Vega1447
Well-Known Member
Not Vera, Menda.
Boat off mooring - salvage claim... Again?! Arrr!
- Thread starter Fatbeard
- Start date
Not Vera, Menda.
Offshore57
Well-Known Member
Top of the Itchen ? Cobden bridge just south of the park ? Lots of boats moored at a couple of small boatyards there on the west side..lots of mud on the other side........shot in the dark.....
Pirx
Well-Known Member
I too am curious as to the location of this boat eating bridge. Perhaps there are trolls living under it ?
solent clown
RIP
if kit is Northam bridge then yes there are trolls living under it in wrecked boatdragged up on the "shore" as well as in the mud all the way out to quayside marina. The "flotilla" also extends upstream the other side of the bridge to include a sunken concrete filled houseboat, and a sunken fishing trawler among many many other things. Combined salvage value about 20p
Pirx
Well-Known Member
Just had a look in google maps satellite view: what a mess ! One sort of expects a few wrecks out on t'marshes, but to see so many dead boats right in the middle of a large city is a surprise.
Reminds me of the book 'Edgelands' by Paul Farley - "The edgelands are the debatable space where city and countryside fray into one another. They comprise jittery, jumbled, broken ground: brownfield sites and utilities infrastructure, crackling substations and pallet depots, transit hubs and sewage farms, scrub forests and sluggish canals, allotments and retail parks, slackened regulatory frameworks and guerilla ecologies."
Daydream believer
Well-Known Member
Oh! you mean Thurrock in Essex
solent clown
RIP
I expect there are more now than an old google shows too. There are moves afoot to move those upstream, but all they will do is go downstram of the bridge - how do I know that? One of them told me. That is going to make quayside marina and Kemps look very down at heel indeed, especially when the barely floating ex MTB arrives doing it's submersible act
solent clown
RIP
Since we took these pics many many more have arrived, both sides of the bridge...
IMG_0241 by mark punksteel, on Flickr
IMG_0228 by mark punksteel, on Flickr
IMG_0227 by mark punksteel, on Flickr
IMG_0225 by mark punksteel, on Flickr
there is a moody yacht under all that old wood
IMG_0222 by mark punksteel, on Flickr
IMG_0217 by mark punksteel, on Flickr
IMG_0241 by mark punksteel, on FlickrIMG_0228 by mark punksteel, on FlickrIMG_0227 by mark punksteel, on FlickrIMG_0225 by mark punksteel, on Flickrthere is a moody yacht under all that old wood
IMG_0222 by mark punksteel, on FlickrIMG_0217 by mark punksteel, on Flickr
nortada
Well-Known Member
Loads of places on the East Coast.
Muddy places a speciality but rather than knee deep more likely over your head.
Muddy places a speciality but rather than knee deep more likely over your head.
Resolution
Well-Known Member
Surely FB's repeated "Arrr!s" are uttered with a West Country accent?
Fatbeard
N/A
Sorry about the long post.
Log entry Weds 1st Aug 2018.
Horrible eye infection this morning doubtless from my bath. Wore dark
glasses and headed for the dohnut factory, as I like to think of our
heroic local police station.
The Bored Looking Policeman at the desk is dealing with a citizen, and
I decline to eavesdrop. BLP retires backstage and the citizen smiles
at me sheepishly as I step forward and engage him.
"What have they got you for?" I inquire with a confidential smirk.
"Just reporting something!" he exclaims, edging away until he bumps
into the station house counter. He starts to study a leaflet. Maybe
it's my sunglasses.
BLP is unable to deal with me between milk delivery and the project
yacht he is working on behind the opaque doors of the office.
He shoots me a coy glance as he breezes though every few minutes on
some mission.
I decline to ring the bell, and wait patiently. BLP knows I'm here and
will get to me in the end.
As time passes the jaded flow of solicitors, off duty police men, pick
pockets and thugs take the time to grin, knowingly, at me.
I wonder in and out of the foyer, and enjoy the air outside, where a
steady gentle breeze playfully kisses my cheek.
I forget exactly how it happened, one minute I am in reverie thinking
of the .... next I am face to face with the BLP, albeit through a
plastic screen.
I engage.
"Hi ... I would like to report this lost property". Friendly and with
a touch of civic pride. I display the documents folder removed from
XXXBOATNAMEXXX. Within are; Imray chart number XX, key to Imray charts
... Half a dozen bills from a local boatyard to the owners (2015),
replete with owner names and addresses, Mooring ticket from
XXXLOCATIONXXXX (2018), Owners notes in handwriting.
