I have promised myself for years that I would record the story of how I came to live on a boat. This would have been quite an odd aspiration to my childhood self. I could not stand to be in or on the water and movement other than by train, pram, bicycle or via my own two feet made me feel quite nauseous. As for travelling in the car ... I am sure every journey must have been as huge a challenge for my parents as it was for me. At least I was only bringing up my last meal, not clearing it up.
My interest in narrowboats began with my experiences on the Summer Storyboat and there is an account of that here. Unfortunately the project folded; oddly not, like so many projects, because it ran out of money, but because it ran out of people who cared enough to keep it going. Artist, author, musician Rob Lewis, tried valiantly to take on the task from his refuge in Wales, but even he could not raise the dead.
In 2003 I walked out of a bad situation and needed to find somewhere to live. My widowed father lived less than five miles away, so I asked for sanctuary for a week or so until I could sort myself out. That week or so became a month or so, but it was soon obvious that I was not going to be able to afford anywhere of my own, specially while I was being driven into debt not only by having to pay child maintenance, but also the “spousal maintenance” that took no account of my ability to pay. Eventually I was summoned for a consultation by the bank manager who had observed I was at the end of my overdraught and had used up every bit of credit available to me to try and keep up with the payments. In those days the bank had been raising my credit limit on an annual basis for many years. How very British to set someone up only to whip out the rug from beneath.
In April 2011 my father died from the cancer that had plagued him undiagnosed for a while. I had lived with him for eight years by that time and had become his sole carer as his illness progressed. I cannot ever remembering being so exhausted. Even a string of babies didn’t leave me feeling quite as wrecked. I was trying to hold on to my work commitments to bring in some money and look after my Dad. Eventually a nurse was engaged to check in on him when I was at work. In order to make life easier for my brothers and for me he had signed up to a will-writing service some years earlier that offered to undertake all the tasks associated with probate for an extra fee. I was named executor of my father’s estate, but for some reason was expected to sign over the authority to the will-writers before they would do the work for which they’d already been paid. Things became very complicated.
The will-writer decided which estate agent was going to sell the house, my home for the previous eight years. Whilst grieving I had to start clearing Dad’s accumulation of stuff, clean up the place for viewings and work out where and how I was going to live.
The where and how wasn't easy. Although by this time the maintenance situation had been resolved I was stuck between a rock and the proverbial hard place. My share of my father's estate would not be anything like enough to buy me somewhere to live. I spoke to the estate agent who was selling the house. They couldn't help, because of my low income and poor credit record after the maintenance fiasco, and told me to apply to a housing association or the local council. I couldn't find an association willing to take me and the borough council told me that after probate had been settled I would have too much money to be allowed to have one of their properties! Damned whatever I tried to do, it was all closing in.
Clearing Dad's house was heartbreaking. He had built himself three sheds and a greenhouse in the garden and the sheds were full of the stuff he had acquired at car boot sales with extras of everything just in case they came in handy. It's not that anything was at all out of place or untidy, quite the contrary, but there was just so much of it. Mostly though he had shelves and racks of tools along with labelled jars and trays and drawers of screws, nails and fixings of every type, size and material. Lengths of timber were stored up in the rafters and propping up the walls were workshop and household electrical goods of every kind in front of offcuts of hardboard, chipboard and ply. Why would anyone need seven electric drills? Mostly though, it was the hand tools and the jars I found so upsetting. Many of them I remember from childhood. Along with hoping he would be able to play football with me (I was a complete disappointment on that score) he also seemed to think I might somehow inherit his make-do-and-mend cum do-it-yourself interests. I made slightly more effort with that, but I was a dead loss there as well. Every time I would cry out for help with some simple job that defeated me he would try to get me to do it and all my old adolescent rage would surface even in early middle age. I really should point out though that moving in with him was a wonderful second chance to build a loving relationship we had never mutually experienced before. I cannot begin to express how fortunate I felt about that. How many kids, particularly men, get a second chance at making a relationship with a father?
When I moved in with him at the start of those last eight years together I found a photograph I had never before seen. It was a black and white print of my handsome father as a young man, probably about twenty-seven years old cradling a tiny baby in his arms. He was looking down with such amazement and obvious love that, when I saw that photograph, I cried. I'm in tears thinking about it now. That baby was me and that photograph undid the decades of resentment I had felt about his absence as I grew up. During those final years together we talked about a lot of things. Why had it taken me forty years to learn that his drive to keep three jobs on simultaneously (jobs that would keep him out of the home during all my growing years) was the result of his deeply rooted fear of losing everything and everyone he loved should he lose his income. He had seen his siblings taken into care when his mother left his father. He worked and fought so hard to get his brothers and sisters back home again before he was even old enough to start work legally. It took years, but he did it. That was why some of my earliest memories are of the tenement flat in London with two rooms I was never allowed to enter. One was the lodger's, the other was my Uncle B, dad's youngest brother.
Friday, 6 March 2020
Thursday, 5 March 2020
Of Death Chants, Lockdowns and Military Waltzes Part 1
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| A Fellini inspired Casanova |
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| Casanova, Trifenia del Fellini-Satyricon & a mad bishop from Roma |
"Hi dad, are you ok? Have you been caught up in the lockdown?"
This was the message I received last week the day after arriving in Venice for Carnevale di Venezia 2020. Until that point I knew nothing about the spread of COVID-19 in Italy and had not heard that there were whole towns in the north of the country where people were confined to quarters for most of the time. It was a shock. The previous few days had been much of a whirlwind in France, whizzing up and down the A41 to The Divine Miss M's apartment where she and P had already been working on their masks and costumes for weeks. After I arrived from England, P had still been teaching during the day and we were working on our costumes and masks at night, usually not getting home till three in the morning. Although I had only had one week of this I felt exhausted. Keeping up with the news was not much of a priority.
