Carl's Rantings

Should Dogs Eat Runner Beans?

Hello dear reader. I'm afraid it's me again, throwing together another hotch-potch of wafflings for Hedgerow Jottings. To be completely frank, this week we have mostly been wilting. It's been so hot that I thought Linda should relax and put her feet up for once.

I got up this morning to make us both a cup of coffee. Usually I'm greeted in the galley by the sink spider. Most mornings I'll find her there, stumbling around looking for the light switch. She needs glasses really, because she's always careening about and bumping into the washing-up bowl, but she said the NHS won't help,nor will Specsavers or Vision Express. I suspect it's because she has eight eyes and the lenses would cost too much. We usually have a little chat about the weather, or why so many flies are chavs, then I'll carefully pick Spinderella up and put her outside so she can browse some webs. Well, imagine my surprise this morning when I realised that Spinderella wasn't in the sink. Instead, I saw that an Agra Vation beetle had set up home there, and was busy reading an old issue of Miniature Donkey Talk. I was perplexed to say the least, because this species of beetle is native to Brazil, Colombia and the Peruvian Amazon. Anyway, to cut a long story short I gave it some directions, a couple of slices of raw toast and sent it back to South America. (Linda inserted an eye roll emoji here.)

Many years ago we had problems with our battery charging regime; no matter how discharged they were, or whatever we did, the alternator would only charge the batteries for one hour, then shut down. We might cruise for six hours or more, but still only get one hour's worth of charge. Whilst chatting to the skipper of NB Jaktoba in the depths of a cold, snowy winter at Willington, I mentioned this conundrum. He suggested switching the engine off, then restarting it. We tried this and of course it worked. Finally our batteries were getting a decent charge. Such a simple thing. We've never looked back. I mention this because, while on the Trent this week, Jaktoba moored just behind us. After nine years we could finally say thank you to Tony for one of the best bits of advice we have been given.

We moored on the River Trent at Wychnor until late Tuesday morning, in order that we could complete various jobs. These included sorting through the box on the roof, re-stowing coal and wood, sorting out the space under the cratch and other jobs that we'd been putting off. Oh, and painting the boat.

Speaking of which, I was outside on the towpath by seven thirty on Monday morning, with newspaper and masking tape, ready to prepare the boat, the surrounding countryside and passing waterfowl for another paint daubing session. The weather was particularly hot, and after half an hour or so I thought I'd postpone operations until the cool of the evening. So I went inside and drank a nice cup of coffee. (Linda here again – I told him it was too flipping hot to paint and to come in out of the sun!)

It was just after teatime when I started again. I began working my way along the length of our craft until something made me stop and turn my head. I saw a nomadic person becalmed in some dry grass, just adjacent to our boat. He asked me what I was doing. As I started to explain, a couple of bedouin look-alikes strolled up and asked me what I was doing. As I started to explain, a procession of jet-setters, dog-walkers, deep-sea jam testers and Comoros pilgrims appeared and asked me what I was doing. As I drew a deep breath the alarming sound of tortured rubber skidding aggressively over sunbaked earth caused the crowd to panic and scatter. Then Captain "Get-Out-of-My-Way" shot by on his bike, swiftly followed by Commodore "I've-Got-A-Bell-But-I'm-Not-Going-To-Use-It", who was being overtaken at break-neck speed by Duke "I-Swear-And-Glare-At-People-Alot". True to his name, the Duke glared menacingly at us as he sped through our ranks, obviously fuming at the audacity of us for being on his towpath. While everyone checked that they were unhurt and muttered expletives, the three accursed cyclists careered out of sight round the bend. Either they were oblivious to the danger they posed to everyone else, they were arrogantly selfish, or they just couldn't care less. Probably all three.

Everyone lost interest in my boaty activities at this point and wandered off. Finally being left in peace, I commenced my life's work. But as I neared the end of the boat a public nuisance showed up. As seems to be the fashion these days, his vacuous manner was quite impolite. He seemed unable to grasp the fact that I would be painting the boat, and that the windows, portholes, coach lines etc were covered in newspaper or masking tape to avoid unwanted paint getting onto them. Regrettably, I hadn't got any crayons, so was unable to make him understand. Anyway, the main painting was completed early on Tuesday morning.

While at Wychnor our friends Pat and Malc arrived on the Naga Queen, and spent a couple of days moored near us. They kindly barbecued our tea for us one evening, and a pleasant few hours followed relaxing under the shade of a tree, drinking wine and putting the world to rights. We reluctantly said our goodbyes on Tuesday.

Thursday morning at around seven thirty we cast off and headed for Fradley Junction. It was a beautiful morning, cool, and wind-free. Bagnall lock, on the outskirts of Alrewas, was empty and the gates wide open, which was nice. Next was Common lock. What can I say about Common lock? Nothing really, it's just a lock. So, moving on, Fradley Junction. An attractive place, nice pub (The Swan) and lots of boats. It's also the junction of The Coventry and The Trent & Mersey canals. There are often boats queueing at the locks here, but there were no queues this morning. This was a first for us. We were grateful to the CRT volunteers who were on lock duty. They sped us through Fradley before we could say tickety boo. By ten we were moored safe and sound above Wood End lock, back in deep countryside.

I never realised how hard it is to write a list without writing a list. You know, a list of days and places, names and faces. Where we've been, where we're going and all that. I've been pondering this dilemma for quite a while. Oh, well. I'll carry on with the jottings. On Friday we were moored at Handsacre, near Rugeley. Around mid-afternoon a pair of frisky pigeons set up a love nest in our cratch. Yes, you read it right, dear reader. I could hardly believe my eyes! Of course, I banished them immediately, before Tricky could see them, for she hates pigeons, and won't have them on the boat. Linda was quite amused by the whole thing though. While we're on the subject of pigeons, if your homing pigeon doesn't come home what you have lost is a normal pigeon.

Saturday, due to the weather forecast, we cast off before seven in the a.m., braving a chilly and blustery wind and the occasional drop of rain. We wanted to be through Rugeley and on the Staffs & Worcester canal before the main rain started. I rarely rejoice when narrowboating in the wind and yesterday was no exception, but I have to say that our trip was very enjoyable. The wind was either blowing us along from behind, or we were sheltered from it by trees and tall hedges. Thanks to Linda's expert lock operation we passed through the Colwich and Haywood locks speedily and were soon approaching the junction with the Staffs and Worcester canal. As we came to the confluence of these two waterways I turned the boat hard to starboard. The bows slowly came around until they just tickled the side of the bridge crossing over the canal entrance. I then let the wind take over and the boat swung gently around until we were able to glide gracefully under the bridge, leaving the Trent & Mersey canal behind us. If I had planned that turn I would have been really pleased with myself, but I must admit that it was a total fluke.

We were soon moored up in a sheltered spot, just beyond Tixall Wide. During the afternoon we had prolonged, heavy rain. This morning it is wet and windy (vet and vindy, Terry & Liz – please come back to your boat). This is a very cosy spot to be moored in, so here we'll stay until tomorrow.

Bye for now.
Captain Carl

PS As these jottings are a bit longer than usual I won't add a PS.

PPS Message from Linda – she'll take over next week if there's anyone left to write to.