Tuesday 16th April 2024
The Hurlings have become waterborne. It’s so unlikely. They said to go the Lidl at Limehouse. Dinner at 7.30. So I did that. There was the canal below, but no access from the Lidl carpark. What were you supposed to do? Jump off and somehow they would materialise?
Boats were in view but unoccupied. One looked terribly unprepossessing. I managed to get down onto the towpath. A vessel further along showed signs of life, indeed a puce and cerise combination was in view – it could only be Charlie Hurling lui-meme. But on the other side. How to get across? I thought perhaps if I launched into a sea-shanty, they would send out a barque.
The nautical world, the life of the ocean waves.
Well, it turned out there was a secret bell you had to ring to be admitted to the private quay, once you had found a bridge and crossed over. So at last I was on board! Such a relief. I was beginning to succumb to abandonment anxiety.
The great feature is the toilet arrangements. You have to be induced in how to use. The most likely consequence is you’ll do anything rather than ‘go’. Luckily I was spared. Charlie and Mr Blue Cassidy said toilet discussion was tremendous amongst boat-owners. Really there was nothing else worth mentioning.
You may remember that when we visited for a weekend the Hurling cottage in Norfolk about six years ago, I snapped the toilet flush lever off and the other toilet wasn’t working.
They’d done a 70s menu. Only trifle was missing. Prawn Cocktail – enchanting. Chilli con Carne with garnishes. Charlie Hurling said hot chilli often loses its power. He’d gone to Lidl to get more and only used half of it. Perhaps the Lidl product is especially nuclear. Guests were as good as blasted back to from whence they had come only by a mouthful. Evem Miss Miracle commented and she, as we know, is exceptionally adventurous. She’d met a man in Lidl but he was no good. Not the same branch as the chilli came from though.
Who knew Lidl could give so much? There was talk of a very old friend who had sadly passed. Terrific hiss and spit at the funeral followed by slamming of funeral car doors for some reason. Another guest who I had never met before explained how his sister had helped herself to the entire inheritance of their parents so he never got his share.
A cheese board with grapes was followed by mini-Twix bars. Some present got confused as to whether they’d had one or not. Merle Barr was only just back from Japan. But I hardly spoke to her. We dined off our laps because the table was occupied by Charlie Hurling’s penis jigsaw, which is proving a nightmare to complete. So many areas of vague shading. All you have to do to get a penis jigsaw is send a picture of a penis to a jigsaw-maker. Everybody must try it.
Olive Wildish was fresh from Henley, where she is winding up her late mother’s affairs. Three hundred pieces of Spode, once of value. The Cranberry glass collection has already gone. Mr Cassidy and I were ears-pricked – possessions! Spode! Olive had a photographic catalogue. ‘The last thing you need is any more things,’ she said to Mr Cassidy. How they cram onto that boat I’ll never know. They’ll hoping to consolidate all their residences into one mansion. Still the lock-ups all over the place, packed with items. Just like Angus Willis and the Multis.
‘Can you drive the boat?’ I asked. ‘Oh yes,’ they said, ‘We’ve been as far as Cheshunt. That’s in Hertfordshire. It took two days to get there and two days back again.’
Who would have thought it?
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