Naturally, we turned to the web to find out what was going on. One person in our shared apartment on the fifth floor above one of the smaller canals near San Marco switched on the television and turned to the BBC news channel. Looking for real news is where the problems began. Finding hard information was difficult. The reports we found were highly coloured and sensational. It sounded as though we were all about to die. Within the hour the reports came through that the authorities were ending carnevale that evening, two days earlier than planned, stopping all sporting fixtures and concerts and even church services including funerals! The news was apocalyptic.
Would the weeks and months spent toiling away on our beautiful creations be for nothing? Of course, if the emergency turned out to be a real thing, we would have no choice but to comply with whatever we were being told to do. Unfortunately, no one anywhere seemed to be equipped with definitive instructions. Nature abhorring that vacuum, people began preparing their own scenes. Under the circumstances the best we felt able to do was to dress up and go out in our finery for possibly the last time. That was what we did and carnevale closed that night, Sunday. Like ghosts we slipped through the nearly deserted piazzas and along the quayside. The public were staying away in droves. Sunday evening during Carnevale should not look like this. We wafted by little huddles of polizia, carabinieri, esercito and what I took to be private security operators. These latter were the ones who had been issued with some pretty impressive protective face masks. Not one member of any of these armed security forces was interested in us, breaking curfew or not.
As the days went on more information became available, as well as more evidence of misinformation. It was difficult sorting wheat from chaff, sheep from goats. I should have been back in the UK two days ago and preparing hard for gigs coming up tomorrow and Saturday. I had to make a decision so, last week, I contacted the organisers and withdrew from the bookings. I also had to turn away a last minute request to lead a drum workshop yesterday with a group of adults with learning disabilities. Many of them also lived with conditions that would render them an at-risk group if I did turn out to be a carrier of the disease. We had an NHS nurse in our apartment. She is the sister of one of the founder members of our French costume group and works in a hospital on the south coast of England in A&E. She talked a lot of common sense while we were struggling to work it all out. It was very helpful having her with us.
I hate letting people down. If I make a commitment to do something I do it. Of course there has to be a priority made to protect people from contracting a vile contagion, but there is a balance to be struck. I was in Venice. The closest place in lockdown was an hour away on the other side of the region of Veneto. Admittedly an hour is not long as a virus ticks, but far enough away, I would imagine, to be less dangerous than taking five trains back to England - each a sealed tube with hundreds of unknown travel companions. However the level of public concern has been so great that any knowledge that I had been to Italy would soon spread at a gig and someone would be almost certain to make an issue of it. I did not want the rest of Friday's band, or the the organisers of any of the gigs, to come under fire for me being there. That was the reason I pulled out of those bookings. If I had to go into quarantine anyway, I might as well do it in France, where I would at least be warm and where I would have some company. The difficult thing about making the choice I did is that, as time passes, the number of cases in both France and the UK is rising. Who knows how greatly increased my chances of contracting the virus will be in a fortnight's time on the journey home? Who knows how the quarantine instructions will change during the coming fortnight.
The instructions to UK travellers from the end of last week until today have been that anyone who had been in the northern area of Italy does not need to go into self-imposed isolation unless they have the symptoms of Covid-19 namely, a cough, shortness of breath or a temperature. In addition, anyone who has been in any of the locked down towns should also quarantine themselves. What I have chosen to do goes beyond the requirement and is, or was, done with perhaps an over-developed sense of responsibility, but with the best of intentions. Today, the Northern Italy-plus-symptoms area has (according to BBC news) been expanded to include the whole of Italy. Today the first patient in the UK has died. This was an older person in Reading who had been in and out of hospital for some time with other problems. This is, of course, very sad for all who were close to that person. However, in the larger picture it is still fewer deaths than the number who have died from influenza this winter and according to the Department for Work and Pensions, certainly fewer than the sixty disabled people who have died each month after having a personal independence payment (PIP) claim rejected. I know I am not comparing like with like, but I quote those figures for comparison. Which circumstance connected with death is getting all the attention at the moment?
Covid-19 is a new disease in the same way that SARS was once a new disease or, in the 1980s, AIDS. Misinformation breeds hysteria. Hysterical public reaction looks for people to blame. I have seen reports of racist attacks on people perceived to be "Chinese". Wuhan is the city in China where the disease was first identified. I believe that while we do need to make ourselves aware of the issues surrounding Covid-19, we do not need to lose our humanity in order to protect ourselves. In a country that has been split and polarised by an unnecessary political situation since 2016 the United Kingdom does not need another excuse to hurt fellow citizens. I have seen close up how harsh responses from one friend to another can be made when each carries a different perception of how we are responding to this disease. Now is not the time to turn on each other. I want to talk to my friends and make sure they are okay. If I start lecturing them or judging them somebody stop me.
This was supposed to be about carnevale. Here's a picture of how my costume and mask turned out. This is the first time in three carnevales I had made such a large contribution to my mask (which was moulded to my head from plaster) and the crown. Our inspiration this time was the films of Federico Fellini who would have been one hundred this year. P was one of the mad bishops from Roma, the Divine Miss M was a character from Satyricon while I was ... Casanova!
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| First attempt to get dressed |
And ... we did go on another gondola trip before we came back to France.
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| The English Nurse, The Divine Miss M, Carlos the Gondolier and Marshlander |
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| The Grand Canal from a gondola |
Wednesday, 8 January 2020
Of Strikes And Being Stricken
Many French people are accomplished at finding imaginative ways of expressing dissatisfaction. For the past year or so the gilets jaunes have not only caused delays and blockages (mostly on Saturdays from what I've seen), but they have also been responsible for opening at random the barriers at the toll stations along the autoroutes. A few times P and I have arrived at a barrier to find that the machine won't take the payment card, but just then the barrier magically lifts - all the barriers lift in some kind of bizarre simultaneous salute to the power of the people in yellow jackets who have climbed on to variously constructed or found plinths, so that we may see and marvel. Or else the gilets jaunes congregate round their braziers displaying their drooping banners, slogans and yellow balloons at half-mast. This action is somewhat double-edged. While the strikers cause disruption and loss to the bosses the bosses have set about raising the tolls on the autoroutes, so that in the end they don't lose any money. It is a finely balanced game of chat-et-souris.
