The Journey -
'Rosy' and ..... people

Yesterday was a long day.  34 km, 15 locks and 9 and a half hours.  The weather was a bit overcast, but the humidity was high (we had thunder-storms in the evening) so the atmosphere was a bit enervating.

The canal is not busy.  I've been moored today, and not a single boat has passed by.  Ten boat movements a day would be busy.  Hence each lock keeper looks after a series of five or six locks, nipping up and down the towing path on a moped.

Yesterday morning, the lock keeper was a diffident young man in his early twenties.  Each time he was waiting to do something (like when the lock was filling up) he came and hovered near where I was tending the centre line on Rosy.  Hence we got chatting.  He would look after me for the next 5 locks.  He it was who discussed boat movements.  I asked about a boulangerie (bread shop) and he said he would pick me up a loaf.  This he kindly did.  His duties at the lock involve winding the paddles up and down, and opening and closing the gates, whilst I tend the mooring lines.  As I left the final lock, I gave him a plastic bag, and my thanks.  The bag contained 2 bottles (25cc or ml ones) of beer, priced here at 10 or 12 p each.  'There is no need' he said.  'I know' I said.  'But thanks'.  The next 2 locks were automatic, to be worked through alone.  But he was there for each of them.  'For the little present you gave me' he said.  I said 'There is no need' and he replied 'I know, but thanks.'  Why do I end up feeling selfish?

In the evening, I had to pass through Joineville lock, then on about half a kilometre, and moor just past the bridge.  Fine.

Joineville lock has the look of Steptoe's junk yard.  A wide variety of snotty-nosed kids were running around, and about half a dozen large chaps, all aged between about 25 and 35 and looking dodgy and Eastenderish.  They came crowding round Rosy, and I was aware that cameras, binos and GPS were all visible.  Despite all these chaps, the working of the lock was left to a woman, of the slim, tough and wiry type, with a raucous voice and her false teeth missing.  Surprisingly, she wasn't wearing a hair net.  Everyone was talking loudly to be heard over the raucous hum of an adjacent factory.

One of the youths shouted to see if I needed to eat.  What does one say?  That all humans need to eat at about 8 hourly intervals, and that hence of course I needed to eat, didn't he?  But I don't have the French vocabulary, so I said 'Oui'.  Then he said I should moor here, as there is a restaurant here too.  I shouted back that I have food on Rosy, thank you.  He shouted about shopping, and I shouted that all I needed was bread in the morning.  He shouted that there is a boulangerie here, and I can get it there.  And that he will split the commission with me.  Now the bread will cost 50p, so if his commission is 10%, I get 2 and a half pee out of it.  Plus I'll wake up stone deaf in the morning.  So what's his game?  I turned down his request, and he was not a happy laddie.

I went on to the proper mooring.  A couple of boats were already moored there, so I went past them to see if there was a nice spot beyond.  But there wasn't.  So I backed up to moor in behind them.  Reversing a boat can be tricksy, a narrow boat particularly so, but there was zero current and barely any wind, so I backed up the 100 yards with only 3 bits of forward gear to get the stern in the right direction.  At this point the other boaters (plastic boaters) emerge from their cabins to protect their property!

The 100 yards took me beyond where I really needed to be, but I stopped in mid stream, and went up onto the roof to put the mooring lines and fenders on the correct (port) side.  Then, slowly forward to slot in behind the boats already there.  Oh!  Bliss!!  Everything worked out to a T.  Nose in.  Stern driven-in slightly towards the bank, engage reverse to take off all forward way, and the paddle wheel effect of the prop continues to bring the stern in towards the shore.  Engine into neutral and step ashore from the stationary boat that is now alongside the quay, with the centre line in my hand, trying to look as if it works out this well all the time (sadly, it doesn't!!).

At 8 pm, the lock keeper of the next section of locks arrives to see what time we want to go through.  I said '8am please.'

Next (this) morning dawned dark and foreboding.  As I primed the cylinders with petrol, it started slooshing down with rain, and I decided to cancel today.  So, on the bike, in the rain, down to the lock, to tell the lock keeper.  I arrived at the lock at 0745.  At 0750 a large, plastic, Swiss boat with a large dog and a bow thruster arrived.  The crew of four (two couples, all in their 50s I guess) managed to stop and tie up.  A crew member came up to the lock, arriving at 0759.  Her first words (in English ... how did she know??) were 'We said 8 o'clock.  These French are so lazy.' Phut phut in the background, and at 0801hrs Madame Eclusière has opened the hut, brought out the lock keys and is ready.  Problems?  What problems?

She and I wound paddles and opened gates (my first experience of doing this over here!), while I explained that because of the weather I was staying put, and the crew waved the boat in.  Which did not move.  At this point it started raining.  Very hard.  The boat stayed where it was.  I waved and beckoned - as did the crew.  The boat stayed where it was.  Eventually the crew walked back to the boat, and it finally came forward.  I enquired as to the problem.  Sir on the helm could not see the gates, so didn't know whether the gates were open or not.  It's not often that I'm struck dumb.  Why did he think we were all waving and beckoning to him?  If he couldn't see the gates, why didn't he shift his (and the boat's) arse so that he COULD see them?  Had not he and crew worked out a communications/signalling system?  Was he prepared to sit there all day?  I've now had it up to HERE with the Swiss.  Stuff 'em!!  All of 'em!!!  Every single one of them!!  Grrrrrrrr!

So I listened to the test match (we're talking cricket v the Aussies at Trent Bridge) which has been more like table tennis than cricket.  Grrrrrr...

But then .... Oh!  Joy!!  The local supermarket has brut vin Moussec at about 50p a bottle!

Pootle tit!!

Blil