Well, the Good Ship Universe may be thoroughly encased in ice at the moment, but the blog is on the move.
It isn't particularly impressive so far but I'm hoping to be able to create something much better than the current one before too long. The new blog is based on Wordpress rather than Blogger, which is one of the main reasons I'm moving it. I'm (at least slightly) more at home with the way the templates work under Wordpress, plus I'm distinctly suspicious of the great god Google's motives in tracking pretty much everything that moves on the Internet.
You can find the new blog here. It's liable to change its appearance quite dramatically over the coming weeks while I mess around with it, but I'll try to keep it from misbehaving too badly. My apologies if I fall short in even that simple objective.
Monday, 20 December 2010
Thursday, 18 November 2010
A Good Harvest
A few days ago I took a trip over to Stoke Newington in search of Ginkgo seeds. The Ginkgo tree is one that is very common, particularly in the middle of cities, because it is quite hardy and stands up well to the effects of atmospheric pollution. Unfortunately, it has on slight problem, its seeds, which have a distinctive, er, aroma that is a mixture of rancid butter and dog poo.
This means that female trees are something of a rarity and the male trees that are usually planted in cities are mostly clones of a small number of individuals. So, even though the tree is very common, it is actually an endangered species because so few trees grow from seed.
I haven’t counted them but I understand that there are 26 trees in one small corner of Stoke Newington, around the edge of a small council estate. Several of these are females, and they produce seed around November each year.
Ginkgo trees in Stoke Newington
I collected a sizeable jar full of seeds and found it strangely enjoyable carrying them home on the bus. I could see everyone looking around, trying to work out where the smell was coming from. Some even checked the bottoms of their shoes. After I got home, though, I found I’d got bits of the fruit stuck in my hair so the smell wouldn’t go away even though I’d left the seeds outside – serves me right, I suppose.
Freshly collected fruit
The seeds generally germinate quite well but they have to be prepared properly. First, the fleshy part of the fruit has to be washed off. This job is best done with gloves on, as the flesh reputedly causes dermatitis in some people (although I’ve never had any problem myself).
The seeds after cleaning
Once all the smelly goo has been washed off, the seeds have to be sanded to make the outer case more permeable to allow water to reach the seed inside. I’ve never been sure exactly how to do this, but I’ve always just rubbed away at one spot to make a small hole, hopefully without damaging the softer parts inside. After this, they need to be soaked in water overnight to allow them to absorb some water and soften a bit. Any seeds that are floating on the water after this aren’t viable, so a few were weeded out. I think I ended up with about 135 seeds, which should be plenty to produce a decent crop of seedlings in the spring.
Small holes made in the outer skin
After that, they have to be kept in a fridge for at least two months so that they know it’s winter. Some people say they should be packed in moss or sand, but I just put them in a bag last time and I had a pretty reasonable germination rate. Not having a fridge on the good ship Universe, I‘ll put this year’s crop in the gas locker although, given the current temperature on the boat, I think they’ll get the idea no matter where I leave them. Brrr!
I’ll post a progress report once they’ve started growing. In the meantime, there’s a mine of information about ginkgo trees at the Ginkgo Pages.
This means that female trees are something of a rarity and the male trees that are usually planted in cities are mostly clones of a small number of individuals. So, even though the tree is very common, it is actually an endangered species because so few trees grow from seed.
I haven’t counted them but I understand that there are 26 trees in one small corner of Stoke Newington, around the edge of a small council estate. Several of these are females, and they produce seed around November each year.
I collected a sizeable jar full of seeds and found it strangely enjoyable carrying them home on the bus. I could see everyone looking around, trying to work out where the smell was coming from. Some even checked the bottoms of their shoes. After I got home, though, I found I’d got bits of the fruit stuck in my hair so the smell wouldn’t go away even though I’d left the seeds outside – serves me right, I suppose.
The seeds generally germinate quite well but they have to be prepared properly. First, the fleshy part of the fruit has to be washed off. This job is best done with gloves on, as the flesh reputedly causes dermatitis in some people (although I’ve never had any problem myself).
Once all the smelly goo has been washed off, the seeds have to be sanded to make the outer case more permeable to allow water to reach the seed inside. I’ve never been sure exactly how to do this, but I’ve always just rubbed away at one spot to make a small hole, hopefully without damaging the softer parts inside. After this, they need to be soaked in water overnight to allow them to absorb some water and soften a bit. Any seeds that are floating on the water after this aren’t viable, so a few were weeded out. I think I ended up with about 135 seeds, which should be plenty to produce a decent crop of seedlings in the spring.
After that, they have to be kept in a fridge for at least two months so that they know it’s winter. Some people say they should be packed in moss or sand, but I just put them in a bag last time and I had a pretty reasonable germination rate. Not having a fridge on the good ship Universe, I‘ll put this year’s crop in the gas locker although, given the current temperature on the boat, I think they’ll get the idea no matter where I leave them. Brrr!
I’ll post a progress report once they’ve started growing. In the meantime, there’s a mine of information about ginkgo trees at the Ginkgo Pages.
Monday, 1 November 2010
Poisonous Pallets
I feel as if I’ve spent about a month collecting and chopping up pallets. I haven’t a clue how much firewood I’m going to need, so I’ve probably erred on the side of caution (I hope I have!). I must have collected at least 30 of the things, most of which came from one firm in Harlesden.
At one time, the roof was piled four pallets high along its entire length, and I had to stay put until I’d chopped enough of them up to allow me to see where I was going. While I was doing this, a woman cycling along the towpath stopped and asked me whether it was ok to burn pallets. She was under the impression that they were treated with something nasty that makes them give off poisonous fumes. I didn’t know whether she was right or wrong but I thought I’d better check.
What I found out is that pallets have to be treated to ensure that they cannot carry insects or plant diseases to other countries. Usually this involves heat treatment but some pallets, mostly from the USA, have been treated with a chemical called bromomethane, also known as methyl bromide. This is a seriously nasty chemical that damages various parts of the body, may be carcinogenic and attacks the ozone layer for good measure. Apparently it has now been phased out, but some pallets are still in use. My haul included only one such pallet, and I was able to weed it out before it found its way on to the fire (but after I’d spent a fair amount of time chopping it up).
Fortunately, they are usually quite easy to spot. Pallets from outside Europe have a stamp on them that describes how they have been treated. The stamp usually looks something like this:
The logo on the left is made up of the letters IPPC, which stands for International Plant Protection Convention, and HT means that it has been heat treated. Pallets that have been fumigated with methyl bromide will have MB instead. The one I found was clearly labelled, but not in a position where it was easy to spot. Not all countries use this exact stamp, but all those from outside Europe should have either HT or MB stamped on them.
I don't know whether this is news to anyone. I certainly wasn't aware of it until recently, so I hope this is useful to anyone thinking of using pallets as part of their firewood supply.
