Old people get really jealous

Old people get really jealous. At the mere mention of Reg's name, Dan had a breakdown. "If you miss Reg so much, we should just go back now so you can be with him". I miss my Dad too, doesn't mean I want to see him. Gosh.

I held a pigeon. A real life, fell-out-of-a-tree-wing-broken-pigeon. Scarier than holding a chicken, probably because I couldn't picture it in a bucket of KFC. Discovered 'goose grass' when Dan threw it at me. Forget Velcro, goose grass will stick to anything. Took 5 minutes to pick the damn stuff off of me. Saw three species of butterflies - Cabbage White, Tortoise Shell and Common Brown. And cows. Walking burgers from hell.

Dan's nephew called. He's 74. He asked is he's still with the 'dark girl'. That's one way of putting it. I've had this conversation a thousand times in 5 days. Black is an acceptable term. Stop calling me dark or coloured. I'm not black either, but explaining mixed race. Impossible.

More nature, and I'm getting less scared of it too. Saw damselflies, demoiselles and the dreaded dragonflies [still scared of those]. Really calming to watch skiting over the water.

We cruised up the river and I got to drive the boat! It was freaking awesome! I even got to sound the fog horn, even though there was no fog. One annoying thing about being on a boat, you must wave to passing boats, fishermen and people walking on the shore. After 2 hours I asked Dan to make me a hand, attached to a stick, with a lever. Never waved so much in my life. Boats drive on the wrong side of the river to cars. And you must give way to sail boats, even though most are arrogant and won't say thank-you. They tack up the river, zig-zagging like lunatics to travel 5 metres. Watching them duck under and pull the sail round is entertaining, but then it begs the question - why bother?

I'm apparently the best thing since sliced bread. The compliments are flowing faster than the river. And now to discuss swans. Giant white beasts of doom. They approach the boat, waiting for bread. Then they see the dog and they start hissing and 'standing up' in the water. Ummm, piss off. You came up to the boat. The dog was here first. Dan throws water on them and they leave. Horrible, horrible things. Weird that a lake bird doesn't like water. But good to know.

After getting bored of being the skipper [driver], I asked Dan to teach me some knots. I learnt the bowline, fisherman's, climbing, and the slip knot. He kept getting annoyed at me because I kept doing it the wrong way, but the end result was the same, and he couldn't understand it. He's another person, that's commented on my use of my left hand. I don't realise that I use it so often, but apparently I'm slightly ambidextrous. After testing my left hand writing ability, and his inability to even write his name, he was convinced I was a freak.

We arrived back on the boat yard and I hopped off to see Reg. First thing he said to me, was that I've been two timing him with Dan. Jesus merciful tuna. Who knew old men were so insecure. When I was gone people were talking about me helping to paint Paul's boat. Reg told them that I know what I'm doing, and I'm a practical young girl. He told them that he let me wire up the batteries on his boat. The others were shocked. Reg's response. "If she can't attach the black wire to the black wire, and the red wire to the red wire, we should put the bitch down". I love that man. If he wasn't 73 I'd have married him. 

More London joy and the return journey.

My sister took me out to dinner with her friends. Firstly, we had the pleasure of seeing a bunch of Bengali boys crash their go-kart into a wall. Then they invaded the place, as there was some kind of 'prom' happening at their school. Then our conversation was interrupted by exceptionally loud happy birthday music. In this diner you can pay £5 for the 'birthday experience'. Annoying music, 2 balloons, a badge, and a firework-sized-sparkler for your own cake. We were sat in a booth. At first all we could see was the top of the sparkler as the staff carried it. We were not ready for what happened next. Remember, the sparkler is huge. She passed the side of the booth, to reveal the cake. Or more to the point - cupcake. A tiny cupcake, icing squashed to death, with a huge sparkler precariously balancing in the middle. Well that was it, Sibby and I were pissing ourselves laughing, so much so I had to fan myself with the menu and people were looking round. Imagine spending £5 on a glorified cupcake. That child will be traumatised.

