The Gabble Ratchet.

Who knows where the time goes?

2015-12-09T17:55:00.000+00:00

Only a moment ago it seemed as though summer was coming to a close and we were collecting all the wild harvests, but time has flown by and now we find ourselves plonked down in the middle of December preparing for Yule. But where have we been hiding all these months? I confess that I was tucked away for a little while making felt critters and festive creations for a friend to add to her stall at Leamington Spa's Christmas Market.

A couple of critters and other gubbins. Creations also by Mum and Dad.

And whilst I was busy crafting, Rob and Abingdon Traditional Morris Dancers were busy starring in a music video for Stealing Sheep:

Recently we also decided to open a little Etsy shop to sell some of the other items I have been making, such as the bits and bobs below:

So pop on over to The Thames Witchery and come and say hello. I am currently working on a number of pyrography designs including a Green Man and an adaption of a carving from the Hylestad stave church.

Samhain kept us pretty busy too. It was wonderful to see friends and family for a little feast. I meant to post these photos long ago:

And finally, now, I find I have a little time to catch up on all the blogs and online friends I have been missing.

Fire

2015-09-21T21:29:00.001+01:00

Sunday evening was just beginning to draw in when a thud caused our boat to lurch to port-side. I thought we had been hit by a passing boat so I went outside to check. There was no one there, but I heard screaming. It was indistinct at first and I thought perhaps children were playing over exuberantly in the park - it was then that I heard the call every boater dreads: FIRE!

We immediately ran towards the shouts and found a family of eight stranded on their cruiser as smoke billowed out of their cabin. We could not reach the boat, but we sprang into action as the family jumped into the water. Not all of them were able to swim but they were wearing life jackets and, with Gary and Brenda, we managed to pull them from the water and onto the pontoons. Rob and Gary seemed to pluck the children out one by one, strong as they are, with relative ease, but I struggled hauling out a girl as her clothing weighed her down. I asked her to work with me, and on the count of three she pushed up whilst I pulled, and with the help of Brenda we dragged her free of the water and onto the relative safety of the pontoon. Whilst this was going on another boater called the fire brigade and opened the gates to give the emergency services access. Everyone worked naturally together.

It was clear by now that there was not much we could do for the boat. Two people in a rib arrived with a fire extinguisher, but there was a problem and it did not work and all they could do was push the boat further towards the far bank and away from us. They were forced to retreat when the flames and heat became too much. The fire spread so swiftly, eating through the cabin as though it was made of cardboard. One minute the cabin was visible, the next it was gone. Just like that a boat was gutted. Gary and Rob stood by with boat poles to keep the burning boat at a distance for fear that it could drift back. Thankfully, the breeze took it towards the bank and away from other boats and people. As the emergency services arrived Brenda and I dashed to our boats to retrieve towels to dry and keep the family warm. We had pulled them out of the water - five children, one baby, and two adults - and they were unharmed. We could not bring them to our boats to keep them safe because our boats were still in the danger zone and they would have had to pass their burning boat. They retreated onto firm ground and to the shelter of their car in the car park where the paramedics attended to them. Brenda stayed with them and I returned to the pontoons to see what more could be done – but there was nothing left for us to do. The emergency services had it all in hand, and pumped river water onto the flames. It seemed to take an age for the flames to extinguish, and by the time they were done there was very little boat left - It did not matter though; a family survived, and that is enough.

Local media coverage:

BBC

The Oxford Mail

Advice for petrol powered boats: Boat Safety Scheme

Warm days and wood smoke nights.

2015-09-18T16:47:00.000+01:00

I have watched summer spill into autumn, counting all the little changes that add up to mark one season's fading and the other's awakening. The first of autumn's storms came in on a tumble of leaves and rain, and our windows leaked to remind us that our boat build is still far from complete. I missed the departure of the swallows, swifts, and martins over one weekend, their exit as silent as their arrival in early summer. On a Friday I watched their agile flight, skimming the river and darting above the boats in the sunshine, and by Monday, as I emerged after a weekend of illness, the sky and river was empty of their acrobatic flight.

These days wood smoke from our little chimney is often spotted hanging low over the water as the nights close in on the equinox. Whilst the days have seen some warm sunshine, the evenings are quick to cool. We received our winter coal supply last week. Keeping warm is an expensive business and so we try and buy whilst merchants sell at summer prices. The arrival of the lorry trundling down our lane is a sure sign that autumn is near.

Big lorry made it down a tiny lane (it may have left with bits of willow tree attached).

This year, for the first time, the coalman refused to put the coal on our coal pile, and drove off leaving it in the car park.

The moment I regretted buying all the coal at once.

There was no one around to help me shift it so I started the arduous task alone, before Rob returned home six hours later after a day's work to carry the rest.

20 bags and I'm ready to collapse.

We are now fully stocked on wood and coal, and I am sure there will be more storm-felled wood again this year that we will hoard ready for next winter.

We are still out regularly harvesting late summer and early autumn fruits. The sloes have peaked early, not waiting for frost's first touch to make their juices sweet, but turning on the branch instead. Our first pear harvest is in too, collected from a little tree beside the lake. I have been busy the last few days squirreling away rosehips for liqueur and tea.