At one time, the roof was piled four pallets high along its entire length, and I had to stay put until I’d chopped enough of them up to allow me to see where I was going. While I was doing this, a woman cycling along the towpath stopped and asked me whether it was ok to burn pallets. She was under the impression that they were treated with something nasty that makes them give off poisonous fumes. I didn’t know whether she was right or wrong but I thought I’d better check.
What I found out is that pallets have to be treated to ensure that they cannot carry insects or plant diseases to other countries. Usually this involves heat treatment but some pallets, mostly from the USA, have been treated with a chemical called bromomethane, also known as methyl bromide. This is a seriously nasty chemical that damages various parts of the body, may be carcinogenic and attacks the ozone layer for good measure. Apparently it has now been phased out, but some pallets are still in use. My haul included only one such pallet, and I was able to weed it out before it found its way on to the fire (but after I’d spent a fair amount of time chopping it up).
Fortunately, they are usually quite easy to spot. Pallets from outside Europe have a stamp on them that describes how they have been treated. The stamp usually looks something like this:
The logo on the left is made up of the letters IPPC, which stands for International Plant Protection Convention, and HT means that it has been heat treated. Pallets that have been fumigated with methyl bromide will have MB instead. The one I found was clearly labelled, but not in a position where it was easy to spot. Not all countries use this exact stamp, but all those from outside Europe should have either HT or MB stamped on them.
I don't know whether this is news to anyone. I certainly wasn't aware of it until recently, so I hope this is useful to anyone thinking of using pallets as part of their firewood supply.
Friday, 8 October 2010
Thank You!
I haven’t posted so much on the blog recently. Ever since I arrived back in London, a lot of the boaty fun stuff I wanted to get on with has been held up by a seemingly endless stream of comparatively minor interruptions.
One of these was that I discovered recently that none of my mail was being redirected as it should have been. It took about a week to find out that it had all been delivered to my old address and to collect it from the various people who had it.
Amongst the mail was a card from London Underground, telling me that something belonging to me had been handed in. I knew immediately that it must have been a wallet that went missing about a month ago. I’d cancelled the bank cards, library cards etc., but I was more concerned about losing my driving licence (I didn’t think there was any money in it, so that wasn’t really a worry).
When I went to collect it, though, I was told that it had £20 in it, plus €28, which I had completely forgotten about. If the person who found it had taken the money, or even just the sterling, I would have been none the wiser and would still have been relieved to have got it back. That they didn’t take the money was a really reassuring reminder of the honesty of random people. Whoever found it could very easily have taken the money, sold the driving licence or just thrown it way, but they didn’t. So, whoever you are, kind stranger, thank you very much!
One of these was that I discovered recently that none of my mail was being redirected as it should have been. It took about a week to find out that it had all been delivered to my old address and to collect it from the various people who had it.
Amongst the mail was a card from London Underground, telling me that something belonging to me had been handed in. I knew immediately that it must have been a wallet that went missing about a month ago. I’d cancelled the bank cards, library cards etc., but I was more concerned about losing my driving licence (I didn’t think there was any money in it, so that wasn’t really a worry).
When I went to collect it, though, I was told that it had £20 in it, plus €28, which I had completely forgotten about. If the person who found it had taken the money, or even just the sterling, I would have been none the wiser and would still have been relieved to have got it back. That they didn’t take the money was a really reassuring reminder of the honesty of random people. Whoever found it could very easily have taken the money, sold the driving licence or just thrown it way, but they didn’t. So, whoever you are, kind stranger, thank you very much!
Friday, 1 October 2010
Racist Filth?
A couple of days ago I bumped into our local PCSO, who advised me to make sure I locked my boat up if I was going to leave it unattended. Apparently there have been a number of break-ins around here, the most recent being a couple of weeks ago.
Clearly, the culprits haven’t been caught (otherwise there’d be no need for the warning), but he told me that they were eastern Europeans – “the sort who kill swans”. I’ve no idea how he knows this – until they catch the thieves, they won’t find out their nationality. This sounds just like spreading racist nonsense. He told me in the most minute detail how these people operate, but he still hasn’t managed to identify them – all he knows is that they are foreigners with repugnant dietary habits.
I’ve seen lots of eastern Europeans around this area, many of them street drinkers, and that they have all been perfectly pleasant. Some were even having a barbecue on the towpath and offered me and my friend a sausage (not sure if they were swan sausages…). I haven’t seen them, but the PCSO told me there are some homeless people living in the bushes right next to where I’m moored at the moment. Apparently, these people are well known to the police and work in one of the local factories. It isn’t easy for homeless people to find work, so they must be extremely resourceful and determined people, and whatever difficulties have led to their current plight are hardly helped by having the forces of law and order making them out to be criminals.
The only problem I’ve had at all in recent weeks was at Sainsburys in Alperton, where the kids in the slums next door regularly threw stones from the balcony at shoppers and boaters alike (I was wondering why there was always plenty of room to moor there). The Plod told me there’s no point in calling the police, as there’s nothing they can do about it. I imagine they simply haven’t got the resources- they’re all too busy harassing homeless foreigners.
Actually, I have had a certain amount of trouble from immigrants lately – it’s the Canadians. Yes, those damned geese have barely given me a minute’s peace ever since they discovered that I got HobNobs! (Actually, I’ve discovered that they have just about the best table manners of any water birds I’ve seen. They are the only ones that understand the idea of taking turns instead of fighting each other for every single piece).
I simply don’t understand racism – even when I try to find one, I can’t find a legitimate reason to hate foreigners simply for being foreign. Perhaps someone who does might be able to enlighten me…
Clearly, the culprits haven’t been caught (otherwise there’d be no need for the warning), but he told me that they were eastern Europeans – “the sort who kill swans”. I’ve no idea how he knows this – until they catch the thieves, they won’t find out their nationality. This sounds just like spreading racist nonsense. He told me in the most minute detail how these people operate, but he still hasn’t managed to identify them – all he knows is that they are foreigners with repugnant dietary habits.
I’ve seen lots of eastern Europeans around this area, many of them street drinkers, and that they have all been perfectly pleasant. Some were even having a barbecue on the towpath and offered me and my friend a sausage (not sure if they were swan sausages…). I haven’t seen them, but the PCSO told me there are some homeless people living in the bushes right next to where I’m moored at the moment. Apparently, these people are well known to the police and work in one of the local factories. It isn’t easy for homeless people to find work, so they must be extremely resourceful and determined people, and whatever difficulties have led to their current plight are hardly helped by having the forces of law and order making them out to be criminals.
The only problem I’ve had at all in recent weeks was at Sainsburys in Alperton, where the kids in the slums next door regularly threw stones from the balcony at shoppers and boaters alike (I was wondering why there was always plenty of room to moor there). The Plod told me there’s no point in calling the police, as there’s nothing they can do about it. I imagine they simply haven’t got the resources- they’re all too busy harassing homeless foreigners.
