The Journey -
Wash-day blues on Rosy
Sunday 25th May 2003
The Journey -
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So. We wound up the engine, cast off the mooring lines and set fair on a southerly course. Then it rained, and stopped, and rained again. I don't, generally do 'boating in the rain', but these showers were quite light, quite short and not too frequent. I got exceedingly cross at one point. The lock keeper was just on the point of closing the gates, when he opened them again as another boat was approaching. We moved forward in the lock (a thing I don't like doing as the nearer to the top gates we get the harder it is to control Rosy). Anyway, the lock-keeper filled the lock in the desired manner, and we rose up without too much trouble. Once the lock was filled, the lock-keeper opened one gate, which is all Rosy needs. But he, poor fellow, would have to walk all round the lock to get to the gate on the other side. Hence it is normal (?) practice for the lock-keeper to do one gate, whilst the boater does the other. No-one from the other boat budged, so I kindly opened the gate. On leaving the lock, we motored along, and after about 300 yards I glanced back to see if the other boat was wanting to pass, to see them still in the lock and trying to get out of it, but merely banging from side to side. They eventually extricated themselves and started to catch Rosy up (we are a bit on the slow side) so I kindly moved over, and they steamed on by, without a glance, acknowledgement or cheery wave (or, in the oft-used, warmingly heartfelt words of Sergeant-Major Slater "Without even a kiss-my-arse or by-your-leave"). Just before the lock at Beffes we decided it was time to call it a day, and moored up in the rather neat cut-out. As I made fast the last mooring line, the dark clouds dissolved and the sun came out. The next day broke all cloudy but (thankfully) dry, though it certainly looked like rain. We set off in good time, and the rain held off until just after the Marseilles les Aubigny lock. We pressed on to the delightful mooring at Cours les Barres, and moored until the rain stopped. Which it eventually did, but by that time, I'd lost interest in boating. Instead I attacked the satellite dish, and locked onto the Sky satellite without a problem. In the evening, I thought Fanny deserved a stroll, so we walked up the western bank of the canal to the next bridge, and then back down the eastern side and hence back to Rosy. Unfortunately ... the western bank hasn't been trimmed for some considerable while, so the grass etc was waist high, and, of course, since it had been raining, wet. Fanny's system was to advance in a series of leaps, and in a few yards she was pretty much in a drowned rat situation. With much bravery, consideration and kindness I went into Wenceslas mode, tramping down a path with Fanny trotting along behind. My jeans and the insides of my high Derry boots were soaked. At night, sleep proved difficult, as when the moon got up, the 10,000,000 bull frogs on the far side of the cut burst into song. The next day, a Tuesday, the rain cleared late in the morning, so after an early lunch we cast off. Treat of the day was to work up through the Guétin staircase, a pair of interconnected locks raising us more than nine metres. The first one was fine, but in the second the lock-keeper opened a gate paddle on the gate on the far side of the lock. The inevitable effect of this is to whisk Rosy's nose across the lock. He saw what had happened and closed the paddle, but then the lock took an age to fill. That evening we moored just short of Plagny, using our chains to attach ourselves to some steel camp-shedding. Wednesday dawned fine, and we set off for a gentle pootle. Danum, a Humber keel (I think) passed by, going the other way. We moored at Fleury-sur-Loire, and I set up the satellite dish to catch the first day of the cricket test match, England v Zimbabwe. Thursday morning, and we bought some really scrumptious bread at the Fleury bakers before the gentle cruise down to the Halte Nautique at Decize. I met up with Diane and Derek who I met last year, and who have now bought a house nearby. Watched more cricket, and put the weekly wash into a bucket to soak. In the evening a hoopoe fluttered across the canal. I've not seen one since our Cyprus days. Friday started badly, and got worse. I went to the launderette to find that it was 'en panne'. Knackered, to you and I. So I was faced with some hand washing. No thank-YOU. Last year a kindly entrepreneur delivered diesel to boats at about (or even below) garage prices. So I phoned for a delivery, but the number doesn't work. I got another number from the Tourist Office that eventually led to the Blue Crown boat hire base. They sell diesel at one Euro per litre (as opposed to €0.74 per litre at the garages). So I got the trolley out, and hauled 40 litres from garage to boat. Then I cycled to the Blue Crown base to see Derek and Diane (they keep their boat there), with Fanny running along beside the bike on her lead. On arrival at the base the Blue Crown yappy sodding white poodle came rushing at us yap-yap-yappitty-yap, surprising Fanny who tried to nip round the FRONT of the bike. I turned sharply to avoid running her down, and we all landed up in tangled heap on their gravelly gritty forecourt, yappy bloody poodle having done a runner. My right hand is now sore and bleeding, my right shoulder hardly works as it is heavily bruised, and my right knee is a bloody mess. I decided that I'd had enough of Decize so I bought a bottle of Dettol and left. I'd winded Rosy in order to put the diesel into the tanks, and just as I started the engine to turn her again, a Dutch cruiser pottered by. I let him go by, turned, and followed on about five minutes behind him, and hence into the first lock, though he'd had to wait about six minutes for our arrival. The cheery lock-keeper explained that he'd meet us at the next lock, as he looked after two locks. The pound was quite long, and Mr Jolly Dutchman whizzed off, with me chugging along behind. When I eventually arrived at the next lock, there was an atmosphere. Mr J.D. was in the lock, but not very far in, and seemed disinclined to move in any further to make way for Rosy. Hence I stopped a couple of feet short of his stern, whilst he had words with the lock keeper to the effect that he was upset at having to wait for me, and no, he wasn't going to move up to let me in!!! I then congratulated the lock-keeper for being an exceedingly rich man, on account of the fact that I assumed that as he was looking after two locks, VNF (the French equivalent of BW) must be paying him two salaries. Mustn't they? He nearly fell into the lock laughing. We carried on our conversation for about another five minutes, which was the time it took Mr J.D. to work out that it was up to him whether or not we spent all day there. Along the next pound there was a stork on its nest at the top of a tree. It's the first wild stork that I've ever seen. And, hence, at about 3pm on Friday afternoon, we arrived at the lovely FREE mooring at Gannay, which is where this is being written. I watched cricket in the afternoon, and spoke with an American boater who told me that he was leaving early the next morning, that he lived in a nice little town in Florida that didn't have any Jews, Spaniards or blacks in it, and then told me two or three stories about sailing in the Caribbean, each of which was supposed to prove that West Indians are brain-dead thugs. I retired to Rosy to have a rather more reasonable conversation with Fanny, and reconsidered my original decision not to bring any limpet mines along on the voyage. I rose late on Saturday morning, waiting until Mr USA's engine had faded off into the distance. We got the washing done, hung out AND dried before the rain came just after lunch time, and spent the afternoon watching England win a test match in three days. Today, Sunday, the weather is still a bit iffy, so it's a computery day. Toodle pip!! Bill
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