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| Thursday, May 5th, 2005 | | 12:14 pm |
:-) :-) :-) Over and out :-) :-) :-)
Only on dial-up here, so far, so yet again I’m not logging on to lj very often. Checking in now just to confirm that somewhere, way down south, there is a man who, last I heard, is very happy with the little green boat he’s just bought. Which means I’ve got my toes right down in the soil again, where they belong. Back on dry land again? Well, sometimes it’s dry, sometimes it’s wet, and always it’s full of fat, happy worms. So I’m happy too. (Guess I’ll be needing another lj identity. But don’t expect any rapid virtual developments. Not in gardening season.) xxx | | Saturday, February 26th, 2005 | | 3:02 pm |
| | Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005 | | 2:28 pm |
Boatyard!
Been thinking for ages I should post again about the littlegreenboat herself - the treacle-wading-slow mission to get running hot water (I succeeded, in the end); the three days in December, deep in the engine room (my skin tanks have been flushed. Doesn't that feel better, now?); the gradual fittings and finishings, the stop-start onward surge of neat wood and glossy varnish... (there are doors on the kitchen cupboards, now. Doors!!) ... ...the phone calls from New Zealand (this one! we must buy this one!), the boat hoisted through the air yet again (if I have time to figure out how, I'd post up some pictures. Craning day is so... spectacular. Best to have a camera to think about: it filters out the fear)... But there's never time, somehow. And right now there's never time, because there's a boatyard in Jericho, and some of us want it to stay that way. I've been here on the boat for 6 years, lived in Jericho before that, and I've seen canyons of flats grow up on all the land I used to rejoice in, replacing any scraps of willow and wetland that still bore witness to what once was. The flats have flat, blank faces, which speak only of money and of the competition for space. There's one site left to save. And it doesn't have willows, or wetlands (though there was that carp, huge it was, living in the old dry dock, far away from the towpath fising lines) but there's wildness of a kind, that connection to the basic reality of rust and metal and the properties of water - and the boatyard is essential to maintaining human habitat, the odd, mesmerising niches provided by creatures such as the littlegreenboat that has held me here for so long... Checkout the campaign websitetoday's Guardianthe online petition... | | Thursday, November 25th, 2004 | | 9:48 am |
I have a word I'd like to reclaim
I'm currently listed as a "Researcher" for a website. In fact, these days I do all the hands-on work on it, and I'm also the person who fields enquiries from the world at large, and therefore could do with a more impressive job title. When I brought this issue up, my colleagues readily and generously suggested that I should promote myself to Webmaster. This is entirely reasonable, and lovely - except that, as a lifelong and unrepentant Girl, I have thought of myself as a Webmistress all these months. Calling me a Master of anything is silly - and really, really annoys me. To change the use of a word is to change the world. It is a powerful thing - provided you stay close enough to other people that they change along with you. "webmistress" googles: high-flying professional web designers, lower flying professional web designers, BDSM activists, cross-dressers, New Agers, South Park's office staff, and a young girl whose parents are "helping her" to run a website about their local beach. Looks like a reasonably broad range of precedents to me: whaddya reckon? Current Mood: revolutionary | | Friday, November 12th, 2004 | | 8:43 pm |
| | Wednesday, October 27th, 2004 | | 3:04 pm |
Skwerlian attack!
