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LIFE ABOARD Life Aboard BY MARIANNE BARTRAM


MARIANNE LIvES ABoARD THE MV TRESHNISH ON THE RIVER DART wITH HER HUSBAND NIgEL


B


ack from Hospital again – sparing you the more sordid details, suffice it


to say that should anybody on the Dart have a blocked head or overflowing bilge, you see before you the Oracle of the Orifice! I am antifouled. Also delighted to be back on board, especially when a quick glance assured me that it will only take a few months to get her shipshape again. Hub has achieved such finely constructed pyramids of paperwork that they would do justice to Isambard Kingdom Brunel. They are barely teetering and it is possible to see a glimpse of the cabin floor here and there. Plus with the merest sweep of an arm, I am even able to sit, thereby utilising six weeks of newspapers, bills and receipts as a foot stool. Healthwise, I am still circling the drain, so to speak, and my sojourn aboard may be brief but for the moment I will try to erase the whole sorry episode from my mind, except to wonder bitterly why nurses are such bossy, interfering little madams who drive you to the point of asking complete strangers at the taxi rank if they have opened their bowels today.


Also, should you be wondering,


Hub is an unusual “carer” who grimly stomps about with a face like thunder as would a warden in charge of a particularly troublesome prisoner and will not even tolerate my consoling myself by watching reruns of “Little House on the Prairie” without references to my “Poverty of Intellect”. The Tresh needs to be healed of winter battering, repaired, painted


Before we even bought the Tresh, we were often told what a rotting, useless, mouldy, rusting wreck she was!


and polished until she sparkles. I’m not (shame) permitted to take a physical part in this so must restrict myself to sitting and meticulously directing operations with increasing zeal and conflicting instructions until Hub cracks and books me into the Royal Castle. This is a result as one of my favourite rooms overlooks the boat and I only need pack a notebook, the telescope and a loudhailer!


When it comes to lists of outstanding chores – and if you have a boat it inevitably will – be sparing because no matter what you achieve it will always have the same number of items on it. Ours remains at 30 after 4 years. If it gives you satisfaction you can tick off various items but others will instantly replace them. Over those years, the lovely but long suffering stalwart skipper of the yacht taxi, Jan, has pleaded with us to attach a cleat to our gunwale for his painter. Not to worry, Jan, it’s on the list! Having just lifted up some – er, compromised… oh, alright rotten - deck planks for replacement and checked the forecast (you know, the one which results in your having to shovel six inches of “rather cloudy” from your drive) we are now enduring prolonged torrential rain. Everything is soaked. including our bedding, clothes and some books. Say what you like, I defy anybody, no matter how experienced, to keep a downpour out. The only way an old boat doesn’t spring a leak is if it is in a shed. Tempers are frayed. The Navajo


Indians tribal chief apparently conducts the naming ceremonies


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w w w . s a i l s d a r t m o u t h . c o . u k w e n d y @ s a i l s d a r t m o u t h . c o . u k


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