Actually, I have had a certain amount of trouble from immigrants lately – it’s the Canadians. Yes, those damned geese have barely given me a minute’s peace ever since they discovered that I got HobNobs! (Actually, I’ve discovered that they have just about the best table manners of any water birds I’ve seen. They are the only ones that understand the idea of taking turns instead of fighting each other for every single piece).
I simply don’t understand racism – even when I try to find one, I can’t find a legitimate reason to hate foreigners simply for being foreign. Perhaps someone who does might be able to enlighten me…
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Angel Canal Festival
Well, better late than never…
Yes, it’s September again, and that means it’s time for the annual trek across London, braving the public transport “improvements” on the first Sunday morning to get to the Angel Canal Festival. I usually spend the morning setting up stalls in the streets around City Road Basin, but this year apparently I was to be part of the team that was to set up the “portable belfry” – a new addition for this year.
It turned out that this:
is a portable belfry, and putting it up was great fun – a load of overgrown kids getting to play with similarly oversize Meccano. Rather than describe in detail how it’s done, I’ll just include a link to the people who apparently spend all their time lugging portable belfries across the country. Getting the bells in place was far more entertaining than it appears in the pictures, as we had to manhandle them out of the trailer and up a flight of stairs, then lift them into place using a winch – yet more mechanised fun – yay! In fact it was so much fun that we all hung around until the festival had finished to play with the Meccano again.
During the afternoon I spent an hour or so wandering around the streets picking up litter. Despite my serious antipathy towards the whole idea of working for a living, I actually enjoy doing some of the more mundane (and often unpleasant) jobs on offer when it's for free. However, I'm well aware what a luxury it is to be able to pick and choose what work I do, and how much. Most of the people who do jobs like this do so because they have no alternative, and are paid pitifully for their efforts.
This is quite an unusual canal festival in that remarkably little of it actually involves the canal. Rather, it is set in the streets around the canal. When I first came to this festival, a couple of years ago, I found that slightly disappointing, but this year I was talking to someone from one of the property developers in the area and he told me how close the City Road basin came to being filled in to make room for more up-market waterfront developments. To my eye, it’s bad enough as it is (somewhat imaginative picture from developers’ site here) but I suppose that in the middle of a city there has to be a certain amount of give and take.
So it’s probably rather good that the canal can make its presence felt among the wider community, and good that people from outside the boating fraternity can be drawn in by the diverse array of entertainments on offer. I was limited to taking photos on the telling bone so the picture quality is even worse than usual, but this year’s delights included:
Pearly kings/queens/assorted pearly royalty
Ukulele orchestra
Plus displays from beekeepers and the hawk and owl sanctuary – all in all, a pretty enjoyable day out for everyone.
Yes, it’s September again, and that means it’s time for the annual trek across London, braving the public transport “improvements” on the first Sunday morning to get to the Angel Canal Festival. I usually spend the morning setting up stalls in the streets around City Road Basin, but this year apparently I was to be part of the team that was to set up the “portable belfry” – a new addition for this year.
It turned out that this:
is a portable belfry, and putting it up was great fun – a load of overgrown kids getting to play with similarly oversize Meccano. Rather than describe in detail how it’s done, I’ll just include a link to the people who apparently spend all their time lugging portable belfries across the country. Getting the bells in place was far more entertaining than it appears in the pictures, as we had to manhandle them out of the trailer and up a flight of stairs, then lift them into place using a winch – yet more mechanised fun – yay! In fact it was so much fun that we all hung around until the festival had finished to play with the Meccano again.
During the afternoon I spent an hour or so wandering around the streets picking up litter. Despite my serious antipathy towards the whole idea of working for a living, I actually enjoy doing some of the more mundane (and often unpleasant) jobs on offer when it's for free. However, I'm well aware what a luxury it is to be able to pick and choose what work I do, and how much. Most of the people who do jobs like this do so because they have no alternative, and are paid pitifully for their efforts.
This is quite an unusual canal festival in that remarkably little of it actually involves the canal. Rather, it is set in the streets around the canal. When I first came to this festival, a couple of years ago, I found that slightly disappointing, but this year I was talking to someone from one of the property developers in the area and he told me how close the City Road basin came to being filled in to make room for more up-market waterfront developments. To my eye, it’s bad enough as it is (somewhat imaginative picture from developers’ site here) but I suppose that in the middle of a city there has to be a certain amount of give and take.
So it’s probably rather good that the canal can make its presence felt among the wider community, and good that people from outside the boating fraternity can be drawn in by the diverse array of entertainments on offer. I was limited to taking photos on the telling bone so the picture quality is even worse than usual, but this year’s delights included:
Pearly kings/queens/assorted pearly royalty
Ukulele orchestra
Plus displays from beekeepers and the hawk and owl sanctuary – all in all, a pretty enjoyable day out for everyone.
Saturday, 4 September 2010
The Big City
Well, that’s it – I’ve finally arrived in the big city. Not physically – I’ve been here in Greenford since Wednesday, and I got the boat through the last lock this side of Camden over a week before that. But I woke up this morning with the distinct feeling of having finally completed the journey.
Just like a Tom and Jerry cartoon, it was as if I was being extruded through the keyhole of the door to the city, having to inflate myself back to normal size so that I could pull my head through the gap with a suitable slurpy-poppy sound effect.
The process of arriving probably began in Leighton Buzzard, where I introduced myself to the crew of Angel II, from Islington. This was the first time I can definitely recall meeting people who, despite being out in the sticks, gave the impression of actually being city people at heart. It was difficult to pin down the exact nature of this, but it felt as if they had an agenda, a schedule, somewhere they needed to be and a deadline within which it all had to be achieved.
Over the past twenty-odd years, I have come to hate the city – I hate what it does to people. It is as if every activity is a time trial, to be completed against the clock for fear of being late for the following challenge, resulting in an avalanche of missed appointments and ultimate chaos. I’ve yet to see any reward for this form of behaviour, other than the mere absence of failure. I’m even writing this in a hurry, so that I can get everything done at home in time to go out tonight early enough to get back for an early start in the morning. Aaaaagh – it’s got me!!
Still, with any luck, I should be able to write something that’s actually boaty, maybe even about the good ship Universe, before too long…
Just like a Tom and Jerry cartoon, it was as if I was being extruded through the keyhole of the door to the city, having to inflate myself back to normal size so that I could pull my head through the gap with a suitable slurpy-poppy sound effect.
The process of arriving probably began in Leighton Buzzard, where I introduced myself to the crew of Angel II, from Islington. This was the first time I can definitely recall meeting people who, despite being out in the sticks, gave the impression of actually being city people at heart. It was difficult to pin down the exact nature of this, but it felt as if they had an agenda, a schedule, somewhere they needed to be and a deadline within which it all had to be achieved.