A very beautiful, and perfectly serious website, with which I hope to be associated, offers this link to " squirrel recipes". I seek opinions about the state of mind of the person who authored this link. Were they: (a) very naive about external site content? (b) politically motivated? (c) "having a larrf"? (or, to put it more colloquially, splicing memes in an irresponsible manner?) Perhaps even more seriously; given the suspicious level of knowledge of UK secret weapon The Tufty Club, is this a true Patriot site at all? But enough of these deep concerns. Without more ado, I give you: Scary Squirrel World. It's scary - and it's skwerl. | | 12:28 pm |
:-( john peel :-( hoooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwl | | Thursday, October 14th, 2004 | | 11:10 pm |
*blink*
'nother few days gone. Briefly I find myself back online, and realise that already it's time to plug Science Never Sleeps, appearing in a pub in Oxford (the Port Mahon), rather sooner than I was expecting (Saturday 23rd Oct, = a week on Saturday). I saw a poster in the Port a couple of days ago that compared me with Ed Alleyn Johnson, so I for one will definitely be turning up. | | Saturday, October 9th, 2004 | | 11:26 am |
There are worlds beyond this one
Suddenly I have the urge to write again. Many things have changed on board the little green boat. Another small mountain or few of petty tasks done. A major improvement in working conditions, sometimes, in the shape of Steve, who has a genius for one-off problems in plumbing, in electrics, in materials, and who is good to have around, and who has the time, at the moment, to work on my boat, in between two of his own and all the other boats and buildings belonging to other friend/customers. But none of that has inspired me to write. Boat time is downtime, heart-wise, and not in a good sense. I want to write because my heart’s still singing, ever so faintly. I’m in love again. I’m in love with Argyll, and I thought maybe I’d type it into this part of e-space before the feeling slips away beneath the surface of the still, stagnant water that envelops me. ( It was a mission, getting to Argyll. )In theory, I’d seen Argyll before. Six years ago. In actuality, my ability to perceive landscape has changed so much, even since then, that it was as if it was all new to me. Mountains. Lochs. I’m not the first person to see them, and I can’t think offhand how to do them justice in words. If you’ve seen and loved them, you’ll just agree. If not, then they’re worth a look, or maybe a second or third look. While you’re there, checkout the museum of ancient history at Kilmartin: it’s superb. There’s craftsmanship sufficient to blow you away, and that’s just in the tea room. The mission for the weekend was to attend a gathering, Reforesting Scotland's Annual Gathering. RS is one of the more obscure environmental organisations I’ve been involved with, and the only one I still belong to. Hadn’t met anyone from there for six years or more, what with having fallen into a ditch about that long ago. But they’re still there, and I still love what they’re doing - promoting more trees, and more people living with/depending on trees, for the good of both. All quite practical, in a madly visionary kind of way, and hospitable, too. They know how to put on a good ceilidh, which is a good sign.
I'd spent over a week travelling, first down to the south west of England, then to the far west of mid Scotland, meeting fine and friendly people all along, and drinking in the landscape that flowed past me. Now it was time to unravel back down to where I usually spend my time.
( Read more... )I remember the shutters closing in on my soul, somewhere along the way. Quite distinct. Nothing dramatic, just a moment of change. I’ve been back for a few days by now, tho’ not online: stuck mostly on board the boat, making it unliveable as part of the process of making it more desirable.
I was in Argyll, a week ago. And I discovered that I could still open up to people, and that I could be happy, and that the ache in my back could vanish, and that my insomnia could disappear - despite sleeping on the ground in a tent in a storm.
Anyone want to buy a narrowboat? It’s halfway to having plumbing, now, and there’s yet more lovingly crafted, silkily varnished wood. And I so, so don’t want it. Current Mood:  sad | | Friday, August 20th, 2004 | | 10:52 pm |
Thumb still works. Worms still rock - as do banjos.
I stopped for tea at Killington Lake Services, warming up after the rainstorm chill. Still in the north, looking out over the green and the grey. Heartsease... well, a combination of heartsease and of dreary knowledge that this is the last chance I'll have, as I will myself down the motorways, to sit looking out on wet hillsides, sweeping with a sense of space, of far-flung freedom from the ant-hill intensity of southern England. From the motorway belt of Liverpool and Manchester on down, the roads feel different, the traffic more hectic, more of the faces closed and blank. I could take the boat north, you know - but not north enough. The inland waterways stop dead, in Yorkshire on one side and Lancashire on the other. Or I could have the pretty thing put on a lorry, and pay for it to be hauled up to central Scotland - making an even deeper mockery of my dream of a green home than all the toxic dust and solvents of the last 3 years already have. Hey ho. Boat dwelling is a romantic dream, but it isn't my dream. I dream of trees and hills - and of having my toes back in the soil. The answer, I mused as I drank my tea, has nothing to do with angle grinders and black bitumen paint. The answer is compost. Possibilities and philosophisings apart, I guess I should mention that during the last week or so I've travelled north of the border for the first time in years (yay!), spent happy time with people I love, hitched jubilantly all the way there and all the way back, dodging both the rainstorms and the mudslides as I went (I passed Perth on the other road, fortunately), tarted my fiddle around, pitched my tent in a field full of banjos and come back to a rain-cooled boat with a full battery, electric lights (posh or _wot_?!), and a dinner flavoured with southern basil and northern garlic. (Organic, of course. It's the compost that does it... Wonder how my worms are doing?) My life is good, all in all. I think I'll keep it :-) | | Monday, August 9th, 2004 | | 11:01 am |
Yes, I’m so hardcore!