Since the beginning of December there has also been an ongoing general strike. The French are truly sorry, but they are still making everything as awkward as possible, as politely as possible - "malheureusement votre train 9*** ne circulera pas en raison de la grève nationale interprofessionnelle en cours. Croyez bien que nous en sommes sincèrement désolés."
For reference my usual monthly journey involves one train to London. Then
St Pancras International to Paris Nord - Eurostar
Paris Nord to Paris Gare de Lyon - TER
Paris Gare de Lyon to Genève Cornavin - Oui SNCF Lyria
Genève Cornavin to my final destination - Léman Express
The route plan above may help unravel the following:
Yesterday I received an e-mail informing me that one of the trains I was expecting to travel on was being cancelled. At least that's the gist of what I got from the message. My French is just about good enough to work that out. However, what to do from then on was simply overwhelming. After four hours of struggling with my SNCF phone app, the website on my computer and extended polite online chats with people bearing the unlikely names of David or Michael I did manage to change my booking from Paris to Geneva at no extra cost. The change would add an extra four hours to a journey and turn it into a twenty-two hour one. The reason for this is that, in order to be able to take advantage of the cheapest fares I have to be at St Pancras International at about 5am. The only way to do this is to leave home the previous evening and sit around St Pancras all night. The only part of the station left open all night is the UK booking hall passage between Midland Road and Pancras Road. It can get drafty. All that achieved I had my new departure organised from Gare de Lyon.
On arriving in Paris Nord I tried to get to the TER line D (the green one) to discover that the usual TER route was being terminated at Châtelet les Halles, preventing me from getting through to Gare de Lyon. That meant negotiating the Métro, something that is for some reason much more complicated than the Tube in London. I also had to change lines mid journey. I took and deep breath and thought, "I can do this", specially now I had the extra four hours". I did it and climbed out of the Métro into the subterranean Hall 3 at Gare de Lyon before emerging into the glaring sunshine of Hall 2. Out of habit I checked the departure board and guess what ... my original train was apparently running after all! It hadn't been cancelled by the strike or by anything else. I had about an hour to see if I could change my later reservation back to the original time. Another deep breath because this would involve a lot of queuing and speaking a lot of French. In I went. The mission was accomplished even though the man behind the desk didn't appear to believe that I'd received an e-mail since the train clearly hadn't been cancelled. I tried to find the e-mail on my phone, but you know what it's like when in a panic and a fluster. You can never find what you want.
While I was waiting for my platform to be announced I was treated to the sight and sound of a strike march by Parisian railway workers right through the station. For a Tuesday lunchtime it was impressive that not only were trains running (after a fashion), but that the CGT union had mustered about two hundred marchers a month after the strikes began. President Macron has had to climb down on his proposed pension reforms, but is it enough? Action is continuing.
Since the beginning of December there has also been an ongoing general strike. The French are truly sorry, but they are still making everything as awkward as possible, as politely as possible - "malheureusement votre train 9*** ne circulera pas en raison de la grève nationale interprofessionnelle en cours. Croyez bien que nous en sommes sincèrement désolés."
For reference my usual monthly journey involves one train to London. Then
St Pancras International to Paris Nord - Eurostar
Paris Nord to Paris Gare de Lyon - TER
Paris Gare de Lyon to Genève Cornavin - Oui SNCF Lyria
Genève Cornavin to my final destination - Léman Express
The route plan above may help unravel the following:
Yesterday I received an e-mail informing me that one of the trains I was expecting to travel on was being cancelled. At least that's the gist of what I got from the message. My French is just about good enough to work that out. However, what to do from then on was simply overwhelming. After four hours of struggling with my SNCF phone app, the website on my computer and extended polite online chats with people bearing the unlikely names of David or Michael I did manage to change my booking from Paris to Geneva at no extra cost. The change would add an extra four hours to a journey and turn it into a twenty-two hour one. The reason for this is that, in order to be able to take advantage of the cheapest fares I have to be at St Pancras International at about 5am. The only way to do this is to leave home the previous evening and sit around St Pancras all night. The only part of the station left open all night is the UK booking hall passage between Midland Road and Pancras Road. It can get drafty. All that achieved I had my new departure organised from Gare de Lyon.
On arriving in Paris Nord I tried to get to the TER line D (the green one) to discover that the usual TER route was being terminated at Châtelet les Halles, preventing me from getting through to Gare de Lyon. That meant negotiating the Métro, something that is for some reason much more complicated than the Tube in London. I also had to change lines mid journey. I took and deep breath and thought, "I can do this", specially now I had the extra four hours". I did it and climbed out of the Métro into the subterranean Hall 3 at Gare de Lyon before emerging into the glaring sunshine of Hall 2. Out of habit I checked the departure board and guess what ... my original train was apparently running after all! It hadn't been cancelled by the strike or by anything else. I had about an hour to see if I could change my later reservation back to the original time. Another deep breath because this would involve a lot of queuing and speaking a lot of French. In I went. The mission was accomplished even though the man behind the desk didn't appear to believe that I'd received an e-mail since the train clearly hadn't been cancelled. I tried to find the e-mail on my phone, but you know what it's like when in a panic and a fluster. You can never find what you want.
While I was waiting for my platform to be announced I was treated to the sight and sound of a strike march by Parisian railway workers right through the station. For a Tuesday lunchtime it was impressive that not only were trains running (after a fashion), but that the CGT union had mustered about two hundred marchers a month after the strikes began. President Macron has had to climb down on his proposed pension reforms, but is it enough? Action is continuing.