Over the past twenty-odd years, I have come to hate the city – I hate what it does to people. It is as if every activity is a time trial, to be completed against the clock for fear of being late for the following challenge, resulting in an avalanche of missed appointments and ultimate chaos. I’ve yet to see any reward for this form of behaviour, other than the mere absence of failure. I’m even writing this in a hurry, so that I can get everything done at home in time to go out tonight early enough to get back for an early start in the morning. Aaaaagh – it’s got me!!
Still, with any luck, I should be able to write something that’s actually boaty, maybe even about the good ship Universe, before too long…
Monday, 23 August 2010
Old Friends, New Friends
Over the past few days I’ve finally stopped dithering and decided that I’m heading towards London with some sense of urgency, and actually made what, for me at any rate, is a surprising amount of progress at long last.
After my parents left, somewhat abruptly, I was able to get away from Milton Keynes and on towards Leighton Buzzard. I met Carrie again on the way, and we shared the last few locks into town. She was gracious enough to describe my ham-fisted efforts as “help”, when perhaps “better than nothing” would have been a more appropriate description (I can do most things, but I’m really still getting the hang of this boating business, and there’s virtually nothing that comes as second nature so far).
Our paths had crossed a few times in recent weeks and it was with a degree of regret that I left Leighton Buzzard, knowing that it was not likely to happen again, certainly for several months. Still, this is all part and parcel of life as abridge-hopping overstayer CCer. Old friends are left behind and new ones are created, seemingly by a haphazard process of magical randomness.
Such as Dave, who I met almost immediately after leaving Leighton Buzzard. I’d spoken to him on the towpath on Friday as he was out walking his dog, since when we’ve shared around 34 locks and about four bottles of wine. Dave is also single-handed and one thing I’ve learned over these past few days is how nice it is to share locks with another single-handed boater. I’d never done this before (like most things on a boat) and it’s refreshing to know that the other person has an understanding of what is involved in working a lock unaided.
Dave is going to Rickmansworth which, weather permitting, we might possibly get to today. That would put London within reach tomorrow. Reaching London means catching up with old friends I haven’t seen for months. No doubt there’ll be an endless procession of visitors to the boat, all asking the same questions. Of course, there will be the inevitable trips up the canal to the pub. Maybe I’ll even get some work done too.
Eventually I’m sure I’ll tire of all this and it will be time to move on to pastures new, where I’m sure I’ll be meeting up with some of the old friends I won’t have seen for a while.
I could get to enjoy this.
After my parents left, somewhat abruptly, I was able to get away from Milton Keynes and on towards Leighton Buzzard. I met Carrie again on the way, and we shared the last few locks into town. She was gracious enough to describe my ham-fisted efforts as “help”, when perhaps “better than nothing” would have been a more appropriate description (I can do most things, but I’m really still getting the hang of this boating business, and there’s virtually nothing that comes as second nature so far).
Our paths had crossed a few times in recent weeks and it was with a degree of regret that I left Leighton Buzzard, knowing that it was not likely to happen again, certainly for several months. Still, this is all part and parcel of life as a
Such as Dave, who I met almost immediately after leaving Leighton Buzzard. I’d spoken to him on the towpath on Friday as he was out walking his dog, since when we’ve shared around 34 locks and about four bottles of wine. Dave is also single-handed and one thing I’ve learned over these past few days is how nice it is to share locks with another single-handed boater. I’d never done this before (like most things on a boat) and it’s refreshing to know that the other person has an understanding of what is involved in working a lock unaided.
Dave is going to Rickmansworth which, weather permitting, we might possibly get to today. That would put London within reach tomorrow. Reaching London means catching up with old friends I haven’t seen for months. No doubt there’ll be an endless procession of visitors to the boat, all asking the same questions. Of course, there will be the inevitable trips up the canal to the pub. Maybe I’ll even get some work done too.
Eventually I’m sure I’ll tire of all this and it will be time to move on to pastures new, where I’m sure I’ll be meeting up with some of the old friends I won’t have seen for a while.
I could get to enjoy this.
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Celebration Day
Apparently, today is VJ Day, a time when some people celebrate the bombing of the Japanese people into submission 65 years ago.
Well, I’d like to celebrate something too. By way of contrast with the horrible mutilation of what was clearly once a magnificent oak tree in the middle of a Milton Keynes shopping centre as part of the Mother McNatureTM display in my last post, here is an example of how it is possible for trees to be treated with dignity, even in the middle of an urban landscape.
Six Ginkgo trees that were close to the hypocentre of the bomb blast in Hiroshima in 1945 nevertheless began to grow new buds afterwards and the buildings surrounding them have been rebuilt around the trees, allowing them to grow unhindered by the developments around them.
These trees were no part of anybody’s war, they simply carried on living their lives regardless of what evil they were subjected to. For that, they serve as an example to us all and deserve our respect.
Well, I’d like to celebrate something too. By way of contrast with the horrible mutilation of what was clearly once a magnificent oak tree in the middle of a Milton Keynes shopping centre as part of the Mother McNatureTM display in my last post, here is an example of how it is possible for trees to be treated with dignity, even in the middle of an urban landscape.
Six Ginkgo trees that were close to the hypocentre of the bomb blast in Hiroshima in 1945 nevertheless began to grow new buds afterwards and the buildings surrounding them have been rebuilt around the trees, allowing them to grow unhindered by the developments around them.
These trees were no part of anybody’s war, they simply carried on living their lives regardless of what evil they were subjected to. For that, they serve as an example to us all and deserve our respect.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Irony
Or not. It's so hard to tell sometimes.
The information board accompanying this abomination said:
"Created in 1978 by artist Liz Leyh, the cows were once cynically said to symbolise a new town consisting entirely of concrete. The reality, of course, is very different..."
The information board accompanying this abomination said:
"Created in 1978 by artist Liz Leyh, the cows were once cynically said to symbolise a new town consisting entirely of concrete. The reality, of course, is very different..."
Friday, 13 August 2010
Caution - Blogger Under Construction
There's a saying that what a caterpillar thinks of as the end of the world we call a butterfly.
A few weeks ago, a friend with a deck of tarot cards predicted that I would be facing a process of spiritual death and rebirth.
Both of these seem particularly appropriate at the moment. I've been dealing with some pretty weighty issues recently which, amongst other things, have caused me to sleep very badly for the past few days. Yesterday just felt like death. This morning has rather more of the tone of a difficult and painful birth. Some feeling that there may be a purpose to it all is beginning to crystallise out of the general turmoil, some sense of what needs to be done.