I will be using the old faithful liqueur recipe from Foraging London that always has wonderful results. I have never dried hips for tea before, so this will be a new adventure for me.

As I write this Rob's hedgerow port is bubbling away in a barrel beside the stove. He has gathered demijohns from friends ready for the next stage in its brewing. We still need to gather mugwort for our Samhain brew, and need to catch it before the flowers fade.

This year we have grown our own beans and tomatoes in little pots behind the marina office. I went to collect my first harvest a week ago only to discover that someone else had taken what was ripe. I do not mind sharing what we grow, but first pickings mean a lot to us; the reward for our hard labours. I do not know who took them, but I hope the vegetables brought cheer to their table, and that they tasted good. Enough people bring me tokens of their bakes and garden delights that I do not begrudge the disappearance of a few of my own crops. We will have enough beans to see us through the winter.

And so slowly, it seems, autumn is creeping upon us, but she is not in full mantle. Trees are still dressed in green, and there is, as yet, no signs of the gabble ratchets or the gulls that follow the Thames north in pursuit of colder climes. I do not know what gulls they are, they fly too high for me to distinguish any features, but their appearance in the low light of evening makes us pause whatever we are doing to watch them cross the sky. It is then, as we wish them well on their journey, that we know that autumn is truly upon us.

River Ock ramblings

2015-08-28T16:46:00.000+01:00

I've had a longing of late to reconnect with our surroundings and the life we share our local watercourses with. It's been with apt joy that I've been reading Views of the Ock and it's inspired me to take the time to venture further afield and wander the banks of a river I've pretty much taken for granted. I never realised how much wildlife the Ock hosts until I read this wonderful blog, and Rob and I thought we'd take the opportunity to walk part of its course whilst we explored the route of the old Wilts & Berks canal. I blogged about this part of the canal once - it's been four years since last we ventured there. Four years. How could we have left it so long?

We started our little Ock adventure in the early evening, whilst daylight still showed us our way, and we followed the footpaths that led away from houses and superstores, and towards the roar of the busy A34.

My northern soul wants to call it a beck.

We found 14 Second World War anti-tank dragon's teeth tucked away and abandoned in the undergrowth:

Here be dragons... teeth.
(identification courtesy of OckViewer)

Whilst still within the confines of the noisy world of humans we saw only baby moorhens and a grey heron (not at the same time, I hasten to add). But soon we passed under the dual carriageway and open fields beckoned us.

Under the A34. Hey, wait for me!

Here there was a lovely air of abandonment that gave the impression that we were the only wanderers to walk these paths, though I doubt that this was true.

Bridge needs a little work.

Corn stubble, perfect for hares to hide.

It was in these fields of stubbled corn that we saw our first hare bound along the hedgerow. We paused to watch a while before continuing on our way as five partridges scuttled into the tall grass in front of us. It was in this field too that we heard the plaintive keeow of a buzzard. We observed his lazy circles over the treeline before he disappeared out of sight on the other side of the river. With fading light we were unable to get a decent photo, but we continued to walk until day fell fully into night and the moon rose high to guide us.

I'm not saying the moon rose specifically for us, but he definitely helped.

And just as we turned our tails to retrace our steps home a red deer darted across our path. A good wildlife haul already spotted, or so I thought, before a badger snuffled his way into the middle of the field to have a root about. We were motionless as we watched him, afraid that the slightest movement would disturb him. He too, retraced his steps, and returned into the darkness of the hedgerow from where he came.

Back under the underpass we stopped as bats flitted about us, so close I thought I would be able to reach out and touch them. They flew low over the water and skirted above our heads, just as they do when we're sat on the front of our boat on a warm summer evening. But this wasn't the end of our wildlife spotting. There was one more fellow who made himself known before we fully returned to the world of humans. A fox, stealthy in the night, turned to take us in his gaze, swished his tail and was gone into the darkness.

The river Ock may be little, but life abounds about her in the liminal space between day and night, and it was a privilege, for a moment, to experience it.

Summer fruits and season falling.

2015-08-25T23:26:00.000+01:00

The Spanish Plume (who knew?) saw temperatures rise to 30C on Saturday and it turned into a fine day for some foraging.

We added elderberries to our blackberry stash ready for making port (but not until we've collected the first frost's sloes). Our freezer is currently full of berries.

"Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"

Processing the elderberries

And then there were windfall apples and plums for crumbles and other sweet treats.

Apples and plums (and possibly a wasp that was chasing me)

The local rowan trees are currently heavy under the weight of fruit. I've collected some berries already to dry in garlands before they become too soft.

rowan

rowan berries (looking like mardi gras beads)

I'm hoping to use them as decorations for Yule, but am debating whether to make rowan wine. We're also contemplating harvesting mugwort for a Samhain brew, 'Oh Lordy, it's Mugworty', as a change from last year's pumpkin 'Oh Lordy, it's Gourdy' beer (see what we did there?).

