My personal view is the result of this referendum is a complete disaster for the UK, for our young people and the generations to come. I fear the fall out across Europe, I fear in time this could easily precipitate war. This is playing into the hands of the far right, who our parents generation fought and millions died to stop in the second world war. The hate within the rhetoric of some of the Brexit leaders and supporters is abhorrent and has no place in a decent democratic society. How could 51.7% of those who voted be so shortsighted and selfish and thoughtless and knee jerk reactors, against what? What do they think will happen? EDF, one of our major power suppliers are French, Abellio, one of our major transport companies is Dutch, our air sea rescue has been sold off to the French, we’re in Europe and have been for 43 years, in peace. What have we done??? A bad sad day for us all. And as for David Cameron resigning, how could he, the coward! He dragged us into this mess, the very least he can do is work his nuts off to sort it out for the best for us all. Here endeth my rant.

It’s been too long since I wrote the last blog and a lot has happened in between and I’m not sure where to start. Start I must otherwise it’s going to turn into an incoherent mass of jumbled tales (just like normal I hear you say)…. And I must get this done before we have the European referendum, which could potentially alter the course of history. I keep singing the Clash song, “Should I stay or should I go now?” It’s the line, “If I stay there will be trouble….. if I go there will be double…..” which for me says it all.

So I need to cover most of May and half of June.

We’ve had a rethink on our sailing plans, ever fluid of course, and our current thinking is until Clive’s parent’s estates are settled with probate etc, our movement is restricted. So we aim to bring Distant Drum back to Essex and stop still for a year (ie not too far from UK shores), and build our resources which will be much easier if we’re stopped in one place. As ever, plans are for changing.

Our old friend Chris has been really poorly this year and recently took a turn for the worse. His non Hodgkins Lymphoma which he’s managed well for the past few years, one nodule has turned into full on Hodgkins Lymphoma and he’s spent most of the last couple of months in Harlow Hospital. He’s at home now and after a particularly bad few days where he thought his number was up, he is making good steady progress. With his family close by and his sister Kirsty visiting from Oz, together with his second cycle of chemotherapy, he finally feels he’s got a new lease of life. A great relief for Libby (we’ve been friends since we were four years old) and all their family, and their friends I hasten to add.

Chris with his yacht Gulvain last spring. He’s about half this size now.

Fergus the pooch had a stroke – what’s wrong with that? I hear you say, all dogs get stroked, patted etc. This was a real live medical emergency. Poor Eliza and her family were worried sick. She got him to the vet the following morning as soon as it opened and the vet had to help her carry Fergus from the car. Eliza was so upset she was reaching for the reams of blue paper towels in the surgery whilst the vet tried to reassure her that dogs can recover remarkably well from strokes. A big steroid injection and an eight day course of steroid tablets were prescribed, and Fergus limped and wobbled out through the waiting room, whereupon he spied a cat in a basket – grrrrrrrruffff ruff ruff he went as he lunged towards the terrified feline, before he gathered his wobbling limbs together and limped and lurched out of the clinic.

Eliza phoned me when she got home, and with deep trepidation told me what had happened. I burst into tears and so did Clive. We set off to go and see him, just in case all went horribly wrong. En route we called in to see Chris in Harlow Hospital and he was in such a sorry state too, we realised just how ill he was. I gathered myself together and started channelling Reiki energy to him, and then to Fergus too. At least it made me feel I could do something to help. Fergus has been getting better daily, phew and is coming for a holiday in Harwich from July 4^th for a couple of weeks.

Talking of Reiki, I’ve joined the Complementary Therapy team at St Helena’s Hospice in Colchester, where a range of therapies including Reiki are offered to patients, their families and carers. I am also getting a few clients locally in Harwich so building up slowly, which stopping in one place for a while is perfect for.

Clive decided he will get a job and applied for four positions locally, had three interviews and has been offered two posts and has started one. What a result! These are delivery driving for a supermarket in Ipswich, a grind of a commute and a very disorganised way of appointing him to the post, and the second as a Ranger for Hamford Waters Nature Reserve, a 1500 ha reserve on the Essex coast, which Clive would love to do however like the supermarket post, is only part-time and he has yet to receive any material relating to terms and conditions for both jobs, let alone contracts. If it’s this hard for a mature adult to get this information, what ever is it like for young people starting out in the world of work.