Ever since getting the boat, in May, I've been oscillating between needing to get somewhere in a hurry, to some deadline, and wanting to slow down and take things easy. Just a few days ago, I absolutely had to get to London as fast as I could, to meet somebody else's unspecified deadline. After two days I stopped and since then I've moved about 400 yards in three days.
I still need to get to London - I'll need to make an appointment to see my doctor at some point - but there no longer seems any great hurry, and I can always get the train if I need to pop down for the day.
To me, this has been one of the most obvious symptoms of a lack of a genuine sense of purpose to anything I've been doing recently.
One very major spur to me to do something about this was the two zines that Carrie gave me recently. (I'd post a link but I don't think they're available online). Part of her reason for giving me them was to convince me of why I should be a vegan, as opposed to to just being a vegetarian. What I got from them was much bigger than that - a stark picture of the horrors that can come about when people with principles don't do anything to act upon them. Next to all that, not buying cheese doesn't seem much of a sacrifice.
A few weeks ago, a friend with a deck of tarot cards predicted that I would be facing a process of spiritual death and rebirth.
Both of these seem particularly appropriate at the moment. I've been dealing with some pretty weighty issues recently which, amongst other things, have caused me to sleep very badly for the past few days. Yesterday just felt like death. This morning has rather more of the tone of a difficult and painful birth. Some feeling that there may be a purpose to it all is beginning to crystallise out of the general turmoil, some sense of what needs to be done.
Ever since getting the boat, in May, I've been oscillating between needing to get somewhere in a hurry, to some deadline, and wanting to slow down and take things easy. Just a few days ago, I absolutely had to get to London as fast as I could, to meet somebody else's unspecified deadline. After two days I stopped and since then I've moved about 400 yards in three days.
I still need to get to London - I'll need to make an appointment to see my doctor at some point - but there no longer seems any great hurry, and I can always get the train if I need to pop down for the day.
To me, this has been one of the most obvious symptoms of a lack of a genuine sense of purpose to anything I've been doing recently.
One very major spur to me to do something about this was the two zines that Carrie gave me recently. (I'd post a link but I don't think they're available online). Part of her reason for giving me them was to convince me of why I should be a vegan, as opposed to to just being a vegetarian. What I got from them was much bigger than that - a stark picture of the horrors that can come about when people with principles don't do anything to act upon them. Next to all that, not buying cheese doesn't seem much of a sacrifice.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Monday's News
Today I went to Blisworth and it was nice and then I went in the tunnel and it was nasty and dark and then I went to Stoke Bruin and it was nice and then I went down the locks and there were seven of them and it was nice and then I went for a walk to Grafton Regis and it was nice and then I went to the pub and it was shut.
______________________________________________________
This isn't why I bought a boat. I want to be able to stop at interesting places, have a look around and maybe stay for a few days to get a proper feel for the place before moving on to discover another equally interesting place around the corner.
With any luck, I might yet get to do some of that before too long but, for the moment, I've just got to bear in mind that even this is a million times better than living in a box with a bail hostel next door and a nutcase upstairs.
Oh, and one other thing, from Bugbrooke (and it was nice):
A man with a barrow gave me a marrow but he told me it was a courgette. I've yet to try it, I think I might fry it with some spices to see what I get.
______________________________________________________
This isn't why I bought a boat. I want to be able to stop at interesting places, have a look around and maybe stay for a few days to get a proper feel for the place before moving on to discover another equally interesting place around the corner.
With any luck, I might yet get to do some of that before too long but, for the moment, I've just got to bear in mind that even this is a million times better than living in a box with a bail hostel next door and a nutcase upstairs.
Oh, and one other thing, from Bugbrooke (and it was nice):
A man with a barrow gave me a marrow but he told me it was a courgette. I've yet to try it, I think I might fry it with some spices to see what I get.
Monday, 9 August 2010
The Omnibus Edition
Aaargh!
I thought this blog business would all be pretty straightforward – a bit of harmless nonsense to pass the time – but it’s getting too complicated, and it’s making my brain (such as it is) hurt…
I had a pretty good idea that there wasn’t going to be an army of readers eagerly awaiting the next instalment – I suppose I sort of imagined that I could use it as a place where I could write stuff and keep everyone updated on what I’m doing without having to say the same stuff to everyone every time I see them. But that’s not as simple as it seems. I don’t want to say the same things to everyone (or put them in the same way), some people don’t read it, some people read it and I don’t know they’ve read it, others don’t know what a blog is… And then there are the people who stumble across it by accident and find themselves reading some random post that they know nothing about.
I’m forever stopping myself from writing “…as I was saying yesterday…”, “… person X thinks that…”, or other constructions that are meaningless unless it happens to have been you I was talking to yesterday (which might be last week or last month by now), or you happen to know person X. As a result, I’ve probably written stuff that’s out of sequence, or relies on the person reading it knowing things I haven’t put in the blog. Each person reading it is therefore probably getting a different picture depending on how they found there way here, which means I must be doing something (or lots of things) wrong.
So I’m going to have a stab at bringing things up to date, hopefully in a way that doesn’t rely on some conversation in a pub or an in joke that isn’t in anymore…
The boat
It started out grey, with green bits around the windows. It’s now resplendent in two coats of red primer. I like the word “resplendent” – it sounds as if you’re being complimentary without actually having to say anything nice about something. I imagine, for example, Bob Dylan singing about someone who would have been “resplendent” in a Brand New Leopardskin Pillbox Hat. (Not the original version – sorry, it was the best I could find at short notice)
Tigs
Tigs seems to be enjoying life onboard. She was ill for a while a few weeks back, which meant I had to spend more time in and around Braunston than I really wanted. She seems to be OK now, although hygiene is something of a concern since there isn’t often hot water available. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing medically wrong with her now, although, as one vet had suggested she might have kidney trouble, I didn’t want to take any chances. She’s growing a lot more comfortable around strangers she meets on the towpath (she was originally very shy) and also getting considerably more bolshy with passing dogs.
The journey
I’m currently in exactly the kind of place I like best – just outside one village and not quite into the next one, in this case Bugbrooke, in Northants. Following an incident in which I came close to having my laptop nicked through being far too casual about security, I’m not too keen on mentioning such things as my exact location in case I need to leave the boat for any length of time, but it’s not so critical at the moment as I’m not staying here very long.
I’ve been heading towards London since I picked the boat up in mid-May, sometimes with some imagined, or temporary, sense of urgency, at other times at a leisurely stroll. I now have a definite reason to be in London at some, as yet unspecified, time before the end of the month, because one of my tenants is moving out. (It’s a hard life being a Tory fat-cat property tycoon!). Given my self-imposed limit of around five hours’ travelling per day and about a dozen or so locks, that works out at around nine days to Kensal Green.
This isn’t the way I like to travel – I’m much happier pootling around and staying in the middle of nowhere – and just now I’d rather be doing pretty much anything than going to London, but it’s got to be done, and I’ll be glad when it’s all over.