Since that glorious day of foraging the weather has turned in upon itself and summer seems to be falling into the first clutches of autumn. Temperatures have dropped by over ten degrees, and the leaves along the riverbank are showing signs of decay. It's been cold enough to warrant a fire on some occasions. Whilst it's been dark and damp outside, we have been tucked up cosy and warm within. This is one of the things I love about boat life, and the turning from summer into autumn is my favourite time of year.

When it's cold outside...

First fire of the season

2015 Totally Thames Source to Sea River Relay

2015-08-20T21:05:00.000+01:00

On Tuesday we trundled up to Sandford-on-Thames ready for our part in the Totally Thames Source to Sea River Relay the following day. The stretch between Abingdon and Sandford was peaceful. Lolly clearly enjoyed the boat ride and was pleased to be on another adventure.

And where do you think you're taking me?

I think we should go back that way.

Sandford was pretty busy. We were hoping to moor below the lock but our favourite spot was taken, so through the lock we went with Rob expertly maneuvering past a couple in a tiny canoe who went in before us (that would be my fault with the 'No, after you...' to their looks of horror).

This is actually Abingdon Lock but I'm going to pass it off as Sandford whilst no one is looking.

We saw Pat as we emerged from the lock. He waved at us from the beer garden of the King's Arms. I waved enthusiastically in response and hollered a greeting, and we continued on our way. I discovered later that he was trying to wave us down because he'd saved us a mooring. Oops! We did managed to snag the last available meadow-side space (opposite some very lovely houses) so all was not lost.

Our mere presence clearly adding value to the property opposite.

Once here we settled in for the night under a very lovely, if stormy, looking sunset. It held promise of the weather to come.

Do you think it's going to rain?

Nah, we'll be all right.

As the evening wore on Lolly and I played a little game called Spot the Cat in the Dark.

Aha, I have a torch!

The following morning dawned bright and sunny and full of hope for a day of good weather. I decked the boat out in a mixture of bought and homemade bunting.

Remember my lovely new paintwork? The bunting has marked it. :(

Pffft, the bunting you made is rubbish! I'm a cat, I know these things.

And we waited for our turn in the relay. Just after lunch this came and the bottle of Thames water arrived on Admiral VII and we had a little hand over.

There were drinks aboard too. Beautiful boat, and lovely crew. :)

And then a second, more official, handover at Sandford Lock.

After saying our farewells it was back to our boat to get started on our journey to Abingdon.

Not before another photograph was taken. That's my dad in the background.

We were accompanied downstream by Mark who had taken part in the relay the day before us in his beautiful boat.

Steering by foot and making it look easy. I'd fall overboard. *jealous* :)

And whilst we were busy crewing Lolly looked after our precious cargo of Thames source water.

Can I eat it? Are you sure? You're no fun...

It was about this time that the rain started. And it rained, and rained, and rained. Some of us may have retreated inside (there's a downside to being at the tiller) and by the time we reached Abingdon Rob was completely soaked.
At Abingdon Lock we were met by other Morris men from Abingdon Traditional Morris Dancers and they put on a good show for passing boats despite the weather. There was even an Abingdon flag bearer.

That's my mum, that is.

After all the dancing the bottle of source water was officially handed over to ex-Morris dancer Frank who was manning Abingdon Lock. The next part of its journey will be in the hands of a different river user.

This marked the end of our leg of the relay and so we made our way back home to Abingdon Marina. We were soggy, we were tired, but we were happy after such a fun day.

Abingdon looking pretty even in the rain.

Still pretty.

Yep, still pretty.

Preparations

2015-08-13T20:51:00.000+01:00

We have been readying ourselves and the boat of late to once again partake in the Totally Thames Source to Sea Relay. Time has crept quickly upon us and there is less than a week to go before we journey up to Oxford for our leg of the event. We will be collecting the bottle of Thames source water at Sandford and bringing it down to Abingdon on Wednesday, before leaving it in the care of the lock keeper for the night. The bottle will carry on its journey downstream without us, but not before getting a Morris send off from Rob and the guys he dances with.

The boat is nearly ready to play her part in the relay. I have washed the windows and the majority of the steel work. House-dwellers do not seem to notice it so much, but on the water spiders are everywhere - and wherever they are, they poo. Spider poo. I was not familiar with spider poo until I lived on a boat. Now we even sing a little ditty about it (to the theme of the original Spider-Man cartoon):

Spider poo, spider poo,

It's the thing that the spiders do...

Okay, so it needs a little work (we even have little ditties about lighting the fire, but I suspect this just confirms that we are a little weird, especially as we have not tired of it in over ten years). But, spider poo is gross. This is an exterior bulkead:

It is supposed to be uniformly blue. All that discolouration is spider poo (Spider poo, spider poo...). I removed a pint of spiders (that is a legitimate measure for spiders) from the front of the boat yesterday and washed the steel down as best as I could. I also renewed the gaffer tape that stops the windows from leaking. It is not very elegant but until we have the time and means to refit the windows it will have to do - just do not look too closely at our relay photos.

Rob has also been busy making a top-box for the roof. The lid of which will be constructed using a couple of our solar panels. We have more solar panels than planned top-boxes, so he will make a rack for the other panels and have them up and running (famous last words) in time for our trip. They are not really necessary as the engine will generate enough power for our needs, but it is nice to have them all the same.

