionn maintains she said 'i' talk too much, the charitable little bugger. I think she was telling mary she didnt have to keep her entertained, and to enjoy her dinner. Mary's interpretation is less charitable, but at any rate she'll probably dine out on it.
My charity ran out as a result of another... incident. We're in her place having nibbles and there's some music on. She starts doing what can only be described as 'performance art', a gyratory, earth mother poor man's tour de force, the kind of thing that one nods sagely at if the performer is getting paid to do it, but which is unforgiveable in a social setting where it really isn't necessary. She focused on poor old joe like a laser during the performance, eventually practically lapdancing the guy. He encouraged her by default because he basically didnt know what to do with it, shake her off. Take a leaf out of my book dude. When it was my turn i did a alternating-wing chicken dance, insisting loudly that she join me. Which, god love her, she briefly did. But it did the trick very quickly by jove.
Sadly she needed a bit more from us than we were prepared to give, would have liked to hang with us much more. Sad story, apparently her son had just gotten married and hadnt invited her. Plus the divorce. And in the rush we didnt say goodbye...
so thats roermond. We've now gotten out of dodge. Bulleted it down the julian canal to maastricht (these things are relative, we're talking about 8 miles an hour), from where mam and fionn could get a train to charleroi for the flight home. The canal is mainly for heavy industrial traffic, so mams last night was spent in the charming environs of an industrial harbour with cranes on the go. Best we could do in the circs.
Loads of regrets. Most of those who came had a pretty boring time while we continued to work and they had to hang in a small town. And even dawn and myself, who should now get the enjoyable bit, still have a lot of work to do. Funny thing is that although the nou en is sounder than she's been in years, because of all the heavy work on the deck and the attendant scarring, she probably looks worse than she ever has. So theres a job of work, and we cant do it in marinas, so we'll have to do it on the move, while out on the water. Plus, after all that, with the shit job i did on the hull, ideally we'll have to haul her out again in no more than a couple of years to finish her off properly.
As the man said
a little knowledge is a dangerous thing
buy a boat, work till you die...
Posted by Dara
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
All Aboard! (Not)
So it's all aboard the So What. If you consider squatting on a beached, wheel-less caravan as on a par with Ahab's adventures on the ocean wave. What happened was that myself and Joe got here to Roermond in time for our ugly duckling to be lifted out of the water, so that a surveyor could take a peek, with an eye to getting insurance for the old crate. So a giant german scoots in from across the border looking for 800 lids -under the table if you please- for a quick gander. This guy is on a winner amongst winners. So he has a look, but he starts raising sceptical eyebrows in my direction. and i know it's the boat that's at the root of it. Doesnae look good.
He needs the decades-old multiple layers of paint off the hull so he can do a proper check, and we're given the option of shelling out 1250 lids -you read that right- to have it sand-blasted. Christ on a bike. Luckily, the owner of the marina, who won't let us take angle grinders to the job -too much dust- has a couple of scrapers handy. He's all heart. Sherioushly. 50 years of paint on a 10 x 3.5 metre hull, and we're gonna evict with a couple of scrapers. Well I never.
By this time Dawn and Cherri have joined us. Dawn's full-on with a web design job, her client having given her a deadline of, like, yesterday, and Cherri's only on a quickie hol, her first away from household concerns (hubbie, kid) for ages. The sun has started beating down, Roermond's put on its finery, the bands have struck up in the town's squares, ye olde markets are up and running, so they take off for coffee and shopping (more power to their elbow).
