Stuff and boxes

It is over 20 years since I last moved house and now that the time has come to gather things together ready for my next move I'm seeing the trappings of life from a different angle.

Some things - pots, pans, dishes, a bed, some clothes - are in everyday use and by most people's standards they are essential. The number and size and quality may vary but almost everyone would have them in some form or another. Most folk could also lay claim to having a fair few other things besides the essentials. Furniture, books and pictures on the walls are there to make the home more comfortable and add to the quality of life.

I wonder though how many homes have long forgotten boxes in the attic and things at the back of a drawer and stuff piled in cupboards that is never used. Those things, like the toasted sandwich maker or the slow cooker had their 15 minutes of fame before the novelty wore off and they were confined to the some dark recess. Admittedly they did seem like a good idea at the time.

Then there is that gift from an aunt or uncle, given in a well meaning way but not quite your cup of tea. Though you never had the heart to throw it out you never had the inclination to use it either. Besides, you probably inflicted your share of inappropriate gifts on your relatives out of a sense of Christmas guilt. At least the ubiquitous plastic gift card doesn't take up space and isn't as crude as simply putting cash in an envelope and placing it under the Christmas tree, even if it isn't anywhere near as versatile as a couple of bank notes.

Which brings me in a round about way to my present situation. I have a pile of strong cardboard boxes, I have a house full of possessions, some of which haven't seen the light of day in years, and I will have fewer and smaller rooms once I do decide where I'll be going. I need to square the circle. Actually, I need to be ruthless and organise several trips to the local charity shop or wherever. Yes there is eBay and there are car boot sales, but there are also only 24 hours in a day and I still like to spend some of them sleeping.

I'm pretty sure that some things that "may come in useful" will make it under cover to the new abode, and who knows, they may even be pressed into service one day. What I'm hoping and aiming for is that I'll end up with just enough possessions to be functional and live in pleasant surroundings in my new home - and that I'll keep it that way. Travelling light has its merits. Of course, Murphy's Law does mean that there will be at least one item that I'll need soon after it has found its way to a new owner, though somehow I don't think the new owner will be making toasted sandwiches with it.

Old Boats

I'm fond of boats. I've been fond of them since I was a boy though I've only ever owned a small sailing dinghy. Boats and anything to do with them were, and still are, fascinating for reasons I don't entirely understand.

Contact with boats was limited back in my childhood, living as I did in the Midlands and miles from the coast. Early memories include rowing boat rides on the Arboretum lake, and a fishing trip to a local reservoir where we used a square punt made out of old railway sleepers to get out to where the fish were - or at least may have been till I arrived. The local canal system, itself a source of attraction to this day, was another landmark that stands proud of the mists of time. I remember playing on the canal bank as narrowboats chugged past towing butty boats full of coal. Cargo carrying has long since gone but the canals are still there, as too are the rope marks chafed into stone bridges - reminders of the days when narrowboats were horse drawn and the tow path was there for the horses to tow them.

Holidays to the seaside provided the main contact with boats. I loved the fishing boats that lined the harbour walls, festooned with ropes and nets waiting for the next high tide. Pleasure craft bobbed at anchor with their slap, slap, slap of rigging blowing against the mast. The first trip I remember on a large boat was a brief excursion out beyond a harbour, I'm not sure which one now. There were two boats, each with a deck full of paying passengers and one with the added attraction of a diver who was going to descend to the bottom in traditional diver's helmet and weighted suit. The one without the diver was apparently cheaper and offered a better view of said diver doing his bit for the tourist industry.

Boats never seem to be called "it"; they are always "she". They have a life to them. Even the weathered skeletal timbers of boats stuck fast in the local sands have a character and prompt thoughts of how they were used in their days afloat. Many a boat spends its latter years on dry land, wooden props and wedges keeping it upright, faded tarpaulins covering the wheelhouse. Partially sanded hulls and patches of red primer bear witness to long abandoned projects that needed far more than a few weekends to transform the boat back to a former glory. Even boats still afloat show signs of neglect; a bottom awash with rain water and stray litter dropped there by the wind, a mooring rope thick with strands of green algae, and cracked paintwork that testifies to years of sunlight and neglect. For all their lack of seaworthiness these old boats often have far more interest and atmosphere than their modern counterparts.

Perhaps old boats really do have a personality.

Growing old? .... not just yet, thank you.

I heard a quote on the radio this morning, it went like this: "People don't stop working because they grow old, they grow old because they stop working".

That quote echoes my own sentiments. Even if I could afford to stop working and take up position by a hotel pool in a sunny climate, cool glass of something refreshing in my hand, I don't think I would. In fact I'm sure I wouldn't. Look closely though and you may find me writing or sketching in the shade of that umbrella.

It would be in the shade of something for sure. Some folks seem to start with the makings of a tan and get steadily darker. I start with the makings of cooked prawn on white bread and graduate to a fine cooked lobster as the day progresses. So what you are more likely to find is that I'm off wandering round looking at buildings and boats and scenery; pretty much anything except the occupying a sun lounger and waiting for the next meal.

So even if I could afford to do nothing I find the idea of exploring the highways of life far more appealing than sitting by the pool.

Carpe Diem anyone?