Yesterday, a whole new experience: a potential buyer who rings up – only a few days after she initially said she would – turns up to see the boat – exactly when she said she would – and bothers to give me an answer… Nice. Just nice. The various other people who’ve been in touch haven’t distressed me, but neither have they impressed me… There are standards, I feel, as to how people should treat each other. These include bothering to get back in touch just for the other person’s sake – and for the sake of being true to your own word – even when there is no immediate, direct advantage to yourself. And I don’t care that these standards are currently just hopelessly old-fashioned: I like them, and I intend to stick to them. Anyway, I have my various ways of gleaning feedback, and so far it would seem that there are more people who fancy living on a boat than who have the time/skills/inclination to take on a boat that is not yet, as they see it, fully liveable. (Yes, the boat in question is the one I’m living on, right now.) The lack of a shower seems to be the clinch point! The whole process continues to add to my peace of mind. I am no longer wretchedly finishing a home I no longer want. I am, instead, gradually changing my boat in ways that make it more and more likely to be bought. I am at peace with this situation, because I know why I’m doing what I’m doing: the motives are clear. As a bonus, I get to be reminded that I have actually achieved something in these endless years. I wanted to try living without all manner of resources that other people see as being essential to day-to-day life. When I set out, I didn’t really believe that I could do it. Whereas by now it takes someone else’s reactions to remind me that, yes, my current lifestyle truly is ... somewhat out of the ordinary. | | Monday, August 2nd, 2004 | | 2:40 pm |
Some solar gain at last
Finally, my solar panel is installed on the roof. It is a very fine piece of kit: very black. Inside the engine room there is now a small box with two coloured LEDs on it. I found out what the flashing one is for, yesterday, when I tried to charge up my laptop. The flashing one tells me that I've been bad, and tried to kill my battery again, and that I won't be allowed to draw any more power out of it until it's feeling better. Bit of a turnaround: I've been abusing 12V lead-acid batteries since I first moved onto the boat, due to my intense dislike of smoky diesel engines (especially my own), and my ability to eke out diminishing resources to a ridiculous degree, rather than do anything about augmenting them. The CD player goes first, you see, then the tape, then the radio... and after even that has gone, there's always the wind-up radio. (I'm on my second one of those, by now - I don't think the consumer models are as robust as the how-to-survive-in-the-third-world originals.) But from now on, my poor little 80-amp-hour "leisure battery" will be properly looked after. (You're not supposed to keep running them right down, you see. Especially not if they're then going to be left run down for the next couple of weeks until you have the will and the time to do some nasty tedious chore to charge them up.) So here I am back on dry land, again, catching up on laptop-space... There is a viable alternative lifestyle. I'm quite sure of it. I just haven't put all the pieces together yet. But I'm working on it. And meanwhile, while the boat roasts and peels in the disgusting heat, I at least know that I'm getting some benefit from all that excess radiation :-) | | Friday, July 16th, 2004 | | 5:30 pm |
I still want canvas and tarpaulins to play with,
after I'm boatless. I can't wait to try out the reproofing stuff that I've got for the cratch cover. (No. Really. I mean it. I'm just kind of sad that way.) And rain on canvas/tarps is so much more exciting than the in-house kind... Fortunately, large tents are a damn' sight cheaper than narrowboats - and you can run for the hills with them, too :-) | | Thursday, July 15th, 2004 | | 12:32 pm |
Joys of boat-selling
This morning I had my first time-waster. I feel like I've arrived. Admittedly, I had it easy. This was just some guy who rang up earlier in the week, arranged to view the boat, didn't turn up. Easy. Messes up my freelancing, but at least I spent the morning doing some odd jobs on board. Talking to other boaters, I'm beginning to have a picture of what may be in store. One, who just recently bought his boat, said that when he first rang up to ask about it, the then owner grilled him quite hard before letting him come to see it; almost put him off. The world, you see, is replete with people who've "always dreamed" of living on a boat. Boat for sale? Their chance to come and nose around at your lifestyle. Nice. | | Tuesday, July 13th, 2004 | | 2:24 pm |
Cutting the Gordian Knot.