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| Not quite what I saw, but you get the idea. The Daily Telegraph was the first site to let me steal a photograph. |
Sunday, 5 January 2020
Of Post Election Disappointment Again
I'm quite used to being on the losing side. It doesn't ever stop the disappointment. After the horrible election in December 2019 I posted an article about being vigilant. It seemed apposite. The Tories have achieved little over the last forty or so years to earn my trust or my support. Many have acted with dishonour and the policies they have espoused have undermined any sense of fair play; or so it seems from where I'm standing. I look forward to being proven wrong, but evidence has yet to accumulate to ease my concerns.
After I shared the report a staunch Tory friend told me it was important to recognise that the majority had won and that I should be gracious in defeat. We were definitely going to leave the European Union and there would be no further delay. It feels as though this defines what is wrong with this particular kind of conservatism. It blames the losers for being hurt. It is surely the winner who can afford to be gracious in the winning. After all, what have they left to prove? The winner holds all the cards with an eighty-seat majority in the Commons. All I have is my ability to withhold cooperation and compliance, so don't tell me how to behave or what to feel. I'm not ready to hear that.
Surely the job of the "winner" is not to tell me how to behave. It is rather to draw me in, soothe my anxiety. Theirs is the responsibility for healing the damage. They need to prove they were right, much more than that I was wrong. I can't do their job from where I'm standing.
It seems always to have been thus. Poet/songwriter, Roy Harper, wrote the following lines in his song Kangaroo Blues:
Hey, Mr Nixon, Hey Mr. Heath
Can't you pull your pants up boys
I'm standing underneath
When my children were young they would sometimes get angry. All I knew about how to help was to hug them till they calmed down. I'm angry and I fear for worse to come. Maybe I just need a hug.
After I shared the report a staunch Tory friend told me it was important to recognise that the majority had won and that I should be gracious in defeat. We were definitely going to leave the European Union and there would be no further delay. It feels as though this defines what is wrong with this particular kind of conservatism. It blames the losers for being hurt. It is surely the winner who can afford to be gracious in the winning. After all, what have they left to prove? The winner holds all the cards with an eighty-seat majority in the Commons. All I have is my ability to withhold cooperation and compliance, so don't tell me how to behave or what to feel. I'm not ready to hear that.
Surely the job of the "winner" is not to tell me how to behave. It is rather to draw me in, soothe my anxiety. Theirs is the responsibility for healing the damage. They need to prove they were right, much more than that I was wrong. I can't do their job from where I'm standing.
It seems always to have been thus. Poet/songwriter, Roy Harper, wrote the following lines in his song Kangaroo Blues:
Hey, Mr Nixon, Hey Mr. Heath
Can't you pull your pants up boys
I'm standing underneath
When my children were young they would sometimes get angry. All I knew about how to help was to hug them till they calmed down. I'm angry and I fear for worse to come. Maybe I just need a hug.
Monday, 2 December 2019
Of Byelaws and Other Nonsense
In a previous blog essay I threatened to return to the subject of the changing laws on the Middle Level. Royal Assent was awarded the Middle Level Act 2018 in November 2018. This means the Private Bill I was fighting against for about two years is now law, although I guess I should admit to being a little bit pleased that had it not been for a delivery driver, a postie, a care worker, a bar worker and this old hippy muso, boaters in the Fens would be in a much worse position than that in which they now find themselves. Our little gang with some sterling support from a retired barrister and a rather extraordinary experienced campaigner on waterways issues managed to get the Bill sponsors to accept about twenty amendments and undertakings to the original draft of the Bill that one MP in the first Commons debate described as "Draconian". The process for this to happen was somewhat curious.
Private Bills are rare. When they appear they are usually unopposed and generally favour a commercial interest of some kind - HS2 is one about which many people will have heard. Bills like these are often rubber-stamping exercises. Had we not made our arguments against the Bill over eight days of Committee in Parliament I don't think any of the amendments would have come about. Despite the fact that we proposed most of them (although I personally wanted this example of feudalism to be thrown out altogether) it seems to be one of the many Parliamentary procedures that confuses me so much that it was deemed more fitting for the Bill's sponsors to propose the amendments that scuppered the worst excesses of their own ambitions. For what I believe is the first time, laws relating to the inland waterways in this country have secured some recognition for live-aboard boaters, including continual cruisers, to be recognised as a special group. It was written into the 2018 Act.
I have been surprised, therefore, that the "consultation" document proposing draft Byelaws, as allowed for in the 2018 Act, seems to have returned to the spirit of the original "Draconian" Bill. I still object to people having the right to come on to my boat, my home, to check that I am complying with their rules. These people do not own my boat, I do. These people do not own the waterways, they are there to keep the land free from flood and keep the waterway navigable. The law now gives them the power to impose a licence arrangement. Alongside that they already have the power to require that I have the correct insurance. My insurance company requires that I can prove I have a valid Boat Safety Scheme Certificate. No local authority has the right to enter people's homes merely on the flash of an identity card or even of the twenty-four hours notice this navigation authority thinks is sufficient. Even the emergency services require a very good reason to come into someone's home uninvited and the police would require a warrant. I am mildly put out, verging on outraged and I'm a white (and by implication, privileged) man. I can only imagine how impositions such as these would be seen by solo women boaters, for example.