Went to Tesco and they were selling 10 sanitary towels for £3. For that kind of money, it better stop the whole damn period. More moaning about London. Rubbish everywhere, too many foreign languages and more 'world food' in Tesco than the entire frozen section. If I want world food, I'll travel. I'm in England and I want 75 different choices for oven chips and overly bland chicken. But thanks for selling ginger beer and Supermalt. London makes me lethargic, miserable and bored. I don't want to do anything and prefer to sit in a room all day. My depression has spoken. Oh, nothing sensible came from the Paddington job. After investing 2 hours talking about it, I received an email. i wnt 2 b caned by a dominat womn. He sounded so articulate on the phone. Tragic.

It's now Thursday and I've not heard from Paul. I'll give him till Sunday, then I'm leaving. Started my new medication Metformin. Official use diabetes, but also useful in the treatment of PCOS. Went straight onto 1500mg per day and for the first two days I felt like shit. Might also have had something to do with the fact I 'accidentally' ate two hot cross buns. Wheat allergy is hard. Sometimes I fail. And I suffer for it.

Sunday arrives, with no return calls, so I head back to the marina alone. I'd arranged with Dan to go on a trip around the broads! That night I slept on his moored boat. Wasn't very comfortable as I had the smaller 'sofa bed' area. At 6 o fucking clock he woke up for coffee. It took all my resolve to not throw my tea in his face as he rambled on. He made me bacon and eggs at 8am, so was once again, my new best friend. After that we left the marina, and for the first time in my adult life, I was on the water, in a boat that wasn't a ferry. I was worried about getting sea sick, so on his advice, constantly reminded myself that I was on a boat, and we're moving. It actually worked!

It wasn't until we were on the river that it was established, that this, 73 year old, grey-haired, pot-bellied, wrinkled human being found me attractive in that way. I had to refrain from being sick in my mouth. And he was married. Perhaps I'm naive, but damn, I wasn't expecting that. Urgh. I informed him, that any woman under 30, with a man over 70 is interested in one thing only. Money. And I'm not interested in your money, and if I was, you don't have nearly enough to make that sacrifice worth while. It took a while [2 days] but he finally decided to see me as his niece. I suggested granddaughter, keep it in perspective. He only then, truly realised he was old. Wisdom, it seems does not appear with age.

Boats, Tea, Expensive Tea and London.

Met someone new today and went to have a cup of tea on his boat. It's a 27ft, 4 berth cruiser. Also known as a caravan that floats. Reg was jealous, so he came over for tea too. Reg and Dan had seen each other in the yard, but hadn't spoken to each other before. Good start. I've had to explain at least 6 times today, how I keep myself clean. Tesco and a flannel. Enough said. Finally saw some countryside stars. Amazing, there are at least twice as many here and the light pollution is still high. Can't wait to get back to the Scottish mountains. The first time I saw them I nearly crashed the car. They look so close, you'd think you could touch them. Dan and I got on well. We had 5 cups of tea before he let me go. He's 73, a retired builder, who also made money by poaching in his younger days. He's a hard ass and deals with life fist first. Even now. When I first got on the boat, I had a mini-panic about walking on the pontoon and even more so walking on the fingers. To translate - the big floating path is a pontoon and the little small ones sticking out are fingers. Fingers are held up by oil barrels and rope. Also learning the names of even more boat shit. The men are amazed at the - and I quote - ”clever young thing”. Speaking of young, I got asked for ID today when buying tobacco. Thankfully I've transitioned into the age where it's a compliment. Back in the old days, when we bought child paper bus passes at 15 and cigarettes at 16, I'd confuse them by asking for both. Good times.

Went for a drive with Dan to the world's smallest petrol station. 2 pumps. One of which doesn't work. You also need to call to check he is there. That's the most ghetto petrol station ever, and chances are a black person has never even used it before. Oh wait. I'm 'black' here. Damn. Another installment for stupidest business names ever. Moo Zoo. Yes, Moo fucking Zoo. Best part, it's a 'dress agency' which is a second-hand clothes shop for the deluded. That place made me itch. Not because it was dirty, but because the clothes were on different hangers and it wasn't sorted properly. Looked a mess and made the stock look cheap. And believe me, it wasn't cheap.