Going over to Felixstowe on the Ferry for fish & chips with our friend Roddy

Looking across to Harwich from Languard Point

The Ferry, tiny in comparison to the big ships

A ship being loaded at Felixstowe, taken from the little Ferry which crosses from Harwich to Shotley and Felixstowe, landing us on the beach at the latter

I had a couple of weeks travelling to see my parents and helping them get to hospital appointments in Cheltenham. Alas I ended up myself in Cheltenham A&E when I was supposed to be fetching my father from having two melanomas cut from his head. My left eye, the one with the cataract, suddenly seemed to have bursts of black blotches in my vision and I felt like a curtain was coming down over my eye. Years ago I lived next door to a lady whose retinas detached when she went in to hospital for a caesarean section – which resulted in her never seeing her daughter as by the time a registrar got round to see her, it was too late to reattach them. When the burst of blotches and blurriness happened I was overwhelmed with fear that a similar thing might be happening, so I calmly drove mum home to Broadway and went to see their optician who told me to get to A&E straight away. I am very glad to report that it was not an emergency, it is myocular degradation which, like hair loss and body parts migrating, comes with age, though only in 0.4% of people in their 50s, sigh. As it turned out, I am very glad I went as it got worse before it seems to have settled down, or I’ve got used to it.

Clive & Howard helped Mo aboard Svendknud tow another boat which was engineless from Titchmarsh Marina to Ipswich

Going past a ship loading in the Orwell estuary

At the start of June I accompanied my friend Jo on a Hempcrete course which took place close to Brighton on the south coast, building new and renovating old buildings using a mixture of hemp shiv, lime, citrus powder and water which makes the most brilliant, breathable, well insulated walls and wall cavities, excellent for repairing ancient buildings and building new ones alike. Wow, I was hooked from the word go. Great teaching and a very practical course too. We built frames, shuttering, etc, mixed and poured, plastered with lime plaster top coat, how to use it for framing windows, repairing old lath & plaster walls using hazel stakes within the framework. There were fourteen of us altogether including an architecture student from Scotland, two Swedish brothers who build houses in Stockholm, a father and son team who want to build a granny annex, a Latvian and an Australian, both apprentice builders, who were so on the ball with everything they learnt, plus three young students from Clacton just down the road, who wanted to learn something different, and a couple of other great chaps who worked for environmental organisations. Jo wants to renovate her house and some old farm buildings she has and the idea is, if her planning permission comes through, to use Hempcrete as one of the main building materials. I can now help her.

Hempcreting

Last weekend the forecast looked good for bringing Distant Drum anticlockwise from Dartmouth home to Essex. We drove down via Glastonbury to pick up Martin Leett, an old friend of Clive’s, who offered to help Clive with the start of the journey. We had another farewell evening with our new friends Marianne and Nigel who live aboard Treshnish in the River Dart, and on Tuesday morning the boys cast off and turned left to cross Torbay, reversing our journey of last year. The first night they reached Weymouth at around 11pm after a 12 hour sail, whilst I drove home stopping for coffee with Vicky in Ottery St Mary and lunch with JenJen & Wendy in Charmouth. I cracked on for Harwich as I had a last minute booking for Airbnb in the cottage for Thursday, so last Wednesday was spent on cottage cleaning and clearing blitz. I’d just finished at 7pm when I has news from Clive that they were cracking on for Portsmouth. I was on duty to drive our friend and experienced sailor Howard down to meet Distant Drum there and relieve Martin, who by this time had had enough with two long day’s sailing. We reached Gunwharf Quay at about 11.30pm, managed to get the code for the marina gate from some punters who were just leaving, and were just in time to see Distant Drum’s navigation lights coming across the river – easy to spot because the port light wasn’t working! We tied them up at midnight and the boys were not surprisingly knackered. Sailing in the dark is a hard task, particularly in a heavy shipping lane and with the Isle of Wight Ferries flying through.

We all collapsed aboard, waking up at about 7am. I cooked us all breakfast while Martin packed his bags and the chaps sorted out their sailing route. They planned to leave Portsmouth mid morning to minimise having to punch the tide. After getting diesel, which was an adventure in itself, Clive and Howard finally got going about 12 noon and they still ended up punching the tide for at least three hours. They kept going, taking it in turns to get sleep during the night, on past Eastbourne and Brighton, Dungeness and by the following morning had rounded Dover in thick fog and pouring rain. They motor-sailed across the Thames Estuary and on through Fulgers Gat, after which they gave the engine a rest and had two cracking hours with the sails up. 31 hours after leaving Portsmouth, they sailed into Harwich at 7pm on Friday. Sue & I cooked dinner aboard while the boys collapsed with welcome beers in hand.

