39 Life Aboard BY MARIANNE BARTRAM
MARIANNE LIVES ABOARD THE MV TRESHNISH ON THE RIVER DART WITH HER HUSBAND NIGEL
proportions. It is, let us face facts, a mere (though hazardous) 500yds ship to shore in a fair wind. But with rain being blown up your backside and down on your bonce and rapidly filling up your shoes and your knickers, you could reasonably long for a plastic burqua. (Am I allowed to say that? Don’t care.) And if I did sport one I would perch a flower pot on my head while I was at it in order to look taller. So there! Anyway, Hub has painted the whole interior of the
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boat. Except for the bits inside wardrobes and under shelves as I have shrilly pointed out, harridan that I am. Also a little tired of forgotten bits of masking tape drooping down and attaching themselves to my hair like 1950’s fly tar paper. Finally, after a few months he finished at the forepeak... Sharp end. Front bit. Thingy. Whatever. I inspected the stern ceiling …Blunt end. Back bit. And spotted mildew reforming. I don’t know what they call themselves - spores probably ? What I do know is that they don’t give you a bloody chance. The minute your back is turned, they pounce. I mean, what is the point? Mildew is the gift that never stops giving. I didn’t like to inform Hub though - he is not beyond shoving his fist through the roof having, you understand, been trained to black belt by Sensei Kanazawa himself in Shotokan Karate who holding out a plank for us to destroy shouted “This wood is your eNeMY!”. He must have lived on a boat… What is especially terrifying is how much we love living on this boat and you have to question your sanity but I say this, if you are old move it or lose it ( er - arms and legs only, obviously!) And there is no better place in which to utilise this fine philosophy than a boat. Your every need ranging from a piece of toast to having a wee wee requires absurd amounts of physical effort on your part. Trust me, you will be the better for it. I am naturally indolent (having no more ambition than to sit by a pond reading a book ) but a mere week ashore reduces even my pitiful physical capacity to that of an ailing jellyfish. Once aboard I quickly revert to the status of a tough old trout combined with a muscled up mature mackerel. I often feel seasick at first but a good food cure is to
etting off ashore, I warily glanced in the mirror and then had to ask myself if I really need to dress as if just returning from an expedition of global
chew on raw ginger. It works but Hub declares my breath could knock a buzzard off a dung heap at ten paces. Rude person. But back afloat tucked up in a sleeping bag, water babbling gently by my ear, boat slightly rocking I drift off smiling and sleep like a baby. Until the loud snores emerge from you know who. We are in negotiations to sell the Tresh. Not in the
Once aboard I
quickly revert to the status of a tough old trout combined with a muscled up mature mackerel.
normal way - we have had to think outside the box - as she is not a normal vessel. A bit like me really: old, totally desirable but not in the usual way. I ran that reflection by Hub. Hmm, shouldn’t have as he nearly choked on his toast. It seems to Hub that the answer to his next adventure is a narrow boat. (He swears he has one more in him and who am I to deny him of it?) Utter doddle after five years on the River Dart - if you fall in, just stand up. It’s never more than waist high although you are soaking yourself in rat’s urine thus risking Weil’s disease but you can’t have everything, can
you? Also you can plant up pots with flowers and herbs which is a bit of a breach of etiquette moored on the river. Our stern is still half finished through no fault of our own - we were badly let down by a shipright and she could have looked superb -but we decided we had thrown quite enough money at her over five years and she must now be sold as a work in progress. We feel indescribably embarassed to be displaying what must now be the scruffiest boat on the river having worked so hard and spent so much to smarten her up over the last five years . A coat of paint on the outside will help her not to look quite so battered and that we can do between us. We will do our best to find her a good home. We have this fear of her ending up rotting on some creek if we don’t do absolutely everything we can to prevent it but we will. I know it sounds soft but we have come to love her, you see. The only solace I have is when I am jealously
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