The 2018 Act requires that the new Byelaws be drawn up in consultation with a Navigation Advisory Committee. Before the Act there was no such thing as this Committee. Somewhat naively I expected there to be a little bit of a democratic process to define who is going to be called to serve, specially when they are meant to be looking after my interests. A search on the navigation authority's website is a frustrating affair at the best of times. It has all the appearance of a professionally constructed site, but whoever designed it should really have a think about what a website is for. Finding any information, even using the built-in search engine is difficult. I don't understand how it is also so hit-and-miss. These are computers. If I use specific search terms one day those same terms should find the same results the next. Unfortunately, that rarely seems to be my experience. After a hint from another boater I found a set of minutes that listed names of people from organisations who had apparently been invited earlier on this year to sit on the Navigation Advisory Committee. There are no minutes of any Navigation Advisory Committee meetings which the 2018 Act made a legal requirement to consult, either to agree or to go to binding independent arbitration on a number of matters including the drawing up of the Byelaws. Instead, the list of Committee members I have seen recorded in the minutes of a different meeting altogether shows no hint of democratic process. This authoritarian organisation has made a list of its friends who accepted without question the first version of the Bill, you know - the Draconian one, and asked them to join the gang. There is no one on the list I have seen who has actually questioned the navigation authority about their decisions and behaviour so far. The liveaboard "representatives" actually spoke for the sponsors of the Bill, as expert witnesses, during its passage through Parliament. Perhaps I was being overly sensitive, but many people living on their boats just about get by. We don't have the means to be able to buy new boats from the spoils of a superannuated job and the sale of an empty bricks-and-mortar nest. There are some who seem to think the inland waterways are best left as a reservation for those who can keep their boats looking pretty and thoroughly maintained. This was certainly the message I took from this particular "expert witness" in Parliamentary committee. As far as I can tell there are no solo boaters on the NAC either.
I have long suspected that democracy was not what most of us assume it to be. What I experienced during the Parliamentary process and my eight days in Committee was an appearance of being part of the democratic process which, on reflection, may not have been real. My first shock was the chairman of the Committee of MPs who went back to Parliament and gave a speech on behalf of the Bill's sponsors. He was clearly not as impartial as we thought. I have more respect for the process as it went to the Lords where the sponsors were given a good grilling over many of the points we, the petitioners, had raised as well as a number of others we hadn't. The Lords seemed to have read (and, more importantly, understood) the documents. However, the end result was that the sponsors got what they wanted. Of course they made concessions in terms of their undertakings and amendments, but we were not seriously party to those decisions.
Now we have the draft Byelaws and consultation for these has closed. I did not even know about the draft Byelaws document until a fortnight before the consultation period ended - strong sense of déja vu here. In Parliament one of the sponsors made it clear that important notices could be delivered directly to boats. The draft Byelaws that are going to have such an impact on my life for as long as I am in this area were clearly not considered sufficiently important to justify notifying me. I don't suppose many others heard the news either. In fact I know they didn't. The farmer who owns the land near where I moor regularly didn't know until I told him. The member of the navigation authority who lives next door may have known, but he doesn't speak to me, not even to return a greeting.
There are going to be some aggrieved people come the time the Byelaws are rubber-stamped into existence. One of the new rules states that boats cannot be moored within either ten metres of a bridge or thirty metres of any other water control structure. Going through the nearby villages on my trip last weekend I made a mental note of boaters with garden moorings. Some of them are adjacent to bridges. I knocked on the door of someone in such a situation and asked whether he knew about the Act and the draft Byelaws. He said he had heard of them, but had no idea what was in them. "I expect a letter will drop on to my mat before too much longer," he said. I was very disappointed that a) many people are so fatalistic about these unnecessary impositions and b) he wasn't prepared to do any legwork to find out for himself. "Do you realise your boat will be moored illegally once the Byelaws come into effect?" I asked him. "You are right next to a bridge." His garden isn't wide enough to move the boat ten metres away from the bridge. "It's a footbridge," he replied ... "and just let them try!" He has more optimism that he can fight the system than I have. I'd hate to see him lose his boat, because he thought it couldn't happen to him.
The proposed Byelaws are full of absurd ideas. One of the original petitioners found fault with many of them and listed eight or nine ways the proposals are actually in contempt of Parliament. I wrote an eight-page response to the proposals. I'll finish this essay by giving just one example of the poorly-considered changes to our conditions of being here. In fact, what the proposed law contains is not just daft, it puts single-handed boaters like me in danger if we attempt to comply. I hope the arguments I have given in my response will cause the section on using locks to be amended.
Locks are dangerous places. People die in them. I take the greatest of care when using a lock. The proposed Byelaws state that a boat should be secured at the bow and the stern when going through one. I polled a discussion group of single-handed boaters and all who responded, just like me, only ever use a centre rope to steady the boat in a lock. Trying to keep on top of everything while water is rushing in or out requires great care. A boater on their own cannot safely control a 50' steel boat like mine (or a longer one like many) using both fore and aft ropes. That is possible only with a crew. Even if I could reach both ropes at the same time I could probably not hold the boat steady with the different forces acting on it in the lock. I don't like to tie the boat to the bollards because I may not be able to release my rope quickly enough when I need to do so. Tying up from both ends is unthinkable. The last thing I want is to hang my boat and submerge it if I couldn't get to one of the ropes quickly enough! The law is in great danger of becoming the proverbial donkey. I certainly do not want to serve on the Navigation Advisory Committee (and couldn't anyway with the kind of peripatetic life I have), but I don't have any confidence that the navigation authority knows how to approach people who know what they are talking about. If you hear about boaters dying in a lock in the Fens, or losing a limb, you'll know the navigation authority probably didn't agree that I have a point.
This man is someone whose blog I have followed for a few years. He knows what he is talking about too.
https://livingonanarrowboat.co.uk/why-a-narrowboat-centre-line-is-so-important-for-solo-owners/
Private Bills are rare. When they appear they are usually unopposed and generally favour a commercial interest of some kind - HS2 is one about which many people will have heard. Bills like these are often rubber-stamping exercises. Had we not made our arguments against the Bill over eight days of Committee in Parliament I don't think any of the amendments would have come about. Despite the fact that we proposed most of them (although I personally wanted this example of feudalism to be thrown out altogether) it seems to be one of the many Parliamentary procedures that confuses me so much that it was deemed more fitting for the Bill's sponsors to propose the amendments that scuppered the worst excesses of their own ambitions. For what I believe is the first time, laws relating to the inland waterways in this country have secured some recognition for live-aboard boaters, including continual cruisers, to be recognised as a special group. It was written into the 2018 Act.
