Timbo

As you all know I don't drink, I don't smoke and I certainly don't daffodil swear!

Errr...no. In the Roman period the sea level was LOWER than it is now!

After the official turning on of the Christmas lights in the town centre, the grandkids enjoying the turning on of the lights, funfair and fireworks and Ellie and I determined to make it the best Christmas they've ever had, the neighbour across the road already putting up his Christmas tree and lights I thought to myself...oh go on, let's indulge Jay. So I present...The NBN Nativiloder! Once unpolly-tito, a mawther callit Mary travellit for a week 'off season' all floatly boatly on the Norfolky Broadloppers. Oh folly did the mawther not thorkus to post bookly form all checkly-box present ’n’ correckers with chequely signy to the boatyardage. At Swaffham, mawther's old feller Jospeh pull over their Ford Escrile sharpish, with airbags deplode and the steering while middle thumped Jospeh on forebonce leaving bumpule saying 'dorf' on his noggin, oh folly! A friendly farmerl said in Norfolky accentile "No worrit lendy transporty toot sweet to continule journley to Norfolky Broadloppers". So Joseph walked all trickly how along the roam while Mary all two-square on the botty astrile a dickey fallolop to Norfolky Broadloppers. At Wroxham, the boatyardage said “Apology, but no bookly form all checkly-box present 'n' correckers accompanile with chequely signage then no floatly boatly!”. Weary, weary, all eye-rubbit and achey in the legbole Joseph and Mawther trickly-how to Wayfold Bridge and espy a taverl all glittery in the gloom. Jospeh ratatat on the doorclobber until the inkeep steppit out. “Pintly bitter and dry white?” questit the Inkeep all doffly cap. “Oh no!” scrile Joseph. “All knackerit from travelode and despery need of bed for fallop 'n' snoozit!” “Folly!” said Innkeep “All accomodakers fully occupile with NBN Crimble Titley-elbow, but trickly-how to the stablode feel free to prostrale among the animolds!” So Joseph, Mawther and the dickey trickly round to stablode, nugit coos and sheeploders out the way and were soon in the lands of node. Now, Mawther was in the familylode way and durbold the nile brought forth a newborl infold all squawk and screamit like constipately parrot. “Tis miracle!” scrile Mawther. “I'll say!” scrile Joseph just finished eighteen month stintly for breakly and enterage! Early next mordy arrivit several gentleboles with tea trowels on the noggin. “Goodly morlode! We bring giftlode for the ankly-biteloder, but we simple agricold labourits so don't expect Nintenlode or X-bocker, just a bottle of Tescold blue top and own brandage wedgely cheeselopper!” “Deep joy!” said Mawther “Joseph, put the kettley on for these chaps deserve a titley-elbow. Oh yes!” Just then three men with goldly crown on bonce strollit in. “Have you come pay hommy to ankly-bitloder wizely men?” scrile Mawther. “We have followed starloder all glimmerit in the skybole thinking it way back to bar and NBN Crimbole Titley-elbow but have found kingly anklybiteloder and pay hommy with much bow and scrapeit!” “Folly folly!” scrile Joseph “This not kingly anklybitloder but chile of best friend of carpentale from Donny on eighteenly month stretchloder! There's no wisely men at NBN Crimbole Titley-elbow and you no virgile Mawther!” Then arrival a celestibold host of angeloders all warbly in the throkus and twangit on the banjloder singit “Glory be!” and “Deep joy!” “Deep Joy indeed, it's all kicking off 'ere!” scrile Joseph and Mawther. So there at the NBN nativiloder they sat down to turkley with all the trimmage, watchit the Queens speechloder, play Nintenloder and X-bocker before fall in river after manifole dry sherry. Oh yes! Seasolly greetage from Timbole with much help from Professor Stanley Unwin!

