Timbo

It's that time of year again folks, when just as the screen on my trusty Sony phone starts to wear and not respond, my phone provider tells me I'm due a new phone. Popping into store I discover to my horror, that my new phone won't be a Sony as my provider no longer supplies them! What madness is this? "We have the fabulous new i-phones!" the attractive assistant breathes huskily clutching an i-phone to her bosom. "You can keep it!" I mutter. "But it's an -i-phone'!" squeaks the indignant assistant. "That's why you can keep it. I'd like a Sony please." "But we have i-phones, everyone wants one." "No they don't." "We have Samsung?" says the assistant looking more than a little put out. "Sony?" "Samsung!" "Sony!" "Samsung!" "What's the SAR rating then?" I asked. "The what?" "The SAR rating. My phone isn't a fashion accessory, it's a communication device I want to check the quality of the antenna." So while the assistant started ringing supervisors for information I went looking for a new provider, only to get the same rigmarole. "Sorry Sony are being discontinued." "But do you have one?" "Yes but I can't give you one. We've got i-phones?" "Look, I don't want an i-phone! You couldn't give me an i-phone!" My Sony phone rings. "Ooh, you did well getting reception around here!" exclaims the chap behind the counter. "I know! It's because it's a Sony phone with a good antenna." My original provider was ringing to say she has called in the manager and so I pop back to the original store. The manager, knows his stuff. He looks up the SAR ratings for the phones they have in stock. I choose a phone claiming to have a better antenna than my Sony. "Ooh, a pretty Samsung!" pants the lady assistant almost breathless. "Are you alright love? Do you have an inhaler or something?" If I was supposed to ring you, please bear with me while I swap phones and directories etc?

I'll give Roo a ring later in the week and ask him what he meant. But off the top of my head I think he's referring to things like GDPR. Particularly with drones there is the possibility of stirring article nine of the GDPR as the metadata included in photographs and film footage will have not only have data that will enable the identification of a person but also provide GPS tracking information.

I just had a quick chat with our drone pilot Roo. For months I thought his name was Rupert (ex RAF pilot type with daft moustache), turns out his name is Roger and Roo is his nickname as in 'Roger Over and Out' after a minor mishap at an end of dig drink. Anyway... ROO tells me that new laws will be coming into practise within the next two months. All drone pilots operating drones above 250g in weight will have to register with the Civil Aviation Authority and take a competency test. If you don't register or do the test the fine is £1000. The police will also be given new powers to issue fixed penalty notices Penalty notices of £100 if you don't land your drone when instructed to by the police. Failure to produce registration documents Failure to produce competence documents not producing evidence of any other relevant permissions required by legislation Permissions partly depend on equipment fitted to your drone. If you have a camera fitted then you will require release documents from anyone you film, especially if they are on their private land or within a 'structure' where they are entitled to expect privacy. So caravans, boats, camper vans etc. Police will be given new search powers if they believe you have used a drone in an offence. He also tells me that depending upon your location, it is compulsory to have public liability insurance. For example in London all drone pilots must have a minimum of £5 million cover as do some other cities. He is expecting this to also become part of the new laws come November 30th.

Although I don't own one, the acquisition of one in the next year or so is on the cards to supplement existing research and film-making tools. I do have access to a fully integrated UAV LIDAR system, as you can imagine this piece of kit comes with it's own designated pilot who spends weeks filling out forms and obtaining permissions before the drone ever leaves the cupboard. The whole thing takes a very large chunk out of project funding but not quite as much as the bar tab for a team of archaeologists! Let's face it, there are nations with smaller deficits than that created by archaeologists in a bar!

Ah! That explains why Doug burbles his lips with his finger when he's sanding. I just knew there had to be a reason other than lack of cake!

Great write up and fantastic photos. Looking forward to the next part!

Apparently it looks like some form of bedding!

I know naff all about engines Peter, but I'm pretty sure that it explains RT's lack of power and lack of steerage going astern. I can't help but think it wouldn't have done a fifty odd year old engine a lot of good?

Robin said they were all the rage, and if he's got one, I'm 'avin one 'an all!

OI...I've got and engine, I'm just saving on diesel!