The day before, I left Paul's milk on Dan's boat. At 8am, Dan thought it'd be a good idea to speak to me through the car door. It's a good thing I'm only 5”2, otherwise I'd have put a hole through the roof. Panic over, I recovered by having yet more tea on Dan's boat. I could get used to this. Met Mick the yard master. Nice, geeky, mid-40s still living at home. Wears character t-shirts and reads sci-fi novels whenever he's not working. He's also disgustingly dirty and drinks from the single most disgusting cup I've ever seen. His explanation - other people won't steal it. He does have a point.

On Monday, it was time for the return journey to London. Paul came with me, as he had some things to get on with in London, and was grateful for the lift. I did nearly kill him though. I wanted to leave at 2pm. We left after 9pm. And then he tried to eat breakfast in the car. Then left to walk the dog and eat his breakfast. Then, when I stopped for fuel, he spent 5 minutes picking out a damn sandwich. He just bought some tobacco, so I rolled a fag and told him that I'm on the verge of fucking killing him. Not that he cared, as he was busy stuffing his un-punched-face. Finally arrived in Romford at 23:47. I checked. Told him to call me on Wednesday to make a plan for the return trip.

Wednesday comes and it's time for my appointment. Mum was having a breakdown, because she had to drive down 'country lanes'. Ha! Those were nothing compared to the madness that goes on 'out there'. She just kissed her teeth and carried on cussing the road for being foolish. We were early, so we went for a tea. Two teas, two flapjacks. £6.50. Luckily the cardiac department was nearby. We were sat by the window chatting away, when suddenly I stopped dead, and look to my right. Mum. Yes? Look. She turned her head and gasped so loud Christ himself heard it. Before our very eyes, in the hospital cafe, a woman had put her 6-month old baby on the floor. Read it again. On the floor. Yes, there were chairs and tables available for the placement of small humans. Mum's face was distorted with shock. I was laughing so hard, I had to face to window. Words cannot express how we felt that day, so I'll repeat myself. White people.

Tramping it - part 2

So there I was, snuggled into my sleeping bag, minding my own business. I was writing a previous blog post on Nexy and decided to use the glove box as a makeshift stand, as the crap I bought broke. Boom. I was attacked. By a freaking ninja crane fly [dragonfly to Londoners]. I was trapped in the sleeping bag, as you know, and I was in the passengers seat. So picture this. Me, in a bag franticly trying to rescue my arms, whilst avoiding the 'killer' in the car. When I finally escaped, I'm waving my arms around uselessly, all the while trying not to scream for help. I chucked Nexy on the drivers seat [sorry] and launched a full counter attack. He landed on the the roof and bam! The end.

So apart from that, I've been sleeping better in the car. I've also established that at the rate I'm spending on fuel, I'll have to go back to London in the next few weeks. Its been just as hard, and a little scarier to ask for work than I'd anticipated. According to my brief and highly unscientific calculations, I'm spending 17p per mile on fuel.

Mc. Donalds + small human + chicken nugget + floor + large human giving it back to him = shock, horror and disgust.

Back to the boat and the filler had dried, so sanding was required. I started off with some green sandpaper, found some wood to make a block, and got to work. After 10 minutes of hand sanding I was informed, I could use the mouse sander. Ohhhh. Things that plug in. Buzzzzzzz. Fun, but took bloody ages and my hands were hurting from the vibrations. After that it was time for priming! Heavens alive you've not smelt a paint so strong in your life. By the time I'd painted half the port side, I was feeling faint. But to be fair, it did have a few hazardous triangles on the can. Paul was applying black tar to the hull. Its used as an anti-foul to stop nature attaching itself to the hull.

I've decided that I'm going to own a boat, with the intention of living on it. I had this notion 4 years ago, but was tied to London and the moorings are ,ore expensive than rent. It will be black. Obviously. And I'm going to fly the jolly roger! I've been told by almost everyone that you can't paint a boat black. Mmmmm, if you can paint them white, green, red, blue etc - I'm painting it black. Honestly, you'd thing these old people would know the song. Also there is a weird superstition, that you can't change the name of a boat because its bad luck.

Did you know boats need a MOT. Me neither. They don't call it that, but you know what I mean.

I went to Tesco and was browsing the yellow sticker specials and a man commented that all the old people took them earlier. We then proceeded to have a little chat by the carrots, as no on in London has ever done. Blah blah blah, travelling the country, blah blah, Great Yarmouth Pleasure Beach is crap, why have a monorail. His response. You have to see it from the air, to truly appreciate how shit it really is. I laughed so much people were looking at me. Not that they weren't already looking at me for being the most colourful human in the store.

