Canal Virgin
Canal Virgin
by Chartreuse Green 1/8/2013 15.39
For months I'd heard tales of, seen photos of, and even had a phone call from, 'Dave's Boat'’, a sort of party-float, narrow boat of somewhat battered demeanour where alcohol flows as generously as the Ashby canal and rollicking cheer is the default setting. Whilst staying with friends a walk away from the good ship, word went up that a voyage may be afoot and we were at the Marina in time for our friend Steve to set the pump to bail out the engine and any other waterlogged spaces. Presently arrived the owners, Debs and Dave, and eventually we set motor for upstream. My friend Kat and I hopped onto the front of the boat where we had ringside seats for the westering sun on the hedges, hollyhocks, reeds, ducks, duckling, coots and cootlings reflecting peacefully between sounds of merriment stern-wards.
Canal boats are flat bottomed, long thin. and nowadays warm dry and comfortable. In the past a sluggish current was supplemented by ponypower as the animal walking along the towpath by water tugged the boat on the end of a rope. The path is now the province of walkers and cyclists and the pony has been replaced with the motor. Unlike road vehicles in the UK and elsewhere, boats pass each other on the right and three miles an hour can be piloted by the most inexperienced landlubber.

Debs had made the coffee and stood the two mugs and a glass of gin and tonic on an amidships shelf which Dave, in the process of restoring, had detached from its fixings. Steve had stood on the side of the boat ready to pass the cups forward. Debs, rising, had leant on the shelf for support and it had collapsed with the three vessels emptying their contents over her and mugs shedding their handles as they loudly connected with the deck. Debs, after a natural verbal reaction and a brief inspection had consigned the now defective crockery to a watery grave with a plunk, dabbed herself down and kindly set to with the two remaining mugs on board.

The final incident happened ashore during a final quick dash to Ladies by Debs and me as the others headed out to the vehicle. The Marina had shut up shop and the chairs in the restaurant had been loaded onto the tables but the side door to the facilities was still open. We made haste. Having emerged from our cubicles Debs's phone rang with a call from one of our waiting friends and urged me to exit with all possible speed only to find that the door was locked. I assumed that the staff had considered the area empty and turned the key on it. I rattled the door energetically hoping we'd be heard and liberated. 'We're locked in!' I announced frantically to Debs. She looked unmoved and with a wry gesture directed my attention to the door behind me. I'd been trying to break into the cleaning cupboard. Giggling helplessly we stumbled towards the car park and brought a day of hilarity and pleasure boating into harbour.
Photo credit: images 2 and 3 by Lawrence Shivadikar
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