My marriage had fallen apart, and I had just joined a college of further education as a lecturer, spending all my waking hours, during the first year, preparing my lectures.
Veronica was another lecturer in the college, and she swept me into her social life. There was a gang of 5 or 6 of us, most of us with ex partners, who supported each other, partied together and kept ourselves sane. Veronica had an exceptionally lucky break, when she made the acquaintance of Brad, a young service man who attended a course at the college. They rapidly co-habited. Brad became aware of his intellectual powers, and zoomed through his course in the college, going on - in his own time - to gain (eventually) a degree.
We now don't see an awful lot of each other, but we are regularly in contact. I am having short-term memory problems, and it is Veronica who accompanies me to the assessment centre. She is also the person who receives my mail. As I am a 'continual cruiser' I don't have my own, every-day address, so I use hers, and then, once a month or so, she sends my mail on to wherever I might be - often via a poste restante address.
LAST DAYS ON THE ENGLISH CANALS
Apart from the journey from Brinklow Marina to wherever Rosy will be lifted out of the water, have her bottom blacked and be loaded onto a truck bound for Europe, these could well be the last few days of my time on the UK canals. We are moored at the southern end of the Newbold tunnel. I just have to pass through the tunnel and then turn into Brinklow Marina for the winter. Earlyish next year, we will be on French waters.
There are many reasons why I am drawn to the European canals.
First of all, because of the language and cultural differences, there is often a frisson of excitement as one is not 100% sure about what is happening.
Secondly, the Euro canals are very much less busy than those in England. The long stretches of canal with boats crowding the offside are pretty much unknown in France. This is partly due to the fact that there are many more miles of canal in France than there are in England, so that the number of boats per mile of canal is lower in France.
Thirdly, although I am reasonably fit and healthy, I look forward to the European locks which are either staffed, or merely require one to twist a dangling pole, or break an electronic beam. (The only 'problem' I ever had in a French lock was at the start of the school summer holidays, when the French waterway authorities take on extra locking staff. The one I came across was from a physical training college, had had the minimum of training, and I was his first client. I lurked at the back of the lock. He wound the top gate paddles up in about 7.5 seconds, sending a wall of water rushing down the lock, which bounced off the bottom gates, and surfed Rosy and I up the lock to crash into the top gate. A few minutes later, I gave him a crash (Ho! Ho!) course in 'How to work a lock').
Fourthly, I had very many more conversations with bank-side people in Euroland than ever I do in England. Although this was partly due to a narrow boat being a rare sight in some places, it was mainly because, outside England, people do not ignore the strangers that they encounter. Try walking down a towing path in England, and experiment with people walking towards you. If you say 'Hello' to them, you may get an answer. If you do not acknowledge them, the chances of them saying 'Hello' to you are pretty low. In a busy street in Oman, people are nodding all the time to the people who are walking towards them. In London, you can walk the length of Oxford Street without any eye contact or acknowledgement.
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