I also set myself a challenge. I was given a sewing machine as a graduation present and as I am new to the world of sewing I thought my very first project on this machine could be bunting for the relay.

I had grand plans of bedecking the entire boat with the stuff, but to be fair, after hours of sticking myself with pins (blood sacrifice, I presume) I am happy to announce that I have made enough to go around the stern rail. That is not very much at all, but I am proud of my little achievement. I will post photos of it from the relay. I never knew sewing needed so much concentration. It made my brain, and my machine, go fuzzy.

And whilst we were busying ourselves Lolly kept up her job of Chief Lookout, and she did it admirably.

Nothing is coming. I think we are safe.

It has been lovely, after all the work we have been doing on the boat, to sit on the roof in the evenings and watch the sun set. We have had some pretty displays of late:

Of stars and meteors

2015-08-11T18:48:00.000+01:00

I watched the last glow of the evening fall into the west before I clambered up onto the roof of the boat. The cool steel was a shock to my warm fingers and I lay, bundled in blankets and darkness, as the sky stood gaping above me.

There was little cloud last night and the moon was so slim a slither that the stars stood bright and endless overhead. The air was still and the river quiet, and I wondered what I would miss if I lived in a house. How could I bear the confines of bricks and a roof I could not climb to lie upon, and how would I cope with not seeing the vast expanse of universe above me for the orange glow of street lamps? I feel connected here, upon our boat, floating on the Thames. I feel like I am part of it. I sense the thin, wispy strand of web that holds me in my landscape. And last night I felt that thread twitch as I watched and marveled at satellites pass and the Perseids fall.

I wish I had a camera that could capture the beauty of stars so numerous and vivid that I struggled to map out constellations. I wish I could render into words the elegance of the world at that particular time to share here, now. But I have not and I cannot, for I lack the skill. The Perseids are due to peak over the next few days; if you can, go out into the darkness and see for yourself the utter splendour they present.

Where to look for the Perseids (clicky, click; linky, link)

The berry run.

2015-08-09T16:22:00.000+01:00

Once the calidity of the day had passed we followed the badger trails and failing sun along the river until we met the abandoned canal.

It once held the promise of connections south, but now it tells the tale, in sandy-silted whispers, of grand schemes lost and boats that never came.

Here, among the honeyed grasses, ghostly thistledown and dandelion globes, is the bramble larder we came to raid.

The blackberries were already fat and full, made sweet by summer sun. We filled our pot to the brim and gorged ourselves on the fruit, our fingers juice tainted and torn by thorns. Our willing sacrifice for such pleasure. Once sated we turned tail in the dying light and chased the night shadows home.

Island Constructed

2015-08-08T10:38:00.000+01:00

You are the sea; salt wind

And endless in your pursuit of sandy cove.

You are seaweed and waves

Rushing at the shore.

I am the land; craggy

Rocks and fields of tilled earth,

Until in your sight I become beach

Welcoming your approach.

Within me you will find safe harbour

And in your embrace

I become an island.

Anger in the hold

2015-08-07T12:45:00.000+01:00

Two-toned timber, cracked and caulked

upon water, weighing heavy

as strides cause tsunamis

to flee your bow.

You are long-tailed and laden low

with laboured words carried as cargo

in a hull dark as the pitch

potted to protect it.

The rhythmic stutter of engine splutter

frightens fish from shadows

to shelter in the dun-coloured

depths away from you.

You drop anchor before me, bow now

sluggish in the silty slur and your

word-hoard hauled from hull is dumped

like fish fresh from the trawl.

They lie limp and listless between us,

whitebait words losing breath and beating less

whilst you fend off and slink slowly away

like the Mary Celeste.

Summer Sun and Painting the Roof

2015-08-06T13:59:00.000+01:00

When we had the boat built we only had a holding coat of paint applied to her by the builders. We were't even sure at the time what colour we wanted the boat to be, so on a whim, and due to location, we plumped for Oxford Blue. We're really happy with the colour, but in the height of summer when the boat is sat in full sun the heat the colour holds is unbearable. During the last heatwave I left a thermometer on the gas locker on the back deck and it read 51.9C. It felt a tad toasty inside the boat too. So, we took the decision to paint the roof a more suitable colour, one that wouldn't soak up the sun's rays so readily. We ventured vaguely into this territory with The Green Man, but the red shade we chose wasn't really very effective. This time we decided to go all out and do it properly.

I sanded out all rust and primed where I had taken the paint back to bare metal. I then meticulously sanded the roof of paint drips from the original blue coat and tried to remove the drips of solder left over from when the boat was constructed. This was a fair old job, and after three hours I wished the boat was 50ft smaller and 10ft narrower. I had a little help, though.

There was a lot more rust spots than I was expecting for such a new boat, and the heatwave kicked in just as work started. The roof became too hot to stand on after 10am.

My friends over at the very lovely Green Boat Services recommended Jotun Marine Paints to us. Jotun have a much larger colour palette than International and are more affordable so we thought we'd give them a go. First we applied an undercoat of Vinyguard 88 primer/tiecoat (I exchanged kitty help for human help).