I have been surprised, therefore, that the "consultation" document proposing draft Byelaws, as allowed for in the 2018 Act, seems to have returned to the spirit of the original "Draconian" Bill. I still object to people having the right to come on to my boat, my home, to check that I am complying with their rules. These people do not own my boat, I do. These people do not own the waterways, they are there to keep the land free from flood and keep the waterway navigable. The law now gives them the power to impose a licence arrangement. Alongside that they already have the power to require that I have the correct insurance. My insurance company requires that I can prove I have a valid Boat Safety Scheme Certificate. No local authority has the right to enter people's homes merely on the flash of an identity card or even of the twenty-four hours notice this navigation authority thinks is sufficient. Even the emergency services require a very good reason to come into someone's home uninvited and the police would require a warrant. I am mildly put out, verging on outraged and I'm a white (and by implication, privileged) man. I can only imagine how impositions such as these would be seen by solo women boaters, for example.
The 2018 Act requires that the new Byelaws be drawn up in consultation with a Navigation Advisory Committee. Before the Act there was no such thing as this Committee. Somewhat naively I expected there to be a little bit of a democratic process to define who is going to be called to serve, specially when they are meant to be looking after my interests. A search on the navigation authority's website is a frustrating affair at the best of times. It has all the appearance of a professionally constructed site, but whoever designed it should really have a think about what a website is for. Finding any information, even using the built-in search engine is difficult. I don't understand how it is also so hit-and-miss. These are computers. If I use specific search terms one day those same terms should find the same results the next. Unfortunately, that rarely seems to be my experience. After a hint from another boater I found a set of minutes that listed names of people from organisations who had apparently been invited earlier on this year to sit on the Navigation Advisory Committee. There are no minutes of any Navigation Advisory Committee meetings which the 2018 Act made a legal requirement to consult, either to agree or to go to binding independent arbitration on a number of matters including the drawing up of the Byelaws. Instead, the list of Committee members I have seen recorded in the minutes of a different meeting altogether shows no hint of democratic process. This authoritarian organisation has made a list of its friends who accepted without question the first version of the Bill, you know - the Draconian one, and asked them to join the gang. There is no one on the list I have seen who has actually questioned the navigation authority about their decisions and behaviour so far. The liveaboard "representatives" actually spoke for the sponsors of the Bill, as expert witnesses, during its passage through Parliament. Perhaps I was being overly sensitive, but many people living on their boats just about get by. We don't have the means to be able to buy new boats from the spoils of a superannuated job and the sale of an empty bricks-and-mortar nest. There are some who seem to think the inland waterways are best left as a reservation for those who can keep their boats looking pretty and thoroughly maintained. This was certainly the message I took from this particular "expert witness" in Parliamentary committee. As far as I can tell there are no solo boaters on the NAC either.
I have long suspected that democracy was not what most of us assume it to be. What I experienced during the Parliamentary process and my eight days in Committee was an appearance of being part of the democratic process which, on reflection, may not have been real. My first shock was the chairman of the Committee of MPs who went back to Parliament and gave a speech on behalf of the Bill's sponsors. He was clearly not as impartial as we thought. I have more respect for the process as it went to the Lords where the sponsors were given a good grilling over many of the points we, the petitioners, had raised as well as a number of others we hadn't. The Lords seemed to have read (and, more importantly, understood) the documents. However, the end result was that the sponsors got what they wanted. Of course they made concessions in terms of their undertakings and amendments, but we were not seriously party to those decisions.
Now we have the draft Byelaws and consultation for these has closed. I did not even know about the draft Byelaws document until a fortnight before the consultation period ended - strong sense of déja vu here. In Parliament one of the sponsors made it clear that important notices could be delivered directly to boats. The draft Byelaws that are going to have such an impact on my life for as long as I am in this area were clearly not considered sufficiently important to justify notifying me. I don't suppose many others heard the news either. In fact I know they didn't. The farmer who owns the land near where I moor regularly didn't know until I told him. The member of the navigation authority who lives next door may have known, but he doesn't speak to me, not even to return a greeting.
There are going to be some aggrieved people come the time the Byelaws are rubber-stamped into existence. One of the new rules states that boats cannot be moored within either ten metres of a bridge or thirty metres of any other water control structure. Going through the nearby villages on my trip last weekend I made a mental note of boaters with garden moorings. Some of them are adjacent to bridges. I knocked on the door of someone in such a situation and asked whether he knew about the Act and the draft Byelaws. He said he had heard of them, but had no idea what was in them. "I expect a letter will drop on to my mat before too much longer," he said. I was very disappointed that a) many people are so fatalistic about these unnecessary impositions and b) he wasn't prepared to do any legwork to find out for himself. "Do you realise your boat will be moored illegally once the Byelaws come into effect?" I asked him. "You are right next to a bridge." His garden isn't wide enough to move the boat ten metres away from the bridge. "It's a footbridge," he replied ... "and just let them try!" He has more optimism that he can fight the system than I have. I'd hate to see him lose his boat, because he thought it couldn't happen to him.
The proposed Byelaws are full of absurd ideas. One of the original petitioners found fault with many of them and listed eight or nine ways the proposals are actually in contempt of Parliament. I wrote an eight-page response to the proposals. I'll finish this essay by giving just one example of the poorly-considered changes to our conditions of being here. In fact, what the proposed law contains is not just daft, it puts single-handed boaters like me in danger if we attempt to comply. I hope the arguments I have given in my response will cause the section on using locks to be amended.
