Burning Slowly

A random tale of a random poet living a random life. (Many of the pictures are mine but my apologies to the owners of the ones that I have blatantly ripped off. If you are really unhappy about me using your images, email me and I will remove them. If not, thanks for the loan. Outcast Poet)

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Location: Oxford, United Kingdom

I write real poems, and play real music.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Cruising


It seems like a long time ago since I made my trip back down river and onto the cut. Keef crewed for me and it was a lovely sharp, strangely warm, November day. It was, in fact, the Sunday 12th of November and at some points we were down to tee shirts and shades. The current on the river was much stronger than when I made my trip up over a month previous. There had been much rain, heavy rain, sustained rain, which had soaked through the hills and raised the water level over a foot at times. Now the extra tons of water were trying to find their way to the Thames delta, not far from where I grew up and played as a teenager, and eventually the ocean. The bends were more difficult to manoeuvre and the boat picked up speed quicker than you would expect. Concentration was required at all times.

It had been a while since I last saw Keef and he gave me the news about his new job, his plans for skiing at Christmas, and other updates. Likewise, I told him how things were going with Special, and the immanent changes in my life. We talked about houses and boats. I mentioned to Keef that I was thinking about buying a cruiser for the river. That was when he suggested we did a cruiser-share, fifty : fifty. It sounded like a cool idea to me. We could get a much better boat than I could afford to buy on my own, and it would only be half of the running costs to find. The idea is now floating for a while, but is looking good.

The sun went down over the last stretch of the trip and the cold autumn air started to bite. I hadn’t lit the fire yet so we had to grin and bear it, with the aid of many mugs of hot tea. Eventually we moored up on the Cherwell, just below the lock. The first thing I did was get the stove burning. Being back on the cut seemed strange and familiar at the same time. This was it for the winter, well that was if I didn’t get moved on. A few faces I hadn’t seen for a while passed and said hello. The coalman had sold his working boat, Dusty, and was moored up next to me. Him and his wife had just got back from holidays; a cruise around the Med. They said it was the best holiday they had ever had. I have never done a cruise; it never really appealed to me. Perhaps I have insufficient knowledge to comment on the pros and cons of cruise holidays.

A week of work was lined up for me at the Half Moon and I was staying on the boat. I had been spending quite a lot of time at Special’s but working at the pub often means very late nights and I didn’t want to be disturbing her in the wee hours. So, back on the cut and my first full week on the boat for some time, what would that all bring? What changes and influences did the planet have in store for me? I would, no doubt, soon find out.

Keef left and I slung some jalapeño peppers onto a Sainsbury’s pepperoni pizza and slapped it in the oven at gas mark 8. The fire was kicking in and I kicked back in my chair with mug of Red Bush and watched the flames lick the inside of the glass door. Another winter was knocking.