Tramping it - part 1

He's a bad influence on me. Today I went into a church to get free food. A church. With bibles on the table and people talking about Jesus. First we had to go to the CAB to get a food bank voucher and then to the church. I made a convincing homeless person and I got some free food too. Don't know whether I should be offended or happy. Walking with a tramp, makes you look like a tramp. He would've got more food if we were 'together', but I wasn't having none of that. Then we went around with a 'gold' ring, which I later learnt he bought from a gypsy man for £7. Three jewellers told him it was fake. Even I knew it was fake looking at it from a distance. But he was optimistic [read stupid]. My 'reward' for driving him to the church, was a can of chicken meatballs. So, in true semi-homeless style, I heated meatballs in a saucepan, chucked in some rice, and in the pissing rain, sat in the car eating from the saucepan with a spoon. No, I didn't have a fork. Important lesson follows. Never eat chicken meatballs from a can. Ever. This may shock you. He ate my left-overs and then he put the saucepan down for the dog. White people.

Reg the mad drummer took me for a day trip so Southwold. The entire journey was spent 'discussing' other peoples driving. And by discussing I mean ripping the shit out of. Was a nice place, and walked for MILES. It was the furthest I've walked since owning a car. But it was a fantastic walk. Along the marina, past the cows [kmt], into a village and across a crabbing bridge. With children and buckets. Catching crabs, lots and lots of crabs. The children mocked me as I squealed over crabs, they proclaimed were tiny. I convinced one of them to let me touch one and once again, I screamed and threw it into the sea. Children find that kind of thing amusing. I don't. We stopped for some chips and was given a ticket. And then we had to wait for 15 minutes in a waiting room. For chips.

I found a breakfast source. Bought some, but Paul lost his and was grumpy for bloody hours looking for it. Didn't find it, but the dog looked happy.

Would write more, but WiFi is scarce, so this'll do.

The Marina

That night, after experiencing the delights of Yarmouth, I went in search of the marina. When I arrived, Paul wasn't there, but there was a human working on a boat, so I approached with caution. Turns out he was a Paul too. That was a little confusing, for him, not me. I knew he wasn't the right Paul. I waited around for an hour and decided I was bored so drove the 18 mile round trip to get some chips from McDonalds. Imagine that. 18 miles to McDonalds. There isn't anything in London you're more than 18 miles from, let alone McDonalds.

When I finally arrived back, he was asleep on the boat! At 9pm. He was tired, but understandably so, as he'd walked 8 miles to get there. Lunatic. We had some 'breakfast' and he was my new best friend. His boat was out of the water. It was my first time on a non-floating boat. It was propped up on oil drums and pieces of wood. Not my idea of health and safety. And it was covered in tarp, so it was dark inside even in the middle of the afternoon. How did I know it was dark in the afternoon? I stayed there of course. The next day was spend caulking the port side. Port is the left hand side of the boat. Starboard is the right. I remember because port and left have 4 letters. Port has a red light and starboard green. I remember that because port is red. Lesson over. Back to caulking. We used the traditional method, which involves mixing equal parts white lead paste with linseed oil paste. And a little dollop of motor grease. Essentially it's like filling a wall. Except you really, really want to make sure it's in all the cracks. It took an age to dry. 2 days in fact. But that'd be skipping ahead.

I met some interesting people. An ex-Navy diver, who talks of nothing except the Navy and his wooden yacht. Granted, it is the nicest boat on the yard. And he knows it. Painstakingly restored by hand, and the love shines through. I'm surprised his Mrs isn't jealous. I'm surprised he has a Mrs. All the men do is complain that women don't like boats. Met an ex-drummer Ray. He's a good laugh.73 going on 18. Absolute nutter. Constantly tapping away on something, and since learning I play the bass guitar, air-bassing every song on the radio. He drives a massive 4-litre land rover, but he runs it on gas, mainly to annoy green people. He's a right git, but in a loveable way.

The old men though I was wise beyond, my years. Partly. Because I was practical and not afraid of getting dirty. My top tip for messy people was that if it takes longer to find the tools, than to put them away, it's time to start cleaning. Surprisingly, two of them cleaned up!