Distant Drum coming in to Harwich

Amazing sky behind the truck ferry

Sunset welcome for DD

More photos to follow.

Next blog post referendum…..

From the top, the fence with us one side and the locals the other.  Royston, our local barber, poking his head through the only gap, with Sue’s dad Peter below. He’d walked from Manningtree and at 82 that’s quite a journey. There was no way he could get on board with us so we were passing nibbles and drinks through the only gap for him. Beneath these are some of the visitors boats, then Howard & Sue, Clive and Wavy Davy. Bottom row are more pictures from the Stour and the Trinity House ship Galatea back at Harwich.

We returned to Harwich on Thursday 21^st April and our first hour was spent blitzing the cottage, which had been let on Airbnb for two months and needed a complete clean. I detest cleaning however it is lovely when it’s done, and between the two of us, it doesn’t take long – the advantage of living in a small cottage. It was great to get unpacked and make ourselves at home once more. The garden is looking divine and it’s such a suntrap it’s like having an extra room, which with the cottage just like a real cottage, only smaller, is a blessing.

The garden coming into its own

Our first birthday celebration was Katrina Olive’s 40^th bash aboard the LBK6 at Harwich & Dovercourt Sailing Club. Katrina and Roger run the lovely Swan Gallery in King’s Street and Katrina’s mum is a mistress of cake baking, so sampling many cakes was on the menu for the evening.

Katrina looking magnifique at her party

Katrina’s mum cutting the cake

Our second birthday party was on the 30^th April, my Uncle Peter’s 90^th and my cousin Mark was over for Oz for the occasion. He’d picked up my parents the day before and Clive & I drove over to west Essex on the Saturday morning. We had a fab lunch at the Dukes Head in Hatfield Broad Oak with champagne and birthday cake afterwards back at Peter and Sheila’s house.

Auntie Sheila and Uncle Peter

Peter’s birthday cake

Peter and Sheila, and the birthday cake

We spent the night at a B&B just a few hundred yards from their house and on Sunday it was my dad’s 88^th birthday. Further feasting took place at The Lemon Tree in Bishop’s Stortford, a really excellent meal and my brothers Tim & girlfriend Juliet, and Guy & his wife Alice came too. It was great fun, relaxed & unrushed, and good to see everybody together.

Ma & Pa looking very content after their big lunch

Guy & Alice

With my brother Tim and Juliet

Cousin Mark with Alice

Clive and me next to Sheila

Clockwise, Ma & Pa, brother Guy & Alice, brother Tim & Juliet, me with Clive and Sheila, cousin Mark with Alice – Mark has this spring been to all eight Stranglers concerts in Oz and NZ!

Back on the east coast the Harwich Ale Trail was underway. The sun was out and the beach was amazing and covered in shells of oysters and all sorts. Clive & I had helped Katrina and Roger on the Thursday evening, serving Weird Beard Brewery ales to many happy punters. Brewed by Katrina’s brother Brian, the ales complemented the excellent exhibition of work by Hugh Tisdale & Dan Murrell (which had featured in the New Statesman). On Monday together with Sue & Howard we visited a few of the other venues, (The Globe, New Bell, Alma, Hanover, Sailing Club, Café on the Pier) sampling a half in each one, and it was a brilliant event, a great celebration of Harwich and its fine homely welcome to visitors near & far.

Just six of the 40 kegs of real ale

Just a few of the barrels of ale at the Harwich Ale Trail, and Down On The Beach at low tide

Yesterday we took part in the Free The Quay event up at Mistley. We set sail on Bonify, Howard and Sue’s lovely gaff rigged concrete boat, along with Wavy Davy, for a bit of civil disobedience up river. There’s a company called Trent Wharfage who bought some buildings in 2008 at either end of the quay in Mistley. They proceeded to build a 2m high, 130m long, fence all along the historic public quay, in front of other businesses and terminating 500 years of access to the River Stour, This company is based in Newcastle, in the north of England, and they don’t give a damn. Huge protests have taken place and about 18 months ago, a court ruled the fence should be taken down. The company are appealing and it’s now taking the case to the High Court in London. This event was to help the local population raise much needed funds to fight this case. You can read more about it at www.freethequay.org. Up close, this fence is ridiculous, it’s not even a nice fence and it’s so hostile. The locals want the fence removed legally, and though a few spanners and hack saws would do the trick perfectly the company flexes its muscles mightily any time anyone goes close. A flotilla of vessels from Harwich, Ipswich and everywhere inbetween, including the Royal Harwich Sailing Club and local fishermen joined the protest, rafting up on the rising tide and leaving as it turned and we were all very well behaved (how boring I hear you protest).