For me and mine the choice has always been simple...although getting 'the crew' to follow instruction meant doing some 'practical teaching' with the use of field trips and finally using 'immersion therapy'. I have to say that the biggest obstruction to getting 'the crew' to wear their jackets came from the various 'old hands' and 'experts' spouting various forms of 'do what I say not what I do' and thinking up exemptions for them not wearing a life jacket. Let me explain? Uncle Albert was as close to an 'expert' in boating and sailing activities as you could get. He went to work on a Humber Keel at the age of 14, joined the RN at 16 and spent 18 years sailing and piloting every kind of dinghy, boat, barge and ship imaginable. He could swim like a fish and always insisted I wear a life jacket as a kid and everyone around him wear a life jacket. But could I get the old duffer to wear a life jacket himself? No chance. Even when his mobility was so poor he'd trip and stumble, even when he knew he was a dead weight taking two people to lift him on dry land he would not wear a life jacket. Until I took him to visit our local RNLI station to get some first hand advice on life jackets. It was the Coxswain of the station that took me off to one side and suggested a means to get Uncle Albert into a life jacket for both his and my safety. I followed his advice and two weeks later I took delivery of a custom life jacket for Uncle Albert. Extra wide groin straps, the whole thing in Royal Navy blue with the Royal Navy Logo embroidered on the outer cover along with his name and rank. The old boy couldn't put it on fast enough. The problem was now getting him to take it off! Fast forward to our youngest son. Sixteen years old and a victim of fashion 'I look stupid' he would not put on his life jacket, until the fateful day he fell off the boat. Cruising out of Ranworth Dyke I thought I heard the lad shout 'Dylan' and thinking the dog had fallen overboard I looked over the cockpit to see Dylan the beagle, in his life jacket, giving a nod of his head in the 'little Jimmy fell in the well' fashion. It was then that I spotted it was the lad who had fallen in. Noting that although he was scared he was swimming but swimming towards the stern of the boat. Shouting to him to stay away from the back of the boat I turned off the engine and deployed the mudweight. A passing privateer paused to offer assistance. "We are OK thanks. I'm teaching!" I replied to the chap at the helm who was now chuckling. Deploying the life belt I hauled the lad in and onto the boat then sent him for a hot shower while I made him a cup of hot sweet tea. Out of the shower and the lesson had been learned. Drinking his tea, dressed in warm dry clothes and wrapped in a blanket I looked down to see the lad writing his name on the bag for his life jacket. He's never gone on deck without his jacket since then. The shock of falling in, the depth, temperature and how black the water was six inches below even in summer was a complete shock to him. When it came to getting the next generation to wearing a life jacket, the youngest lad played his part and encouraged and supported the grandkids in wearing theirs. So, getting Gracie to wear her life jacket was a simple thing. As the official 'Best Mate' on board Royal Tudor before she even set eyes on the boat we visited the chandler where Gracie was measured and fitted for her life jacket. She was allowed to pick the colour and her first duty as 'Best Mate' is to make sure everyone from the Skipper to the Chief Cook and Bottle Washer and the Beagle Brothers are wearing their life jackets should they go on deck. It's a job she takes very seriously and can be as devious as me in encouraging others to wear a life jacket. Playing with kids she had befriended from another boat, the older children had taken off their life jackets and were making fun of their younger sibling who was still wearing theirs. "You must be the captain?" said Gracie to the boy wearing his life jacket. "Only people good enough to be the Captain wear life jackets!" It was amazing how quickly the lads brothers and sisters were soon wearing life jackets too. As for me? I have to admit that recently I was seen on deck without a life jacket. When best Mate Gracie saw the pictures of RT crossing Breydon and I was not wearing my life jacket at the helm I was on the end of the cruelest punishment my seven year old Granddaughter could deliver. "That was a stupid thing to do Timbo!" And, of course, she was right. I mean, can you imagine the grief you guys would give me if the Chairman fell in without his life jacket? If I lived, I'd never live it down!

There are five food groups that make up a normal healthy diet. These are Bacon, Beer, Coffee, Curry and Cake known as the 'BBC's'. According to dietitians it is important to consume five fruits or vegetables per day. I smoke roll ups which is basically salad and is an essential element of my Five a Day.