Locks are dangerous places. People die in them. I take the greatest of care when using a lock. The proposed Byelaws state that a boat should be secured at the bow and the stern when going through one. I polled a discussion group of single-handed boaters and all who responded, just like me, only ever use a centre rope to steady the boat in a lock. Trying to keep on top of everything while water is rushing in or out requires great care. A boater on their own cannot safely control a 50' steel boat like mine (or a longer one like many) using both fore and aft ropes. That is possible only with a crew. Even if I could reach both ropes at the same time I could probably not hold the boat steady with the different forces acting on it in the lock. I don't like to tie the boat to the bollards because I may not be able to release my rope quickly enough when I need to do so. Tying up from both ends is unthinkable. The last thing I want is to hang my boat and submerge it if I couldn't get to one of the ropes quickly enough! The law is in great danger of becoming the proverbial donkey. I certainly do not want to serve on the Navigation Advisory Committee (and couldn't anyway with the kind of peripatetic life I have), but I don't have any confidence that the navigation authority knows how to approach people who know what they are talking about. If you hear about boaters dying in a lock in the Fens, or losing a limb, you'll know the navigation authority probably didn't agree that I have a point.
This man is someone whose blog I have followed for a few years. He knows what he is talking about too.
https://livingonanarrowboat.co.uk/why-a-narrowboat-centre-line-is-so-important-for-solo-owners/
Sunday, 1 December 2019
Of Floating Free 4 And Existential Issues Of Smoke
I might as well add the final video I made of this little trip. The Well Creek Trust, who played such an important part in reopening the Old Course of the River Nene to provide the navigable section from Marmont Priory Lock through to Salters Lode have also, over the years, put in some visitor moorings at Upwell (one as you come into the village and one by the village church/Five Bells pub), one each at Outwell Basin and Nordelph and a rather isolated one between Outwell and Nordelph. I don't know if they were also responsible for the moorings at Salters Lode, but I didn't get that far this time. The mooring that features in this video is the rather isolated one.
I recently changed the fuel that I burn to stay alive. When I moved on to the boat the previous owner recommended Taybrite processed coal nuts that came in bags. When the price went up substantially I switched to Winterblaze, which was also recommended for multi-fuel stoves, because it was £3 cheaper for a twenty-kilo bag. I wanted to use logs, but storing them until they are properly seasoned and ready for burning is a bit of an issue. I know lots of people burn logs and many gather their own and keep them on the roof, but that has never seemed to work for me. Wood gathered from the wild is too wet to use immediately. It produces little heat and fouls the chimney whilst also creating a tar-like substance that gathers and runs along the roof and down the sides of the boat in unseemly black/brown streaks. When this happened to my boat I never found out how to clean those streaks off. The mess also removed paint from the roof and sides and made the boat look unloved. Having only relatively recently paid nearly £10,000 for a month-long job comprising of a complete grit-blast back to bare metal and repaint the prospect of unseemly streaks isn't an attractive one. I really need this paint job to last as long as possible. For a similar reason I don't really want to store wet wood on my roof until it can become sufficiently seasoned to use. Having steep sides to the cabin walls I also suspect that too much weight on the roof will risk destabilising the boat, specially in windy conditions. The steep sides mean I actually have a wider roof than most narrowboats and I can see where temperature changes have made the metal roof expand and contract more than might be evident on a narrowboat of more traditional build. I have tried using kiln-dried logs, but they burn to ash almost before I close the door to the stove. The Winterblaze burns steadily at a good temperature and, like the Taybrite, can keep the fire in for twenty-four hours or longer. Then there is the IPCC report, getting involved with XR and the whole conscience thing that comes with being a activist - damn it! We have just about reached the point of no return. I have made many changes in my personal life and here I am getting through three bags of coal a week in winter.
Recently I discovered a compressed wood fuel called HeatLogs, produced by a company called Heat Express. I never bothered with reconstituted wood before because I didn't know what sort of substances had been used in the mix to bind the wood. HeatLogs claim not to use any. They cost £5 a dozen in my nearest supermarket, burn for a few hours and are smokeless - allegedly. I have also spoken to the merchant from whom I have been buying my bags of fuel. He informed me that the Winterblaze I have been using for about five years is not smokeless, although Taybrite is (which may explain the extra cost). Consequently I have returned to Taybrite. However, instead of getting through two to three bags a week I have decided to use the compressed smokeless wood during daytimes. This has allowed me to reduce my usage of coal by two bags a week. It is by no means ideal, since I am still burning fossil fuel, but I have cut the amount by 60%, so it is a start while I look for a better solution. As an idea it all seemed to be going rather well. By burning wood I am not releasing carbon dioxide into the atmosphere that would otherwise stay locked in the ground. By burning smokeless fuel I am minimising the number of particulates I release. However, on this return journey the chimney was throwing out a lot of smoke. I wondered if, perhaps, I needed to clean the chimney and that it was the flue that was smoking. I thought I would stop at the isolated mooring and check out where the smoke was coming from. In the video below it can be seen quite clearly. Opening the fire door revealed that what I was burning is actually producing smoke within the stove. This seemed to undermine somewhat the point of paying extra for smokeless fuel, although it remains possible that the flue is also the source of some of the smoke.
The jury is out. I'll carry on looking for more ethical and sustainable solutions, but in the meantime I am still a polluter. My engine is also powered by diesel fuel, which is receiving its own bad press at the moment. Again I don't know what the answer is. I have cut down on a lot of travel including the dozen trips a year I took for many years on aeroplanes. If I move off my home mooring I can only stay on a public mooring for thirty-six hours before having to move on. I am proud of having much of my electricity provided via the sun, but that only really works for about half the year. I don't have the money to replace the van and buy a hybrid engine for the boat. electric vehicles require lithium batteries ... mining lithium devastates environments and child expoitation is rife when cobalt is required ... nuclear? Atomkraft - nein danke! Fitting a sail might help ... but then there is Bridge 69 on the Twenty-Foot ...