We're not sure which paint the builders originally used. I'm sure it's in our paperwork somewhere, but because we intend to paint the entire shell again (eventually) we thought a slight variation in the blue that we chose would be okay. We decided that it would be nice to keep an Oxford Blue border and use a lighter colour for the main part of the roof. The Oxford Blue Jotun supplied turned out to be a near perfect match (Jotun Pilot 2 BS381c Oxford Blue 105) and we thought their Silver Grey would compliment it (Jotun Pilot 2 Ral 7001 Silver Grey). The photos of the boat do not do the colours justice so here are the colours from the paint charts.

We painted the blue border first. I think we did two or three coats in the end. Another coat will be applied when we come to paint the sides to tie the sides and roof together, and to hide the silver paint I accidentally splattered onto the handrails!

The Jotun paints used in conjunction with their thinner was easy to apply. On the hottest days we were limited to painting only in the mornings. This caused my two week paint schedule to go completely awry, but with Rob's help we eventually got a couple of coats of silver-grey on too.

Rain stopped play on a couple of occasions. It was lovely to see the high gloss finish repel the raindrops.

Our lovely high gloss finish was not to last though. It was beautiful to look at, but slippery as hell. Our roof is used a lot for access to the solar panels, the lawn, taking the water hose across, to sit on, and to lie on. I took the hose across in the rain to fill the water tank and it was like trying to traverse an ice rink. We always planned to make it non-slip but was originally going to use sand in conjunction with the paint. A fellow boater mentioned he had problems with his boat roof when the previous owner had used sand. It had cracked and rain had got under the paint coats causing rust patches to bubble up from below. In lieu of his experience and advice we decided to opt for International's Non-Slip Additive. It looks and feels like talcum powder (I don't know whether talc would be a cheaper alternative) and leaves a lovely non-slip surface.

The roof isn't completely finished as I'd like an Aegishjalmur painted onto the sliding hatch (and a Vegvisir on the bow locker), but we're sneaking ever closer to a nicer looking boat.

Lammas

2015-08-04T17:47:00.001+01:00

We met together, the few of us, to mark the start of the harvest festivals. This is my favourite run, leading up to Samhain and Yule. I like the darker time of the year and Lammas signals that soon Summer will break and Autumn will return. Not yet, though. Not quite yet, but nearly...

So, we gathered on a warm evening for our hlaf-mas ('loaf-mass') on the water. Rob cooked a beautiful stew with blueberries and pork, and to accompany it our loaf, Barry Wheatycorn, our tribute to John Barleycorn.

Barry Wheatycorn (of the burned nipples).

~~'John Barleycorn~~ Barry Wheatycorn must die.'

And so, only a head is left to be returned to the earth.

An Unexpected Guest

2015-08-03T12:47:00.001+01:00

Our dinner was disturbed last night by a clatter from the back deck. Lolly was the first to investigate the source of the commotion.

This juvenile cormorant seems not to to have acquired a shyness for humans (or cats) yet. He sat, quite peacefully, on the solar panel rack that I left balancing precariously across the back deck when we painted the roof. Lolly wasn't quite so sure of our visitor. After poking her head out of the door she decided her best course of action was to sneak away and abandon ship.

The cormorant watched her slink by before closing his eyes for a quick snooze. He eventually moved away after dark to sit on the tiller of our neighbour's boat, and Lolly finally felt it safe to return.

Parallel Universe Saturdays? [ybw.com]

2015-07-31T00:01:00.000+01:00

Strange things, they say, happen at sea, but that's nothing compared to the strangeness of last Saturday in our marina car park.

I was helping the manager out in his absence by manning the phone and computer in the little marina hut. Late that afternoon, just before closing between 3.30pm and 4pm, a couple arrived at the gate and enquired about moorings. The marina is full at the moment, so unfortunately there was no room for them, but we had a nice friendly chat about the marina and Lolly the flood predicting cat. They said a cheery goodbye, and everything seemed all right with the world.

A few minutes later two gentleman arrived at the gate. They called the office number and I went out to chat to them. They had come to view a boat. All the adverts for the marina state that boat viewing is strictly by appointment. This is because the marina is a key-holders only site and it is run by one person who may not be available at a drop of a hat to show people around. I explained to these two men that I was manning the office and the manager was away but would be back a week tomorrow. They were welcome to book an appointment with him on his return. The more talkative of the two said they'd travelled 180 miles just to be here. I apologised to them and as I was explaining that I'm not allowed to admit visitors onto site another man accompanied by a woman arrived. They too wanted to see a boat for sale but they couldn't remember which one or where they had seen the advert. I kindly explained again the viewing policy as stated on all adverts, and that I have no authority to show visitors the site or boats. The man who arrived as part of the later couple started to become angry and demanding. He wanted contact details of people with boats for sale, and became aggressive in manner when I declined. He started calling abuse about the marina at me, and the way it is run. The situation was escalating at a pace that matched the raising of his voice.

