I feel the worst of the fever has passed and solids are being taken and liquids of course and I thank those many friend who sent best wishes and scanned both the gates of moorings and the Lost in Action section of the Berkhamsted Gazette for news of my condition.
Because of the ague, which I haven't hardly mentioned, this posting is a bit lightweight, failing even to mention the leg infection which has thwarted the implementation of my busy fitness regime and also necessitated medical intervention and still does. I fear the ballet career may have been dealt its final cruel blow.
Hence not much in the way of pictures or news from the cut, nor adventures in foreign climes or days out in the Home Counties.
Of course I could fill a page about my bronchitis alone but we chaps don't bang on when we're crock. We march towards the sound of the cannon never bothering others with how ill we are, how we couldn't sleep at nights, how cold the doctor's stethoscope was although being English I did not flinch an inch.
My GP' surgery is half way up a bloody great hill; I suspect sited there as a matter of policy to reduce attendees and works on the basis that if you can get to the surgery then you didn't need us in the first place.
Anyway when I was being examined to establish the chronic degree of my bronchitis with which you may be aware I was recently afflicted the GP asked if I was getting breathless. "Coming up that hill I was wheezing like a church organ " I replied.
"That's quite a steep hill" he assured me.
"I know but I drove up"
Pausing only to dip the end of his stethoscope in the ice bucket he issued the necessary prescription and muttered something, probably in Latin, that sounded like "fuggin arfwit"
Anyway to other matters. I'm examining my loo provision. My current facility is a cassette loo and is getting a bit ancient with concomitant problems not dissimilar to those affecting your humble servant as tempus fugits. It seems to leak a bit usually at inconvenient times. Rough tough boaters will be shouting at the screen that repair kits are available and new seals can be installed (for the loo that is not your humble servant) but I can't be arsed for want of a better word. Anyway I'm thinking of reverting to the good old fashioned bucket'n'chuckit of the kind I first used when I started canal life. (when I was on the Broads we had a sea toilet of a type with which I was recently reunited on my 70th Birthday treat on a barge in Maldon: demonstrated above by my lovely assistant, Kay)
|A shadow of my former self|
I was surprised at the cost of b'n'c thunderboxes albeit cheaper than the more sophisticated cassette and other types until I came across the baby pictured available from all good camping shops for under 25 quid. Why not? thought I.
Well it's arrived (2nd arse post?) looks ok but somehow lacks the solid look so important in anything one might sit on especially if it's full of whatever and one has no wish just to go through the motions. So being a tad on the heavy side I am keeping it for emergencies and continuing my search.
There. That was interesting wasn't it.
Two items of good news! Annie off Panther has undergone back surgery and is recovering apace and the Cow Roast Inn has started doing food again-7 days a week! By all accounts it's very good too so we hope that as the Cut livens up in the Spring the sound of happy boaters will soon fill the place once more. So many happy memories from that place-as we say in New Orleans" Les Bon Temps Rouler"-Let the good times roll.
|photo courtesy of Carol, Still Rockin|
There's a link here to the excellent blog of George and Carol on "Still Rockin" which does Les proud. Now there was a real man who dealt with illness with fortitude. Bon Voyage old mate.
Our thoughts remain with Jaq; may her trip back to the USA, the prospect of Spring and the continued support of the Community of the Cut bring her solace.
Until the next time mes amis......