Sometimes I would like to say that 'words fails me'. Those that know me will be certain that the occasion I was left bereft of words would never arise. But yesterday the words just would not work! Sauntering through the woods yesterday morning with the Beagle Brothers and Spot the collie we happened upon a woman in distress. Sobbing her heart out she was, while trying to pick up her rather large but skinny mongrel and carry it down the path. "Do you need help?" I asked a bit concerned. "I've got to get Mr Buttons to the doggie hospital it's an emergency!" I looked at Mr Buttons who gave a nervous wag of the tail as if to say 'I didn't have a say in the matter' and struggled to escape the grip of HER mistress. "What's the problem? She seems OK?" I asked as Mr B wriggled free, landed on the ground and instantly tried to initiate a game of chase with Dylan and Toby. "Mr Buttons ate a dead bird!" "I wouldn't panic, she seems OK. Dylan there was chomping on a dead seagull the other week!" "But Mr Buttons is a vegan just like me!" wailed the woman. The words just would not come. I rounded up the beagles and scarpered.

Now is the winter of my discotheque. What kind of dystopian hell have I stumbled into? Chill and dark modernity, black mirrored reflections of the honeyed halcyon of voyages past where YnysMon, her knight errant, kith and kin didst rough it and sail through Norfolk's gilded waters? Long hot water bottles available from Brown's of York priced at £19.99 and do wonders for my back ache!

An early Christmas present from Ellie, modelled here by Toby who is wondering if it will be his replacement? But ideal for winter boating! The 'LONG' hot water bottle! Ideal for warming the boat bunk, slipping in between my back and the bulkhead for when the beagles nick the duvet!

Whitworths do a good range. Of course, being a coffee drinker it's demerara for me and that's no BS. Ellie tries her best to get me interested in old films. Rebecca was the last film she had me watch with her. Watching custard congeal would have been more entertaining. I never rated Larry Olivier as a film actor. My habit of speed reading books and digesting the information at a later date is useful on these occasions. Ellie's watching some long gone actor and I'm mentally rereading texts making sure I keep my eyes open and the snoring to a minimum. This afternoon I rang up to cancel the television. At first they were quite shocked that someone would contemplate not watching it. Then they offered me the TV service for free, then they upgraded the TV service for free. I'll see if there's anything worth watching on the upgraded service, probably not, and then have the thing taken out after Christmas.

"They don't let their dogs off the lead..." There's coffee all over my screen now!

...get out of my living room Keira Knightly and put some clobber on before you catch your death! Now what? What's this rubbish? What's with the parade of incontinence pants while I'm trying to eat my tea? Who's this cretin? He's famous for...nothing? So, let me get this straight, they are on an island and then what? People watch this? After fifteen years of not watching television I allowed television back into the house. It was part of the new broadband package which was cheaper with television than broadband on its own. For the sake of saving a few quid I've undergone a brief televisual lobotomy. It appears nothing has changed much in the last fifteen years, other than an epidemic of incontinence and dross programming all of which seems to be based around public humiliation by cake or crap dancing. Five hundred channels and there's still nothing on! "Try watching some of the history programmes!" said Ellie. So we watched a history programme. "Doesn't he look like your friend with the...I recognise her...didn't we see him last week in..." If history is 'the Rhonde' then historians are boaters. We all get to know one another sooner or later. The television will be removed next week. Permanently. Some of you will have met my granddaughter Gracie. You may not be as familiar with her brother Arlo. A shock of curly blonde hair, blue eyes and a wicked smile, he has ****** written through him like a stick of rock. More asterisks may follow. Arlo is just at the stage of learning to talk and is having some difficulty with my name. You see, we have a surplus of Granddads in our family, so I'm not a 'Granddad' I'm 'Timbo'. Up until a month ago Arlo's pronunciation of my name was very similar to the common name for the bird family Paridae. He'd point at me and say ***! Some may believe this an apt description. Arlo has now refined his pronunciation and as a consequence of his refusal to now call me anything else and the rest of the family mimicking Arlo my name has changed to 'Dimdom'. Still an apt description I think. Talking of things 'bird' and 'history', I recently spent a night on RT moored at the Tea Gardens. An odd name the crew and I thought. Spotting an information board I sauntered over to take a look and satisfy my curiosity. Sadly it was yet another of those boards dedicated to nothing but the local spuggie population that allegedly haunt the location. No mention of the history of the landscape or its people and their history. Fortunately Google came to the rescue. As the wind blew and the rain rained...I could have done with a nice cup of tea and a brick built privy. More things 'dickie flightle bird' related. I've often wondered what the plague of marsh harriers will eat when they've run out of prey? The answer is 'each other'. Spent an amusing early Sunday morning observing the result of over population as harriers competed over territory. On our journey the previous day from the Tea Gardens to Stalham the most frequent bird I spotted was the Marsh Harrier. There are more harriers than ducks. Judging by the grid refs that I noted, their territorial ranges are really squeezed together. Right, time to watch a bit of Can't Cook Dancing On Ice In A Jungle On a Desert Island On The Buses With The A Team On Patrol With A Celebrity And The Cops. Just as soon as I've put these incontinence pants on and filled out this Over Fifties Plan! Wibble. "