Me
In theory, I’m waiting for my parents to arrive at some time in the next few weeks. In practice, they seem to be finding it difficult to arrange a suitable time. I’m also hoping that a friend might be able to come and join me on the boat shortly, although I’m not sure how she’ll cope as she’s been having quite severe back trouble recently. Now the painting’s finished for a while, this means that my next job will be to make some steps so that it isn’t quite so taxing on the joints to get on and off the boat. Even Tigs, with her almost cat-like agility, finds it challenging at times, so perhaps that’s a more urgent job than the plumbing, the wiring, the stove, the lining, and all the other contenders to be done next.
That’s the main things covered for now. Time is moving on, and I have to be too.
I thought this blog business would all be pretty straightforward – a bit of harmless nonsense to pass the time – but it’s getting too complicated, and it’s making my brain (such as it is) hurt…
I had a pretty good idea that there wasn’t going to be an army of readers eagerly awaiting the next instalment – I suppose I sort of imagined that I could use it as a place where I could write stuff and keep everyone updated on what I’m doing without having to say the same stuff to everyone every time I see them. But that’s not as simple as it seems. I don’t want to say the same things to everyone (or put them in the same way), some people don’t read it, some people read it and I don’t know they’ve read it, others don’t know what a blog is… And then there are the people who stumble across it by accident and find themselves reading some random post that they know nothing about.
I’m forever stopping myself from writing “…as I was saying yesterday…”, “… person X thinks that…”, or other constructions that are meaningless unless it happens to have been you I was talking to yesterday (which might be last week or last month by now), or you happen to know person X. As a result, I’ve probably written stuff that’s out of sequence, or relies on the person reading it knowing things I haven’t put in the blog. Each person reading it is therefore probably getting a different picture depending on how they found there way here, which means I must be doing something (or lots of things) wrong.
So I’m going to have a stab at bringing things up to date, hopefully in a way that doesn’t rely on some conversation in a pub or an in joke that isn’t in anymore…
The boat
It started out grey, with green bits around the windows. It’s now resplendent in two coats of red primer. I like the word “resplendent” – it sounds as if you’re being complimentary without actually having to say anything nice about something. I imagine, for example, Bob Dylan singing about someone who would have been “resplendent” in a Brand New Leopardskin Pillbox Hat. (Not the original version – sorry, it was the best I could find at short notice)
Tigs
Tigs seems to be enjoying life onboard. She was ill for a while a few weeks back, which meant I had to spend more time in and around Braunston than I really wanted. She seems to be OK now, although hygiene is something of a concern since there isn’t often hot water available. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing medically wrong with her now, although, as one vet had suggested she might have kidney trouble, I didn’t want to take any chances. She’s growing a lot more comfortable around strangers she meets on the towpath (she was originally very shy) and also getting considerably more bolshy with passing dogs.
The journey
I’m currently in exactly the kind of place I like best – just outside one village and not quite into the next one, in this case Bugbrooke, in Northants. Following an incident in which I came close to having my laptop nicked through being far too casual about security, I’m not too keen on mentioning such things as my exact location in case I need to leave the boat for any length of time, but it’s not so critical at the moment as I’m not staying here very long.
I’ve been heading towards London since I picked the boat up in mid-May, sometimes with some imagined, or temporary, sense of urgency, at other times at a leisurely stroll. I now have a definite reason to be in London at some, as yet unspecified, time before the end of the month, because one of my tenants is moving out. (It’s a hard life being a Tory fat-cat property tycoon!). Given my self-imposed limit of around five hours’ travelling per day and about a dozen or so locks, that works out at around nine days to Kensal Green.
This isn’t the way I like to travel – I’m much happier pootling around and staying in the middle of nowhere – and just now I’d rather be doing pretty much anything than going to London, but it’s got to be done, and I’ll be glad when it’s all over.
Me
In theory, I’m waiting for my parents to arrive at some time in the next few weeks. In practice, they seem to be finding it difficult to arrange a suitable time. I’m also hoping that a friend might be able to come and join me on the boat shortly, although I’m not sure how she’ll cope as she’s been having quite severe back trouble recently. Now the painting’s finished for a while, this means that my next job will be to make some steps so that it isn’t quite so taxing on the joints to get on and off the boat. Even Tigs, with her almost cat-like agility, finds it challenging at times, so perhaps that’s a more urgent job than the plumbing, the wiring, the stove, the lining, and all the other contenders to be done next.
That’s the main things covered for now. Time is moving on, and I have to be too.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Let There Be Light
And there was light… just not such an awful lot of it.
I bought two of these solar powered garden lights from Homebase – a snip at a mere six quid each, reduced from twelve.
It’s not the most powerful light; with only 3 LEDs, I wouldn’t have expected much. But it works by charging two standard NiMH AA batteries, which means it’s much more useful as a solar battery charger. Since much of my battery use on the boat involves running an inverter to run battery chargers to provide power for the radio, camera, torches etc., it will be a useful addition if it can save me from having to go through all that palaver just to charge 1.2V batteries.
I’ve no idea yet how quickly the lights will charge the batteries but it shouldn’t be beyond the wit of man to cannibalise the lights to charge more than two at a time. If they can charge eight batteries over a couple of days, that will keep the radio and camera going, with more than enough power left over to use them as lights as well. I suspect that it will work fine during the summer; I’ll be well pleased if it can carry on working into the winter.
I bought two of these solar powered garden lights from Homebase – a snip at a mere six quid each, reduced from twelve.
It’s not the most powerful light; with only 3 LEDs, I wouldn’t have expected much. But it works by charging two standard NiMH AA batteries, which means it’s much more useful as a solar battery charger. Since much of my battery use on the boat involves running an inverter to run battery chargers to provide power for the radio, camera, torches etc., it will be a useful addition if it can save me from having to go through all that palaver just to charge 1.2V batteries.
I’ve no idea yet how quickly the lights will charge the batteries but it shouldn’t be beyond the wit of man to cannibalise the lights to charge more than two at a time. If they can charge eight batteries over a couple of days, that will keep the radio and camera going, with more than enough power left over to use them as lights as well. I suspect that it will work fine during the summer; I’ll be well pleased if it can carry on working into the winter.
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Horseradish Source
As Carrie mentioned last week, I stumbled across a rather plentiful source of horseradish on the way to Long Buckby recently. This has always been one of my favourite plants ever since I found some growing on an abandoned and seriously overgrown allotment I rather rashly took on with a friend some 15 years ago.
I discovered this pretty simple recipe for horseradish sauce around that time and I’ve used it ever since. Unfortunately, it’s not vegan but I’ve included it anyway in the hope that there’s a decent substitute for the double cream.