Sue on the bow of Bonify and the shores of the Stour including the fabulous beach huts at Wrabness

More photos to follow…

It’s been over a month since my last blog, and a few things have happened since then, so I shall do this in two hits.

Saint Christophe I was eventually tied up on the pontoon opposite Distant Drum, and on inspection, she didn’t look quite as well as she had from a distance.

Saint Christophe I on closer inspection

We had to vacate the pontoon once all was clear though the lovely chaps at Dart Harbour let us stay until the 17^th April, which gave us time to fix the holes in the dinghy, and herein lies a tale….

On realising the imminent departure date to mid-river, the urgency for securing a dinghy to get us to and from Distant Drum until such a time that we move on, became imperative. A couple of years ago we bought Jason’s old dinghy which was fab, though after tootling over to Felixstowe and back with Fergus, Clive and me aboard, we realised it was potentially a bit small for two big adults and a medium sized dog, particularly with shopping etc. It also kept losing air, slowly but surely, and though I repaired one hole, which Clive accidentally caused on a rough bit of metal jutting from the pontoon at Fox’s (Ipswich) when first using it, each time I checked on it, all sections were deflating. When we bought our new RIB (which being too big, we sold before Christmas), I gave this one to our friends Libby & Chris for their son Zak to get across the Orwell when he was working at Levington. Warning them of slow puncture(s) and knowing Zak was a boat builder, I thought he a good person to inherit the boat as he could repair it better than me. It also had three planks on the bottom, two of which were cracked. I’m a nice pal aren’t I? Giving away a punctured boat with cracked base to a vulnerable teenager, HA, what a rascally thing to do!

Knowing that Zak is now living inland, I had a brainwave & asked if we could perhaps borrow it back. Yes was the reply, and it’s in his workshop in west Essex. Luckily I had to once again travel eastwards for an eye examination at Addenbrookes Hospital, so took advantage to go sort my garden out at the cottage, which was still being let, and collect the dinghy en route.

So the first week in April I headed to Royston and stayed with my lovely pal Eliza and her family, which now includes Fergus the dog, for a couple of nights, visiting Addenbrookes in between. In short I have a cataract in my left eye now bad enough that I could get a free lens replacement on the NHS. Advantage, it’s free, disadvantage, they will only do one eye and I would have to wait another few years until my right eye’s cataract catches up before qualifying for a further free replacement. “You’re rather young to have a cataract!” was the echoing conclusion of all three specialists I saw. The problem is I’m short sighted so distance is a complete blur (particularly in my left eye) without my contact lenses or glasses, though I can read perfectly when I’m not wearing contact lenses, as long as the pages are about six inches from my nose. However a replacement lens ‘corrects’ the sight to what is deemed normal vision. This is long sighted with the need for reading glasses. You get my dilemma. I asked whether they would replace both lenses if I paid for one of them? Ah, now that’s a different matter altogether. If I was paying for a lens replacement, they would not use the same lenses you get on the National Health, which cost about £60 each. Instead you would get a super duper multi whatever state of the art lens, which would cost £400, and if you were getting this lens in one eye, you must get this in the other so they work well together, and further would be done within a fortnight of each other. The surgeon’s recommendation, seeing as I was “rather young to have a cataract”, was the latter, both lenses replaced. The cost of this, privately, would be £7,000, including the super duper multi whatever state of the art lenses… careful thinking needed, and in the meantime I shall carry on with blurred vision in my left eye and Clive saying, “See those three ships on the horizon?” “What ships? Where?”…..

Blossom in Cambridge

Bluebell woodland

Fergus, who was 13 on 29th March, on his sofa

It was lovely staying with Eliza and I was thoroughly spoilt. We went for a long walk with the bluebells just starting to come out, before I headed to see Libby & Chris. Great to see them too though Chris hadn’t been well for a few weeks so there was lots of catching up to do. The dinghy luckily fitted in the boot of my car and Harwich was the next stop on my west to east trip. Zak unsurprisingly had found it most frustrating as it kept losing air. His revenge was about to come….