Wary suspicion fades away and the BLP looks a little disappointed.
"Where did you find them?" he asks picking up a pencil. I gave the
details of the location of the find. He records them unhappily.
"Name?" he asks.
"May I report these anonymously?" I ask in what I hope is a reasonable
and nonchalant tone.
A pause.
A lifted eye brow.
Slowly the BLP puts down his pencil and picks up a biro.
"Sorry?" he asks just as smoothly as I.
"If possible yes. And if I do... report this ... well ....
anonymously..... " (this isn't going well) "... can I still claim this
lot as a reward if they are unclaimed by the owner?" I trail off
weakly. Why do my legs feel unstable? Has it got suddenly warmer?
"Claim what?" he asks suspiciously, looking at the folder, then me,
trying to assess the situation.
"That. The chart inside is worth a few quid. The plastic folder is useful too."
I gain a moment here as the BLP tries to figure out what my angle is.
It's not going to be long enough for a full reading, but here goes.
The BLP is fairly slim for a desk jockey, and not really tall enough
for street police work. His face is firm but lined and he seems like a
steady sort. Lined by what? I wonder as the details resolve. Ex navy?
Ex forces? Too small for a squaddie so I would hazard mid-ranking
(leftenant) RN? Who knows? The moment is over.
A light goes on for the BLP. He assesses me more calmly for a moment
that passes like amber flowing down the bark of a prehistoric tree.
Understanding.... crystallizing at the pace of sap.
He looks at me coldly, satisfied at my obvious discomfort.
I look suitably hopeful. And wait.
Did the BLP seem to consider picking up his pencil again?
"What address?" he asks a little coldly, obviously resenting my greedy motives.
"So I will get them after 6 weeks? I'm happy to leave my phone
number." I offer, now a picture of ... "Pleeeeeaseee??????!!!!!"
"Possibly?" he concedes. "It depends if the owner picks them up."
"Okay." I accept and begin to give my unfamiliar address and postcode
off a piece of paper and fork over my phone number.
He studiously avoids asking for my name.
"Ok ... " he sighs, resigned "I'll be back in a minute." and turns
away, heading to the office.
"Oh ... there was just one more thing ... " I say gently, friendly,
absent minded... I may have raised my finger to my brow as I
remembered this other detail " ...found with the map..." I say calmly.
"A 22 foot sailboat." I speak softly, but the words seem to hang in
the air like a psyren's call.
BLP seems to freeze into tableaux for a second, or did I imagine that?
but recovers well.
"What?" he asks.
And I begin to explain, first with a complete description of events.
This turnabout, and the subsequent narrative have taken their toll on
the BLP, but he studiously gets as much detail as he can, biro ticking
gently away into the daybook as each item is covered one thing at a
time.
By this time I have removed my sun glasses and have grudgingly given
my name "In the strictest confidence". His name turns out to be Dave.
Not for the last time, he retreats to the office, and returns some
geological period of time later requesting further details.
Where? What time? You swam across with bolt croppers? How? Why? Where?
When? Who? What?
Time passes, grudgingly. After each new question the BLP retreats, and
return comes at longer interval. After a particularly long pause BLP
saunters back in, happily.
"OK..." he waves a piece of paper in a casual fashion, "I have
recorded this item of lost property ... there is the report number",
he indicates the number as he orientates the document so I can read it
when I don't immediately snatch it up and head for the front door.
"There is no mention of the boat on it!" I say pointing at the form.
And of course, there isn't.
"No I'm afraid the computer won't let me add that as an item of lost
property." he states flatly.
I nod. "Yes. Good." I goof and recover. "I'm sorry, but I would like a
record that I reported this boat as lost and found."
He vanishes, with the form, and returns a long time later, with a
determined look.
"Could you come through a minute?" he smiles and presses a button
below the desk, indicating a solid looking door leading to the
interior of the building. I return his smile evenly and say "Of
course."
I take a deep breath, and step through into a tiny concrete room with
four chairs and a nervous looking young woman who occupies one of the
chairs in the furthest possible corner of the room.
The door clicks closed (and locked!) with flat finality. It occurs to
me that I can no longer leave at will. The walls close in.
A tall, black haired guy, outdoorsy and robust, clad in black clothes
enters our small enclosure, sits as far from the young woman as
possible, and begins to play with his phone.
