hlb
RIP
Or How The Other Half Live!!
Now course, we’ve returned from the Weymouth forum get together only a couple of weeks ago. So Deborah announces that it’s her clubs bank holiday cruise to Preston. Deborah mentions all sorts of rules which apparently no one takes any notice of, well except some of them, course all this is going in one ear and out the other. Main gist of this seems to be that you get your arse down to Preston fast as possible in order to secure a berth close to the pub before the rest of the mob turn up.
So cheating a bit, last week we brought the barge from Garstang to the Hand and Dagger pub, just 200yds down the road from Deborah’s house, to get a head start. Also handy for doing a bit of varnishing and load with provisions.
So here in started the saga of the bow thrusters. Most here know of my views on this accursed piece of boating parafinalialia before I even start. Though I must admit this iron monstrosity needed every help it could get if all eighteen tons were going to survive to the other end of this gutter.
So for a start, the shear pin in the bow thrusters is knackered, I rings around and gets a new set delivered and starts to fix it. Could I find a socket that would fit these buried nuts, I tried every bloody one, nothing fit. So then it was an eighty mile round trip for the son’s giant, mother of all socket sets, also a call to my mechanic in Plymouth and even the Vetus man. Course all gave different opinions as to the nut size. One even insisted that they were cap screws!!. Eventually I got one out with a half inch socket. Dragging the offending bolt out of the socket, I found that they were indeed cap screws with alan key heads!! Bugger!!. So course I’ve not brought the alan key sockets, have I . So have to make do with an alan key on the end of my arm, which is stuck down this narrow pot hole. Eventually it’s fixed I think, so feeling very proud of my self, off we goes down the cut.
It’s all quite uneventful apart from the numerous humped back bridges. “ Mind the satellite dish, mind the back end. I’m closing my eyes” Deborah would holler at each sight of a bridge!! Only one caught me out. Moseying along on this sunny afternoon, there’s a few rushes sticking out into the canal, we’re deep in conversation and brushing through a few rushes is not uncommon. Clang!! The barge lurches to the other side of the canal, another clang as we hit the other side of the old bridge foundations and came to an abrupt halt.
We stopped for lunch or whatever near to this boat sales, come hire place. So I takes a nosey. Thought the bloke looked familiar but did not recognise him immediately. “ What you looking for”. He said. Well I thinks, nothing at all really, just passing time, but this aint going to get me inside his boat sales shed. “ A rubber dinghy, what you got” Thinking MF’s dinghy was well passed it’s sell by date and I’d rather fancied one with a blow up floor after experiencing the delights of Long Johns whilst sleeping in it on the way back from the pub!!
Then he mentions PENDLE MARINE and my senses are jerked into life. It’s that pillock wot I bought my first power boat off from his place in Nelson. Volvo banned it’s three year warranty before I’d even bought the boat. I took it for it’s first service and he had begrudgingly said. “He’d cleaned the spark plugs!! Splutter!! Anyway, where ever I took that American Imperial thingy, some guy would come up to me, and in a gruff voice say. “Where you get that from then. You seen a yellow one anywhere” Every one from Lough Lomond to Troon. Phwhelli and Swansea had heard of this bloke. Some even rang me up every other week!! I don’t think that it was his health that they were worried about either!!
So we finally makes it to the mooring at the Preston end of the canal. The only hitch is, we have to go a bit further to turn round. Deborah says it’s not far. Huh!! So the canals getting shallower and shallower towards the inner city. I can hear the crap scraping across the bottom before being hit like a cricket bat by the propellor. Eventually we reach this fork type wide bit.
Now turning this barge requires total dedication. You have to put your whole mind and will the bugger to turn. Also a lot of welly is needed, if it’s going to take any notice at all. So with a big fist of right hand down and a bit of stick on the throttle, it’s turning and is now facing the big stone wall. Right I thinks, it’s now time for full astern. Kicking the leaver into reverse, there’s a sickening drone as the revs die to tick over. The bows are heading straight for the stone wall. I press the bow thrusters hoping to veer away and maybe just give it a glancing blow!!. Twas then that the bow thrusters packed in again. It was just like I imagine the captain of the Titanic felt when aiming for the ice burg with sod all you could do about it!! The bows hit the wall and rose about two feet before sliding back into the water again. We then drifted serenely off into the opposite branch festooned bank and came to rest.
