Facing the correct way to take her back into the marina for work on the fuel tank, after we had turned her around and left Shobnall with some of our blacking, we had a gentle wander at the beginning of the week to Willington. As Keith was on days on the due day, we decided to stay overnight in the visitor moorings and take her in early next morning, thus allowing him indoors plenty of time to get to work. We found a nice little spot just up from The Dragon pub and decided against going for a cheeky pint due to the crowds of people milling around the towpath and beer garden. Despite it being late spring we lit the fire and settled down to prepare for the upcoming trauma of getting into the marina. Next morning, at a ridiculously early hour, Keith takes the car to the marina and I set off. I have a really slow trundle up the canal and am anticipating picking Keith up from the towpath after about 10 minutes. No sign of him. Past the allotments and under the bridge. Still no sign. At all. Getting into the marina never showcases my boating skills and I’m not relishing going in on my own, where is he? I’m quite sure he won’t have stopped anywhere to admire the scenery or smell the roses. No trains have passed me so the road will have remained open. The canal runs by the road for the most part and I haven’t noticed a car slewed to a halt or nose first in the canal, so it’s reasonably unlikely he has died at the wheel. It’s a short walk from the marina to the towpath side and he has definitely had plenty of time to park and walk over, even Keith couldn’t get lost over that bit. I decide to bring myself into the towpath side opposite the marina, just as I see him in the distance. A chap cycles past me and asks if I intend to moor where I am, no, I say, I’m waiting for Keith and then we are going into the marina but I struggle to get in from this direction. He tells me his boat is 63ft and he is unable to get into the entrance with any dignity from the Willington side either, so at least now I know I’m not the only inept boater bobbing about!
We make it through the entrance once Keith has finished his overly leisurely stroll and, on passing under the bridge, try to work out where to moor. We need to go into one of the boatyards bays on the right by the pump out. I pick a likely spot and am executing a perfect entrance into my chosen space when a man appears and tells us to go into the dock. Are you sure?? I have form when it comes to getting into this dock! Yes, he says so I change plan and begin to swing my nose in the opposite direction so I can reverse out and end up, at the very least, facing the direction of the dry dock. Actually, no, he says after 30 seconds or so, go into this space instead. He waves an arm at the space in the bay next to the one I am already half in with a boat moored on the nearest pontoon. Tut. I dutifully reverse and, with amazing and previously undemonstrated precision I realign myself and put my nose into the new space, miraculously avoiding the shiny moored boat sitting between the first and second space. The boat is about a third of the way in. The man wanders down the pontoon and says, no, we need it stern in…
Remembering what the chap said when he rescued us from the pilings, I reverse out of the space and as soon as her nose is clear of the pontoon I put her into forwards gear, adding lots of revs to force her into as tight a turn as she will take. My bow is moving to the left, I swing her around and am perfectly lined up to reverse straight into the designated bay. It is at this precise moment that the wind, having had a sulk in the corner, decides that this is the exact moment to shine and, as I start to reverse, pushes my bow over to the right bringing me periously close to a nice looking boat – fortunately there is now a little pile of onlookers and the man from the towpath is on the pontoon, ready to push me away from the bow of the other boat. After a few frantic minutes, we are in and tying ourselves up. A chap on the boat I have moored next to, who watched all of this over his cup of tea, says well done, I nearly broke my f***er in half doing that yesterday!
Keith dutifully trots off to work and I go home to prepare for my nights, with no idea when the boat will be ready or when we will be able to collect her (these are mutually exclusive, she may be ready but I may not!) After hearing nothing from the boat yard for the week, I ring them when I get home on Friday morning and we arrange to collect her that afternoon at 3pm. I go to bed for a couple of hours and emerge at half 1 feeling like I’ve been run over, with the dehydration of nights making me a bit sluggish and quite miserable. Although the prospect of a bit of boating is sufficient to cheer me up and we make a plan. Which is as follows: take both cars to our mooring and leave one there. Lets call it car A. Together in 1 car, known now as car B, go to the marina, collect the boat, take her to our home mooring, get her as close to the bank as we can, get in the car A, return to collect car B at the marina. Simple! As we are getting into the cars, Keith says to me, so we are going to the marina first to leave a car then? No, you idiot, I reply, how will we get back from our mooring? Ah, yes, he says, and off we go.
On the way I am contemplating a coal cage vs some old heat bricks we took out of the economy heating when we bought our house. Betty is in the boot resting her head on the back seats, happily looking out of the window. I successfully navigate the A38 and pull into the marina outside the chandlery. I look for Keith but he isn’t anywhere to be seen. Typical, I think, I spend a lot of time waiting for him! I mutter to Betty about this as my phone goes. It’s Keith. Where are you? I’m at the marina. Where are you? At the mooring he says. Where you should be…
Eventually we manage to sort ourselves out and pick up the boat. Leaving the marina there is a goose nest full of fluffy cute baby geese, I am unable to take a picture due to avoiding the oncoming boat as we come under the bridge but we turn right at the exit with the usual aplomb. The evening is a bit chilly but the light is glorious and we have a lovely wander up to Willington, passing the moored boats just before the Dragon pub and the bridge. The bridge has boats moored on both sides both before and after it and has a sweeping left turn once through, so it can be difficult to gain a clear view of oncoming traffic from this direction. Luckily, I am barely on tickover as I enter the bridge and can clearly see the permanent moored boats on the right. I say luckily, as a narrowboat was heading for the bridge at speed and must not have realised that there are moorings both sides of the canal before and after the bridge (I’m being generous) or that I was coming through. I had sounded my horn just before I entered the bridge but he had no intention of slowing down for anyone until he realised that I was already well into the mouth of the bridge and had no intention (couldn’t really) adjust my course by enough to let him through. He was forced over to the side with lots of hard reverse on his part to reduce his speed, narrowly avoiding hitting either my bow or the GRP cruiser moored just after the bridge. A permanent moorer on my right smiled at me and said that it was lucky we hadn’t taken out a few boats there! The opposing boater didn’t acknowledge us at all, he just glared straight ahead as we passed each other.
On a final note, and I may regret even suggesting such a thing but the boat engine is now running beautifully, we had a bad case of diesel bug meaning all of our diesel had to be removed and the pipes and engine cleaned before having fresh diesel put back in. Since we have had her, I have used a diesel cleaner thingie and a prophylactic diesel bug solution, including keeping the diesel topped up – clearly my preventative management plan was woefully inadequate and she needed active treatment instead!