I engage.
"What have they got you for?!" a joke as he is obviously an off duty
policeman in a uniform without insignia or number. He sneers.
"Sorry ... I just noticed that I can't leave! Always makes me nervous
and I tend to chatter when I'm nervous!" I burble.
"How do you handle the boredom?!" I ask.
"Pff."
"How long on the job?"
Silence.
I maneuver around to get a look at his phone. Is that a camera app?!
"Oh I'm sorry!" I exclaim, retreating. "Didn't mean to pry."
What is this now?!
I turn my back on this interloper and pretend to read a leaflet.
I reassess the BLP when he comes through, and he currently looks
pretty animated. He fixes me with a hard look and produces a piece of
paper. It's the same piece from earlier, unaltered and un-updated. He
leaves it on the desk, orientated towards me, and begins.
Where? What time? You swam across with bolt croppers? How? Why? Where?
When? Who? What? Time passes, grudgingly. After each new question the
BLP retreats and return comes at longer interval. During one of these
interludes the girl is taken further into the factory. I won't be
seeing her again.
After each bout with the BLP I patiently explain that I need some
evidence I have reported the boat as salvage. "Can I have a copy of
the log entry?"
"No ... data protection £10 for a copy, FOI request."
He rejoins "It's not lost property!"
"It seems lost to me!"
"You're not the owner so can't report it lost!"
"It is lost, and I am reporting it!"
"It's not lost property!"
Ok. Of course. Got him. "Well... if it's not lost property, then what is it?"
"It's sal...." he almost blurts out.
I relax. "Salvage!" I state happily.
"Well... what IS salvage?!" he gropes miserably.
"Salvage is a common law process whereby the courts encourage
individuals to risk their time, equipment and safety..."
He holds his hand up. "Wait here." he grumbles needlessly and disappears.
I try and engage my new cellmate. "Yep. The Police are rarely
appreciated the way they should be... until they are needed." I
ventured, but was running out of material.
No response just a baleful look, and a return to the phone.
After a particularly long pause BLP saunters back in happily.
He doesn't beat about the bush. "It isn't salvage because it isn't in
your possession." he states with an air of finality.
"Tied up by me, opposite my moorings. Yes, it is. Completely in my
possession, with a salvage note attached and a police report logged."
I say with an air of finality. He crumbles and retreats back into the
gloom of the office.
Victory!!!
So, why do I feel so unsettled. My hair is standing up and I have an
uncomfortable feeling that I am about to receive a blow or a shock. I
control my urge to whirl about and half turn. I nod and smile at the
dark shape of the off duty policeman who seems to fail to see.
Time passes and I return to the leaflets in unusually subdued mood.
The nape of my neck still registers trouble, but I ignore it and focus
on how much I want a cigarette.
The BLP returns for a final time looking troubled.
He takes up the form and quickly writes a note, longhand, on the
bottom. It states that
"XXXNAMEXXX also reported securing a missing 22' sailboat that was
adrift in the ..."
I help him finish, and wait while he affixes the desk stamp onto the
report and signs inside the fresh ink. I smile wryly, he nods and
smiles, maybe a little shame faced?
I bump into the door on the way out.
Log entry Weds 1st Aug 2018.
Horrible eye infection this morning doubtless from my bath. Wore dark
glasses and headed for the dohnut factory, as I like to think of our
heroic local police station.
The Bored Looking Policeman at the desk is dealing with a citizen, and
I decline to eavesdrop. BLP retires backstage and the citizen smiles
at me sheepishly as I step forward and engage him.
"What have they got you for?" I inquire with a confidential smirk.
"Just reporting something!" he exclaims, edging away until he bumps
into the station house counter. He starts to study a leaflet. Maybe
it's my sunglasses.
BLP is unable to deal with me between milk delivery and the project
yacht he is working on behind the opaque doors of the office.
He shoots me a coy glance as he breezes though every few minutes on
some mission.
I decline to ring the bell, and wait patiently. BLP knows I'm here and
will get to me in the end.
As time passes the jaded flow of solicitors, off duty police men, pick
pockets and thugs take the time to grin, knowingly, at me.
I wonder in and out of the foyer, and enjoy the air outside, where a
steady gentle breeze playfully kisses my cheek.
I forget exactly how it happened, one minute I am in reverie thinking
of the .... next I am face to face with the BLP, albeit through a
plastic screen.
I engage.