It's such a fine thing, visiting old friends. And for once, last week, there was no crisis. I was calling in, not for advice or urgent support, but just because I was travelling past, just because I wanted to see some of my favourite people. I'd seen most of them quite recently, as well. So I didn't expect, doodling happily on one of my all-time favourite kitchen table tops, to make a decision. I've implemented it now. A piece of bright yellow paper in one window of the littlegreenboat. I wanted to do it two years ago. Frantically. Desperately. Vividly. My old diaries are full of it. But I didn't have the courage, and didn't have the strength: didn't have the clarity. The previous 2 years had been a savage, churning nightmare; utter confusion, spiralling damage. These last two have quietened down into just a dull, stupid bad dream, recurring endlessly; wading through the same vat of filthy treacle, returning again and again to chip away at the same vast mountain of scary, difficult, boring, expensive, fruitless work. My boat isn't finished yet, and it doesn't have to be. It's up for sale. Current Mood:  relieved | | Friday, July 9th, 2004 | | 8:21 pm |
Moving on...
Nearly back on board, now. Several days away, coming back slooowly from the (very fine!) gig in Norwich. Since coming back, I've started moving on board. Even more slowly... Swimming with tiredness that first evening, as I pieced the living room back together and cleared a channel through the cardboard boxes so that my erstwhile boatsitter could spend another couple of nights on board. Nice to have someone around the next day, as I pottered from boatyard to boat, shifting stuff. Handy to have a giant, too, to help with my suddenly-evicted wood - for summary eviction can be a feature of Shed Space. ( Some Observations on Shed Space )My boat is, of course, itself a floating Shed, but such a superior one that, even in yesterday's outrageous beautiful scary thunderstorm - as I waded ankle deep through the streaming backstreets to my mooring - only one significant leak developed in her lovely green skin. Right over the bed. So I slept in the house last night, too. But tonight, for the first time in weeks, me and the littlegreenboat will be together again. Me and the littlegreenboat and a whole bunch of opportunistic spiders, that is. ;) | | Wednesday, June 30th, 2004 | | 9:14 pm |
Progress! Visible progress!
Yesterday, I was stuck, gazing wretchedly at the pale green bulkhead. ( Read more... )Today I decided that there is no Right Decision. If it's that hard to decide, it doesn't matter. So I declared the bulkhead paint to be just fine - =job done! Bulkhead finished! (Ceiling already finished, two days ago!!) Next, stove back in place! Old bookshelf fits the new corner _exactly_ - so bookshelf finally out of bathroom! Bookshelf fixed in new, useful place! Tatty side of bookshelf side painted, matching bulkhead! Little side shelves dismantled! Change! Success! Everything transformed! ( (and o how I mused while I worked...) )At the end of the day, tho', I was still a bit flaky. Got to violin lesson early, for once. 3 minutes early. 3 minutes... and 24 hours. Second time in one week, I'd sincerely, and for several hours, forgotten what day it is. Hmmm. Hoooold that head together, now... | | 8:47 pm |
| | Sunday, June 27th, 2004 | | 12:25 pm |
Where have I been??? What happened??