The original poster is by the illustrator J A May who was employed by the National Savings Committee. There's not a lot of information about J A May and only two surviving works I could find, the one above and a National Savings poster carrying the slogan 'Salute The Soldier, Save More, Lend More'. Photoshop and its partner program Illustrator are based around early illustration techniques. Careful now, I'm going to show my 'etchings'! 'Stock' drawings are very much a tool in the illustrator's copy drawer. In the image above, elements such as the boats, animals, windmills will be found across many different paintings by many different artists. As an illustrator you don't have the time to sit and sketch everything from the beginning, so you have pattern books containing tracings of the various elements. Those elements will be moved around within the image, the purpose of which is to draw attention to and give context to the text. Accuracy tends to go out of the window as the illustrator will start to flip elements within the image to draw lines of sight to the text. So from my 'etchings'... First off is a book cover illustration for a sword and sorcery type novel. Historical accuracy is in the bin, the sword is pointing towards what will be an illuminated capital letter in the book title. All the troops, arrows, even sections of grass are all from my collection of patterns. Next is an illustration used as part of a set for a computer game. Cloth is an absolute pain to paint, even digitally, so I spent several days just painting sections of cloth and folds in cloth and these get reused in various paintings. Finally a finished book cover. Illustrators cheat like hell. First I painted a water colour of a power station, this get's scanned into the computer where explosions etc are painted digitally and sections of the image are replicated over the cover, sometimes even the merest hint, all to draw the eye to information the image contains. You will also spot another trick I used in the strap line where it says 'International Intrigue and Brutal Murder'. This was a first novel from a new author. 'International Intrigue' tricks the eye and the brain into substituting 'International Best Seller'! I knew they were odd in Oulton...erm...the bustle is the bit at the back JM!

Before we bought RT we would camp there several times a year. I can remember sitting and watching them work on that large houseboat which set me on my current course.

You will be pleased to hear that after using the Bristol grip on his squidger, to play a blinding squop the UK Tiddlywink Grand Master stands a good chance of unifying the World Championship Tiddlywink belts later this year...I kid you not!

I'm sad to say the Tube Map idea isn't mine, it's an image I came across quite a while ago, but it is something I do have laminated in RT's wheelhouse.

I've been collecting Broads maps since I was a kid. Among my many projects on the back burner is a book and video series on the history of the Broads laying the historical and modern maps out side by side. One of my favourite maps is this one. It gets a lot of information into a small space and is very easy to follow.

They touch on disappearing Broads in the episode of the Flying Archaeologist below. There's also a news report here about Sotshole Broad..