"Hi ... I would like to report this lost property". Friendly and with
a touch of civic pride. I display the documents folder removed from
XXXBOATNAMEXXX. Within are; Imray chart number XX, key to Imray charts
... Half a dozen bills from a local boatyard to the owners (2015),
replete with owner names and addresses, Mooring ticket from
XXXLOCATIONXXXX (2018), Owners notes in handwriting.
Wary suspicion fades away and the BLP looks a little disappointed.
"Where did you find them?" he asks picking up a pencil. I gave the
details of the location of the find. He records them unhappily.
"Name?" he asks.
"May I report these anonymously?" I ask in what I hope is a reasonable
and nonchalant tone.
A pause.
A lifted eye brow.
Slowly the BLP puts down his pencil and picks up a biro.
"Sorry?" he asks just as smoothly as I.
"If possible yes. And if I do... report this ... well ....
anonymously..... " (this isn't going well) "... can I still claim this
lot as a reward if they are unclaimed by the owner?" I trail off
weakly. Why do my legs feel unstable? Has it got suddenly warmer?
"Claim what?" he asks suspiciously, looking at the folder, then me,
trying to assess the situation.
"That. The chart inside is worth a few quid. The plastic folder is useful too."
I gain a moment here as the BLP tries to figure out what my angle is.
It's not going to be long enough for a full reading, but here goes.
The BLP is fairly slim for a desk jockey, and not really tall enough
for street police work. His face is firm but lined and he seems like a
steady sort. Lined by what? I wonder as the details resolve. Ex navy?
Ex forces? Too small for a squaddie so I would hazard mid-ranking
(leftenant) RN? Who knows? The moment is over.
A light goes on for the BLP. He assesses me more calmly for a moment
that passes like amber flowing down the bark of a prehistoric tree.
Understanding.... crystallizing at the pace of sap.
He looks at me coldly, satisfied at my obvious discomfort.
I look suitably hopeful. And wait.
Did the BLP seem to consider picking up his pencil again?
"What address?" he asks a little coldly, obviously resenting my greedy motives.
"So I will get them after 6 weeks? I'm happy to leave my phone
number." I offer, now a picture of ... "Pleeeeeaseee??????!!!!!"
"Possibly?" he concedes. "It depends if the owner picks them up."
"Okay." I accept and begin to give my unfamiliar address and postcode
off a piece of paper and fork over my phone number.
He studiously avoids asking for my name.
"Ok ... " he sighs, resigned "I'll be back in a minute." and turns
away, heading to the office.
"Oh ... there was just one more thing ... " I say gently, friendly,
absent minded... I may have raised my finger to my brow as I
remembered this other detail " ...found with the map..." I say calmly.
"A 22 foot sailboat." I speak softly, but the words seem to hang in
the air like a psyren's call.
BLP seems to freeze into tableaux for a second, or did I imagine that?
but recovers well.
"What?" he asks.
And I begin to explain, first with a complete description of events.
This turnabout, and the subsequent narrative have taken their toll on
the BLP, but he studiously gets as much detail as he can, biro ticking
gently away into the daybook as each item is covered one thing at a
time.
By this time I have removed my sun glasses and have grudgingly given
my name "In the strictest confidence". His name turns out to be Dave.
Not for the last time, he retreats to the office, and returns some
geological period of time later requesting further details.
Where? What time? You swam across with bolt croppers? How? Why? Where?
When? Who? What?
Time passes, grudgingly. After each new question the BLP retreats, and
return comes at longer interval. After a particularly long pause BLP
saunters back in, happily.
"OK..." he waves a piece of paper in a casual fashion, "I have
recorded this item of lost property ... there is the report number",
he indicates the number as he orientates the document so I can read it
when I don't immediately snatch it up and head for the front door.
"There is no mention of the boat on it!" I say pointing at the form.
And of course, there isn't.
"No I'm afraid the computer won't let me add that as an item of lost
property." he states flatly.
I nod. "Yes. Good." I goof and recover. "I'm sorry, but I would like a
record that I reported this boat as lost and found."
He vanishes, with the form, and returns a long time later, with a
determined look.
"Could you come through a minute?" he smiles and presses a button
below the desk, indicating a solid looking door leading to the
interior of the building. I return his smile evenly and say "Of
course."
I take a deep breath, and step through into a tiny concrete room with
four chairs and a nervous looking young woman who occupies one of the
chairs in the furthest possible corner of the room.