Ingredients:
1oz horseradish root
1 tsp English mustard
½ tsp ground black pepper
about 1 tbsp white wine vinegar
¼ pint double cream
Grate, or finely chop, the horseradish root and whizz it in a blender with the mustard, pepper and vinegar. Once it’s mixed more or less evenly, add the cream and whizz it again. It should go pretty solid pretty much immediately but keep going until the horseradish is well mixed in.
I’m told that it keeps quite well, although I’ve never been able to leave it long enough to find out.
If you’ve got more than you need (or if some well-meaning person has given you too much…) you can plant the top part of a root and it should start to grow. It seems to propagate quite easily, in fact it can be difficult to get rid of once it’s established, so make sure it isn’t going to become a weed in the future.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
The Great Unknown
On Friday afternoon I finally decided to venture out into the G.U. Distinctly grotty weather meant painting was out, so no longer had any excuse and I duly set off across Braunston to tackle the flight of locks up to the tunnel, my first attempt at doing broad locks.
The weather seemed to have deterred most of the remaining boaters so I had to do the whole flight pretty much on my own, the only exception being a young lad of about ten or twelve hanging around the bottom lock. Everything seemed to go smoothly enough - open gate, boat into lock, shut gate etc., all without hitting anything or otherwise messing up. The young lad even said he’d close the top gate behind me. Perfect! Well, almost – the last thing I heard as I pulled out of the lock was the kid shouting after me “You’re RUBBISH!”
Eventually, the weather got so bad that I had to stop for the night before legging it (no, not literally, silly!) through the tunnel and on towards Buckby locks.
Braunston Tunnel - it'll look nice when they get the carpet fitted
On my arrival at Buckby Top Lock, I was reassured to find that some things on the Great Unknown are exactly as they are elsewhere. This boat, for example, was pointing north:
Then again, some other things appear slightly different:
There was even a BW work boat that didn’t look as if it had been built out of Lego:
It’s now Monday and I’m parked outside Whilton Marina – always a good place to nick fitout ideas. But the impression I got of Buckby Top Lock is that its primary purpose is as a practical joke for the amusement of the regulars at the nearby Sadist’s Arms. Going down was fine, but getting back up looks distinctly trickier. I think I might just have condemned myself to boating south of Long Buckby from now on, at least until I can learn not to be rubbish...
The weather seemed to have deterred most of the remaining boaters so I had to do the whole flight pretty much on my own, the only exception being a young lad of about ten or twelve hanging around the bottom lock. Everything seemed to go smoothly enough - open gate, boat into lock, shut gate etc., all without hitting anything or otherwise messing up. The young lad even said he’d close the top gate behind me. Perfect! Well, almost – the last thing I heard as I pulled out of the lock was the kid shouting after me “You’re RUBBISH!”
Eventually, the weather got so bad that I had to stop for the night before legging it (no, not literally, silly!) through the tunnel and on towards Buckby locks.
On my arrival at Buckby Top Lock, I was reassured to find that some things on the Great Unknown are exactly as they are elsewhere. This boat, for example, was pointing north:
Then again, some other things appear slightly different:
There was even a BW work boat that didn’t look as if it had been built out of Lego:
It’s now Monday and I’m parked outside Whilton Marina – always a good place to nick fitout ideas. But the impression I got of Buckby Top Lock is that its primary purpose is as a practical joke for the amusement of the regulars at the nearby Sadist’s Arms. Going down was fine, but getting back up looks distinctly trickier. I think I might just have condemned myself to boating south of Long Buckby from now on, at least until I can learn not to be rubbish...
Sunday, 11 July 2010
The best laid plans...
Or “Mushrooms, mushrooms”…
Did I say that Saturday was going to be a rest day in preparation for setting off today into the vast unknown that is the Grand Union? Being a veteran of almost two months’ living aboard now, I really ought to know better than to make such rash predictions.
A gentle morning saunter into the village to get rid of my rubbish seemed harmless enough but then I had to spoil it by going shopping. First I found some (but not quite all) of the electrical bits I wanted. Then I found parts (but not the whole) of the mushroom vents I need. The rest of the day turned into a trek around, punctuated by innumerable breaks for drinks, in search of the bits I couldn’t get in the morning. I finally managed to get the electrical bits but now I have to wait until Thursday for the mushroom vent man to turn up. By the time I got home, it was just starting to get cool enough to start work on painting the roof. I’ve just had a look at it this morning, and it’s not very good, even by my standards. To be honest, I’ve had so little sleep since I got here I’m surprised I can do anything much.
So, no rest on Saturday, and I’m not moving until Thursday at the earliest. Still, as they say, the best laid plans of mice…
Did I say that Saturday was going to be a rest day in preparation for setting off today into the vast unknown that is the Grand Union? Being a veteran of almost two months’ living aboard now, I really ought to know better than to make such rash predictions.
A gentle morning saunter into the village to get rid of my rubbish seemed harmless enough but then I had to spoil it by going shopping. First I found some (but not quite all) of the electrical bits I wanted. Then I found parts (but not the whole) of the mushroom vents I need. The rest of the day turned into a trek around, punctuated by innumerable breaks for drinks, in search of the bits I couldn’t get in the morning. I finally managed to get the electrical bits but now I have to wait until Thursday for the mushroom vent man to turn up. By the time I got home, it was just starting to get cool enough to start work on painting the roof. I’ve just had a look at it this morning, and it’s not very good, even by my standards. To be honest, I’ve had so little sleep since I got here I’m surprised I can do anything much.
So, no rest on Saturday, and I’m not moving until Thursday at the earliest. Still, as they say, the best laid plans of mice…
Friday, 9 July 2010
The Benefits of Insomnia
I’m not alone in enjoying this new location. Tigs has taken to staying out late – a sure sign that she’s comfortable with her surroundings. The only problem is that she tends to get home from work between 2:30 and 3:00 am, which doesn’t give me a lot of time to get much sleep before the sheep start their choir practice, at around 5 o’clock. As a result, I’ve been getting more and more tired and the few jobs I need to do (my first engine service, mostly) seem to have taken much longer than they ought to. Tigs will be confined to quarters tonight, and tomorrow will be a rare rest day for me before I set off for pastures new.
One advantage of this disrupted sleep pattern was that I was awake and able to enjoy the tranquility at around 3:30 this morning. I did my best to capture the scene but again the pictures (even with assistance from Photoshop) failed to rise to the occasion.
One advantage of this disrupted sleep pattern was that I was awake and able to enjoy the tranquility at around 3:30 this morning. I did my best to capture the scene but again the pictures (even with assistance from Photoshop) failed to rise to the occasion.
Braunston
Having spent nearly a fortnight in what is, even by canal standards, the urban hustle and bustle that is Rugby, I made a point of stopping just short of the first signs of human habitation on the outskirts of Braunston, which turned out to be one of my better decisions. Although this means I have a walk of at least a mile each way to reach any kind of civilisation at all, the reward for me is the most delightful mooring I could wish for. I have yet to take a picture that does justice to it.