False dawn, buy me a beer and I will tell all, is an odd phenomenon. It was just starting to break as I awoke at 5:00 am firm in the knowledge I was being observed. A slight thump of beagle tail indicated 'the boys' were aware I was only pretending to sleep. I opened my eyes to find two beagle noses inches from my face. Out of bed, put the kettle on to boil while 'the boys' abandon ship for the bank. With Italian coffee steaming in my mug, wash kit and towel under my arm I head for the shower block. Like many men of my generation I started shaving during the disposable razor revolution. While others moved on to either an electric razor or the double, then triple, quadruple and now quintuple with battery powered jiggle, wet razor, I didn't. For practical reasons of shaving in the field I learned to use a safety razor as you can get blades almost anywhere and they cost pennies. Together with a badger hair brush and shaving soap I still use it as a challenge to keep my hand steady after my strokes. It's also a closer shave with less skin irritation than modern razors. Shaving is not a chore for me. Which is fortunate as my beard grows quickly. A shave in the morning and I will need another if we are going out in the evening. I look forward to the ritual immensely. Twenty minutes of pure self indulgence. Of course, my choice of fragrance post shave is also an indulgence. Today was Royal Water from the house of Creed. Citrus and mint in the top notes, juniper and basil in the heart notes and musk and ambergris in the base. So, lemon, mint, gin, pesto, deer butt and whale poop. Exquisite! At five past six I take the boys for their jaunt around the footpath marking the edge of what once was Sutton marsh and Broad. A loud twittering of small birds alert me to the proximity of an owl. Sure enough, sat in the branches of an oak sits a Barn Owl. In the field to my right comes the dull thud of hooves from Long Horn Cattle and in amongst them Muntjac Deer. Back at the boat and Grandma and Gracie were fast asleep, so I put the kettle back on, made another coffee, took my tablets and gave Dylan his and set about putting my bed away. The ladies were soon up and about and while Grandma fried bacon for breakfast, I was treated to 'Gracie kisses and cuddles'. Breakfast over and the girls made themselves even more beautiful. Did you see what I did there? Since I bought a boat, I have seen more of The Broads away from the water than I ever did in the forty years prior. “Do you know where you are going?” asked Ellie from the back seat. I didn't reply. After seventeen years Ellie still cannot appreciate the correlation between my love of cartography and landscape and knowing where I am. “Does he know where he is Grandma?” asked Gracie. “Is this Horning then?” asked Ellie as I pulled into the car park by The Swan. “No, it's Cleethorpes.” I muttered realising too late that I'd made an error. “Have we come to Cleethorpes for doughnuts and fish and chips?” asked Gracie the expert on 'seasides'. The reason for our trip to Horning was postcards. Ellie is a traditional holidaymaker in that the first thing she will do on holiday is buy postcards, write them and post them. In this age of technology when people post pictures of every meal and drink consumed to Facebook, postcards are a thing of the past. The postcards we could find were old, dusty and sun bleached. Grace found the whole concept of the postcard fascinating. “This actual card, with my writing, will go to Daddy?” So we bought postcards to send to Mummy, Daddy, baby Arlo, Nanny and Granddad (I'm Timbo as we have a surplus of Granddads and Great Granddads), Uncle Matty, Gracie's best friend Lola and we bought another card for Gracie to send to herself at home. Gracie needed to make sure that postcards really did work and why should she miss out on the honour of receiving one? Ellie also bought Gracie a fishing rod. A pink, toy, fishing rod which I was supposed to teach her to fish with. I shot Ellie 'the look' I usually reserve for politicians and modern art. It's a look perfected by bespectacled lecturers in universities with high entry standards yet forced to accept the idiot offspring of the wealthy for a fee. “I'm going to need some other bits and pieces.” “It's got everything in there you need!” said Ellie the fishing expert. “If I was targeting Tiger Sharks with a toy pink fishing rod, yes, this has everything that I would need.” “The chap was very helpful, and gave me all the information. He said you can use corn for bait.” “Did he mention needing a rod license? No?” Fortunately I carry my rod license in my wallet. But the damage was done. Gracie had her pink fishing rod and a kids fishing net. She loved them and I was going to have to try and catch a fish with them. So, a quick trip to Lathems and I bought a packet of hooks to nylon and a disgorger. My fishing tackle was something that Ellie had forbidden me to bring with us. Back to RT for an early lunch and then Gracie wanted to go fishing. I put the pink 'cute' fishing rod together. It reminded me of a much thinner version of my Grandfather's home made spinning rod I inherrited, made from a tank antenna that is definitely not painted pink. Two uniform lengths of 6 mm diameter metal tube with ferrules in the middle, one eye ring on the