Curiosity Killed The Cow

Yesterday evening I walked back along the river bank in the autumn sunshine, the water looked like mercury and the air was warm. The boat was still moored securely around the bend and silhouetted by the setting sun. Silhouetted next to it were two people; it looked like they were staring into the windows of the boat. As I approached one of them, a girl, turned to me and said:

“Is that your boat?”

“Yes, yes it is” I replied, intonating the unsaid question: ‘Why do you want to know?’

“There’s a cow stuck down the side of it” her friend, a young bloke, answered.

And there was. Young, but almost fully grown, stuck between the side of the bank and the side of the boat, and looking terrified. It looked like it must have been getting a bit curious about the boat, tried to get a close look and part of the bank fell away. Then Splash! It was in, able to stand as the river is shallow at the edges, but because of the boat, not able to get out. It must have been cold, and curiosity could have killed the cow. I pushed the back of the boat out and with a lot of encouraging the young heifer moved along the bank to the open space, where with a lot more encouraging, and a few failed attempts, it managed to get sufficient purchase and climbed out. The poor thing looked terrified and cold, it just stood there staring at me. Another larger cow, I assumed was its mother also stared at me as I rubbed the bridge of the young ones nose and softly told it to run around and get warm again; I’d seen something like this in Crocodile Dundee. I don’t think the young cow understood a word of it but the two young people, still standing around, seemed pretty impressed. She’ll be fine I told them, not knowing if she would or not, nor whether or not it was a he or a she, but it looked and sounded good, and everyone seemed happy.

At last I climbed aboard, opened up and went in and lit my first fire of the season. The weather forecast had said it would drop to just a few degrees overnight. Of course it didn’t, in fact it was probably one of the warmest nights we have had for a few weeks. Very soon the boat was like a sauna! I have walls lined with wood so it even looked like a sauna. I opened all the windows and doors to try and cool it down. Even with those open it was still very warm. Eventually I stripped, closed the doors and some of the windows and fell asleep on top of the bed. I didn’t even cover myself with the duvet. And all the time people ask me “Isn’t it cold living on a boat”!

Losing It

Darkness surrounded the boat. The silent Thames rocked it gently. The only sound was the feint patter of a light rain on the roof. No house lights, no street lights, no car lights could be seen, just the black night hiding the moon with its rain bearing clouds. I sat in my chair, eating warming vegetable stew, and staring out through the window, across the river, into the abyss of night.

Some people find it spooky out on the river on a dark night, but I love it. I feel safe on my boat and it is some of the most peaceful tranquil time to be had. There are no distractions, other than the blackness and the silence. I sat there for an hour or so. It is a good space to think in. I thought about mum, she never got to see the boat. I thought about dad, he would have loved it on the river. Last summer I had a vivid dream where he was on the boat with me. We talked for hours, I showed him how everything worked, and we had a beer together. I woke up the next morning feeling very happy; He has been gone a long time but I felt like I had spent a night with my dad, he got to see the boat. Mum is much more recent; I thought about the last meal we had together: sausage, mash, peas and onions. “I don’t want any gravy on mine” she had told me.

The evening was cooler than it had been previously and I thought about lighting a fire but it really wasn’t cold enough. A fleece did the trick, and the hot stew. I had cooked up a big pot of it on the Sunday. All kinds of veg: carrots, parsnips, turnips, onions, leeks, sweet potatoes, new potato, courgettes. I spiced it up with some fresh chilli, a few teeth of garlic, and a couple of Spanish chorizo sausages for that lovely paprika flavour. I chopped the veg into chunky bits and simmered the whole lot with some stock for an hour or so. Comfort food! It does warm you and helps to keep you healthy. Try it for yourself sometime (email me and I will send you a recipe if you want).

I need the healthy food right now. I need the energy and the goodness, because, believe it or not, I am on a diet and trying to get fitter. As part of this new regime I have taken up swimming. I bought myself a pair of Speedo goggles and a swim bag and signed up for access to the Oxford Brookes sports and leisure facilities. I have only been four time so far but am feeling better already. Twenty lengths I am doing at the moment. And, like the dark of the night on the boat, it too is a good place to think. My thoughts are different when swimming up and down the pool. I go into my zone, as Tiger would say, and concentrate on what I am doing. But I do also drift into thoughts of Special, work, friends, and food and things. Since I started dieting I have become a little preoccupied with food! In a week I have lost 4.4 lbs (round of applause from the Weight Watchers readers) but I have set a target where I only need to lose 1.6 lb per week. The slower it goes, the longer it stays off, or so they say. I really feel like I am losing it!

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square

What happened to the Wave? It was no-show from the Doc on Saturday; he cited “things to do man”. I went to the Flowing Well with Special anyway. The band was excellent; a jazz line up of drums, guitar, and double bass, fronted by a superb tenor sax. They went through some old standards, putting their own touches to them. Once again, I can’t remember their name but they were musicians I would definitely go to see again. That all seems like weeks ago.