Meanwhile... in dante's fourth circle of hell, a combination of will-to-power and child-like innocence mean that joe and myself set to with a half-hearted vengeance. It's tedious, sometimes armwrenching work, but that guy is an animal. I'm all whiny with, 'joe, i can't get into the right position', 'joe, how long's this gonna take', 'joe, are we there yet?' but he keeps on keepin on. Takes a couple of days of scraping, and for my shower each night i take a kitchen scrubbing sponge with me, only way to get the gunk off. My eyes are shot to shit (we hadn't bothered with goggles -told you, childlike innocence), and i can't clean adequately around them, so i look mascaraed up. Silver lining i call it, very fetching. When we're nearly down to the bare bones the marina owner eases up and we finish the job with angle grinders. German arthur daley surveyor guy scooters back to take a few snaps, render the verdict that it's not as bad as he thought it would be, and pocket his ridiculously easily gotten gains. Cause for celebration. Don't These People Realise? In other news, Dutch people very much appear to be the biz. Unfailingly friendly and usually the kind word. When we started angle grinding, I took the time out -anything rather than work- to walk over to a wrinkly old geezer sunbathing in his nappy nearby, to apologise for the noise. After a bit of halting English (him) and German (me) he tells me that he can't hear very well anyway. 'Good!' i exclaim. He knows what I mean. Other examples, a couple who run a bimini workshop right beside us, and who observed us on the hot boat, were in the process of going to the trouble of writing us out a note to tell us we could sit in the shade at their table, when we came back and caught them in the act. The nerve. And one from aways back, but which shouldnt go unmentioned. Last year when myself and Dawn were sailing down through Holland, we got a fuel leak so we had to stop in Tiel. Took us days to clean it out, and the boat was uninhabitable. Guess what the marina owner and his wife suggested to ill-kempt strangers who turn up on a rustbucket? We get the run of their pristine sailing boat for about five days. For gods sake, shouldnt someone tell these people that its a nasty, messed up world out there? Also the marina owner and his wife here in Roermond. Bit of a combo of frosty formality and genuine warmheartedness. Problems been they're feverishly busy right now, so i've had to stalk him with any queries. I took to doing the De Nero meet-the-parents thing with him (behind his back), pointing at my eyes with two fingers, then pointing at him. Maybe it worked, as we had a good chat with them yesterday, and not only got the info we needed -welding and occupancy prices- but also got the rundown of their new boat. She's the houseproud one, already got her serviettes picked out to match the hull, he's the long-suffering vassal, but knows he's lucky to have her. The Big Push That's it for now. Joe and myself will be back in mid-june to do a shitload of stuff on so what, before she's ready to offer her holiday services. Gotta strip her out pre-welding, replace everything, paint top to bottom, install some handrails, cut open a hatch to the deck, upgrade the toilet and install a shower. Money money money, dreams dreams dreams.
Posted by Dara
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
On our way
Joe is in Roermund now, Dara will be there on saturday and Dawn ll be there on Monday, after spending a few days in Paris with Sally and Bobby. Cherri ll be joining us on wednesday, her first visit to the Nou-en. She ll be put in a cradle and surveyed and hopefully painted all ready for summer.
Monday, April 14, 2008
one year past
Just a few words to reflect on this spring morning
about a good friend
The life that he had was seized
with great passion
and held in both hands
a little cruel towards the end
but lived none the less
when he wasnt too well
with great thirst and vitality
from his earliest beginnings
to the bitter-sweet end
A man who wouldnt miss a friend’s funeral.
In the hope they would always be friends
or the assurance of late company
to the glee of his new plan
to leave this great harbour
and seek the one so fond
quite unsure of these dark waters
with no known destination ahead
Will pride on his fine ship
bring her to gentle end?
and find a safe haven in this magical new land
where things last forever
so sweet are the spirits
love can only abound
where you my proud father
will never know, pain
but this isn't a good bye,
its only farewell
~ah sure wont we all meet again
my all weathers friend
Joe Purcell
about a good friend
The life that he had was seized
with great passion
and held in both hands
a little cruel towards the end
but lived none the less
when he wasnt too well
with great thirst and vitality
from his earliest beginnings
to the bitter-sweet end
A man who wouldnt miss a friend’s funeral.
In the hope they would always be friends
or the assurance of late company
to the glee of his new plan
to leave this great harbour
and seek the one so fond
quite unsure of these dark waters
with no known destination ahead
Will pride on his fine ship
bring her to gentle end?
and find a safe haven in this magical new land
where things last forever
so sweet are the spirits
love can only abound
where you my proud father
will never know, pain
but this isn't a good bye,
its only farewell
~ah sure wont we all meet again
my all weathers friend
Joe Purcell
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