It has been a long time since my last entry. My mental state
has not been at its best, so excuse me for pouring out my thoughts as a means
to catch up with where I’m at.
How time flies, despite exerting little effort in achieving
anything I’d hoped to do once reaching Yorkshire. The fact is I spent nearly
two months doing nothing other than cater to my day-to-day necessities. The
intention was to tackle an ever-growing To Do List, which had been sadly
neglected while I could use the excuse of being constantly on the move.
Obviously with such an attitude I either had to adjust my frame of mind, or my
list of priorities. I’d love to say a hectic lifestyle for so long was somehow
deserving of some time to myself. Truth is, I’ve devoted most of my time and
energy to pleasing myself since Cai died. And the trouble in doing so smacks of
over indulging myself as a form of escapism. Having always claimed that you
can’t run away from such devastating emotional trauma, I’ve come to realise
that filling the void is part and parcel of dealing with the loss. In simple
terms, it may well be seen as escapism, but if you’ve been there you’ll
understand that life goes on, and whatever means you employ you need to fill
that damned void.
It seems a bit much still harping on about losses after
nearly eight years, but without a doubt Cai was a valued part of my life. And
yes, I still miss him each and every day. Periods of inactivity tend to initiate
profound analytical thoughts of where I am and what I’m doing in life. Which
explains why I continuously throw myself into each new adventure, isn’t it much
easier than sitting around doing my head in? B.C. (Before Cai), I suffered from
itchy feet, A.D. (After Death) I’ve thrown myself at the world with a
vengeance. Or so it would outwardly seem. Truth be told, it’s all a bit of a
sham! For me, this is the easy way out. Find a destination or activity that
sounds fun/adventurous and throw myself at it whole-heatedly? But haven’t I
done that most my life? I’m beginning to wonder where my comfort zone lays; it certainly
isn’t in leading a normal or humdrum lifestyle. Nor do I believe, now, it’s slowly
cruising along the canal system of the UK; it’s too mundane. Don’t get me
wrong, I’m not knocking it, but it has never really been my forte.
Is it wrong to crave stimulation, to despair at an existence
you believe to be pointless? Some philosophical teachings would declare it is,
and I must admit a state of serenity or equanimity does sound better than psychological
or emotional upheaval. The knack is to find ways to quell the mental fracas, to
calm the mind. A perfect solution would be regular meditation practice, I know
this from experience but seem far removed from such personal discipline in
recent years. So, if you’re not applying the methods to constructively work
through an overactive mind, you need to find a way to quash the destructive
thought process. What better ways than an overload of visual stimulation? No
matter how hard I tried to immerse myself into a state of mindlessness, through
a glut of movies, TV series and trash fiction, I couldn’t help but feel
deprived of a meaningful existence. However much I might succumb to squandering
my life on the inane and meaningless, my inner self just won’t allow it.
To people who happily live a simple life of work, sleep and
family this probably seems a bit off the wall. Which I can understand, after
all I’ve lived that way for periods of my own life. But don’t even the happiest
of these folks seem to harbour desires to lead richer, more fulfilling lives?
Most people I know freely admit to wanting a little more from life, at least. Isn’t
it a normal human tendency to crave ever more from life? Many are a long way
from being content, which is a situation I’ve found myself to be in for too
many periods of my life. The knack is not to let it get bogged down in the
nitty-gritty, and I find this hard at times. Which is what happened over the
early part of this year, and the reason I’ve neglected writing for so long. I’d
lost my way, lost track of where I’m at in life, and why. It’s a vicious
circle, and good enough reason not to be waylaid into that process of thinking.
There again I wholly agree to a little self-analysis, to strive for
improvement, but not allow the thought process to consume you.
Thankfully there is a part of me, forever buried, that will
not allow me to succumb to a wasted existence for too long. An inherent
rebellious streak raises it’s ugly head and pushes me forward, bullheadedly
facing whatever threatens my peace of mind. When faced by my own complacency an
inner battle reigns supreme. Sooner or later I can no longer ignore or argue
the toss with this side of myself. I can’t sit idly by and allow myself to
waste my life away. However down and depressed I feel it’s never enough to lay
me low for too long. And that is how I stirred myself from a winter case of the
depressed lethargy. After spending a couple of months achieving nothing but
basic day-to-day survival, it was time to get my arse into gear. The boat was
due an inspection this year, sooner rather than later, so I decided to use the
local facilities and get the hull inspected and repainted while it was out the
water. I hoped this would provide the much desired motivation to get back on
course.
A mix of laziness and physical limitations induced me to pay
to get the work done repainting the hull. I knew it was due to be re-blacked,
there was just the matter of the inspection before this was done. So arriving
at Thorne, a quick six mile cruise along the canal, I made arrangements to use
the facilities at Stanilands Marina to take the boat out the water, have it
pressure blasted, inspected, and finally painted with a good quality bitumen.
With a twenty-six year old boat it would have been no surprise to be faced with
some welding work, but I wasn’t prepared for the outcome. The boat was pulled
out onto a trailer on the Monday, blasted clean and sat waiting for the Marine
Surveyor by the end of the day. When he arrived the bad news started, it was to
be some time before the tumult of problems slowed down. I thought they’d never
end. There felt no end to the despair.
With very little delay the surveyor found an even scattering
of 4mm pits along the hull. In metal only 6mm thick this was not good news,
worse was to come. In a number of places the pits were as deep as 5mm, in my
mind that means only 1mm of suspect metal between the water and my inner
sanctum. The advice was for it not to be put back in the water before work had
been done, and I was not keen on ignoring his advice. The initial recommendation
was for the sides, below the water line, to be completely replated, and still
worse was to come. The bottom, rarely painted on the bi-annual blacking, was a
complete mess too. Though not pitted in the same way the uneven degradation
made it look more like a lunar landscape than a sound surface for a boat. With
that news the expected cost of repair doubled. I was gutted, we were talking
about every remaining penny of my savings, if not more. Being in such a state I
hadn’t really the option to take it elsewhere and get a second opinion, I felt
totally at the Marina’s mercy. Not that they were doing the work, but I failed
to find an alternative willing to do it.
There were plenty of people to criticise the quotes I was
given, even other welders. None were willing to give me a quote themselves
though. So it felt there were few alternatives, the longer the boat stayed out
the water the higher the price would get, as I had to pay storage charges. I
booked the welder, then I was hit with more bad news. The inner hull was lined
with polystyrene, which is likely to catch fire from the heat of welding the
plates on outside. This meant I had to remove the panelling inside and then the
offending material before the welding job was done. I must admit that got me
going, not that I felt motivated, but however I felt it had to be done. I
loathed every minute of it. My back was aching, my arms caused me problems and
my emotional state was desperate. For some reason I didn’t let it get the
better of me, however much I wanted to bury my head in the sand. And I did want
an escape, so to drown my sorrows I sat and got plastered on my own (how sad is
that?).
But the outcome is a much-improved boat, though at the cost
of a completely empty bank account. The outer hull is now good for 15-20 years,
if looked after. Inside it's properly insulated with modern fireproof
materials. One benefit of removing the inner panels was to find I had leaky
windows, so they’ve been removed and resealed. All the rotten wood has been cut
out and replaced with new marine ply. Sections of the water supply have been
replaced, meaning there are no leaks inside anymore. It’s been tried and tested
now, there is no longer any water where it should not be. Unfortunately there
is no longer any money in my account, where there has been a seemingly endless
supply for so long now.