Where did all that rain come from? One minute we were grooving away to an Indian summer, the next minute its monsoon time! I did eventually move my boat, and fortunately the weather was good that Thursday. SB, who is recovering nicely and amazingly quickly from his motorcycle accident, crewed for me. It was great to spend a bit of quality time with him; it had been too long. He was limping a bit but no longer had a stick. I tried to stop him opening all the locks we had to go through but he was stubborn and insisted that it was good for him to get the exercise. He did allow me to open a lift bridge or two, just to pay lip service to my advice. There was little traffic on the cut; in fact I think we only passed one other boat. I had a pack of German larger left over from the trip to Lechlade with Special, and SB busied himself with popping the tops off as required. We didn’t overdo it; it isn’t too clever being drunk on a 25 ton boat and heading towards a swelling river.

The rain held off and the sun sometimes shone. It was still warm enough to be wearing only T shirts (well, jeans as well, you know what I mean). It took us about three hours to reach Dukes Cut, the cut through to the glorious river Thames. It is such an amazing feeling leaving the confines of the cut and seeing/feeling that big river open up around you. It was my second time there this year but it never fails to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my spine tingle with excitement, like when you hear good music. The wind had picked up and the river was noticeably cooler than the on the canal so we donned our fleeces and SB popped another couple of bottles. The majestic river stretching out its meandering path before us; the river that has inspired painters, sculptors, writers, musicians, photographers, poets; The Old Father Time river that has irrigated and bought life to fields, trees, animals, villages, towns and cities for centuries. The big clear river that has lured millions of fishermen, old and young, to sit on its banks hunting Rudd, Roach, Barbel, Carp, Perch and the hunter Pike.

I don’t really go fishing myself, but I did hook a 14 pound Pike in the Wallingford stretch of the Thames last summer. I was with a friend on my boat and I used his small telescopic rod with a cheap spinner. Luck? Skill? I dunno but it fed ten people and tasted very nice. Pure white flesh, fresh as you can get it. I have a bit of a problem with fishing for sport, well harming any animals for that matter, but fishing for food is different. I love eating fish and fresh fish is the best.

It started to rain just before we got to Eynsham Lock. We moored on the 24 hour moorings below the lock and called it a day. The lock keeper there is friend of mine so I stopped off to say hello and let him know I was around, gave SB a lift home, then went to Sainsburys on the ring road to meet Special and do some shopping for the weekend. A trolley load of fruit, veg, meat and wine later we were back at Specials, drinking a glass of red. A slide blues band were playing at the Flowing Well and we went up to watch them. It was a disappointment. You don’t need to live the blues to play the blues, but you do need to be able to play the blues to play the blues! We didn’t stay for long and I was soon tucked up sleeping the best sleep I had experienced for days. Restless, that’s the only way I can describe the previous few nights sleep. I don’t know what they were but I had things on my mind, things that were bothering me. I know the boat was in there somewhere but I am not sure what all the other concerns were. I had been tossing and turning, getting up, waking up talking random nonsense, all sorts. And the dream soup was thick those nights: sinking boats; strange lands; lost and fearful; sad and tear full. But the Friday night after the lacklustre blues band, I slept like a baby. Only one sweet dream entered my rest. A German lake surrounded by pine trees, me walking the shore of the lake playing tenor sax, being followed by a, strange but unthreatening, person, sex unknown. A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square; note perfect I was!

Saturday I did my lunchtime shift at the moon with nothing noticeable occurring except for more heavy rain. Rain and the point in time when I stopped smoking for good! Saturday night we stayed in; too much rain and Specials daughter and her boyfriend were coming the next day for Sunday lunch. We had gone to London last Sunday, the night after the Wave didn’t show, to have a birthday meal with Special’s other daughter. The Blue Elephant in Fulham Broadway had been booked, and a lovely Thai meal we had there. That also seems like a long time ago.

The now is: boat moved, a few good nights sleep under my dome, fridge empty, and lots to do. Maybe it was all those ‘things to do’ that were worrying me.

That certain night, the night we met
There was magic abroad in the air
There were angels dining at the Ritz
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

I may be right, I may be wrong,
But I'm perfectly willing to swear,
That when you turned and smiled at me,
A nightingale sang in Berkley Square.

The moon that lingered over London town,
Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown
How could he know we two were so in love,
The whole darn world seemed upside down.

The streets of town were paved with stars,
It was such a romantic affair.
And as we kissed and said goodnight,
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

How strange it was, how sweet and strange
There was never a dream to compare
With that hazy, crazy, night we met
When a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

This heart of mine beat loud and fast
Like a merry-go-round in a fair
For we were dancing cheek to cheek
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

When dawn came stealing up all gold and blue
To interrupt our rendezvous
I still remember how you smiled and said
Was that a dream or was it true?

Our homeward step was just as light
As the dancing feet of Astaire
And like an echo far away
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

[Composer: Sherwin, Manning - Lyrics: Eric Maschwitz]