I stayed once again with good pals Howard & Sue in the mad house they’re renovating and they have a great workshop on the ground floor, so I was able to carry out a number of tasks. First when I tidied the cottage garden up, I got my jigsaw and my Black & Decker Workmate out of the shed, and cut three new planks for the dinghy’s base from the boards left over from my shower repair. Perfect! Sue gave me some boat varnish and a brush and I coated the board’s edges for water resistance. Next I inflated the dingy and covered it in soapy water to discover where the leaks were. With Sue’s help, we heard hissssss, hisssss, hisssss, and found numerous bubbling streams…. Oh yes! Five holes, all three sections. We marked these in black marker, deflated boat and packed it up ready to take back to Dartmouth where we had three puncture repair kits waiting.

I saw my parents on the way home to DD, and my friend JenJen who was renting a fabulous little place in the middle on nowhere – I found myself singing, ‘where is my friend Jenny, woo hoo hoo, in the middle of nowhere’, while I was traveling down ever narrowing lanes, into deepest darkest Somerset to a village with the oldest Yew Tree in the world and a telephone box converted into a book library. I finally got back to Dartmouth on 13^th April.

Garden looking good

JenJen and The Old Yew Tree, which when I saw the sign, thought must be a local pub

The following day the weather once again deteriorated and Clive & I invited ourselves to Vicky’s in Ottery St Mary to effect the puncture repairs in the dry of her garage, trying to avoid causing too many obstacles for my God-daughter Issie who keeps her horse tack in there. We didn’t succeed in the latter, though did a fairly good job on the former. Apart from when we inflated the dinghy the following day and launched her into the Dart. Bubbles emanated from all around – seriously. Hissing Sid, for that is what Sue named our rubber vessel, was still hissing, so much so that a further puncture repair kit had to be sought from the local chandlery. So with the two repairs already on the boat, and the five more we’d made the day before, plus another eight, Hissing Sid became Fifteen Apatches, aka Holier Than Thou…… It being a warmer and drier day, we carried out these repairs beside the van in the centre of Dartmouth, with tourists and locals alike offering snippets of advice whilst tittering behind their ice-creams. Fifteen Apatches was relaunched the following day (Sunday) and seemed to be good.

Hissing Sid, aka Fifteen Apatches, aka Holier Than Thou

Fifteen Apatches afloat, with my new base boards in place

No bubbles, all patches holding. We got the engine on and went for an adventure up the river to Dittisham, taking a good walk round the village and to the church before heading back to Dartmouth. The dinghy held its air, phew. Suffice to say we had our life jackets on and the VHF radio with us!

Marianne and Nigel joined us on our last night on the pontoon, where we toasted Saint Christophe I and the good health of each other, Diane at the Harbour office, Dartmouth in general and life in particular, finally seeing them both wobble off to their Dory and on back to Treshnish almost at midnight – great fun the pair of them. The following day we finally left the town and headed up to a visitor pontoon mid river, close to the higher ferry, and the view from here is lovely. It’s also so much quieter than the town and more private. It doesn’t have electricity or water supply so not so convenient, however rather special. We decided we’d leave DD here for three to four weeks as there were some important birthdays to celebrate in the next week or so – hurrah, I hear you say, at last! About time! Etc. Departure was going to be Wednesday.

The next day, Tuesday, Marianne & Nigel invited us for lunch to say farewell until we’re back again. “Oh Christ!” Clive said, having only just recovered from Sunday night. This amused them both so much they’re still laughing about it. Best response they’ve ever had to a lunch invitation. It gave us one more go in our dinghy to make sure all holes were fixed….. Sixteen Apatches is now deflated on our deck (a quick repair over one patch was indeed needed) and Nigel most kindly taxied us to shore on the Wednesday afternoon (April 20^th). We stayed in Exmoor over night with another old friend Bobby Block in his beautiful, eccentric newly renovated farm house, and on to meet JenJen once again for brunch and coffee at a great nursery close to Wellington. Next stop Harwich….

Distant Drum (left) accompanied by Sixteen Apatches on her new pontoon mid river

Paignton to Kingswear Steam Train, via Greenway – a home of Agatha Christie

View across to Dartmouth Naval College

Looking down river towards Dartmouth (R) and Kingswear (L)

The new hand built, wood fired bakery at White Post Nursery near Wellington, Somerset

Our neighbours announced they wanted a pontoon party over the bank holiday weekend, to cheer us up with all the bad weather as storm Katie rolled in, causing yet more mayhem and destruction. For a change, the east of the country caught the brunt of it, though many trees were blown down all over. My pal Vicky found her garden table in the neighbours pine tree! We were rocked to sleep on Sunday night however were more sheltered than earlier storms as we’re in the lee of Dartmouth, built on a steep hill. It died down in the night for us and by morning all was calmer.