There’s a weed hatch. Obviously this happens quite often whilst ditch crawling, not surprisingly. So I’m instructed to get my arm down there. The prop is a mass of plastic sheet and cloth and I’m hacking away at it with the bread knife. The waters so cold, I don’t know if I’m hacking the crap or my arm off!! Eventually after cutting much of the plastic and rags off. The shear weight of the stuff wrenches itself off the prop and descends to the bottom. Apart from hitting some other underwater obstruction, sending the barge careering into the bank again, we make it to the mooring spot and at last to the pub for the night. Next day it’s the photo call at the holding basin for the newly restored Ribble Link.
There’s a statue there that’s called “The Pissing Man.” Not hard to tell why!!
Even Dirty Harry managed to make an appearance.
One boat’s got the immortal words COMMODE DOOR written for all to see on it’s bow. No wonder this lot can’t afford a proper boat. They cant even spell!!
Another one’s got VICE COMMODE DOOR written on it and apparently this boat always remains at the back of the others when cruising. As the name implies, this must be the Gestapo Vice boat, there to police the other boats from stopping by for a bit of nooky.
The next venue is Olde Nells pub. Every one coming the other way, tells us about the carnage going on there and to keep away. We quietly inform them that we are apart of the same bunch!!. Amazingly we park up right outside Olde Nells . Only to discover later that the do is at the village hall, a mile down the other side of the canal!!
Now Brendan needs to take note here for the next forum meet. The village hall was supplied with pasting tables for the event and the lighting for the entertainment trio was done by florescent lighting and the super was, yes you guessed it. Pie and peas. We even did a pub quiz to start off the events and the Commode door bloke was the master of ceremonies.
Next stop was back at the Hand And Dagger pub. The land lord had lent his barbeque, but you had to make yer own. Come my turn, it had gone out. So I had to make my own barbeque right from bloody scratch!! (written by Deborah… my cruisng club members said “hey look he’s another woman down there, bending down blowing, disappearing from sight & generally looking very odd !! “)Little did Deborah know that we had been discussing the availability of some one that could give a good blow job!! By the time I (Haydn) was finished they were well into the karaoke and we had to sit on the floor. Everyone kept offering tables later on. But it felt much safer on the floor.!!
<hr width=100% size=1> <font color=blue>If you thought my boat was dirty. You want to meet my girl friend!!
Haydn
Now course, we’ve returned from the Weymouth forum get together only a couple of weeks ago. So Deborah announces that it’s her clubs bank holiday cruise to Preston. Deborah mentions all sorts of rules which apparently no one takes any notice of, well except some of them, course all this is going in one ear and out the other. Main gist of this seems to be that you get your arse down to Preston fast as possible in order to secure a berth close to the pub before the rest of the mob turn up.
So cheating a bit, last week we brought the barge from Garstang to the Hand and Dagger pub, just 200yds down the road from Deborah’s house, to get a head start. Also handy for doing a bit of varnishing and load with provisions.
So here in started the saga of the bow thrusters. Most here know of my views on this accursed piece of boating parafinalialia before I even start. Though I must admit this iron monstrosity needed every help it could get if all eighteen tons were going to survive to the other end of this gutter.
So for a start, the shear pin in the bow thrusters is knackered, I rings around and gets a new set delivered and starts to fix it. Could I find a socket that would fit these buried nuts, I tried every bloody one, nothing fit. So then it was an eighty mile round trip for the son’s giant, mother of all socket sets, also a call to my mechanic in Plymouth and even the Vetus man. Course all gave different opinions as to the nut size. One even insisted that they were cap screws!!. Eventually I got one out with a half inch socket. Dragging the offending bolt out of the socket, I found that they were indeed cap screws with alan key heads!! Bugger!!. So course I’ve not brought the alan key sockets, have I . So have to make do with an alan key on the end of my arm, which is stuck down this narrow pot hole. Eventually it’s fixed I think, so feeling very proud of my self, off we goes down the cut.
It’s all quite uneventful apart from the numerous humped back bridges. “ Mind the satellite dish, mind the back end. I’m closing my eyes” Deborah would holler at each sight of a bridge!! Only one caught me out. Moseying along on this sunny afternoon, there’s a few rushes sticking out into the canal, we’re deep in conversation and brushing through a few rushes is not uncommon. Clang!! The barge lurches to the other side of the canal, another clang as we hit the other side of the old bridge foundations and came to an abrupt halt.
