When I got to the boat on Sunday afternoon, I made ready and shoved off within a few minutes, hoping to get to Ely before dark. It was quite dark when I got there so I moored at a convenient spot and settled down for the night. It wasn't very cold but I lit the fire anyway as it does make the boat comfy overnight.
The next morning, with my stove fan still turning, I pottered about both inside and out. It was while I was checking my mooring ropes that I noticed something odd - someone had replaced a link in my fender chain with a nice new shiny 'D' shackle. You can just see it in the photo...
I guessed this had been done at the marina, not while I slept over night, but I couldn't fathom out why. When I got back to the marina, I asked the owners if they had done it and they said no, so I am none the wiser. My guess is that someone may have bumped into me at the marina and knocked the fender off and then kindly repaired it. If it was you, please let me know 'cos I'd like to thank you.
Another odd thing, my two day jaunt was cut short by a phone call telling me my builder wanted to start work on Tuesday rather than Wednesday. I thought, blimey, builders are not known for starting jobs early! Anyway, I thought there's no point winding the bloke up so I left at mid day and got home at tea time.
I'll see if the scrap chimney fits next time.
You know those times when you see something you like or think it may be useful but you don't know the exact measurements of the place you think it might be useful in? Well, I have those times quite frequently like seeing a nice curtain pole for sale but not knowing the exact width of the window it could fit or seeing a pair of secondhand bike tyres and not knowing the exact size of the wheels they could go on or seeing a big plate of bangers and mash with peas and gravy and not knowing exactly how hungry I am - you get the picture.
Well, this morning I had one of those moments when I found a secondhand boiler chimney lurking under a box at the local CBS...
...and I thought it might be useful on Skylark.
It looked about the right size for a narrowboat chimney and I liked the simple chrome design but I didn't know the exact size of the fitting on the boat. Oh well, I thought, even if it's a few mil out, I can probably fit it with a nip and tuck here or there. So I negotiated hard and got the price down to 50p. The deal was done and hard cash changed hands. Back of the net!
So I'm now off to the boat to fit it, and if it doesn't quite fit, I will turn my head to finding a crafty solution.
Perhaps I should rename Skylark, 'Scrap Heap Challenge'.
(Thinks...I'm sure there's an anagram in there somewhere but I can't find it. Answers on a postcard please.)
Contrary to the advice on the Probate Office website that states the process should take about 6 weeks, I have now got the Letter of Administration after three and a half months. In a way, I feel sorry for the staff who obviously have a large workload but there is something fundamentally wrong with the system; I guess lack of resources, like so many publicly funded organisations these days.
Anyway, I'm pleased to get this step in the process finished as I can now get on with the next few steps of selling assets and dealing with creditors.
If you haven't dealt with probate before and find yourself in the firing line, I warn you, it's more complicated and time-consuming than you could imagine. But look on the bright side, it's another good opportunity to practice your already stretched patience skills!!!!
My second morning in Ely last weekend proved to be a bit misty but it soon cleared. That left me plenty of time to complete my routine chores of cleaning and polishing.
I then took a stroll into town and rummaged through the street market and charity shops.
You know, I sometimes wonder if I'm invisible. Saturday was one such day. As I mooched about, I was constantly bumped and jostled by people changing directions on pavements without looking, I was stopped in my tracks by people chatting in shop doors or between shelves, and, on one occasion, as I waited to let an old lady complete her purchase at a till, she flung her shopping bag over her shoulder and hit me in the chest. And she didn't even realise she'd done it! If my school career adviser had known about my ability to blend into my surroundings so well, he could have pointed me in the direction of being an undercover policeman or international spy rather than working for a local council. My whole life would have turned out differently.
Anyway, it got me thinking, I've come to the conclusion that people should undergo compulsory walking tuition once they reach a certain age. The aim would be to teach them to look behind before they stop or change direction, to avoid entering into conversations in shop doors or gangways, and to find their purses or wallets well before they get to the till.