The only damage to any vessels on the pontoon was a visiting yacht which had rather rashly sailed from Brixham as the storm was building the day before. A charter vessel, the crew took four hours to get into the Dart instead of the normal one hour, and were all so knackered they failed to attach any fenders between them and the pontoon edge, and further they didn’t fully roll in their foresail, which promptly unfurled at midnight, flapping dangerously over the width of the pontoon. To add to this, the crew borrowed a hose to fill their water tanks in the morning and proceeded to fill their diesel tank with water. This caused much widening of eyes and horrified clucks of disbelief among us regular crews overwintering aboard our boats, and gave us good fodder for starting on adventurous and hilarious tales later that afternoon when we boarded Treshnish, with Marianne and Nigel, for our pontoon party.

With Cpn’ Jack & Fergus aboard Treshnish on Monday

Marianne as Treshnish left the pontoon to make way to her summer mooring mid river

It turned out that the crew were the owners of the vessel! Shock Horror! They returned to Dartmouth midweek to retrieve the yacht after its diesel tank was emptied, cleared of water and refilled. The skipper said they were so tired after their stormy sail they couldn’t think straight. If this was after four hours on a rough sea, it goes a long way to explain how tired the French fishermen four weeks ago must have been after 12 hours in a Force 10 gale. Talking of which, Saint Christophe II is about to be raised…

The crew of Saint Christophe II and Sagittaire, leaving for Caen after their Dartmouth catasrophe

The Dutch salvage tug Multraship, towing the salvage platform Sea Devil, set off for Dartmouth about six days ago, however on encountering Storm Katie outside Dunkirk had to perform a swift pirouette and track backwards with the storm for a day, before being able to continue towards us. On Wednesday we picked her up on radar passing Hastings with an estimated time of arrival 1700 hours on Thursday, and in dependable Dutch fashion, 1700 hours saw her turning between the castles at the mouth of the river Dart. And she’s a beast. The tug is 55 feet long (about 17m) however the crane platform, which hosts the crew’s air-conditioned portacabin living accommodation, is 180 feet long (55m). Last night they manoeuvred the platform’s legs into position – and these are about 100 feet high (30m) so it’s a feat of marine engineering. Today they’ve moved towards the wreckage, dangerously close to the pontoon, and we have prime position to see the proceedings as they unfold.

The salvage vessel and platform manoeuvring up the river Dart

Overnighting between large buoys mid river

Positioning one of the legs before nightfall

A dull windy morning this morning and the crane platform is nearly in position by the wreck, and we have the best view in town…. let’s hope no more catastrophes as they’re dangerously close

We travelled back to Essex via a lovely evening in Royston, with our friends Eliza and Richard where Fergus now resides in sumptuous splendour. Clive’s dad’s funeral was in Chelmsford and we’d booked into the Premier Inn for two nights – the beds were indeed lovely, in fact the hotel was great with staff who clearly loved their jobs. Funerals are funerals, generally sombre, sometimes terribly sad, and the eulogy always brings the person’s life into focus, a précis which is interesting, funny, sad, poignant. I’m fed up with them though. I’d like the next family or friends get together to be a birthday, a wedding, anything but another funeral.

We spent the weekend in Harwich with our two friends Sue & Howard which was a good tonic to a rather stressful few weeks. They are renovating a large property just opposite the church, which predates 1786 when Cyprian Bridge (packet boat captain) and his family were living there, just when Land Tax began (hence the record). The post office bought the property in 1855 and it was largely business since then, including an upholsterers, a building company base, and in 1974 Trinity House bought it to use as their catering depot. It’s been empty since 2003 and you can only imagine the state it is in. For friends who’ve known me many years, imagine Chapel Hill House when Lloyds moved out times five in size and times ten in the amount of work needed to bring it back to a house. And the dust! Marvellous. Howard and Sue are tirelessly working on it themselves and slowly the house is revealing its secrets and beginning to breathe again. They took a break on Saturday and the four of us shared the triple rugby six nations experience with Steve and Tracy at The Globe, an even better tonic.

Now back in Dartmouth and after a beautiful couple of weeks weather wise, the storms are back, sigh. The French Trawler is still sunk and we are hemmed in until it is salvaged, allegedly in early April. A large Dutch barge is due to arrive from somewhere in Europe, to crane the wreck. In the meantime from the first of April we are on the pontoon free of charge until the salvage has taken place. As you can imagine, deep joy has spread through all live-aboard crews currently on the pontoon.