We stopped for lunch or whatever near to this boat sales, come hire place. So I takes a nosey. Thought the bloke looked familiar but did not recognise him immediately. “ What you looking for”. He said. Well I thinks, nothing at all really, just passing time, but this aint going to get me inside his boat sales shed. “ A rubber dinghy, what you got” Thinking MF’s dinghy was well passed it’s sell by date and I’d rather fancied one with a blow up floor after experiencing the delights of Long Johns whilst sleeping in it on the way back from the pub!!
Then he mentions PENDLE MARINE and my senses are jerked into life. It’s that pillock wot I bought my first power boat off from his place in Nelson. Volvo banned it’s three year warranty before I’d even bought the boat. I took it for it’s first service and he had begrudgingly said. “He’d cleaned the spark plugs!! Splutter!! Anyway, where ever I took that American Imperial thingy, some guy would come up to me, and in a gruff voice say. “Where you get that from then. You seen a yellow one anywhere” Every one from Lough Lomond to Troon. Phwhelli and Swansea had heard of this bloke. Some even rang me up every other week!! I don’t think that it was his health that they were worried about either!!
So we finally makes it to the mooring at the Preston end of the canal. The only hitch is, we have to go a bit further to turn round. Deborah says it’s not far. Huh!! So the canals getting shallower and shallower towards the inner city. I can hear the crap scraping across the bottom before being hit like a cricket bat by the propellor. Eventually we reach this fork type wide bit.
Now turning this barge requires total dedication. You have to put your whole mind and will the bugger to turn. Also a lot of welly is needed, if it’s going to take any notice at all. So with a big fist of right hand down and a bit of stick on the throttle, it’s turning and is now facing the big stone wall. Right I thinks, it’s now time for full astern. Kicking the leaver into reverse, there’s a sickening drone as the revs die to tick over. The bows are heading straight for the stone wall. I press the bow thrusters hoping to veer away and maybe just give it a glancing blow!!. Twas then that the bow thrusters packed in again. It was just like I imagine the captain of the Titanic felt when aiming for the ice burg with sod all you could do about it!! The bows hit the wall and rose about two feet before sliding back into the water again. We then drifted serenely off into the opposite branch festooned bank and came to rest.
There’s a weed hatch. Obviously this happens quite often whilst ditch crawling, not surprisingly. So I’m instructed to get my arm down there. The prop is a mass of plastic sheet and cloth and I’m hacking away at it with the bread knife. The waters so cold, I don’t know if I’m hacking the crap or my arm off!! Eventually after cutting much of the plastic and rags off. The shear weight of the stuff wrenches itself off the prop and descends to the bottom. Apart from hitting some other underwater obstruction, sending the barge careering into the bank again, we make it to the mooring spot and at last to the pub for the night. Next day it’s the photo call at the holding basin for the newly restored Ribble Link.
There’s a statue there that’s called “The Pissing Man.” Not hard to tell why!!
Even Dirty Harry managed to make an appearance.
One boat’s got the immortal words COMMODE DOOR written for all to see on it’s bow. No wonder this lot can’t afford a proper boat. They cant even spell!!
Another one’s got VICE COMMODE DOOR written on it and apparently this boat always remains at the back of the others when cruising. As the name implies, this must be the Gestapo Vice boat, there to police the other boats from stopping by for a bit of nooky.
The next venue is Olde Nells pub. Every one coming the other way, tells us about the carnage going on there and to keep away. We quietly inform them that we are apart of the same bunch!!. Amazingly we park up right outside Olde Nells . Only to discover later that the do is at the village hall, a mile down the other side of the canal!!
Now Brendan needs to take note here for the next forum meet. The village hall was supplied with pasting tables for the event and the lighting for the entertainment trio was done by florescent lighting and the super was, yes you guessed it. Pie and peas. We even did a pub quiz to start off the events and the Commode door bloke was the master of ceremonies.
Next stop was back at the Hand And Dagger pub. The land lord had lent his barbeque, but you had to make yer own. Come my turn, it had gone out. So I had to make my own barbeque right from bloody scratch!! (written by Deborah… my cruisng club members said “hey look he’s another woman down there, bending down blowing, disappearing from sight & generally looking very odd !! “)Little did Deborah know that we had been discussing the availability of some one that could give a good blow job!! By the time I (Haydn) was finished they were well into the karaoke and we had to sit on the floor. Everyone kept offering tables later on. But it felt much safer on the floor.!!
<hr width=100% size=1> <font color=blue>If you thought my boat was dirty. You want to meet my girl friend!!
Haydn