Learnt loads of boat-shit [official term]. A yacht has a sail. A cruiser has an engine. If a boat wants to tip over when you look at it, it's tender. The strange plastic things hanging around boats are called fenders, which stop you smashing the shit out of the boat when you try to moor, which in car terms means parking. You have bilge keels, which are giant boat stabilisers. Handy for large tidal waters. A bilge pump saves your ass when you're taking on water. And of course; port, starboard, stern and bow. I did learn more, but that'd be too boring for you.

That evening I sat in my car, alternating between watching the rabbits and gazing into the universe. A great end to a great day.

Travellers can't rescue dogs and other fun facts

Dog rescue centres are sad places. Also not very helpful for finding work, as none seem to have their own land. This one was in the ass end of nowhere. There were around 30 dogs. Staffs, Bull-everything, Huskys, Terriers and Whippets. Nothing new then. Most were barking like deranged lunatics, others were playing the sad dog card. One didn't even bother to get up, probably already learnt not to bother. Smart dog. If I were allowed one, I'd have taken him. But I couldn't. Dogs need a permanant address, just like their wolf cousins. Bit like adopting children. Pop out as many as you want, but if you want a stray, it'll take years. No wonder people go to the breeders or Gumtree, where you can get a pet in 10 minutes. But you shouldn't buy puppies. There are enough 'old' dogs looking for homes after people decide they're no longer cute enough [or small enough].

Oz had a conversation with a BMW and now he has a new special feature. I've had meetings with three other cars, and all were BMW 1 series. My subconscious is trying to eradicate them. I'm going to need something stronger than an Astra. Oz never comes out on top.

Cant find a plug anywhere. Mc D's, Costa, Asda cafe, Tesco Cafe even libraries! I need to charge Nexy, he's dying on me and I'm too scared to charge him in the car.

I've come to this side of the planet, so I may as well see the Broads. Well, that was the plan until I realised boats cost £20ph to hire. I don't have £20 spare and I'm certainly not going to pay that much to scare the shit out of myself. I think the water is scary. I'm OK with swimming pools, because I can see what's there and 99.9% of the time, it's another human. Who knows what the hell is swimming around in that water. You couldn't see your hand 6 inches under. Not as bad as the Thames; if I fell in there, I'd let myself drown. I'd never be clean again. So opted for sitting on a bench at Outon Broad, watching the rich fuckers play boat.

As I walked past I saw a man sitting there who looked interesting. He had long black hair with a little beard-thing, tattoos and he was wearing paint stained clothes, looked half homeless and had a mongrel. I wanted to talk to him. When I'd finished I walked past him again, but 10 steps past him, I turned back and decided to talk. Well, I asked to 'borrow your lighter', not that I didn't have 2 in my pocket already. We started chatting. He claimed he had a boat in a village 8 miles away. It is out of the water, as he is restoring it. He invited me to the marina later that evening if I didn't have anything better to do. I didn't. But right now it was 3pm and my parking ticket was running out, so I bid him farewell and drove on.

Drove through a town called Gorrelston - the sole redeeming feature was Wilkinsons, which lost its power as it was opposite Farm Foods. Two ridiculous business names; barber called 'Slashers' and a timber merchant called 'Cushions'. Why?

Yarmouth. Notice the absence of 'Great'. Whomever named it Great Yarmouth was delusional. The most hilarious thing I've seen was the 'Pleasure Beach'. The sign was pale, rusty and falling apart. Comparing the Pleasure Beach to Alton Towers, is like comparing your mothers home-cooked roast dinner, to a pot noodle. They have the audacity to run a monorail around the park, through run down coasters and fading serpent slides. Thankfully further down the beach, it started to 'improve' with a sea life centre and model village. You can even have a horse and carriage ride. And massive pirate mini-golf. It's bloody everywhere mini-golf, every beach has one. I never realised we had such an obsession with mini-golf. Drove down the widest, shittiest road ever. This was the tourist route to the beach. There were no lane markings, even though it has the space for 3-4 lanes. Special features include the definitely no entry sign. As opposed to the traditional no entry sign. The road lead to nowhere other than a boat. And that was Yarmouth.