Losing it

So – about 3 grams lighter than I was yesterday, plus whatever was used up in nervous energy. It's slightly strange, one moment lying there, chatting about books with the man who's shortly to incise your incisor (well, molar in this case) and, the next thing you know, the magician's assistant is gently telling you the deed is done. While the magician himself is assuring you that the mouth won't hurt at all and to be sure to look up Ben Kane on Amazon.

Home we came, with my best beloved at the wheel and yours truly in less of a daze than expected. Being required to spend the day quietly has been a nice excuse to watch some snooker while doodling with database design on the laptop.

The blurb about the sedative said it could affect my memory today (don't sign any important documents, etc). Probably something I have to get used to, anyway! I know there's something I have to do now the tooth is out. Hm … oh yes, get up to Erin Mae as soon as possible, April having done its worst. Probably Saturday. Bring it on!

Push, pull and paracetamol

So when the time came, did that tooth want to come out? After three shots of local anaesthetic, and a great deal of pushing, pulling and waggling with implements that might not have been out of place in a Victorian midwife’s kit, the tooth stayed put. Dentist Mike confessed himself defeated, smoothed over the battlefield and handed me a batch of Tylex capsules to be taken “as required”, which he clearly felt they would be. Then he rang up a local oral surgeon, who I went to see this afternoon for a 10-minute consultancy about the next step.

While he was taking my blood pressure, he asked me what I had lectured in, and that led, by some devious route, to a discussion of all the historical novels we had read between us. I think we spent the next 20 minutes comparing notes about books and authors and checking out new ideas on Amazon via his consulting room computer.

Somewhere near the start of the conversation he decided to rearrange tomorrow morning’s schedule so as to deal with the offending item rather sooner than the two weeks suggested by the receptionist. So at 9 a.m. I shall go under, first sedation and then the scalpel. Provided we don’t spend all the time talking about Edith Pargeter.

Canal routes and root canals

I don't know why we're complaining. April is meant to be like this, and most parts of England need the rain. But it must be one of the wettest droughts we've had for a long time. Not to mention the hardest hail stones. So we do the next best thing to cruising – we plan. Out come the Nicholson's guides, and the route-planning websites are invoked to see how long it will take us to get to Chester in May.

Then I get tooth-ache – on our 39th anniversary of all days. Lower left back molar. Evening meal was a hesitant, jittery affair – food would insist on being chewed in that part of the mouth, and the flavour was no compensation for the nerves. We were actually going out for our celebratory meal two days later on a local Groupon deal (not that I'm miserly or anything). So, deciding the tooth was not going to subside on its own, I rang dentist Mike first thing on Monday morning and he, amazingly, was able to see me 40 minutes later. A large dose of amoxycylin, backed up by the usual tablets, meant we were able to enjoy the evening in style.

Unfortunately, Mike said the tooth was past saving. The infection in the root would re-occur, and he thought there was little point in trying to crown it (a subtle reference to my advanced age, I think). So out it will come. It's a wisdom tooth, no doubt more disposable that a top incisor. "If your eye offends you, pluck it out," says the Good Book, and I suppose the same principle must apply to teeth. But I'm not sure this was exactly what Jesus had in mind!

So it's back to planning canal routes, while I await judgment day on May 2nd. Just as well I've got lots to take my mind off the prospect.

Sunshine and Showers, Lockers and Covers

Carol Kirkwood et al had said that Tuesday morning would be the one dry part of the week, so I hauled myself out of our oh-so-comfy bed at an unreasonable hour, ready to attack (at last) the construction of some locker covers for the cratch. Unfortunately the sky decided to play footsie  with us and, what with the chill, working outside was a most unattractive proposition.

Amazingly, just before lunch the sun decided to put his hat on and I was able to tackle in earnest the necessary measuring, sawing and screwing. Narrowboats are bit like country cottage ceilings and walls – hardly a straight line to be found. So when I look at one or two edges that are not quite as intended I console myself that it blends in with the overall style. I discovered along the way that handsawing can be just as effective as an electric jigsaw for some jobs, and that stainless steel screws are not as strong as their more usual cousins when being driven in.

I am now, in equal parts, elated and exhausted, having got all three covers done, when at one point I thought I would manage only one. So we shall celebrate with a phenomenal steak and then go out to the Spittal Brook in Stafford for an evening of folk music. It's a beautiful, sunny evening to match the mood and make me forget the pain in the lower back. Bet it rains tomorrow. Perhaps I'll get a lie-in.

Easter and the Egg

We've celebrated Easter at sunrise on a New Forest hiltop, with joyful Brazilians in a poor suburb of Rio, with breakfast on the beach, with thousands in a huge marquee at a Christian jamboree, with new songs and old songs. Today it was with a happy group of Christians in Stafford. Different context, same story. Victory over death. Vindication of truth. The power of God in action to bring life when all is lost.

The speaker had brought along an Easter egg, bought in the local Co-op. No surprise there. Except that this one was called "The Real Easter Egg". A fairtrade egg, supporting charity and development projects, according to their website. As much to the point, it has the Easter story on the back of the box in storybook format. First thing of its kind I've seen. Nice to see supermarkets willing to stock it.

We didn't get any chocolate. But it was good to celebrate the old story with new friends.

Digital switchover

Erin Mae came with a very nice TV, built in to one side of the lounge area.  Unfortunately, with the digital switchover, it became completely incapable of receiving anything. We looked at getting a little digibox to feed it, but there was no way of doing this tidily. Anyway, the boxes we tried lost all their programme information when turned off.

We decided against joining the band who don't have a TV at all, and thought the most cost effective solution was to bring up our TV from home, and get a slightly larger one for there, more suitable for ageing eyes at a distance.

So yesterday the games began. Extracting the old TV from its surround proved a nightmare. My hands are scarred from reaching down behind to find and loosen fixings. Fitting the replacement proved even worse, with the machine screws refusing to locate. And of course all the sockets were in different places, some of them most inconveniently so. By the time of our evening meal I had something of a temporary fix, but it's going to need some more woodwork and the mains lead from home before it is as it should be.

Decisions usually have consequences, it seems, considerably beyond what was expected. Like the Boat Race today, with the (protesting, I presume) swimmer successful beyond his imaginings in causing annoyance and frustration. I somehow can't envisage his cause, whatever it is, being regarded in a more favourable light by those who watched the incident.

At last

Here we are, snug on the Erin Mae at last, after a relatively easy journey north. It's been a long time. A stunningly crimson setting sun promises a good day tomorrow, and now the sky is crystal clear, with planets and a very full moon blazing brightly. All seems well on board, and the central heating is keeping out the chill and getting rid of any residual winter dampness.

So tomorrow the fun starts. Not just yet the fun of cruising, I'm afraid, but of airing, cleaning, polishing, engine-servicing, locker-cover-making, varnishing. Sleeping. Planning, relaxing, enjoying.

A lot of the fun will be in seeing again some of the folk we've met before, but especially, when we finally get onto the cut, all those we're going to meet along the way.