Timbo

Just thought I would pop a little warning here to all those driving through Norwich to the Broads. Even though my car has traffic sign recognition and limits the speed of the car to avoid speeding, those cheeky beatles at Norfolk Constabulary have sent me a speeding ticket for doing 35 in a 30 limit this last weekend. When I pointed out that the road signs says 40 limit and I was doing 35 in that stretch...they told me that in that specific stretch of road through Norwich to Wroxham the road sign says 40mph but the spacing between lampposts in the short stretch where they have a 'convenient' camera is indeed 30 mph and doesn't require a sign to tell drivers of the 10 mph reduction in speed at that point. I will give some advance warning to members of when I will be travelling to Norfolk as there may be some future tailbacks through Norwich as I will be disregarding any road signage and travelling at 25 mph at all times as well as stopping every few hundred yards to measure the distance between the lampposts...just in case. I have to say the chap on the end of the phone was very pleasant indeed. A welcome difference from the police back home, you see everyone is nice in Norfolk...even when they are nicking you!

My beagle Dylan is, I suppose, the skipper of Royal Tudor. After all, where we go and what we do and at what times are dependant upon the tide and the whim and current biological functions of the 'skipper'. From the word 'go' Dylan The Boats Beagle (DTBB) has been equipped with a life jacket, a lead and one of those 'screw in' tethers so he doesn't wander off while I'm working on the boat. Now that I also have Toby, Dylan's littermate I suppose I need to invest in another lifejacket and another tether. (Dylan on the left of photo and Toby on the right...known as Dylly and Jugdog) It's great to meet so many other dog owners while we are afloat, however I do have a pet peeve...I just wish people would control their dogs better when on the bank or in public. The number of people who let their dogs come running up to mine without asking if it's OK or is there a potential problem (we also have a Black Lab and a Collie cross as well as the Beagle Brothers) with nothing but a cheery "It's alright he doesn't bite" are too many to count. Although these days I tend to wait for the 'he doesn't bite' and then watch the panic on their faces when I reply 'really? Mine do!'. It's only the beagles that come boating as I'm sure of their temperament around children and members of the public. Dylan is certainly a hit with others on the river judging by the number of times he has his photograph taken as he sits on the bow in his life jacket. He's become quite the 'poseur' knowing where the moorings or inhabited stretches of the Broads are he will come out on deck to pose before heading below decks when we leave the populated areas.

On the way back from a quick visit to Royal Tudor at the weekend we passed the Vulcan at Waddington...is this now just an ornament and not flight worthy? I have to say as far as historic aircraft go, living in Gainsborough we have the Battle of Britain flight go over on a regular basis and we are used to the constant practice sessions of the Red Arrows. A few years back when the Red Arrows got their first female pilot my daughter asked me how she could tell which plane had the woman pilot. I'm sad to say in true 'Dad' form I said she had to wait for them to come down low and watch for the pilot doing her 'lippy' in the rearview mirror.

Ah but you see MM with Iain's "I had the pleasure of standing under its bomb bay many years ago." and Lorri's "got my name on the inside of the bomber doors" that would make them Bombay Ducks!

To take this thread on another twist...this reminds me of a childhood visit to York Railway Museum when it first opened. Desperate to get my mind off of boats and fishing and other Broads related activities Mum and Dad had dragged me to York for the day. Now Mum was the type of woman that must have had one of those invisible signs on her head...you know the type that reads 'Lost?Lonely? Psychopath? Talk to me I won't mind!'. On this day however her sign turned a boring day into one to remember. We had drifted across to take a look at the Mallard. As we walked around the fabulous train Mum spotted an old man stood looking at the train and crying. Of course Mum couldn't resist and went to ask if she could help. The old boy kept saying 'this is the real Flying Scotsman you know'. Then he reached into his wallet and withdrew a photograph of him on the footplate of the Mallard when 'she' (are trains she's like boats?) broke the record. Reaching into his bag he started to pull out all kinds of documents and photographs of when he was one of the firemen on the train. A fascinating day only made better when Mum fetched a member of the Museum staff who recognised the chap and organised for him to have a new photograph taken from the footplate and the old boy was good enough to take me up with him.

When we first moved from Balby out to Westwoodside, the new house sat just below the brow of the hill with RAF Finningley in the distance straight through the living room windows. Finningley air display would consequently take place with many family members that just happened to 'drop by' to visit turning their chairs to watch the display. I can still remember my Grandmother commenting on 'how graceful those planes are, look how they are so close together in formation, and how slowly they move'. At first I didn't react to this until I realised that the air display had finished some hours ago, and looking out of the window three scruffy looking crows were doing a tour of the back field. Don't get me started on the Finningley UFO's though!

While the Mrs hunted for waffles...they are on special at Lidl...I sat in the carpark by the side of the Trent in Gainsborough, car window down trying to get some breeze when I heard the distinctive high pitched scream of four Bristol Olympus Engines! The sound of my childhood. I shot out of the car like a bullet and looking up ...there flying at low level, following the Trent was the most beautiful aircraft (IMO of course) in the world... a B.2 Avro Vulcan!