The door clicks closed (and locked!) with flat finality. It occurs to
me that I can no longer leave at will. The walls close in.
A tall, black haired guy, outdoorsy and robust, clad in black clothes
enters our small enclosure, sits as far from the young woman as
possible, and begins to play with his phone.
I engage.
"What have they got you for?!" a joke as he is obviously an off duty
policeman in a uniform without insignia or number. He sneers.
"Sorry ... I just noticed that I can't leave! Always makes me nervous
and I tend to chatter when I'm nervous!" I burble.
"How do you handle the boredom?!" I ask.
"Pff."
"How long on the job?"
Silence.
I maneuver around to get a look at his phone. Is that a camera app?!
"Oh I'm sorry!" I exclaim, retreating. "Didn't mean to pry."
What is this now?!
I turn my back on this interloper and pretend to read a leaflet.
I reassess the BLP when he comes through, and he currently looks
pretty animated. He fixes me with a hard look and produces a piece of
paper. It's the same piece from earlier, unaltered and un-updated. He
leaves it on the desk, orientated towards me, and begins.
Where? What time? You swam across with bolt croppers? How? Why? Where?
When? Who? What? Time passes, grudgingly. After each new question the
BLP retreats and return comes at longer interval. During one of these
interludes the girl is taken further into the factory. I won't be
seeing her again.
After each bout with the BLP I patiently explain that I need some
evidence I have reported the boat as salvage. "Can I have a copy of
the log entry?"
"No ... data protection £10 for a copy, FOI request."
He rejoins "It's not lost property!"
"It seems lost to me!"
"You're not the owner so can't report it lost!"
"It is lost, and I am reporting it!"
"It's not lost property!"
Ok. Of course. Got him. "Well... if it's not lost property, then what is it?"
"It's sal...." he almost blurts out.
I relax. "Salvage!" I state happily.
"Well... what IS salvage?!" he gropes miserably.
"Salvage is a common law process whereby the courts encourage
individuals to risk their time, equipment and safety..."
He holds his hand up. "Wait here." he grumbles needlessly and disappears.
I try and engage my new cellmate. "Yep. The Police are rarely
appreciated the way they should be... until they are needed." I
ventured, but was running out of material.
No response just a baleful look, and a return to the phone.
After a particularly long pause BLP saunters back in happily.
He doesn't beat about the bush. "It isn't salvage because it isn't in
your possession." he states with an air of finality.
"Tied up by me, opposite my moorings. Yes, it is. Completely in my
possession, with a salvage note attached and a police report logged."
I say with an air of finality. He crumbles and retreats back into the
gloom of the office.
Victory!!!
So, why do I feel so unsettled. My hair is standing up and I have an
uncomfortable feeling that I am about to receive a blow or a shock. I
control my urge to whirl about and half turn. I nod and smile at the
dark shape of the off duty policeman who seems to fail to see.
Time passes and I return to the leaflets in unusually subdued mood.
The nape of my neck still registers trouble, but I ignore it and focus
on how much I want a cigarette.
The BLP returns for a final time looking troubled.
He takes up the form and quickly writes a note, longhand, on the
bottom. It states that
"XXXNAMEXXX also reported securing a missing 22' sailboat that was
adrift in the ..."
I help him finish, and wait while he affixes the desk stamp onto the
report and signs inside the fresh ink. I smile wryly, he nods and
smiles, maybe a little shame faced?
I bump into the door on the way out.
Fatbeard
N/A
Thankyou for the comments and your interest. I will be away for an hour or two as I have just had an odd phone call from ...
solent clown
RIP
you can wrap it up in some Raymond Chandler or Dashiell hammett noir prose (nicely done by the way) and it fits perfectly, You feel grubby as it is a grubby business you have tipped your slouch fedora at. She may have been 22ft, with curves to die for, but plunging in to that water has made you come up dirty. and next time you are in that concrete room you will be a million miles from seeing another jacaranda blossom
solent clown
RIP
what is a BLP, BTW?
RichardS
N/A
Bored Looking Policeman .... possibly.
Although nothing is quite what it seems. ..... possibly.
Richard
Spyro
Well-Known Member
Why didn't you contact someone who might know what you are talking about instead of making some sort of pantomime about it https://www.gov.uk/government/groups/receiver-of-wreck
Vega1447
Well-Known Member
Vega1447
Well-Known Member
To be fair some of us find this thread amusing....
Shuggy
Well-Known Member
I note with interest that it is the magic 22 feet long...