tip and one by the cork grip and about three feet in length. The reel looked like an open faced reel, but plastic throughout and loaded with 10 lb line. The float was a solid lump of plastic, the hooks were size 4's and there was a swivel that didn't swivel. This was going to take a bit of thought. So while Ellie put the kettle on, I took the dogs for a walk and had a bit of a forage at the waters edge and found the straight and dry sections of reed I was looking for. Back on RT I drank my cup of tea and had a rummage in my tool bag. I came up with a roll of solder, some red and yellow electrical tape, some Gaffa Tape, a large rubber band and some Milliput. Time to rig the rod. I used the Gaffa tape to secure the reel to the rod firmly as the reel seat was flimsy to say the least. A piece of reed would be our float. I'd wound the solder around the bottom of the reed to make it self cocking. I cut small pieces from the rubber band and put a small hole in each one to make float rubbers to attach the float. I topped the float off with a strip of red tape and a thin bit of yellow tape to make it look the part. I mixed up some Milliput and used tiny pieces down the line as droppers and a little bit bigger piece to nail the bait to the bottom. Finally a size 18 hook nicked through the skin of a kernel of sweetcorn as bait. A couple of test casts and we were in business. “Why is that man laughing at us?” Gracie asked. “Ignore him sweetie, now trap the line with your finger like a gun, swing, flick, finger off, put your bail arm back on, perfect!” Gracie picked casting up very quickly. Very quickly indeed. "Now dress your line, give the rod a tiny flick so the line sinks out of the wind, wind a little bit...that's fantastic!" “Can I do it again?” “Just once more, but remember the fish are in the water not in the air!” I said, sounding like Uncle Albert when he was teaching me to fish. It's funny how you slip back into your childhood memories and the lessons you learned. I can still hear Uncle Albert's litany even now. 'Keep your feet still, don't cast so far, if there's fish on the other side there's fish on this side, keep your feet still'. “That man is still laughing at me!” said Gracie. “Just ignore him and watch your float!” To be honest, the pillock fishing from the hire boat was starting to get on my nerves. His initial quips about me sitting on the back of the boat holding my pink rod in my hand had evoked a slight chuckle. Twenty minutes constant repetition to anyone who would listen was annoying, not to mention the litany of criticism of where and how I was fishing and the 'gear' we were using. We were fishing around five feet away from RT's transom and around four feet from the bank. I was getting Gracie to drop two or three kernels of sweetcorn around our float every five minutes or so. I'd also mushed up some sweetcorn, crushed up four or five of Dylan and Toby's dog biscuits to powder and mixed mixed it all with a little bit of sugar. The resulting 'groundbait' was dropped in pea sized blobs in between Gracie's sweetcorn 'free offerings'. “Little and often.” I was telling Gracie as the expert across the way tackled up his rods. I find float fishing exciting as you watch the little dabs, nips, bobs and swirls the float makes as fish are feeding. I interpreted the movements for Gracie who was mesmerised and extremely excited by it all. Our reed float bobbed. “Wait for it! The fish is just nibbling.” The float bobbed once more before making a pirouette. “Wait for it! The fish is just nibbling and nosing the corn.” Then it lifted... “Ooh, the fish has picked up the corn. Any second it will move.” ...before sliding clean under the water. “Now!” I lifted the rod and connected with the fish. I put my arms around Gracie so she could hold the rod too. The small pink fishing rod arced right over but took the strain. The rhythmic thrum to the line told me it was a bream. “Gently, gently, don't jerk or pull the rod.” I cautioned Gracie. I had to keep a firm hand on the rod along with Gracie's. The light tackle made it all the more exciting. “Slowly, watch him come up, give him a breath of air, and he's ready to come and see you!” “Grandma just look!” gasped Gracie. “I think we are going to need your net Grace!” I said. Gracie scampered off to retrieve her kids fishing net which, fortunately, was quite well made. I guided the skimmer over the lip of the net then bent to wet my hands in the water. I brought the fish in and unhooked it. “Ew! What's with all the snot Timbo?” asked Gracie. I knew there was no way Grace would be holding the fish as I explained what bream slime was for. Grandma was ready to take a quick snap of Grace and her fish 'Slimey' and the little bream was put quickly gently back into the water. There was time for another skimmer and a roach, each given a name 'Slimon' and 'Bob', before it started to rain. “Am I good at fishing Timbo?” asked Gracie. “Yes you are sweetie!” I replied. I took great pleasure in explaining a Yorkshire angling term to Gracie with plenty of volume so all could hear, especially our angling neighbour who had caught nothing. “We weren't 'water-licked' !”(pronounced watta-licked) “What's watta-licked?” asked Gracie. “It's where you go fishing and catch nothing because the water beat you!”