The pollution containment boom hemming us in

A camera drone flying above the wreck yesterday, filming all angles ready for the salvage team

The trawler is now beginning to rust

The mad Lower Ferry, a feat of simple engineering. The cars drive and people walk on. The tug boat, attached by a warp to the centre of the floating bridge, pulls the ferry into the river and then swings its stern round until it is parallel once again, and then continues to push the ferry to the ramp on the far bank.

Happy Easter – this was the Easter bunny I made this time last year in Rosie Posie’s felting class

Happy Easter X

Our main domestic water pump has decided to cough and splutter its way into oblivion since Friday and until the spare parts turn up (ordered by the chandlery yesterday) there isn’t enough pressure for the shower, to the delight of Bog Watch! Fans…

There are two ‘public’ showers in the town, proper public ones situated behind the toilet block in the park just to the north of the pontoon, and the Dartmouth Yacht Club, just south along the water-front, which houses showers for the use of sailors, including visiting yachtsmen & women. The ‘showers not working’ sign had been removed from the ladies shower room so I thought it safe to assume they were repaired. After our experience of Torquay Harbour’s public showers I preferred to try the yacht club first.

Armed with a £1 coin (the cost of a 4.5 minute shower at the Yacht Club) I entered the unheated room and read the instructions….

• Get fully ready for your shower before putting your pound coin into the slot at the top of the box
• Make sure the shower is turned fully on before putting in your pound (etc)
• If the shower doesn’t work make sure again it is turned fully on before reporting it as not working as a male member of staff will come up to check and you don’t want to feel stupid (etc)
• Before putting in your pound, make sure the door to the shower is closed as if the water pours onto the floor outside the shower, it drips into the bar below, which will result in a male member of staff coming into the shower unbidden

There were more instructions, however you get the gist…. Doing as bid, I got towels out, clean clothes hung on the hooks inside one of the two small shower cubicles, shampoo & soap at the ready, made sure the taps were on, closed the shower door, got undressed, leant outside the cubicle to put my pound into the slot… and…. Nothing. No sound, no water, no nothing.

I got dressed and leaving everything in place went down to the bar to explain my predicament. It turned out I’d put the pound into the wrong box, and was given another pound from the till by the very nice lady. So again, got undressed, put pound in the other box and.…. Nothing. No sound, no water, no nothing.

I got dressed once more. I was given another pound and advised to use the men’s showers. Great! I thought, as I moved next door. Although they are far more spacious, they have curtains instead of doors, and no lock to the room. I wedged a chair against the door and proceeded with my ablutions, nervously listening out for the scrape of the ill-fitting barrier against the doorframe. 4.5 minutes is just enough for a shower and hair wash, including leaving the conditioner in for 30 seconds, so I was happy..ish, apart from the urinals, and the dirty floor, and bits of soap left on the slower floor, all indicating the facilities weren’t cleaned that often.

They get a 2 out of 5, which is 2 more than the ladies.

I apprehensively gave the mens another go on Monday morning however today decided to try the town public showers, as I’d spotted they were 20p to get in, though I suspected that once in it might be another £1 to get the hot water….

They were 20p. The door locked behind me and knowing the general public’s abhorrence for paying to use public facilities, I felt safe in the knowledge that only another shower user would fork out 20p to come in. There are three spacious and spotlessly clean shower cubicles with thick wooden doors, plenty of hooks for hanging your gear, and lashings of hot water. Hurrah.

They get my vote and a 4 out of 5.

Now where are those spare parts?

What a week! Clive and his siblings spent last week sorting and clearing their dad’s flat in Great Dunmow, a mammoth task despite being a small flat. Suffice to say the local Oxfam shop has many more books, suits, shoes etc.

In the meantime I was scheduled for a little ‘procedure’ to ensure my bowels were healthy, having had some concerns since suffering with a few weeks of campylobacter in 2014. So a colonoscopy was requested by my doctor and to my great relief the NHS referred me to Springfields, a private hospital in Chelmsford, which resulted in me getting a phone call just a few days before an appointment last Saturday. My aunt Sheila and uncle Peter kindly offered to look after me before and after, and Clive, having finished at his fathers flat late on Friday night, drove me over and stayed with me throughout. Having had the procedure about six years ago, my lasting memory was how revolting the mixture you have to drink in advance tastes, how tiring the sprinting to the toilet as the medicine gets to work and how painful the colonoscopy itself is, even though you’re sedated, as they pump you full of air as the camera does it’s job. My poor bowels were in spasms and I was writhing in pain for about two hours afterwards, alleviated greatly by finding out all was well and healthy, hurrah. I can’t believe people actually pay for colonic irrigation! They must be bonkers.

