Messing about on the river

So, Rusty B is back in the water, and as we discovered was actually  full of water. Three months in the boatyard when  they had forgotten to replace the tarpaulin over the front deck  meant that rain  had seeped through the deck and once she was back on the canal we realised she  was sitting very low in the water. This was rectified by T cutting a hole in the floor and spending the day sucking the excess out with his trusty Vax hoover, accompanied by rather a lot of swearing. However this seems to have worked and he has now moved on to  re-wiring,checking  gas pipes, installing the loo and getting the cooker and fridge up and running, alongside his notebook full of sketches, measurements and calculations. Whoever had the boat before had obviously never lived on it, because there are way too many annoying little features that you could not possibly put  up with for more than a week of boat dwelling. No storage space whatsoever, the door latch the wrong way round, endless useful brass hooks positioned in totally useless  places,  window ledges too narrow to put anything  on, yet just wide enough to catch the back of your neck as you sit on the attractive brown shiny seats ( the furniture is a bit like sitting in a doctors waiting room), and light switches that require you to get out of bed and walk the entire length of the boat in order to turn them on and off. The decor is reminiscent of a Tudor style bar with painted dark brown beams and a weird kind of lime wash effect on the walls ( we were told that the original plan had been to turn the boat into some kind of nightclub, one would imagine to be used by extremely small people)  but all this this can be easily sorted with  a jolly good lick of paint and some tender loving care. And we do indeed love her. 

My brief experience of boating life has so far shown it to be a world away from my normal life as a London landlubber. For a start, everyone is incredibly friendly and actually say hello and good morning, unlike the furtive scuttling and avoiding eye contact nature of most city dwellers. This goes hand in hand with the slightly challenging aspect of nosey parker activity  (all meant with the absolute best of intentions) ,  yet hard to escape when you are on a stationary boat, and when the option of a speedy escape is impossible seeing as a narrowboat averages about 3mph. Last week I was trapped for at least 45 minutes by a neighbour telling me all about the best railway lines in the UK , the best local pubs ( this was mildly interesting) a roll call of all the names of his fellow pupils while at primary school ( again mildly interesting as one of them was Wild Willy Barrett of John Otway fame) . However things went downhill from there as I was treated to an extensive in depth virtual tour around the inner workings of a combustion engine and the virtues of having an oil and filter change in your Volvo on a regular basis. Seeing as I barely  know how a car works and only take an active interest when it doesn’t,  thus preventing me from getting from A to B,  he must have mistaken the fact that I was slipping into a coma as enthusiasm. But it is all in good spirits and you get the feeling that it is one big floating community where everyone  actively looks out for each other,  and I very much look forward to being part of it.

It is also incredibly quiet, early mornings hazily tranquil with birdsong, the occasional’plop’of a fish, the hiccup of the boat against the bank  and the gentle harmonic clamour of the ducks,  mingling with the comforting smell of brewing coffee and woodsmoke. We have yet to sample  the delights of a lazy  summers evening on the canal, glasses of chilled wine in hand,  sitting on the roof watching the world go by, but now that Spring has sprung and the evenings have lengthened it is can only be a matter of a month or so

Our maiden voyage was in late November when we collected the boat  from Sunbury and took  her up the Thames, through various locks to the turning off for the Grand Union canal ( basically turn left by Kew Gardens). The Thames felt very big and wide and the Rusty B rather small, and indeed the engine really struggled and spluttered against the current as we battled our way  into the canal, as the tide was on the turn. It was the first indication that when estimating any trip in a narrow boat you should at least double or treble the time it says it will take on the map,  as this is simply never ever correct. It reminded me of my birth dad Les’s conviction that while meandering the highways and byways in charge of a van/boat/gypsy wagon/ horsebox you should make a point of never being in a hurry to get anywhere and it is a mindset we are fast adapting to. Once on the Grand Union and over the ten days or so it took us to get to the boatyard in Leighton Buzzard we got into a routine whereby each morning we would decide  where we wanted to end up at the end of each day (a decision usually dictated by the whereabouts of canal side pubs). I would then drive the car to the designated place , park up  and then  cycle back along the tow path until I found T and Rusty B, whereupon we would put the bike on the roof and continue. It never fails  to amaze me that a drive of around 10 minutes can often equal  half a day in boat time,  and indeed that we were only ever at most two hours by car from Camberwell, though that was hard to imagine as you do feel as if you are in a different universe. There is something rather exciting about going straight through a  town centre by boat and the canal side supermarkets  even have their own mooring  points so that you can tie up and go in for your pint of milk and morning paper. 

More of our canal adventures to follow. For now I must attend to the pile of washing that awaits in the hallway, slightly greasy and damp,  infused with the ever present whiff of woodsmoke and engines. And if anyone knows the best way to remove black smears of oil from my jacket please get in touch.