Sail boats, canal boats, and cruisers too

'Now is the time, to send us a line,’ I sang, as I walked down the Cliffe, ‘For your Hoseason’s boating brochure.’ When I was young this was one of the catchiest jingles, along with ‘It’s a beautiful day, come to C&A!’ and ‘A finger of fudge is just enough to give the kids a treat.’ This isn’t going to be one of those nostalgic wallows about naff jingles [too late – Ed.], but anything to do with boats, even just the ferry to Calais, gives rise to the Hoseason’s boating brochure earworm. ‘We’ve got all kinds of craft, that’ll suit you just fine, for messing about on the water.’ I’d somehow agreed to join Hoxton Mum on the maiden voyage of her new boat, which she’d parked (parked doesn’t sound right), on the river in South Street. Since Lysander went freelance (eg unemployed), Hoxie has conceived increasingly desperate schemes to avoid seeking paid work herself. The latest is to join ‘buy nothing new year,’ which has add-on options such as ‘knit socks with wool from old sweaters’ and ‘fish for supper using a second-hand boat.’ A salty sea dog in the Lewes Arms recently convinced Hoxie that not only are there mullet, carp and chub in the Ouse, but that his old boat was an unmissable bargain.
Hoxie waved her blue fisherman’s cap when she saw me. ‘Nice authentic touch,’ I said.
‘It’s new,’ she said, then clapped her hand to her mouth.
‘I thought you weren’t buying anything new?’
‘That’s this year,’ she said. ‘I got this on December 31st. Let’s set sail, me hearties!’ She got in what looked like a baby’s bath. I stumbled in after, the boat tipping alarmingly, and when we sat down our knees touched.
‘No fishing today,’ she said, ‘I just need to get the hang of the craft.’ She rowed out into the middle of the river, surprisingly expertly.
‘How come Lysander didn’t come?’ I asked.
‘Oh, he’s making a silly fuss about the cost of the boat. Wait till he sees all the amazing free suppers. Reminds me, must get a fish kettle.’
‘A new one?’ I teased.
‘Steamer Trading doesn’t count – they sell essential items to support my buying nothing.’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ I said, ‘But why is my bottom wet?’
‘Oh.’
I’ve always hated swimming in my clothes, ever since school when we had to dive for bricks wearing pyjamas. But needs must. We sat cold and damp on the muddy path, watching the last traces of the boat going glug glug glug before it disappeared beneath the briny.
‘Let’s get coffee,’ she said. ‘And before you point out I can’t buy it, you can.’
‘All Britain’s waterways waiting for you,’ I sang as we squelched along. Hoxton Mum emptied her shoe into a drain. ‘They can keep waiting,’ she said, and we pushed open the door of the Snowdrop.

Beth Miller, 10th January 2012. Published in VivaLewes.com. Photo by Alex Leith

And there you are without a friend; you pack your car and ride away

“Excuse me,” says the Dutch tourist politely, leaning out of the window of his shiny campervan. “How do we get to the…” he consults his phone, “Lewes Arms?”
“Let me ask you something,” I reply. “How desperate are you to go there?”
“Um…”
“Because not only is the Snowdrop, for instance, very nice, but I can tell you how to find it. Trouble with the Lewes Arms, it’s a bit cut off by roadworks.”
“We are meant to be meeting some people there, you see?”
“There are loads of other places you can get to once you’ve made the forced left turn at the top of Station Street.” Momentarily I can only think of The White Hart.
“Our friends said they will see us at the Lewes Arms.”
“Well I honestly don’t think they can really want to meet you. They’re fobbing you off, mate. That pub is the current, though temporary, winner of the most complicated place to drive to in Britain award.”
“What is ‘fobbing off’?”
“Unless you’re willing to park and walk? Though parking’s a bit problematical. Essentially there isn’t any. It’s been suspended because of the roadworks.”
“I think I will just drive along here, thank you so much…”
I put my hands firmly on either side of his window. “Don’t go up there, crazy man. There are a shedload more roadworks along Priory Street.”
Honesty Girl strolls up. “Ooh, who are your blond friends?”
“They want to go to the Lewes Arms.”
“Nah, forget it, guys. You can’t go up Station Street at all now. Town centre’s a no-drive zone.”
“I am sorry dear ladies, our friends are waiting.”
“They say they are, but they’re not really,” says Honesty Girl. “They’re thinking, blimey what a drag having to host these Amsterdam boys, let’s invite them at the height of Roadworks Open Season. That’ll teach them not to bring any giggle weed.”
I nod in agreement and start to pick off the edge of a large purple flower transfer that’s been stuck onto the van in a sweetly honest display of hippy-ness.
“The difficulty of automobile access in your town is rather stressful,” says the driver.
“It is possible we are the ones who would benefit from some giggle weed,” says one of his passengers.
“Worthing’s very nice,” says Honesty Girl. “Well, it’s not my cup of tea but you can drive into it. Bonus.”
“This whole country can just fob off,” cries the driver. He spins the campervan round on its impressive turning circle and speeds off in a cloud of exhaust, my sweaty hand-prints still visible on the side of the vehicle.
“Phenomenal grasp of English, those people,” says Honesty Girl, and we walk into our newly pedestrianised town for a glass of something cooling at the Lewes Arms.

Disclaimer: Because the roadworks keep moving, the author cannot be held responsible for any inconvenience resulting from this column being mistaken for a guide to road closures.

Beth Miller, 3rd August 2011. Published in VivaLewes.com. Picture by Xavi Buendia