Tales of the Modern Mariner

No Albatross

It’s been a while since I mentioned that I live on a boat, so I thought a catch up on life at the marina was in order now that Spring is tentatively underway.

You’ll be pleased to know that Queen Susan is thriving and still living her best life. There was a moment a few weeks back when Jason found her flopped on the pontoon, sopping wet. He dried her off, checked her for any signs of being waterlogged and within moments she was back to her usual, buoyant self, which is presumably what stopped her from drowning in the first place. Her head was completely dry, which made me think that rather than taking a proper swim, she had tumbled into the marina dinghy. When it’s sunny, various cats take ownership of it to do a bit of uninterrupted sunbathing. The rest of the time it is usually half full of rainwater, which would explain Susan’s bedraggled demeanour.

I know the weather is on the turn because all the other cats of the marina have started to emerge from their various states of winter hibernation. Tot, the ginger king to Susan’s smoky queen, is leaving soon. His parents are going to live on dry land. I am running a book on which of the remaining cats will live their best Jellicle life and be promoted to the Heaviside Layer in his absence.

In other animal news, there has been ongoing goose trouble which caused an email chain almost as wonderful as the one about Susan and her profligate shitting. At the end of one of the pontoons, a goose couple decided to build a nest on a boat. They were able to do this because the owners are currently abroad and so nest building could continue uninterrupted. Once the wife was safely ensconced, the gander set about guarding her with might and main, which involved a lot of honking, quite a lot of hissing and some serious chasing of the human inhabitants nearby. People warn you that a swan could break your arm, but entire books could be written about the dangers of territorial geese. Whole email chains certainly have been.

One resident in particular was extremely upset by the fierceness of the gander. She wrote to everyone explaining the situation and asking for suggestions as to how to resolve the issue because she was fed up of being chased every time she left her boat. It isn’t that I don’t sympathise, because if it was happening to me, I’d be quite annoyed, but there was a certain Hyacinth Bouquet/town council tone to the emails that made me howl.

At first there was a lot of to and fro as people suggested various options like turning the boat around so that the nest was further away from people. Then there were the nay sayers who said that you absolutely cannot move nesting birds, even if you are chauffeuring them around on a narrow boat rather than picking them up. I think this notion was quickly squashed thanks to nobody actually wanting to drive a boat whilst being savaged by a livid gander, even if the RSPB said it was a good idea.

After this came all the methods of either ignoring or engaging with an angry goose. The woman who was being harassed sent an email that said that she had some success in simply staring the gander down firmly with a forthright air. After this, things went quiet for a few days. Then came the email that said that after having done some strong staring at the gander until he let her pass, she was attacked as she retreated down the pontoon. She was in receipt of; ‘a mighty punch to my back and head.’ She said that she was sure it was actually both geese who did this and that ‘they came out of nowhere.’ She was extremely shaken and distressed and no longer recommended goose staring as a hobby.

And then the emails came thick and fast. She wrote to everyone about the attack and cc’d us all into her missives. The marina management, Tower Hamlets council, the RSPB, Chris Packham, Goose Rescue. Everyone got emails describing the ‘strong, physical blow’ to her head and another friend who was delivered of such a clout that ‘her spectacles flew into the water.’

All the emails suggested various, increasingly bizarre and desperate remedies for getting the geese to cease and desist their harassment. My favourite was her demand that the marina management erect a goose proof tunnel from her boat to some, safe point on the pontoon so that she could go about unmolested and with the full complement of spectacles. She had looked into bird proof materials and had several options that they could choose from. As no tunnels have been erected in recent weeks, it seems that they declined this option and the emails, sadly, petered out. When we got back from our holiday, Jason asked the woman if things had been resolved to which she just said, ‘yes.’ I would suggest that it meant ‘no’, as she is usually pretty forthcoming. Perhaps the RSPB sent her a fencing helmet, told her to stop pestering the geese and went about their business.

Talking of going about your business, we have had a boat related sex pest on our shores in the last few weeks, which has caused a bit of a stir.

On Sunday we got an email from the marina management saying that the ‘incident’ on Saturday evening had been reported to the police and that things were in hand, but could residents be aware and alert and if they saw anything else, it needed reporting. Jason went off to speak to them to find out what ‘anything else’ we might need to be aware of.

It turned out that the CCTV cameras had caught footage of a man hiding in the small copse of trees between the marina and the road. He was staring at the boats and having a wank. The previous Saturday, there was footage of the same thing but they weren’t sure if it was the same man.

Everyone, except me, has been very solemn about this news. It is, of course, not what you want to see when you’re walking back from Billingsgate on a Saturday evening. Nobody wants their peace spoiled by a man tossing off to a tug boat full of Susan’s shit. That’s not going in Boat Life Weekly - First for Boaters.

I don’t know what I find funnier; the fact that they are not sure if it’s the same man, like there’s a gang of boat wankers out there with a timetable. ‘It’s your turn this Saturday, Geoff.’ ‘What? No, I can’t. I’ve got the kids that weekend. Ask Alan if he’ll take my shift. He owes me one after I let him have my place at The Boat Show.’ Or just that there is someone who is turned on enough by narrow boats to risk spending Saturday evening in what I have generously described as a copse, but which is at best a scrubby patch of weeds with a few spindly saplings in it and a lot of bags of dogshit.

My favourite thing of all though is that when I told my mum about it, there was a pause and then she said: ‘Wouldn’t he fall out?’

‘Fall out of where?’

‘The tree, of course.’