Boat... Yes, I remember. I have one somewhere. Somewhere quite near to here... Where have I been? What happened to the last fortnight? I haven't written an lj entry for so long I've started guiltily avoiding it. Hmmm. Since I last posted I have: Survived the Jericho Street Fair - The gazebo worked! The sign saying 'Jericho Street Fair Buskers' worked! The musicians all turned up! (pretty much on time!!!) All in all, the busker's pitch was a success, yegodz. And all my own idea... Had my parents to stay. Wahey! [I spent half a day tidying away the painting junk so I could show off the boat to them, but they actually stayed in the house, of course. Small, half-fitted out boats accessible only over brick walls are _not_ friendly to dearly loved people who are having mobility difficulties. 1001 reasons that living in a narrowboat is not simply "oh, how lovely", dammit.] Been to Cambridge for a Solstice party: purrrrr. Via Dunstable, of course, for a SNS practise. (www.scienceneversleeps.com)(how do I put links into lj entries, then?) Been to London, to do a gig on a river hire boat. 70th birthday party. Rather fine - as the hired help, I got to dine in peace, away from the guests. I had the entire top deck to myself, much of the time. _Splendid_ view of the Thames. Now this is how I like to earn my living... ...and meanwhile life goes on, taking up all the available time, as it does. There are the violin lessons, the gigs, the busking, the scraps of website work, which make up my current rather fragile attempts to bring enough money in. There are the petty complications of living in two places at once. There's the endless web-browsing... toothcare is the current obsession: fascinating. Shame how it makes me neglect my email life, but I just can't resist that wireless LAN, while I'm in range... There are all the people to do business with and chat with and plot with and play music with and generally interact with... And the boat? Well, I've done another 2 1/2 days' worth of painting the ceiling. (aaaaaaaaaaaargh) Mostly in half-day bursts, because I don't like being miserable. Only one half-day to go, now, I hope... Otherwise the lil' boat has been half abandoned. It did have a few days of being *INHABITED*BY*SOMEONE*OTHER*THAN*ME*. (Just as overnight crash-space, but, still, it was a first. I decided I could cope. A gentle loosening of the bonds...) But the fisherman has started to comment that I'm not there very often. I came back after Solstice to find several feet of slack in one of the ropes - boat drifting half-way across the canal. Bit of a giveaway, I guess. Still, in a week or so everything changes, again. I'll be out of the house, back in the boat. Good, I think. Anyone know how I can write lj entries off-line? I can log on easily to post them, but even at 2p/minute, my writing speed will be too slow for writing online, when I'm connecting via a mobile... Current Mood: cheerfulCurrent Music: Radio One. The civilised way to visit 'Glastonbury' :) | | Friday, June 11th, 2004 | | 12:24 am |
too much paint,, too much ceiling, bored now
It's the edges that take the time. Where the beautifully varnished wood meets the manky old fibreglass, there's a bit of a gap, with the remains of the crumbly foamy old car-roof style fabric that The Previous Owners ripped away. Getting a straight edge between the stark, pale paint (soaking into the foam, highlighting the bumps) and the rich wood is well-nigh impossible, but the best technique I've found involves soaking the join with a generous amount of paint, then squeegy-ing it off the wood with a little offcut of water-tank foam (with several trips out to the front deck for cleaning off the foam in a dish of water), then applying more paint where the squeegy-ing has wiped the ceiling... Sound tedious? Oh, believe me: it is. I did several hours today. Started at 10, finished after 7. Had a couple of very sociable hours out in between, but o sweet goddess it was a dull lonely stupid day. And my neck aching from gazing up above the ceiling so long. Why do I do it? Why??? Why don't I just put a 'For Sale' sign in the window, hire a van, take my stuff up north, find somewhere to live in Scotland? Live my dream, instead of some strange half-life of DIY? Dunno, really. Back in house-space, logged on to lj and now I have too many friends to keep track of. Ok, life isn't _all_ empty and stupid, then... xxx Current Mood: bored |
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