Hang on guys...I think I've just cured this alternative energy conundrum. having consumed a few glasses of the vino collapso last night I awoke this morning a little fuzzy headed and unable to find my spectacles. So you can appreciate the ease with which I made the mistake when I accidentally brushed my teeth with Immac hair removal cream instead of toothpaste. As things stand at the moment anyone pointing a solar panel at my cakehole is liable to suffer an overload due to the brightness. Whilst walking the dogs I noticed that my teeth can cut wind! The noise decibels when I whistled the dogs could shatter glass and I'm sure the water in the Trent was significantly agitated enough to power a turbine!

Time Team Polly? Time Team? Don't get me started! Here's a little animated film I made a few years ago now...all about TIME TEAM! OK how do we add Tubeface Videos?

Whoops sorry Polly I missed your post about the research. I will indeed be sharing the results of the research, its all part of the film I'm making on the history of the Broads.

Although I can't justify going to all the expense of buying a BMW I did however buy something that prevents me having to go out into the rain to change a flat tyre...I bought the Mrs a high viz vest!

This week has been all about Coos, Cars and Coo Coos. I've been researching St.Benets Abbey for a few weeks and wading through court rolls, the Chronicles of John de Oxenedes, Dugdale's Monasticon Anglicanum and the cartulary of St Benets. Among my research I kept coming across the word 'Coo' as in 'Coo Holme'. Chunking bulk passages of Latin I kept missing the translation, and for some days it had me scratching my head. 'Holme' I got, as we have Southolme and Northolme in my home town. Now today I took delivery of my new car. I've suddenly realised that the next couple of years will see me hitting fifty years of age and not so much 'slipping into senility' as 'galloping over the precipice shouting yippee' on my way down. So with great reluctance I traded in my 280 brake horse motor for something more sedate, such as a Qashqai with a mere 110 brake horse. Now such is the modern state of things they no longer supply a spare wheel with a new motor...and I'm sorry as grumpy old man I expect a spare wheel in a car...a John Bull repair outfit and an electric pump is just not the same! So my garage started to ring round to get me a spare wheel. 'I'm sorry but the nearest place that has one is in Norfolk' said the salesman. 'No problem I'm there on Friday I will pick it up!' says I to the salesman as he dials the Norfolk dealership and leaves the phone on speaker. 'It's a Qashqai!" says my dealer into the phone. "Ah a Coo Coo!" says the Norfolk dealer. ...and then it dawned on me 'Coo coo, Lathems Coo Dee and Coo Holme' its 'Cowholme' or 'Cow Holme'. St Benet's is on 'Cow Island'! As for the weather? We'll you see the new car has automatic windscreen wipers and the kids started to pray for rain so they could see them work, of course then I looked at the weather forecast for the weekend. I wonder how long automatic windscreen wipers will hold their novelty value when the rain starts dripping through the leaky bit in RT's deck?

I've been keeping a close eye on this fracking malarkey for personal reasons...personal reasons along the lines of... I don't want my house to fall down. When the government first announced the deals for local authorities who took up fracking, cynical me thought 'I bet my local council (West Lindsey) will sign up. Sure enough they did...they were the first one. Their proposed site six hundred yards from my door, 'although we are not going to be operating from that particular site...honest'. Since that announcement i've seen heavy duty machinery carve a better track to the proposed site, straight through the middle of some medieval ridge and furrow. I've seen a planning notice go up with a little footnote saying that 'this has nothing to do with fracking' although the change of planning does open up the site for fracking. We now have 'magical signs' inscribed along the track with studs placed at intervals to mark a pipeline, and this morning I copped hold of a surveyor measuring an area which is roughly that proposed for a fracking site...in the middle of a nature reserve, across more medieval ridge and furrow, medieval marl pits and only a few hundred yards from Forkbeard and Cnut's fortified long house. But what really has me worried is that all of the houses in this area suffer from subsidence of one form or another. Indeed my house was built in a gap created when the previous house fell down through subsidence...fear not I did not buy it. Then while I was down on the Broads they slipped the Prime Minister past my front door for a quick press conference. One of the neighbours attended to ask what it all actually meant. The reply he got was they were going to drill into the ground under our houses, sluice out the strata to release the gas and then pump sand in to fill the gap...sort of thing. Now my first reaction was...'what like the same sand that is being compressed under the current buildings making them fall down'? My second reaction was 'how much have the local council been offered to allow this'? Quite a bit it seems. The little mention of 'National Parks' and 'exceptional circumstance' hit my cynical muscle again and I can't help but wonder how much money constitutes an 'exceptional circumstance'? Still that is just me, and I have been known to totally ignore the advice of John Heywood and not only look down the gee gees gullet but reach for the rubber glove and James Herriots phone number.

Just a couple of days this time round Simon to start measuring and making lists of tools and materials for the next trip. Ah now you see I never joined the dots there MM...On contract? Maurice Mynah international hit man?

