Boat Adventure

Quite suddenly, we have a new boat. For months and months Ron has spent night after night poring over eBay, and boats for sale websites, dithering over whether he likes this boat better than that boat, whether this one might be too small, that one might be too expensive, that one could go on the back of the mooring with Sarnia, this one could go in the dinghy park, that one is cheap but needs a lot of work, the other is expensive but he could sell lots of bits he doesn't want... it gets a bit repetitive and sometimes I just tune out altogether, not being able to tell a pilot from a pearn or an oyster from a pearl, indeed.

Until Monday. On Monday morning he saw the one he wanted, by Monday night it was his, cash on collection, and on Tuesday we embarked on an adventure to go and get it. Just to complicate matters, Tuesday is my morning in the Resource Centre and I had promised a master class on uploading photos to Facebook, no less, so I couldn't swap days. Anyway, he had enough to do in the morning running round trying to remember where the trailer board was (Downderry), getting the money out of the bank, trying to remember where we filed the TomTom (on top of the dresser), filling tanks with diesel and tyres with air, etc, so by the time we were ready to leave it was 3.30pm on the hottest day of the year so far, making Emsworth (Hampshire) and back rather more of an epic that we fancied for one day.

We got there quickly and uneventfully. The boat was exactly as described and pictured, just what he wanted, on a lovely new trailer, absolutely perfect, so that was OK. We asked the man who was selling it for a recommendation of a place to stay and he suggested the nearest B&B pub, about two minutes' walk away. The Railway Inn, Emsworth, can be thoroughly recommended as a place to stay. Comfortable, clean, friendly and easygoing, not too expensive, a perfect choice. We arrived there hot, tired and ready for refreshment at about 7pm. I left Ron sitting outside on the tiny terrace with the dog while I registered and took the bags to our room, and by the time I got back he was deep in conversation with a girl from over the road. We sat on the terrace until about 10pm, sending out for a Chinese which was both cheap and delicious (the barmaid brought us out plates and cutlery) while a succession of friendly customers, staff and locals came and talked to us. I learnt the best place to walk the dog, was advised on where to eat and when, was offered the use of a laptop to check emails etc (turned down, I was enjoying the day off!). At about ten I decided I should take the dog for a last walk before it got too dark, and that I'd better show Ron where the room was first. We had planned to go back down for a last drink afterwards, but by the time I got back from finding the Meadow Ron was well settled and we didn't bother.

It was still very hot - hotter than it ever gets in Cornwall at night - but we still slept pretty well. By 8 am Ty was getting a bit twitchy for a walk, so we went to explore Brook Meadow properly by daylight. Not the biggest bit of open space around - we went round two and a half times in a bit less than an hour - Brook Meadow is delightful, well cared for and obviously loved by the locals. It was a bit late in the season for the majority of wild flowers, but I sat happily on a bench breathing in the scents of mind and meadowsweet, listening to the birds... Until Ty asked me to throw a stick for him, and on running back with it skidded in a heap of dog mess. This in spite of the fact that not only are there plenty of dog bins, there is even a dog bag dispenser by the entrance to the meadow. Time for a paddle, I thought, well away from the water vole conservation area, of course. The brook comes into the meadow through a high brick tunnel under the railway line, and the arch frames a vista of parkland with impeccable lawns, sparkly weirs and rustic timber bridges, quite in contrast to the shoulder high vegetation on the meadow side. A dog walker I met told me that the other side of the tunnel was the garden of a private house, belonging to the widow of a former Admiral, he thought.

I'd have loved to have explored the village further - I also caught a glimpse of the river Ems with its swans and waterside, moored boats, small shops and a pretty square, but the boat awaited, so after a good substantial breakfast we walked down the road to get it.

When we got there the seller had already put the wheels on the trailer (it had been up on bricks the night before) and all we had to do was strap it down, hitch it up, plug in the trailer board and away! So far, the whole adventure had been utterly idyllic, free from problems of any kind, like a storybook in fact. One had wondered idly when it would start to go wrong, and when we took to the road home was when.

It was even hotter than the day before. The first part of the journey is A road then motorway, and after 25 miles or so we stopped at Rownhams Services, so that Ron could check that all was well with the boat and trailer. It wasn't. He touched the hub of a trailer wheel with the back of his hand to check the temperature, and it promptly blistered, burst and bled. White hot, they were, the trailer wheels, both of them. This was when we discovered that our RAC membership, paid for for ten years and only used twice, does not cover trailers. They could arrange recovery for us, but we'd have to pay. We were 25 miles in to a journey of 185, and we do not have money to spare for that kind of thing. That's what we thought we were paying the RAC for...

Ron had a few spanners and things but not his full collection. He came to the conclusion that the brakes were binding and had seized on. The trailer had not been used, we knew that, for a couple of years, but as the wheels had been put on by the time we got there in the morning he hadn't bothered to check to see if they were going round! Two hours or more we were there in the carpark, taking off wheels, trying to free up the brakes, trying to get oil (no grease available in the garage shop) on to the bearings with straws stolen from the Costa coffee machine. Ron's burnt hand was bleeding quite freely, my right shin lost some considerable amount of skin (and blood) while I was proving to myself that I can't jack wheels up, it was very, very hot, and 70 year old men should not be putting in that kind of physical effort. And another (minor) grouse - why do motorway services plant cherry trees as their only source of shade? Not that it would have mattered at any time but yesterday, really, but I tried to put myself and my dog in the shade, carefully removing all the old cherries from the ground before sitting, and was promptly rained upon by red squashiness. Luckily I was wearing a dress which doesn't show stains much - the cherries were only adding to the blood, oil, and whatever else that was already there!

Finally after a couple of hours Ron decided that it was safe to move on, very slowly and carefully. We stopped and checked the trailer wheels every few miles - one of them stayed cool and seemed OK, and although the other kept heating up (and had more oil poured in through a straw in a layby somewhere, plus cold water thrown over it when we found a garage with a tap) we did eventually make it to Downderry at 9.00pm, having left Emsworth at 11.15 in the morning. Drop boat, pick up fish and chips, eat, shower (second of the day) and bed. All sorting out and organising to be left for the morning. Adventure over, thank goodness!