I was in York all day last Thursday...it rained! I like York when it rains with one exception...short people with umbrellas. It was my bi-monthly trip to drop Ellie off for various perfume related meetings, while I mooch around historical monuments, museums, archaeology departments and conservators 'nosying' and cadging free cups of tea. Tea only, no beer, as I have to drive home in the evening and museums are famous for crap coffee. My biggest disappointment is the closure of my tobacconist by Clifford's Tower (I have to find a new source of tobacco and cigars now) and the cakes in Patisserie Valerie are nowhere near the quality they were earlier in the year! Best place for a York day boat is at Bishopthorpe. There is a campsite and boatyard right by the Bishop's palace where you can hire a boat for a full or half day or there are what seem to be some ex-Richardsons cruisers available for longer 'breaks'.

Breaking news...scoop... "Ice-cream, you scream, the police get called, it's embarrassing!" says man at centre of the Wroxham Ice-cream shortage!

I'm looking forward to it! So if If RT hugs one bank and the boat towing her hugs the other, we should be OK? How long was that steel cable you wanted me to buy Dave?

Ellie stowed cakes and fresh ground coffee, cheeses and lashings of beer, no ginger, in the galley. Broads Edge slipped by and up ahead I could see the turning to Sutton. Gracie was bouncing up and down with excitement on the step beside me as we both helmed RT, her engine gently ticking over, gently down the river . Lots of things tick. Clocks, watches, I suppose ticks tick too, as do bombs! BANG! RT's engine stopped dead. Gracie yelped, I swore. “What have you done?” asked Ellie. I quickly checked that all of our mooring lines were safely tucked out of the way and not trailing in the water. They were. Behind us the stragglers from hand over were making their way down river and we were drifting into midstream and turning to block the river. Asking Gracie to 'please stand still', I went out on deck and deployed the bow mudweight to halt RT's progress downstream. Fortunately, RT is equipped with mudweights fore and aft for fishing purposes, so the aft mudweight was also deployed. I have to admit I struggle to lift and deploy the 25KG weights. I'd heaved the bow weight far enough to pull RT's nose into the reeds and bushes on the starboard bank. Ellie and I now used the aft mudweight to pull RT's stern out of the middle of the river. Hoisting the weight, swinging it back into the water, pulling on the line and then lifting the weight to begin the process again. While I made sure we were secure I asked Ellie to phone Doug or Dave for advice. Dave answered first, and after getting me to check the prop shaft, look for oil in the tray (there was none) we started discussing...my phone rang out loud. I could still hear Dave speaking, but my phone was ringing. I looked at the caller id on the screen. It read 'Dad'. The old boy has been gone these last years, but he was ringing my phone now! “Are you alright?” Ellie must have sensed I was somewhat shocked. I showed her my phone and got back to discussions with Dave. We flagged down a friendly privateer who kindly towed us back to the grassy bank in front of the wetshed. To say I was heartbroken would be an understatement. Crushed, devastated, bereft, distraught. None of these words could do justice to how gutted I felt. “I think we are going to need some spannering!” said Gracie giving me a hug. Ellie set about making a fry up. Ellie instinctively knows when I've over-done something and I'm flagging and in need of energy. After tea and the washing up was done, the theme tune to the A-team boomed around Kingfisher Quay as Super Dave arrived in his Spanner-Mobile. He strode around the wetshed, two giant spanners in his hand and 'spannering' was definitely going to happen! Ellie and Gracie set off on the march to the toilet block as Super Dave arrived beside Royal Tudor. “I've been fitting a galley!” he said, adjusting the gusset of his spandex tights, tweaking his mask and removing his silk cape before climbing aboard RT. Dear reader's, it just shows the depths of my distress that I made no comment at the time! Super Dave spannered for all he was worth! Ellie and Gracie returned and put the kettle on to make a cup of tea while we let RT's engine cool down and then spanner some more, but it was no good. RT's engine would not turn. Gracie's voyage had come to an end already, or had it? As Doug telephoned to see how we were getting on I was feeling totally crushed. I passed the phone to Super Dave so that he and Doug could talk technical. Things were not looking good. However, Super Dave passed back my phone, hitched up his tights, twirled his moustaches and activated the BoAT SIGNAL! You could hear the dots and dashes of the Morse Code 'da da and diditing' over the airwaves as Super Dave hatched a plan. Back at his secret hideout he had a spare engine which RT could borrow. A fellow caped crusader was being despatched to our location to tow us to Beccles so that Gracie's voyage could continue. After the Wooden Boat Show, RT would be towed to Super Dave's lair where the spare engine would be temporarily fitted to give us a chance to repair RT's engine! “Tea and cakes are ready!” Gracie called from the galley. Super Dave was ushered into a seat and plied with tea and cake. “Everything looks better after tea and cake!” said Ellie. “Yes it does Grandma!” agreed Grace.