Thanks all for the very warm welcome! I'm Norfolk bound this Friday the first of August...got a bottle or five ready MM? RT is indeed a beautiful boat...but in need of some urgent TLC. Uncle Albert is still in hospital, although he is now clear of the infection and back to his usual self....ie a cantankerous old g...person....yes person, that was the word I was looking for, yes definitely p e r s o n. 'Err indoors has had me cutting hedges all day and then actually consented to come and help wash the car in preparation for the new one arriving tomorrow...so shocked am I that I can hear the bottles of Wobbly Bob calling to me from the fridge...Timdrink us...so I had better oblige...Tim drink us...hope to see you all soon...drink us now...all right I'm coming...

"Six packs"? Now the cultivation of six tiny muscles is something I just don't understand...not when there's the option of going for just one big one! It's like a choice of going for six Smart cars or one Maserati. On our favourite wild mooring along the Ant I was just going through the process of dousing the lights, checking the warps...and drinking the Rioja when I heard six shrill blasts from a whistle. My first thought was 'it's a bit late for the kids to be still blowing on the life jacket whistles'. You see, misuse of life jacket whistles is a pet hate of mine. I poured another glass of Rioja and the whistles continued. Six clear blasts...a gap...and six more. I grabbed a torch and checked along the river. Nothing. The whistles continued and I tried to pinpoint their location...which seemed to be from the dense bushes some way along the bank. Armed with torch and beagle I set off trying to make my way to the source of the 'distress' call. For that is what is was. Pushing my way through the undergrowth my leg sank into a mire of mud. As I swore and pulled myself out, to my right I saw a ghostly apparition. A mud encrusted naked lady! Okay, my first thought was 'that's the last time I buy wine from Lathems...even if it is 'on special', my second thought was 'what the hell is that' but when the apparition said 'Thank God' and Dylly the Beagle padded up to the woman wagging his tail...I calmed down a bit. Turned out the 'Damsel in Distress' and her Hubby were moored close by and while Hubby had been 'hogging the bog' following a disagreeable take out and several bevy's the fair maid had decided to nip onto the bank in a drunken state when nature called, clad in nothing but a life jacket, lost her way, landed in a ditch or two, twisted her ankle and banged her head, when she inadvertently pulled the auto inflate cord on the life jacket, which then got snagged on a branch, so she took it off and blew the whistle to summon help from Hubby. Helping the damsel back to their hire craft I banged on the side of the boat to gain Hubby's attention. "I told you I will be finished when I'm finished' was the shouted reply. Now hailing from deepest, darkest Doncaster...I have a way with words under duress and I very quickly got my message across. Soon the lady was aboard the boat and wrapped in a blanket. and I was back aboard RT to finish off the Rioja and to ponder...if a woman was going to nip ashore butt naked for a pee, why would she bother to stop and put on a life jacket...and once she had climbed ashore, butt naked, why would she wander off in search of an even more secluded spot for a pee? The answers I'm sure are logical, however as a mere man...I think that it's a two bottle of Rioja and a five roll up problem.

Just thought I would pop in and say hello. I'm sure I signed up before...but a lot's happened in a year. Many will know our boat Royal Tudor, who has sadly been laid up for most of this season while I recover from a stroke. I'm glad to say I'm back on my feet again and so will Royal Tudor be as we begin another new chapter. Getting her back in fine fettle is the task for the remainder of this year and early next. Although very poorly at the minute, Uncle Albert is still with us. Until I can get RT ready for him though he won't be boating until he's much better. My daughter Holly has now become permanent crew and co owner of RT with me. Holly has left college and is taking a 'gap year' (if you could only see my face) before going on to stage school. Matty the youngest lad is about to start college with a view to joining the fire service. Dylan the Boats Beagle (DTBB) has had an eventful year being attacked by a Rottweiler and having his littermate Toby move in with us, indeed my flat is a two beagle household now. Toby will be getting his lifejacket soon. While my house is full of beagles, my partner's house (we have cracked this relationship stuff and my other half lives next door...there's no dancing in the jungle can't cook on ice big brother... in my house...I don't have a TV) is full of kids as the eldest lad, his partner and our granddaughter Gracie have temporarily moved back home while their new house is being sorted out. Enough to say that Gracie rules both houses and can twist everyone she meets around her little finger. To Gracie I am Timboo and, more often than not, I can be found singing about 'Tiggers', playing 'blow it bubbles' or like the other day following the order from the child seat in the back of the car to 'drive my car Timboo'! I've not been idle during the enforced lay up as I've been cracking on with research for a film on the history of the Broads. The historical and archaeological research has been done and I'm knocking together a draft script and shooting schedule while tinkering with one or two animations. Voice actors are in place as is music by the London Philharmonic. I'm hoping to have a preview by Christmas 2014 with the film finished by Christmas 2015. In the meantime I'm practising varnishing and sanding motions ready for the year ahead! Whilst on the broads I enjoy fishing, filming and meeting up for a good chinwag with friends old and new over a pint of good bitter beer or good bottle of Rioja!