In the end I backed away from the gate because nothing I could say would calm him. He wanted access to the site and I certainly wasn't going to concede after such behaviour. The group of people eventually left and made their way to the car park where the loud shouts of abuse continued. I could hear it from inside the office, even above the sound of the radio. After five or so minutes they left the premises. I was considering calling the police.

Two days later I was shown a forum post

Strange, I thought, I don't recall three men as a group approaching the marina on Saturday, and the two that did travelled a great distance just to visit us, their only destination. I also never told anyone the manager would be away longer than the eight days he specified he'd be gone, but the forum post states 'a couple of weeks'. But yes, there were two other families, if he is indeed referring to the couple that arrived first and enquired about a mooring only, and also the couple with the abusive man. Can this really be the same incident? They were, after all, the only visitors that day and his post echoes some of the things the ranting man shouted at me.

If this is the afternoon and incident that the man in the forum post is referring to the 'unacceptable behaviour' in my own opinion was that exhibited by those on the other side of the gate. Not only the actions of the man who lost his temper, but also that of the three people who chose to stand and do nothing whilst I was verbally assaulted by a male in their company. Had the tables been turned I would have stepped in to try and calm the situation and defend any one of them, a stranger, from the onslaught of another.

But perhaps the parallels of this day and his post are merely a coincidence. Perhaps the gentleman is referring to events of a different Saturday, a day that I do not recall. A Saturday lost in time.

I have dusted off this blog (I've been meaning to update for a while now my degree is finished) to take the opportunity to put online what actually happened that day. I think my side of events, the other side to his story, deserves to have a home online too - at least for as long as his does.

Source to sea relay. The Morris leg.

2014-09-09T12:21:00.000+01:00

This year we took part in the Totally Thames Source to Sea Relay. I bedecked our boat in bunting (not nearly enough as we needed as I'm numerically dyslexic and didn't order a sufficient amount) and we took the cat on an adventure to Oxford.

We moored below Sandford Lock overnight and waited for our turn in the event the following day, day 5 of the relay. Our mission was to safely carry the water, bottled at the source of the Thames in Gloucester, from Sandford Lock to Abingdon Lock as it journeyed down the course of the Thames. Rob, and friend Mark, were set to do this in their capacity as morris men. Rob in the colours of Mr Hemming's morris dancers and Mark in the colours of Abingdon Traditional Morris Dancers, thus representing both of Abingdon's morris sides.

Relay handover to Rob.

The bottle of Thames water in the care of mini Rob knitted by Heather.

Before our journey downstream commenced, Rob and Mark put on a little morris performance on the boat roof in honour of the tiny bottle of water.

I found Lolly hiding under the bed. I assume she thought the boat was under attack by swift-footed hanky wavers. Dancing done, we set off for Abingdon Lock

Where the assistant lock keepers reminisced about their days in the local morris sides, and we handed our precious cargo (the water, not Lolly) over into the safe keeping of the lock keeper for it to continue its journey downstream the following day.

We were all given a rosette to commemorate our part in the relay. Even Lolly has one.

The Green Man.

2014-08-08T22:08:00.000+01:00

The adventures of its new crew can be read here.

Ghost canal: the Wilts & Berks Canal.

2014-08-03T21:24:00.000+01:00

In October 2011 I wrote a potted history about the Wilts and Berks Canal and started to document our walks along the route of the old system. My blogging unfortunately fell by the wayside and I only ever posted the Abingdon section of our walks. We did, however, explore farther afield than the boundaries of our little town. My photo collection of those days is very muddled and my brain a little foggy too, but I always planned to return to the project.

One of the sites we visited, just off the Hanney Road at Steventon, was Ardington top and bottom locks. Two locks that are remarkable in their state of preservation considering the century that has passed since they last saw boat traffic. They are separated by the Great Western Railway main line that eventually aided their demise.

Today, after a day of rain and grey skies, we thought it would be lovely to revisit the locks and see what still remained.

We sat on the bridge over the cut at the bottom lock and ate our lunch - starving after fighting our way through the undergrowth and the paths-less-travelled to get there. The years of neglect are beginning to take their toll on this part of the canal. One of the lock gates is still in the channel but it is rotten and decaying, and the walls beside it are crumbling in.

The top lock is faring better. One gate still hangs, as it did on our last visit, but it looks precarious and ready to topple. When we first arrived here in 2011 it was autumn and the vegetation had died back. Today we frequently lost the path and our bearings through the undergrowth. This place is beautifully wild in the hazy summer season. Deer tracks are visible in the mud, and the canal is bordered by fields of bronzed wheat and barley. Here we were in the space between the forgotten and the mundane. Here lingered the ghosts of old boats, of journeys across the west country, of commerce. Here a robin proudly guarded his territory, and nature swallowed the brickwork of man's endeavours and his visions of success. It is beautiful. It is quiet, but it is not lost. If the canal is restored the Wilts and Berks Canal Trust will reopen this passage and traffic will once again flow through this abandoned landscape.

“Get close to grass and you’ll see a star.”

2014-07-29T22:58:00.001+01:00

It's been a hot, hot summer so far. There has seemingly been little break in the heat. We sat on the roof a week or so ago and watched a thunderstorm roll in on the midnight haze.

