Taking Backbearings

There's always a prior job to do; a pre-task that needs finishing before the job that is actually next on the list can be attempted. It's usually a fix, or an assembly; I will have bought something to do a task with before I'm ready to do that task, and stored it for later on the understanding that it'll need sorting-out when needed. When the time comes to do the thing, I am then frequently surprised to learn (or rather to be reminded) that the pre-task task is bigger than the actual task itself. Such is the life of a do-er-upper, eh.

In all honesty, this process of fixing-up is often the most pleasant part of any project. Those who used to follow my Twitter feed -and those who still follow my Bluesky posts- will be well aware of this phenomenon. When I do manage to thread some posts together they are often along the familiar 'story in 5 acts' theatrical structure. The quest begins, spirals out of all control, includes a catastrophe ('will our hero find where that spring flew off to? Stay tuned to find out!') and finally reaches its denoeumant with a working appliance. Why yes, I was educated close to Stratford on Avon, why do you ask?

The past few weeks have been a bit of a cascade of these backwards steps- back bearings that ultimately let me move whole workstreams forward, each destined to make the forward leap more readily achievable. My late grandad once said "never be afraid to go backwards a bit if it helps you get out the hole". Of course, he was being more literal than symbolic -him being the most literal person you could wish to meet- and was referring to the means of getting my 15-tonne digger out of a drained lake at the time, but as was frequently the case he inadvertently gave me some valuable life advice. An accidental laureate, it's one of his phrases I repeat often to this day, and have been musing on it frequently this year in particular. Whilst recommissioning the contents of a workshop either bought and stored immediately upon the embarkation of this project, or previously packed away on the sale of the old property, this back and forth has become routine. Nevertheless, progress has felt... faltering; and even I, a master of the long-term project have needed to give myself several pep-talks.

On the face of it, it seems as though there isn't much to report, though the truth -ever fractal- is that lots have been achieved. I now have two working donkey saws (a huge, industrial one and a tabletop 'I can't be bothered to saw that pipe' -sized one that runs a hacksaw blade). I've rebuilt a knackered 5kva generator, cleaned up and restored a set of sheet metal slip rollers and a pedal-operated guillotine (also for sheet metal as opposed to French aristocrats); built a swager and press-brake, and have mounted all of these on wheels so they can be brought out of the trailer for use. I've got my beautiful vintage lathe to within one missing component of working, and rescued another in case that part can't be sourced.

Recently, a team of helpers from the boatyard came and wrestled an electric crane from Murphy’s Game with me (thanks to Tim, Jules, and Dave) and I then mounted this in the rear of my lorry trailer for the lifting of all the above equipment up and down the 4 foot from ground to access door. I even managed to tidy up the yard to the extent that 2 tonnes of scrap metal went for recycling.

Alongside this, the conversion of Bluey the Transit van to a camper, began. A long-term project that now needs pushing through, for reasons that'll soon become clear. As with all the other jobs on the list, the van conversion has taken a lot of backwards steps to get to the stage of fitting out, but it's beginning to take shape now. Solar fitted, the van is fully insulated and the insides lined out. I can start making furniture now. Just as soon as I mend the thickness planer and re-align my table saw, of course...

Not that I am lacking in motivation or focus already, but the need for wheeled domesticity has become more immediate by my recently accepting a place on the course to take my next metalworking qualifications. As it's in Sussex where there are a dearth of canals for me to move onto, I'll take the van down for the three days a week I'm there, and camp out on the South Downs. As I'll be in the forge during the day I need to be well-rested and properly-fed though, so I need to make sure it's properly done. Another thing to do. As Willow would say- 'another open tab'.

Work-wise, I went back into the building conservation business proper recently, as well; taking my previously dormant company out of its mothballs after a minor dalliance with employment. I quickly came to the conclusion that not only am I ungovernable but also fundamentally unemployable. I simply have too much to do to have a job, and it feels too much of a waste of time to give all my week to other people. Also, it's incredibly inefficient to work for a wage. I know it can work for people, and paid holidays and sick pay are tempting for many to fall back on, but truly I can't with all conscience look myself in the mirror and feel I'm using my time effectively in this way. Words to repent in a few weeks or months when I've lost the shirt off my back, perhaps. We'll see, but for now things are busy, and I have enough work on the books to see me to Halloween already.

The boat? Well, as you asked, the boat creeps on. With all this stuff going on it's been all I can do to just visit it every week, though some paint has gone on (the floor at least), and of course it has moved ever closer to my Oxfordshire mooring. As I write, it lies at Banbury on the mooring where I painted Solsbury Hill this time last summer. How much changes in a year, and how much stays the same. We moved it to the unofficial county town of North Oxfordshire last week in glorious sun, and I was heartened to see the old lock keepers cottage at Little Bourton, once a half-attempted purchase of mine in the early 2000s, is being renovated after years of neglect. When I first brought a boat through here it was lived in by a wiry but ancient woman, all on her own and completely off grid, before such things were fashionable. After her death it was sold off for what was at the time an eye-watering amount of money, and was promptly vandalised and then left empty. In the years since I've often wondered how it has fared, and hearing many stories of it's demise had been imagining a shell, like the house at Grant's Lock on the south side of town. Someone is putting the work in now however, and that's good to see. In the years since I last passed, the trees have grown up round the old place, holding what once felt an exposed outlier in a green embrace. It'll make a lovely secluded spot for someone; I just hope they like boats.

In another reminder of the rapid passage of time, Willow and I recently revisited Brereton Heath in Cheshire for a night away; the place we stayed when I wrote the first of these posts on buying the boat and beginning the journey home. So long ago now that we consider our return trips to the Bear's Head Inn to be a bit of a tradition. I wonder what stage everything will be at by the time we next nip up the M6 to buy Cheshire New Potatoes from the nearby farm shop. Who knows, I might even have got a forge lit on the work boat by then.

As ever, I want to thank everyone who makes the monthly or occasional donation to the project. You've helped buy the things that mend the tools that enable me to make these incremental steps, and I'm grateful to every one of you.

Since moving to this hosting, it's no longer possible to add video to these posts, so the whole journey is being formatted into longer clips, and will soon be nestled in their own YouTube channel, perfect to pass the evenings watching with a cup of tea.