• Acquire a used  car or van from some fleet or hire company (not a Picasso!)
• Assemble a team of drivers and work out a schedule to keep said vehicle moving 23 hours a day
• Convince an insurance company to provide cover for nothing
• Blag fuel from some company who need good publicity (BP?)
• Blag free breakdown cover
• Do the thing for charity
• Get free pasties from Ginsters (not a requirement, just a way of feeding my addiction)

Any thoughts?

So, why not combine the two? Why not try to take a crappy 50cc bike from one end of Great Britain to the other?

Has it been done before? I don’t know. I don’t really care. Could it be done? Maybe. What would it involve? Well…

Obviously a 50cc moped. To maintain the spirit of the idea it couldn’t possibly be a good moped (such as an Aprilia), but would need to be a “step-thru” such as either a Honda Cub (or equivalent), Honda Melody, or even an old Puch.

Some form of support vehicle would be needed, ideally something Transit sized (to cart the ‘ped down to Cornwall in the first place, and afterwards to provide overnight kipping space). And obviously a driver.

I can’t even guess at fuel costs, as knackered old mopeds aren’t listed on the fuel economy sites, but I don’t think it would be that high.

Is anyone interested?

In the April 2001 census, Crewe had a recorded population of 67683 people. If we’re being generous we can round this up to a guestimate of 70000 people by April 2003.

Given these figures we see that within seven years of April 2003, in other words April 2010, Crewe will become a desolate no-mans-land inhabited only by temporary, transient people on their way to elsewhere.

I was there today. Its happened already.

The two DVD sets (Birmingham Canal Navigations and Caldon Canal) each contain two DVDs, a map, an explanatory booklet and a catalogue leaflet, as shown in the awful quality photograph here.

So what is on the DVDs? Well, one from each set contains an overview of the canal system in question, with highlights of the journeys. The other DVD contains a speeded up journey of the entire system, filmed from the box of the boat. Each is narrated by Paul himself (I assume).

Both are fascinating, and well worth the price (especially my free ones), and should Paul ever produce editions for the Lancaster Canal or Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal I’ll happily fork out the money for them.

The Aeroplane

Nothing remarkable here, you may think. It looks quite a small ‘plane, with a big nose.

All aboard!

The passengers are boarding. My uncle, Mr. Harry Blews, is the chap directly below the “T”, and his wife, Mrs. Mary Blews, stands below the “C”.

So far we see nothing out of the ordinary. But hang on! Harry Blews isn’t the sort of man to waste money on airport parking, even in the days when England was still using the Turnip as currency. Neither would he trust his beloved Humber Hawk to the care of Johnny Southerner whilst on a trip to foreign shores.

So then, where is the car?

Crikey!

Yes, for the holiday maker in a hurry, or indeed Morcambe and Wise in That Riviera Touch, the Bristol 170 could carry three cars and their passengers, and at a price that Textiles Manager from Preston could afford. Fantastic. Its almost like science fiction, but from 50 years ago. Can you imagine Ryan Air doing this today? Hell, they’d charge you extra for carrying  the spare wheel.

Jeremy Clarkson once said that the grounding of Concorde was “a massive leap backwards for mankind”. Thats as maybe, but in the 50s people flew on holiday with their cars, and in the 21st Century they don’t. That is what I call a massive leap backwards.

Here is a little bit more information about that particular aircraft…

G-ANWK, a Bristol 170 Mk32, was first registered on Jan 31st, 1956. It was operated by Silver City Airways, between Lydd to Le Touquet, from June of that year until January 1963 when it was taken over by British United Air Ferries. Withdrawn from service in October, 1969, the ‘plane was finally broken up in August, 1970. Here is another photo.

A Voyager at Stafford

Some people might say that they represent a giant leap forward in train technology. These people are probably short, have no sense of smell and enjoy rollercoasters. And are probably clinically insane.

Myself, I’m of above average height, can still smell despite a good few years chain-smoking and hate all fairground rides. I’ll neatly sidestep the sanity issue (I’m typing this on a Datawind Ubisurfer – I must have been bananas to buy it).

My first major moan about the Voyager concerns the piss-awful seats and lack of legroom. Now when I say that I am of above average height I mean that I am abiout six foot four. This doesn’t put me into the realm of basketball players or circus freaks, but it does stop me sitting in most of the seats on a Voyager. Table seats are fine, if you want to share a table with a drunken Scottish squaddie (are they all AWOL and hiding on the trains, or is it always the same one?), and the priority wheelshair users’ seating has sufficient room, but the majority of the seating would require me to undergo a leg-ectomy for me to use them. I suppose I could sit sideways across two seats, but that is uncouth, yobbish behaviour for the sort of folk who play their music loud in public.

Yobbish behaviour

When Charles Darwin designed the human olfactory organs he must have had quite a chuckle to himself when he put in the bits that enable you to smell the unique aroma of a Virgin Voyager. Is a whiff of flatulence combined with a hint of smoke? A solid leavening of used toilet with a dash of electrical burning? Or is it,as I suspect, a full blown massive turd secreted directly on to an electric heater full of cat hair? The reason for this is apparently that the toilet effluent tanks vent into the bodywork, and that the wiring is prone to going shonky. Not even the APT had these features!

An APT, not on fire.

But these are just minor nit-picking flaws, I can almost hear you say. Surely the superior ride quality makes up for them? Well, yes, of course, assuming your  idea of a nice journey involves lurching from side to side, up and down, and occassionally backwards and forwards. During the course of typing this, by netbook as been dislodged from the little wanky tray-table no less than three times. I’d have a smoother ride in a Land Rover. Across a bomb site. Under shelling.

