LIFE ABOARD Life Aboard BY maRIanne BaRTRam
MARIANNE LIVES ABOARD THE MV TRESHNISH ON THE RIVER DART WITH HER HUSBAND NIGEL
I
have a black eye. Proof that no good deed goes unpunished. Hub banged his head on the sharp
top to the aft cabin (fair enough, he’s only done it some forty times but I realised I needed to provide some sort of visual reference for him to remind the little that is left of his brain that there is a very hard surface overhead.) I had run out of the girly crystals that appal most mariners but not 6 oz pear shaped fishing weights, so I hung one on a chain and nailed it up. He bawled down the companion way for me to switch the gas on since I was down there and I instinctively turned my head towards the hatch to say that I would. As I was doing it, the chain and
weight had swung about two feet away and returned at speed to smack my eye as I turned back. Fortunately it didn’t hurt much as we had just spent two convivial hours with friends at the Royal Castle. The next morning, however, I thought my eye felt odd. At my age I avoid looking in the mirror as long as possible. Then Hub arose, glanced at me and said, “Good God”. Quite so. The next horror to convince me that
I am literally falling apart at the seams arose when I absentmindedly ran my tongue around a tooth that has been “waving in the wind” for months. It came away and nearly went down my throat. At first I was saddened to think it has already come to having to soak plastic teeth in a glass by the bedside especially when you consider (and never underestimate this) the possible consequences of a force 10. I am, of course, taking into account that this is Dartmouth (twinned with the Matrix / Hogwarts) and walking around with a set of fake gnashers sticking out of your forehead would probably not attract that much attention anyway.
For example, I was in the queue at a chemist recently and a man with a beaded grey ponytail was banging on a drum every five seconds. I, bored with waiting, absentmindedly tapped my foot…and it was quite a while before I realised that actually that was not normal behaviour on both our parts. Dartmouth gets you like that after a while. But always think outside the box… supposing if, during the Regatta, a crew we don’t much like the look of (you know, no fenders but heaps of used tyres, underpants for bunting) come alongside, a huge welcoming grin from me should send them full astern in no time!
‘I do wonder if I have finally lost the plot’
Luckily all my teeth are in such
a state (think of stained, pitted tombstones leaning and collapsing towards each other in an ancient churchyard) that the gap was quickly closed thanks to my next loose tooth falling into it. You would never know anything had happened at all. Nature is so wonderful! My sister-in-law cheered me up by pointing out that I had saved at least £70 having it removed. What shall I spend it on? I consulted Hub on the very matter assuming he would suggest some Jo Malone perfume or a meal in one of the many superb restaurants we are blessed with in Dartmouth. I waited for his reply in happy anticipation. He said “a bilge pump”. Men! After all this time living aboard, I’d say we are pretty much battle hardened – I mean you
do get used to banging your head, cutting and bruising yourself, being always on the brink of falling in. It can be irksome frequently
having to pick your way through impedimenta (Hub is indescribably untidy and I am absurdly neurotic about my surroundings being ship shape ) so what with that and me shaking a fist to the skies, yelling to it to give us a break, I do wonder if I have finally lost the plot. Imagine, if over three years ago, somebody had informed me that I would say “The prow fisherman has ensnared the warp and it’s frapping on the cleat” I would have quietly removed their glass and made them a coffee. There is no end to my worries – Hub still feels capable of organising a fishing trip to Start Bay and the Skerries. The prospect terrifies me! We are honoured to have met and made friends with so many delightful (though understandably bonkers) people in Dartmouth that the thought of drowning them all is keeping me awake at night. I shall have to talk him out of it having no ambition to be featured on the third bong on News at Ten making more of a show of ourselves than I have already done. Much as I love the Dart, my soul craves verdure, spring, primroses, sunshine, kittens and lambs, butterflies, a lightness of being. But the bilge is blocked. So on go the elbow length rubber gloves- the sort you use to haul calves out of cows with and that is the nearest I suppose I’ll get to Spring. Not that I am moaning – no, I am thankful and astonished to be alive. I appreciate Hub’s hard work. As any boat owner knows, they require
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