So, here's the early morning update. RT pumping at 9 minute intervals for 43 seconds. Dylan no1 beagle had a short seizure at 4.30 am, he's ok and after a walk and consuming half a pound of bacon has gone back to bed. Idiot lights, after some thought, the red one is the no smoking light. The yellow one comes on just before Scarlet Johansson brings me a cuppa, bacon sandwich and volunteers to do the varnishing. RT does not have a horn. Although if the yellow light ever comes on... The heating system is flashing lights. This may be why the beagles are now inside sleeping bags and I'm a bit cold!

RT safe and sound back in her moorings. Canopy is in one piece just a bit flappy with the wind!

Locked and getting loaded! Well, enjoying a snifter at the Old Dutch Tea Gardens. Enjoyed the trip through Lake Lothing. Uncle Albert would have been in his element what with an MTB and a Barge. Passage after the lock complicated by the steering coming adrift. Moored at the Tea Gardens, although for a minute tea seemed to be wishful thinking as the water system was not working. Putting a fuse in did the trick! RT is currently pumping every minute and a half for forty three seconds. It's a bit windy folks! Just a bit...says the crew!

I'm basing my comments on one of my final surveys and reports of 2018 before I officially retired. Over the thirty odd years of my career working in antiquary and landscape management, I have seen quite a dramatic change in visitor behaviour and the marketing techniques that need to be employed in order to successfully exploit that behaviour for the benefit of the landscape and stakeholders. Be under no illusions, the visitor centre is dead in regards of examples such as the scheme proposed at Acle. It's not resting or pining. It is no more, it has kicked the bucket, dropped off it's perch and joined the choir invisible. In terms of visitor numbers Scotland is leading the charge easily outpacing England in visitor growth for the past seven years according to the most recent figures from the ONS. However, in their last published figures Visit Scotland have announced a 58% drop in footfall through their visitor centres over the past ten years. Consequently they closed 39 of their 56 visitor centres and reduced and streamlined services in the remainder. The stock in trade of the visitor centre, books, maps and guides, in the past was in short supply. Today the visitor can find detailed information within seconds without ever having set foot inside a visitor centre. The fundamental change in visitor behaviour is that the visitor centre was a 'must visit' as soon as they arrived at a destination. Today, if they come across a visitor centre then they might pop in. If it's raining. Or they can't get a coffee anywhere else. The Glover Report has one great flaw, among many, in compounding the outdated marketing strategies employed by National Parks, AOB's and many of the conservation organisations. The 'build it and they will come' schemes, and don't get me started on re-branding, are thirty years past their sell by date and other than waste money in short supply only emphasise an ageing management who I'm sure hold Michael J Fox and Melanie Griffith themed office parties to give their shoulder pads an airing. I'm sorry but best practise dictates satisfying visitor and stakeholder needs and providing value while maintaining the integrity of the landscape identity. At the most basic of levels the object of marketing for landscape managers is the dispersal of visitors out into the landscape. A visitor centre is an impediment to this fundamental process. Tourists sat in a visitor centre are not enjoying the Broadland landscape and more importantly they are not spending money with business stakeholders. You don't bring the visitor to the visitor centre you take the visitor centre to the visitor. By that I mean the front line of Broads Rangers face to face with stakeholders and people like Tom. I have to say that I really appreciate Tom's contribution which I think is an outstanding example of best practise...in practise, as it were and long may it continue!