And the dark night became light as day as the storm reached us and we headed for cover.

But still the heat did not break. During the day our boat sits in the sun, with no shade to cool its baking steel and it became too much for me.

Rob came home from work and said, as he does from time to time, "will you let me turf the roof yet?". The answer to which has always been no because I think it's a crazy idea. Not this time though because I was willing to do anything to break the constant muggy cloying feeling that this summer has brought.

So we set off in search of some artificial turf.

We bought a piece large enough to cover a third of our roof and Rob fixed it into place around a mushroom vent.

Before enjoying the splendour of his work.

Maybe it seems strange, to have a lawn on a boat roof. I know we are not alone in this venture as there are other grass-topped boats too, but it has made the summer bearable as the temperature in the room below is now 5 degrees C cooler than the rest of the boat.

But that is not the only thing. It turns out that Dejan Stojanovic is right. When you get close to grass you do indeed see a star. And not just one. That night we lay on our new lawn and looked up at many of them, beautifully spread out in an ocean of darkness. We watched satellites pass and meteors fall, and I finally accepted that grass on the roof was a brilliant idea after all.

The story so far.

2014-07-09T19:07:00.000+01:00

There's still much work to be done. Cover strips are needed, pipes need boxing in, tiles need wooden beading around their edges, the windows need refitting (there will be a whole post dedicated to that job in the future), shelves need building - It's a home and therefore there will always be something to be done - but I thought it about time to record how far we've come since I last posted photos.

This then, is a tour of our home.

Our boat is of reverse layout so this is the view when looking in from the back deck:

And the galley is the first "room" you enter.

We opted for a big double oven in this boat. I've recently been learning how to bake bread. It's not going terribly well so far. The oven, therefore, is mainly Rob's domain.

The worktops are pretty cluttered at the moment. I'm hoping for some shelves soon and a nice rustic looking spice rack to hang onto the wall to free up some worktop space. We still need to add the cupboard door to the washing machine but need a replacement from B&Q first as they supplied us with the wrong one.
We also need to reconfigure the steps. Our friend made them and he's done a wonderful job but I'm worried they're a little too steep for people. I also really ought to find somewhere else to store all those shopping bags that have collected behind them.

Above is a jug painted by Les who wintered his boat with us. There's a little Lolly on the bottom edge. We love it very much. We love Les too - Wave to him if you see him and Tramp on their travels on the cut.

We've kept the galley and saloon open plan:

There is a door to the walk-though bathroom but we leave it open so Lolly can get to and from the bedroom. We hung the curtain to obscure the view of the bathroom from the galley and saloon so the door can still be shut when the bathroom is in use but the cat can come and go as she pleases when it's not.

The door on the left in the top photo leads to the "shed" which will one day be a music room/study. It currently looks like this:

The shelves need finishing and we need a little futon so the room can be used as a guest room but it's looking a lot better than it did even a month ago. You can see the floor for a start... We need better accordion storage too (boxes on the left)

This is how our bathroom is looking:

Now you can see the view the curtain hides! Our marina manager had the mahogany worktop made for us from wood removed from his house during renovations. It's one of my favourite pieces.

We've a little corner dedicated to the green man with some of our plaques and pictures from the old boat. I also love my shower curtain. It was a gift from Sam and is another of my favourite things. Sam bought it for me after my reaction upon seeing the one she owns!

The bathroom leads to the main cabin. We've yet to find curtains to hang over the wardrobes and we need a new mattress as the current one is from the old boat and too small for the bed frame. It's nice to be able to have full size furniture though.

The beautiful cross stitch above the bed that you cannot see very well in the top photo was made by mum C. And that blue thing on the floor by the drawers in the bottom photo is a cat toy.
There's still a lot of work to be done in this room. We need to address the step in here too. It's currently the old sofa box from The Green Man and it doesn't quite fit the space. It's also too big a step for mum L to use without having to be manhandled by one of us onto the front deck.

And this is the front deck that we manhandle her onto:

There's not nearly enough plants out here yet. I'm still getting used to the space and how difficult it is to grow plants in it. Plants flourished on the back deck of the old boat but I think the vast amount of steel radiates more heat and some plants struggle with it. I can also be guilty of over watering. The lovely bay and lemon balm were gifts from friends and the bergamot, strawberries, beans, courgette and butternut squash are from mum and dad L.

And finally, a tour of our boat would not be complete without a certain someone showing her face:

Oh...

Fighting the good fight.

2014-07-05T15:54:00.003+01:00

The season has turned since last I wrote. We have seen a winter of storms and floods that tried to cut us off from the mainland for three months, and a spring of beautiful red sunsets, calm and peaceful. The boat is still being built, bit by bit, but progress is slower now we are in. Our attention has been grabbed by other things. There is always something just a little bit more important than fixing a bath panel or varnishing a cover strip to keep us occupied.

Last month we said a fond farewell to The Green Man who has now moved onto waters new under the care of a lovely lady and her two cats and dog. It was an emotional experience watching that boat leave. Part of our souls will always be caught within its steel frame, but there is happiness in knowing the new owner will care and love her as much, or even more, than we did or were able to.