The Further Voyages of Grace “This is the BBC Light Programme!” A small coin drops into a tin cup. “Thank you!” And so begins our journey to Norfolk. This time Ellie had packed the car, so she and Gracie sat in the back seats, the beagles were in the boot space and I had the luggage for company in the front seat. Of course, this meant I could bring none of the items I wanted to bring and those that I was allowed to bring...were not in sufficient quantities! I had taken the time to record a selection of my favourite episodes of the Goon Show to while away the miles, the episode we were listening to was The Jet-Propelled Guided NAAFI. Now, dear listeners, I mean readers, if you should ever chance to listen to this episode, for extra giggles, swap around job descriptions and titles to reflect Broads related organisations and locations! The miles flowed swiftly with me chuckling in the front and Gracie giggling in the back at Bluebottle's 'naughty sausinges'. “I don't know what they are talking about Timbo or why it's funny, but it is so funny!” Soon we were at Stalham and after opening up Royal Tudor, Gracie and I took 'The Boys' for a walk while Ellie pottered about tidying. “It takes acorns a long time to grow, we did it at school. How old are these trees?” asked Gracie as she scooped a handful of new acorns. Some things, well...most things, I'm pretty lousy at. Some things I'm good at. When it comes to landscape and history I'm on very firm ground, even in a marsh. So adapting the information for seven-year-old Gracie I told her of the Great Storm of 1703, of cows blown into treetops, roofs collapsing, ships sunk and the devastation of England's oak trees and how important oak is to the English navy and economy. We touched on enclosure and how to estimate the age of trees (those we were looking at 1760-1810 give or take), the work of John Evelyn and Roger Fisher, 'Acorn Fever' and English naval officers scattering acorns through holes in their britches. I made sure to 'drop a fart' while demonstrating scattering acorns. Never underestimate the power of a good fart joke when educating kids of all ages, or cows blown up trees for that matter! Back at Royal Tudor I made ready to do all those little jobs I'd put on my list since our last visit. However, we had been visited by a crustulam navicula aedificium perito manducans, or 'Doug' as we like to call him. We had new window hoppers, a new hatch in the galley floor to stop me falling into the bilges, batteries charged and connected and not a crumb in sight! “We will have to buy cake for Doug!” exclaimed Ellie. “Unicorn cake?” asked Gracie. “Lots of cake!” confirmed Ellie. So I contented myself with doing essential engine checks before being dragged to Tesco. I lifted the cockpit floor and yes, the engine was still there! Tesco. I hate shopping. No, let me correct that? I hate aimless shopping. It's probably the geographer and cartographer in me, but I tend to map out the location of products in a supermarket. I cannot be doing with wandering aimlessly about starring into fridges and freezers and groping bread loaves. Luckily I had an excuse and while Ellie and Grace did the shopping, I sat with 'the boys' and gave them a drink. I whiled away the time talking to Mike (Chameleon) when he rang. Mike is another tortured soul, who like me, is regularly held hostage to 'the shopping' and we regularly 'conflab' while our respective other halves are 'on the shop'. Finally we were back on board Royal Tudor. 'The boys' had partaken of one last walk, Ellie was putting away the shopping and Gracie and I started RT. Her engine started first time, I gave her some revs and let her idle a while while I made sure all was well. We exited our mooring and RT was responding much better to the helm than she had of late. Gently we glided from the mooring. A nudge astern and forward and she easily swung to face the opening of the wetshed. A gentle nudge forward and we smoothly exited the shed and made our way down river. Ellie was still pottering in the galley and Gracie sat with me at the helm of RT, whose engine was gently ticking.

Very neatly done!

There is in fact an old bottle of Adsil still in amongst the 'gubbins' that was found wedged at the back of one of Royal Tudor's lockers!

Ah...a true Brit through and through then!