The Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly. Thursday 27th September - Veurne

We first noticed a bit of an oil slick around mid morning, about the same time that the fisherman phoned the waterways authority.  Although there didn’t appear to be a great quantity of pollutant, there was enough to cover the surface of the entire port and any spill is quite rightly treated very seriously indeed.

Therefore the waterways guy phoned his boss who phoned the police, both of whom arrived promptly in two teams.  They phoned the fire brigade who phoned the environment department,  representatives of which turned up as well, and phoned the rescue people and before we knew it the port was lined with firemen, environmentalists, oil recovery experts, crane drivers delivering fuel collecting sea booms and a cast of dozens all walking up and down and scratching their heads (and other parts of their anatomy when they thought no-one was looking). 

The harbour master told the environment guy who told the police who told the fire brigade that the spill didn’t look too serious, so the off-shore equipment returned to from whence it came and three men in a plastic boat took their place, merrily spraying detergent and splashing about to the delight of the hi-vis clad crowd. Perhaps there’ll be no mosquitos tonight. 

The Twilight of Another Cruising Year. Wednesday 26th September - Stavele to Veurne

This morning’s wait for the first bridge of the day was only an hour (three less than yesterday), and when the very cheery chap arrived he filled in the additional half hour he’d asked us to wait until another boat arrived by debriefing us on yesterday’s adventure and making notes of things that perhaps his colleagues could attend to over winter.  

After following us through two bridges a lock and two more bridges, he handed us over to an even cheerier fellow on a bicycle, who became our guide and dare we say confidante, piloting us safely right into the port of Vuerne where we sat, less than a day from “home”, slapping mosquitos in the twilight chill, trying to work our where our year has gone, and how to stretch it just a little more.  

There was a time when mosquitos kept a safe distance from Mr Perkins’ foul expiration and we do miss that smokey signature just a little at times like these.  He has done a sterling job once again it must be said, gooey ooze from his nostrils not withstanding. Sometimes he is a bit tentative in the early morning now that it’s a bit cooler, but having attained a certain age, who isn’t?  

Off-road Adventures. Tuesday 25th September - Fintele to Stavele

The sign did warn su not to make any waves, that boats wider than four metres and deeper than one and a half were not allowed. When the man operating the lifting bridge ushered us through without question, we believed them all, partly because we are in Belgium  (where everything works).

We expected the six kilometres to Roesbrugge-Haringe to be narrow, perhaps challenging in a boat nearing the maximum allowable size for the channel, but we didn’t expect to have to engage four wheel drive and low range  for much of the way, nor to have to take a bit of a run at a couple of obstacles where the bank had collapsed to leave the net distance between it and the trees on the opposite bank uncomfortably squeezy.  Had there been just a little less water it may well have been called a road, at least then we could have sent someone ahead with a chainsaw to clear a path.   

We arrived at the end of apparently navigable waters and decided that with the river levels currently dropping after the recent rain, waiting till tomorrow to attempt a return journey as planned may be ill advised.   We therefore returned to Stavele where the amazing and eccentric waterside restaurant we had heard so much about was closed for the week.  We would have liked to have visited it too but it must have been expecting us.  Each day we are discovering that perhaps Belgium is just a teensy bit more like France than some would like us to believe! 

Picture yourself on a boat on a river…….. Monday 24th September - Ypres to Fintele

If there’s anything like a glorious day outside to purge the constant ghastly reminders of those troubles past which have hung in our minds like the dark grey clouds that hung low in the sky outside, it has to be moving gently on a boat away from it all, on a river filled with clouds.

It’s hard to believe we are barely twenty kilometres from the centre of all of that, yet here we are in the middle of nowhere, or as close to it as exists in Belgium, being three kilometres or so from the nearest village, without a care in the world.

Except for trying to avoid the cows.

Why can’t we stay in bed all day? Sunday 23rd September - Ypres

As if from nowhere the temperature plummeted and we found ourselves once again having to reinstigate our “rule of ten” the one says we don’t get out of bed until either the temperature or the time has a “ten” in it.

The sudden shock to our systems of a day of barely double digit temperatures may have been taken a little easier if it hadn’t been accompanied by the first serious rain that we can remember.  This was rain of the bucketing down kind which turns to the lashing sort as the wind squalls whip through, and whip they did.  All day.  We began to wonder if someone, somewhere was pairing off animals just in case, then late in the evening it stopped as suddenly as if someone had found the “off” button.

“Red sky at night” we remembered was supposed to be a good sign for the next day, so when the calm came, if we looked at something green for a minute then squinted at the clouds, they took on an ever so slightly pinkish tone, and we were happy to call that “sunset”.

"Blue and green should never be seen!" Saturday 22nd September - Ypres

We were starting to think we weren’t going to experience a Belgian Summer, but it arrived with just one day to spare.   Temperatures in the low teens, gusty winds at times and the sort of rain that doesn’t wet anything unless it stays out in it all day, which we certainly did not do.

The change was timely in that it did prompt a bit of surgery on the heater, to make sure it was pumping out the requisite kilojoules, and we were never happy with the colour match between the buildings and all those clear blue skies and green leaves anyway.  

Don’t Bother Knockin’ Friday 21st September - Ypres

There’s a certain time in the wee small hours when a man of a certain age has to do what a man has to do.

At that time this morning, this particular chap, trying to remain asleep while doing what he had to do with one eye half open and the other still closed, was decidedly unsteady on his feet.  Thinking that some sort of vertigo had set in he gave up his slumber quest, opened his eyes and discovered that the earth was moving, or at least the water on it was and the boat on that was moving in perfect synchronicity.   

It takes a fair old wave action to start a flat bottomed boat that is almost four metres wide a rockin’. One may even have thought it impossible in a puddle that is no more than thirty metres wide by seventy long, with boats and pontoons acting as breaks.  One can only imagine what the wind strength was at the time.  In the cold hard light of day it all looked so beguiling, but there is more to come so we will continue to do what we did yesterday until the weather pattern becomes a little friendlier.