And my days lately seemed to have been spent causing upset amongst my neighbours by preventing them from illegally moving a coot's nest with eggs in it from the back of their boat so they could go out boating. I understand their upset; they came to visit their boat and take it out on an adventure only to have the mad woman from the fat boat ruin their day. It saddens me though, this lack of respect shown to the waterways and its wildlife - the very environment we, as boaters, wish to see when out on the river - what would be left of it if we all treated it so carelessly?

I will not back down on an issue such as this. It is something I care passionately about and am pleased to record that four hatchling coots were the result of our endeavours to protect this nest.

Home is where the owls are.

2013-09-14T21:01:00.001+01:00

Summer was in her infancy when we started this build and now, as evening falls, the skies fill with skuas following the river north and thus mark her passing. There's a nip in the air and autumnal storms are due. We'll watch these storms from the comfort of our new home now we are in, cat and all. The boat isn't as yet finished and as those around us light their stoves to keep out the evening chill I look on in envy. But soon, very soon, I've been promised a fire of my own to keep us warm. Until then it's woollen jumpers and cosy blankets.

The last time I posted we had just finished the bulkheads and stuffed them full of stories that will one day break free of their confines (hopefully not whilst we're still here). And now? Well, everyone has been busy...

Our bath is fully operational. We still need to add the side panels, and the bathroom still needs a basin and toilet to be installed. We are currently using facilities brought in from the camper van.

I'm also now the proud owner of an airing cupboard. It all feels rather grown up... But now I have somewhere to dry herbs.

Our fire awaits completion. Chimney is on order. This time around we've opted for a back boiler and so all through winter this stove should provide us with hot water and hot radiators.

A wardrobe! Twice the size of our one on The Green Man, the thought of all that storage is overwhelming!

Floors have been laid. Oak for the lounge, kitchen and bedroom.

White pine in the study/music room.

And stone tiles in the bathroom.

Lolly helped lay most of the flooring...

And here we are, in possession of our very own sofa, in a home we can't quite believe is ours.

I will post a full photographic tour of the boat when we are fully settled in and nearly finished. The study at the moment is called The Shed and is non-operational as a living space. Our degrees start again next month and it would be nice to have a desk in there by then.

But for now, wherever my owls are is home.

The stories in the walls.

2013-08-14T21:55:00.000+01:00

Building this boat is not just about the end result. It is the story of how we got here and how it changed us along the way. And who will want to know, in years to come, where this boat came from and who dreamed it into existence? This boat is a part of us and hidden in the walls is our story and that of its birth. There are gems and notes and tidbits about who we are and the summer spent toiling away. It tells of family and love and hope of a new life in a bigger boat for the mad woman, Morris man and fat cat-who-thinks-she's-human. And it shows the people who we love who have brought us this far and who will be the ones to carry us over the finish line for without them this big boat of ours would still be an imagining.

Family together on a hot, hot summer evening. The Green Man on the right. From one home to another.

But there are other secrets too, hidden in these walls of ours. Some have a practical element and some are just for fun - because we know they are there and that someday they will once again come to light.

This is not a wardrobe...

Old favourites, threadbare and torn, reveal that I wear a lot of green and gray. Old clothes sealed behind the walls act as insulation to stop sounds traveling the length and breadth of the boat. Strange it may seem, but we have a music room on board and music enjoyment is often dulled when one person is trying to sleep whilst the other is taken by musical inspiration.

It is these little things, these snippets unseen in the daily run of our lives, that is the time capsule of our build. And in these we honour those that brought us here. For it is their story too.

The pace quickens.

2013-07-15T13:24:00.001+01:00

The build has been storming along but with family help progress is even greater than I could've imagined. The boat is beginning to look less like a steel shell and more like a home.

Mum and dad L helped me sand the kitchen and living room walls before attacking it skilfully with varnish.

Dad C and Rob have fixed the most-awkward-sink-known-to-mankind into one of the kitchen worktops and in front of one of the windows so I'll have a lovely view when washing up. I get washing up duties because Rob is the chef. And a very good one he is too.

Beer and bricks. Sorted.

They've also been working on building walls and hanging the first of our three doors. A home with doors? Imagine that.

And not only that, we're very close to having a space that can officially be called a room.

Walls! Internal bulkheads take shape.

We've even had chance to try out our new sofa.

The boat might look like a building site but it's currently a damn comfy one.

Of tubs and, maybe one day, suds.

2013-07-06T18:29:00.001+01:00

We're adding a bath in this new boat build home of ours. It's been nearly a decade since we last had one to call our own and the near giddiness of longing we reached upon realising we could once again incorporate one into our home was nearly overwhelming. It might sound extreme, and we're grateful for having any means whatsoever to scrub clean our pikey selves, but a bath? Somewhere to lay and read and ease those aching joints? How could we refuse?

And so today, with hose from the water point outside, we tested the waters to see how she lies.

and those waters were sun-hose warm and sparkling bright. And the tub leaked a little. But we stood in it and marvelled at it before seeking out the means to make it fully watertight. Soon, very soon, our bathroom will have walls and perhaps, one day, we won't need the hose to fill our little tub.