I felt a great deal better by Sunday, and mightily relieved. Clive headed back to DD in Dartmouth and on Monday I bade a fond farewell to auntie and uncle and headed over to Broadway to see my parents. It was my mum’s 88^th birthday and I was hoping to surprise her – no chance, she’d guessed I was coming. En route two odd things happened. Just outside Milton Keynes and heading for Buckingham, after bemoaning the state of Britain’s road to myself, the main A road was closed and no diversion was signed. I followed my instincts and went south and took the first right turn I could, following a B road parallel to where I needed to be. After a few miles a sign appeared saying ‘Dislodged Road Surface’. Not one I’ve seen before. I slowed down in anticipation and voila, rounding a corner, no tarmac surface, just potholes, mud, gravel, bits of old stone work and yet more potholes, for about half a mile. The road blended into the verges on either side and it reminded me of driving in a remote part of Kenya years ago (1990) except this was worse. Another half a mile and I popped out onto the road I needed again.

The second odd thing was about an hour later in my journey I was flying down a hill and slowed because cars and trucks ahead seemed to be moving round something at the bottom of the hill. As I got close there was a small dog in the road, just standing there. Unlike my fellow travellers I stopped, put my hazards on and hopped out of the car. Little pooch had moved and was now standing by my passenger door. There was one house at the start of a drive and I noticed the fence and gate were covered in chicken wire, so quickly assumed the little tyke had escaped. As I approached the gate, he followed and ran into the garden barking madly. By this time a red faced farmer had driven up the drive and with my car blocking his exit, he wound his window down and I explained what had happened. He leapt out and following the dog went to knock on the house door muttering happily as he went.

It was a beautiful sunny day when I got to my parents and I spent a couple of days with them, fixing the fire, helping dad buy a new TV and after a Tuesday night deluge of biblical proportions, managed to unblock a drain by the back door at 7am (in dressing gown, driza-bone, wellies – you get the picture), preventing a flood from rising over the door sills into the porch and sitting room. Long industrial gardening gloves are the thing to have in every household. They were just the right length I found out as I plunged my arm into the icy stream, lapping just millimetres from my elbow. The relief when the flood water began swirling and rushing away was great, especially for my parents.

I drove back to Dartmouth yesterday through floods and gales, via Taunton where I met my lovely pal JenJen for lunch and a solid two hours of chitchat.

Taunton School, where my dad and uncle went in their youth

Taunton School cricket pavilion

Only as I descended the hill to the higher ferry in Dartmouth did I spot the illuminated sign, “Ferry Closed”. Aha! I thought. What to do?

Looking down the Dart from the Higher Ferry road

Then an old chap exited the railway signal box by the ferry dock and told me the river had been really rough all day and asked if I was going to Kingswear where the lower ferry plied its trade. I gave him a lift as it’s a bit of a hike between the two and lo and behold, no lower ferry either. I parked in the marina carpark and caught the foot ferry instead which dropped my off on the pontoon right by Distant Drum, perfect. The first thing I saw was three French Trawlers from Caen, two moored opposite us on the town pontoon and one on the harbour wall, which had been towed in by the lifeboat. We spoke to a couple of the exhausted fishermen who in French explained how terrible the sea was, force 10, and they’d come into the Dart to take shelter until the storm died down and the seas calmed.

First thing this morning I was up to catch the ‘flyer’, the first ferry over to Kingswear, to retrieve my car. As I emerged into the cockpit I let out a loud gasp….. One of the trawlers had sunk in the night!

The sight that greeted me first thing this morning

Saint Christophe under water and the Sagittaria on the pontoon

Mon Dieu!

Apparently as the tide went out, the crew had left the ropes long, however it was almost on the highest spring tide (far higher and far lower than neap tides) and as the inaptly named Saint Christophe descended with the tide, it touched the river bed, which if had been flat at that point might not have been an issue, however the bed sloped off dramatically into the river, so the trawler started to list and the exhausted crew didn’t take any action, then one of its ropes snapped and it went over at midnight. Thankfully all ten crew managed to escape with only their pride in tatters.

Near low tide – the orange floaty thing is to contain any pollutants, diesel and oil

What are we going to do now?

The tired skipper being posed for a photo by a local journo (take 3)

BBC Spotlight on the spot

It’s still there and the tide is rising again so more drama righting it tomorrow…. maybe…..

Distant Drum in the early morning sun with the Sagittaria behind