They are an invasive species,.

With the exception of Ellie's dad, all of her family are petrified of spiders. I put this down to Granddad forcing them to 'appreciate' spiders by making them hold them. When I say petrified...I mean totally and utterly terrified. So it was with great delight that I discovered that my grandson Arlo is NOT terrified of spiders. He LOVES spidey. If he sees a spider, or something that looks like a spider, he will pick it up and bring it to show you. You know when Arlo has found 'spidey' by the screams from the rest of the family. "Is everything all right?" I ask one and a half year old Arlo. "Spidey!" he says and then flashes a big grin.

Cripes!

The usual medieval bridge foundation construction consisted of a considerable amount of wooden piling driven into the clay in a pattern of wide concentric circles. The pilings would be connected by joists and the whole structure would then be packed tight with local stones or gravel. This would then be planked with oak or elm before the stone piers and abutments were constructed on top of this structure. I've excavated three medieval bridges, and as Mark says about Rochester, the pilings and foundations are 'monumental' in the true sense of the word. Potter Heigham, or Repps, Bridge is a bit of a belt and braces affair due to the episodes of construction, demolition and restoration of the current structure over it's 751 years of its current iteration. Looking at the cut-waters on the side arches you will notice that they are each of different construction. The side arches themselves I would put an earlier date of 13th century rather than than the 14th of the scheduling. I would surmise that reworking of the piers and abutments of the side arches was carried out in the 15th century when the 'pointed' central span was replaced with the current circular arch. Casting a wider eye over the approaches to the bridge and the projection of the springing line, with little variation in extrados and intrados of the central span would back this. There is 'movement' in the bridge structure, but this is to splay horizontally and not vertically. This is evidenced, as Alan pointed out, in both the spandrels, the discovery of the original parapet on the river bed, the 18th century replacement parapet and the addition of cantilever buttresses at the same time. This is the 'belt and braces' I was referring to. Medieval architecture has as much to do with form as it does structure. For example, many of our cathedrals are built on foundations of little more than a few inches of compacted chalk and gravel and a thousand years later they are still there.

I wondered if anyone would be interested in this report on the structure of the bridge? I found the comment 'previous investigation of river bed levels shows a marked reduction in depth and flow area at the bridge' quite interesting. Please note the Grade II listed and scheduled monument is not sinking and is structurally sound. Right, I'll return to writing reports and sucking the common sense out of post graduate students and then teaching 'em 'stuff'.

First of all MM, get a bed rail or bumper for the bed to stop her falling out! Local GP will put you in contact with a free supplier. I bought Dad his for £59 so they matched his bed and didn't look like a hospital for him. For the alarm I went with two systems. First the free system provided by the health visitor. A two part device that worked via the household electrical wiring and the telephone. One bit plugged into the wall, the other part was a string around his neck that had a button on one end. If he pressed the button it would ring an alarm in the house AND alert a 24 hour manned service. The service cost something like £2 a week. The best system was cheap, cheerful and LOUD! I bought a £10 'Personal Attack Alarm' from Amazon. Just clip the alarm to his pyjamas at night and all he had to do was tug the alarm to pull the pin out.

It's when another highwayman nicks your horse!

Tea bags, even coffee, I can wait until we reach civilization. But to run out of tobacco and papers...this is the reason I have hiking boots and OS maps on board and why RT is fitted with nav lights!

Hi CaptainFrenchy and welcome aboard!

This....no, no NO! "Where there is a conflict between any of the three purposes, and the further navigation purpose assigned to the Broads, then greater weight must be given to the first of these purposes under an updated ‘Sandford Principle’ that applies to all our national landscapes and not just to National Parks as it does currently."