For me, what makes this place so special is the seemingly haphazard arrangement of the fields and hedges, giving the impression of an almost total absence of human intervention, as if the entire landscape has been created solely for the benefit of its inhabitants. I am lucky to be able to choose this for a home as I pass through; I can imagine no greater luxury.
For me, what makes this place so special is the seemingly haphazard arrangement of the fields and hedges, giving the impression of an almost total absence of human intervention, as if the entire landscape has been created solely for the benefit of its inhabitants. I am lucky to be able to choose this for a home as I pass through; I can imagine no greater luxury.
Saturday, 3 July 2010
One for Paul
That's enough of the serious stuff for now. This post is for my friend Paul, who used to delight in the fact that there was a local firm called the Burnt Oak Timber Company. Well, Paul, you might be interested to learn that about three weeks ago I passed the Stone Boat Building Company...
Heritage (1)
At the beginning of June, I happened to be moored next to two boats, Heron and Jupiter, who were taking part in the Tom Rolt centenary cruise, retracing the route taken by Tom Rolt aboard his boat Cressy in 1939 and described in his book Narrow Boat, published in 1944. I had read this book several moons ago when some of us attempted to start a Canal World reading group. Although this group seemed to struggle and die, I found this book both interesting and challenging.
Rolt depicted the canals of his time and described the changes he saw taking place in a way that was very much of a bygone age but, strangely, still applicable to many aspects of our own times.
He saw the replacement of old skills by modern mass production and the movement of populations into the cities that this brought. He saw this as being indicative of a movement away from an "old" Britain, in which work was a product of people's way of life, towards a "new" Britain, which regarded work simply as a means of making money. The canals, he argued, belong to the old way of life and he regarded their reducing economic importance as a part of an almost inevitable decay of our entire society as we convince ourselves that material wealth is the road to happiness, even if it results in spiritual poverty.
Having taken to the water in search of spiritual rather than material wealth, I can agree with much of his sentiment but there's something that tells me that the idyllic life he imagined contained the seeds of its own downfall. The boaters of his day may have been self-employed, and their boats built using traditional skills that took a lifetime to learn, but the canals themselves, the means by which they earned their living, were run purely for profit. When the canals were no longer profitable, the loss of the spiritual wealth of the communities that relied on them simply never featured in the calculations.
Why have I felt the need to write all this? Apart from the first ten days or so, I have spent most of my time travelling along the Trent and Mersey Canal, following the path taken by Tom Rolt and passing through many towns whose history charts the rise of the industrial revolution and the subsequent decline of manufacturing. Like Tom Rolt, I can appreciate the spiritual value of the skilled work involved in those industries. Unlike him, though, I think this was of little consequence to the relatively small number of people who profited from it.
As a result, I found myself surrounded by what most people would regard as a fantastically rich industrial heritage, but wanting nothing to do with it and yet somehow thinking that I must be missing out on something. I imagine that this will be an important theme, so it will probably be something I'll be returning to from time to time.
Rolt depicted the canals of his time and described the changes he saw taking place in a way that was very much of a bygone age but, strangely, still applicable to many aspects of our own times.
He saw the replacement of old skills by modern mass production and the movement of populations into the cities that this brought. He saw this as being indicative of a movement away from an "old" Britain, in which work was a product of people's way of life, towards a "new" Britain, which regarded work simply as a means of making money. The canals, he argued, belong to the old way of life and he regarded their reducing economic importance as a part of an almost inevitable decay of our entire society as we convince ourselves that material wealth is the road to happiness, even if it results in spiritual poverty.
Having taken to the water in search of spiritual rather than material wealth, I can agree with much of his sentiment but there's something that tells me that the idyllic life he imagined contained the seeds of its own downfall. The boaters of his day may have been self-employed, and their boats built using traditional skills that took a lifetime to learn, but the canals themselves, the means by which they earned their living, were run purely for profit. When the canals were no longer profitable, the loss of the spiritual wealth of the communities that relied on them simply never featured in the calculations.
Why have I felt the need to write all this? Apart from the first ten days or so, I have spent most of my time travelling along the Trent and Mersey Canal, following the path taken by Tom Rolt and passing through many towns whose history charts the rise of the industrial revolution and the subsequent decline of manufacturing. Like Tom Rolt, I can appreciate the spiritual value of the skilled work involved in those industries. Unlike him, though, I think this was of little consequence to the relatively small number of people who profited from it.
As a result, I found myself surrounded by what most people would regard as a fantastically rich industrial heritage, but wanting nothing to do with it and yet somehow thinking that I must be missing out on something. I imagine that this will be an important theme, so it will probably be something I'll be returning to from time to time.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Welcome to my brand new blog
Well, I've finally got round to creating a blog - something that seems a virtual necessity considering the amount of time I've spent over the past few years reading other boaters' blogs.
After a seemingly interminable time of threatening to sever all ties with dry land, about three weeks ago I actually picked up the keys to Universe and set off from Lymm towards a new life that, to be perfectly honest, I'm making up as I go along.
Accompanying me on this voyage into the unknown is Tigs, whose patience I regularly test beyond any reasonable breaking point but who, for some reason, retains a thoroughly inexplicable level of tolerance. I am perfectly aware that if cats ever learn to use a tin opener there will be no further use for the human race but she does actually seem to get some enjoyment from the arrangement, which is extremely fortunate given the amount of pleasure she gives me.
There's so much that's happened over the past few weeks that I'll probably be spending quite a while catching up with it all. I haven't even introduced the boat yet, or described anything that's happened on my travels, let alone mentioned any of the characters I've met on the way, or the places I've seen or... or... and that's just boaty things - I could rant and rave about all sorts of things now I've got a blog, couldn't I? Oh no - what have I started?
After a seemingly interminable time of threatening to sever all ties with dry land, about three weeks ago I actually picked up the keys to Universe and set off from Lymm towards a new life that, to be perfectly honest, I'm making up as I go along.
Accompanying me on this voyage into the unknown is Tigs, whose patience I regularly test beyond any reasonable breaking point but who, for some reason, retains a thoroughly inexplicable level of tolerance. I am perfectly aware that if cats ever learn to use a tin opener there will be no further use for the human race but she does actually seem to get some enjoyment from the arrangement, which is extremely fortunate given the amount of pleasure she gives me.
There's so much that's happened over the past few weeks that I'll probably be spending quite a while catching up with it all. I haven't even introduced the boat yet, or described anything that's happened on my travels, let alone mentioned any of the characters I've met on the way, or the places I've seen or... or... and that's just boaty things - I could rant and rave about all sorts of things now I've got a blog, couldn't I? Oh no - what have I started?
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