Of course this problem is not restricted to just older people. I'll give you any example. Later on Saturday I went to Lidl to get a few bits and pieces for tea and I chose a till that looked like it would be easy to get through without any problems or delays. How wrong could I be. As the young lady, already at the checkout, was having her shopping rung through the till, she suddenly remembered something she had forgotten and just went off to find it. When she came back it was rung through the till. Then she remembered something else and did the same and then, to cap it all, she did it a third time. Of course, I was not in a hurry so I used this time to practice my patience skills - something I'm not usually very good at. When all her goods were totted up, she got out one of her many credit cards and found it didn't work so had another go and third go and then gave up. She then got another card out and tried that. Fortunately that one worked. While all this was going on, everyone else in the shop was passing through their checkouts without any holdups. The blockage was at the one I chose and she was oblivious to the fact that I was standing there, waiting.
When she eventually left the shop, the checkout girl looked at me (so I was visible after all) and we both breathed a huge sigh of relief, we had a brief exchange of jolly banter (we British are good at that) and I promptly paid for my food and drink and left the shop making sure there were no 'vacant, confused or forgetful looking people' loitering in my vicinity.
So, where is all this leading? I know patience is a virtue but when presented with extreme situations like the ones I experienced on Saturday, there is a limit to how much patience I can muster and mine proved to be very low. To be honest, if my patience was a fuel tank, I would have been running on empty.
So, what can I do about it? Rather than getting into any direct action like asking these people to 'get out of my way', or campaigning in public for better street skills, or lobbying my MP to designate separate areas for vague people and normal people (like me), I'm going to set up an e-petition on the Government's website. It will put forward the very strong argument for the introduction of compulsory walking training for the over 60's and a supermarket checkout protocol for dim people. To get the government to discuss these important issues in parliament just needs another 99,999 people to sign the petition. That shouldn't be too much of a problem.
However, there is one fundamental flaw in my plan - I turn 60 next month and I'm sure I don't need walking training.
Rethink needed.
Just thought I'd mention a couple of things coming up in November.
To celebrate me hitting the big 60 Kay has planned a short trip into London for us both to see Warhorse and the WW1 poppies at the Tower of London. To show my appreciation, I may have to fork out on a romantic meal somewhere along the line; British Rail does a good bacon butty I'm told.
Then at the end of November, still on the WW1 theme, I'm popping over to Ypres (Leper) to visit the war grave of one of my mother's uncles who died on 28 November 1914, exactly 100 years ago. He was 28 when he died in the trenches near Kemmel and lies in a small cemetery just north of the town. As I'm not a great fan of formal ceremonies with long speeches about self-sacrifice and the glorious dead, I'm thinking about how I can mark this special anniversary with something more personal.
I'm meeting my son and his wife the previous evening and we will attend the nightly sounding of the Last Post under the Menin Gate. We did this a few years ago and it was a very moving experience. I recommend this to everyone who values their freedom and wishes to say a quiet and tearful 'thank you' to all those men and women who died.
I often walk around the local car boot sale looking for bargains that may be useful for the boat or the house. As I wander between the stalls searching for that elusive right angled bracket or 8mm masonry drill, I like to keep one ear on the conversations going on. Of course, as I'm walking, I only hear snippets but they can open up a myriad of lives being lived.
This morning, I heard lots about the weather, especially as this long dry spell is about to be brought to a sharp conclusion with heavy wind and rain heading down from the north.
I heard, lots of traders threatening to give it all up (the trade, I guess, not life). And I don't know if it's just the way people speak nowadays, but I heard lots of negatives like, 'How are ya?', 'Oh, not as bad as I was but then not as good as I could be.' Or, 'Haven't see ya f' a while.' No, that's probably because I hevn't been here. Me wife's had problems wiv her feet.'
I hear lots of gripes about poor trade like, 'Not doin' so well today, even worse than Woolpit.' or 'I don't know why I do it, just standin' here gettin' cold.' Or ' I know it's all rubbish but I thought someone would want to buy it.'
I also hear lots of languages that I don't recognise, mainly eastern european I guess, but I love it when I hear broad Suffolk. This dialect is sadly disappearing but this morning it made me chuckle when I heard an old boy grumbling, 'People, I dunno, they all warnt suffun'f''nuffun.' Nice.
Anyway, without any bargains in hand, I made my way out of the field and headed home but, as I left, I heard a final gem. I have absolutely no idea what the guy was talking about.
'If I'd known you were comin', I'd have washed it.'
If I ever have a family coat of arms, I think I'll have that as my motto.