The Next Generation Voyager will have more comforts.

And let us not forget, the government spent millions between 1959 and 1974 to electrify the West Coast Main Line, and now Captain Beardy is pissing all over this by running diesel trains on it. Money well spent! Its like buying the entire run of Star Trek Voyager on DVD, and copying them on to ropey old VHS tapes, then scrubbing the tapes with magnets before watching them.

But never mind. Just watch a video of better times.

Click for more on Flickr

The Foxfield Railway is a former colliery line just outside Blythe Bridge. The Wikipedia article has more information, but doesn’t have this little map thing:

View Larger Map

Here is the map:

View Larger Map

Download the file

http://www.coobeastie.co.uk/gecm/

However, if I even look like i’m considering mapping all the UK’s abandonned and derelict railway lines, please shoot me.

Click to see Flickr Gallery

The Victory is a 32ft narrowboat, built in 2005. It’s a day hire boat which will take 10 people. It cost us £120 for the day (0900-1730), plus a deposit of £80, which remarkably we got back. (You can get it for £100 for a weekday, but we paid for an extra hour on the grounds that we really had no idea what we were doing, and were therefore probably going to be late back)

Upon this epic voyage went myself, Steve, Big Debbie, Little Debbie, Trudy, Alan, Big Dave, Mel Black Sheep, Handleman Jeff and Kev the Cowboy. The sum total of our previous experience can be summed up like this: I’d been on a boat about 25 years ago, and Jeff fell into the canal when he was a kid… about sixty years ago.

After the 10 minute explanation of what to do (to go right, push left, and let others pass on your left/port side) and what not to do (no going to fast, no mooring on the non-towpath side, no acts of piracy without a Privateer’s License issued by The Queen), we set off in the direction of Gnosall, accompanied by a man who made sure I didn’t ram any of the expensive boats nearby.

Soon he jumped overboard (on to the path) and let us get on with it.

Click for Flickr group

The plan was to head south to Gnosall, grab some food from The Navigation, then continue out to the Hartley Arms at Wheaton Aston. However our plans were scuppered by The Navigation not being open, despite a sign on a previous bridge advertising breakfasts from half past seven. (We later learned that the sign had been put up by a previous landlord, and that nobody had bothered to remove it. Debbie offered to do it and was told she could have the sign. In the end, we couldn’t be bothered either.) So, after the comedy act that was our attempt at mooring (we really should have videoed this), we had to set off again. Nobody fell in at this point, so we’ll count it as a success.

Now on to bridges…. Well, the bridges on this stretch of the Shropshire Union Canal are narrow, with only about nine inches of clearance on each side (it might seem a huge gap to some, but remember: I have no idea what I’m doing), and the front of the boat has a whopping blind spot (where all the people sit) at the front. My plan to avoid a massive collision was to get a lookout to tell me how much space I had on each side. It was a plan so simple that the only way it could possibly fail would be if someone shouted, “Lets touch the bridge wall!” causing everyone to leap to one side, the boat to lean over and shift in the water. So…. clonk.

Click for more

It was a bloody miserable day, but as much of the route is either heavily wooded, or in a cutting, or both, the wind didn’t bother us that much. In places it can be very gloomy, with the trees hanging overhead. This is an excellent opportunity to try to hit someone with a tree. I know its irresponsible and childish, but so am I.

Steve commented that we really needed some music, either something that Martin Sheen would be listening to whilst heading up river to see Colonel Kurtz, or “Dueling Banjos”. Five minutes later we saw a local with a shotgun sitting on a bench by Rye Hill Cutting Bridge. He seemed cheerful, and we didn’t get bum-raped, which was nice.

I had been given the impression that canal boaters could be a miserable lot, always shouting at hire boat people and considering them the scum of the earth, but pretty much everyone we saw was friendly enough. An example of this is the nice couple on the light blue boat Almeida (possibly Almeira – I was a bit busy to note the correct name) who didn’t get annoyed even when we nearly rammed them whilst avoiding another boat. They were very helpful, even though they described day boats as “mobile chicanes”, a term I reserve for old people in Rover 75s, possibly wearing hats, with tartan blankets on the back shelves, on Sundays.

The only people who did get arsey with us were a couple in a ramshackle boat that look like a half collapsed garden shed. They seemed to think that the top speed we could do (as limited by a whacking great bolt blocking the accelerator), and my slowing down to avoid hitting bridges (see above) were impeding their progress. After I let them pass, they shot off at about twice our speed shouting something about their engine cutting out if they went too slow. Great.

Anyway… Wheaton Aston is a nice little village, and the Hartley Arms is a nice pub, but this isn’t about pubs.

Turning the boat round was a piece of cake, and the return run was much like the first leg, apart from one incident. Little Debbie had a go at steering, and within a minute forgot about the tiller going to the left to steer right. Making matters worse, she’d somehow managed to be standing behind the tiller arm, so as I tried to avoid crunching into the bank she very nearly went into the water (and the whirly blades of death). Luckily she didn’t and we bounced lightly off the bank (sort of).

Other minor irritating incidents: Debbie arsing about on the roof and nearly dropping the lifebelt in the water, Debbie nearly losing the wooden pole pretending to punt, Debbie using the boathook to try and snag trees (nearly decapitating Mel), people trying to see how far over the boat would tip (quite a way).

This post is getting too long, so here’s the end…

We got back to Norbury at about 5pm, gave the boat back and set of for the pub. Perfect timing. The heavens opened, and the Junction Inn’s carpark flooded in about fifteen minutes.

If theres one problem with this trip, its this: I now have an expensive hobby. At £100 a time this is going to cost me a fortune.