I recently changed the fuel that I burn to stay alive. When I moved on to the boat the previous owner recommended Taybrite processed coal nuts that came in bags. When the price went up substantially I switched to Winterblaze, which was also recommended for multi-fuel stoves, because it was £3 cheaper for a twenty-kilo bag. I wanted to use logs, but storing them until they are properly seasoned and ready for burning is a bit of an issue. I know lots of people burn logs and many gather their own and keep them on the roof, but that has never seemed to work for me. Wood gathered from the wild is too wet to use immediately. It produces little heat and fouls the chimney whilst also creating a tar-like substance that gathers and runs along the roof and down the sides of the boat in unseemly black/brown streaks. When this happened to my boat I never found out how to clean those streaks off. The mess also removed paint from the roof and sides and made the boat look unloved. Having only relatively recently paid nearly £10,000 for a month-long job comprising of a complete grit-blast back to bare metal and repaint the prospect of unseemly streaks isn't an attractive one. I really need this paint job to last as long as possible. For a similar reason I don't really want to store wet wood on my roof until it can become sufficiently seasoned to use. Having steep sides to the cabin walls I also suspect that too much weight on the roof will risk destabilising the boat, specially in windy conditions. The steep sides mean I actually have a wider roof than most narrowboats and I can see where temperature changes have made the metal roof expand and contract more than might be evident on a narrowboat of more traditional build. I have tried using kiln-dried logs, but they burn to ash almost before I close the door to the stove. The Winterblaze burns steadily at a good temperature and, like the Taybrite, can keep the fire in for twenty-four hours or longer. Then there is the IPCC report, getting involved with XR and the whole conscience thing that comes with being a activist - damn it! We have just about reached the point of no return. I have made many changes in my personal life and here I am getting through three bags of coal a week in winter.
Recently I discovered a compressed wood fuel called HeatLogs, produced by a company called Heat Express. I never bothered with reconstituted wood before because I didn't know what sort of substances had been used in the mix to bind the wood. HeatLogs claim not to use any. They cost £5 a dozen in my nearest supermarket, burn for a few hours and are smokeless - allegedly. I have also spoken to the merchant from whom I have been buying my bags of fuel. He informed me that the Winterblaze I have been using for about five years is not smokeless, although Taybrite is (which may explain the extra cost). Consequently I have returned to Taybrite. However, instead of getting through two to three bags a week I have decided to use the compressed smokeless wood during daytimes. This has allowed me to reduce my usage of coal by two bags a week. It is by no means ideal, since I am still burning fossil fuel, but I have cut the amount by 60%, so it is a start while I look for a better solution. As an idea it all seemed to be going rather well. By burning wood I am not releasing carbon dioxide into the atmosphere that would otherwise stay locked in the ground. By burning smokeless fuel I am minimising the number of particulates I release. However, on this return journey the chimney was throwing out a lot of smoke. I wondered if, perhaps, I needed to clean the chimney and that it was the flue that was smoking. I thought I would stop at the isolated mooring and check out where the smoke was coming from. In the video below it can be seen quite clearly. Opening the fire door revealed that what I was burning is actually producing smoke within the stove. This seemed to undermine somewhat the point of paying extra for smokeless fuel, although it remains possible that the flue is also the source of some of the smoke.
The jury is out. I'll carry on looking for more ethical and sustainable solutions, but in the meantime I am still a polluter. My engine is also powered by diesel fuel, which is receiving its own bad press at the moment. Again I don't know what the answer is. I have cut down on a lot of travel including the dozen trips a year I took for many years on aeroplanes. If I move off my home mooring I can only stay on a public mooring for thirty-six hours before having to move on. I am proud of having much of my electricity provided via the sun, but that only really works for about half the year. I don't have the money to replace the van and buy a hybrid engine for the boat. electric vehicles require lithium batteries ... mining lithium devastates environments and child expoitation is rife when cobalt is required ... nuclear? Atomkraft - nein danke! Fitting a sail might help ... but then there is Bridge 69 on the Twenty-Foot ...
A correction. In the video I mentioned that Well Creek ends at Denver Sluice. Of course I meant Salters Lode Sluice. There is a tidal length of the River Great Ouse between Salters Lode and Denver. The current flows pretty fast and you have to make sure not to get stuck on the sandbank opposite the exit to Salter's Lode Lock/Sluice.
I bagged up the rubbish and put it in the farmer's dustbin. At least the mooring looks neater now.
Of Floating Free 3 And An Aqueduct
The Fens, much of which is below sea level, might seem an odd place for an aqueduct. There is one, though, and it carries Well Creek (part of the link route between The Great Ouse and the River Nene) over the Middle Level Main Drain, which itself terminates at the huge St German's Pumping Station (when it was rebuilt a few years ago it was the largest pumping station of its type in Europe) at Wiggenhall St German's.
Following the video as I set off in the morning I hadn't intended to record anything else, but I realised that some people may not have seen the previous entry I made about Mullicourt Aqueduct a year or so ago. When Well Creek was opened up again to navigation in the 1970s the route included the Aqueduct which, according to Evelyn Simak, was constructed in 1921.
Such a construction was necessary because one of the almost certainly unforeseen circumstances of draining the Fens in the seventeenth century was the shrinkage of the peat, the drying of the topsoil into a fine tilth that would be blown away easily by the wind. This process leads to a progressive lowering of land levels. The Fens are therefore experiencing erosion from both directions - rises in sea level attributed in large part to climate change as well as land shrinkage as the soil is eroded through natural processes.
Following the video as I set off in the morning I hadn't intended to record anything else, but I realised that some people may not have seen the previous entry I made about Mullicourt Aqueduct a year or so ago. When Well Creek was opened up again to navigation in the 1970s the route included the Aqueduct which, according to Evelyn Simak, was constructed in 1921.
Such a construction was necessary because one of the almost certainly unforeseen circumstances of draining the Fens in the seventeenth century was the shrinkage of the peat, the drying of the topsoil into a fine tilth that would be blown away easily by the wind. This process leads to a progressive lowering of land levels. The Fens are therefore experiencing erosion from both directions - rises in sea level attributed in large part to climate change as well as land shrinkage as the soil is eroded through natural processes.
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