Buying a Dinghy – Part Two: Getting afloat
An inflatable dinghy like this 2.7m Zodiac comes with a foot-pump, but £100 extra for a compressor was money well spent, says Roy.
Review: The Real Greek, Covent Garden, London
After shopping for a dinghy in Putney and popping in to the Brompton Bike shop in Covent Garden, The Real Greek restaurant – just up the road from the bike shop – was perfect for lunch.
Around 2pm, we were lucky to get a window table at this buzzy, friendly and authentic-feeling joint. Half-a-litre of retsina (£12.50) accompanied several tapas-sized plates: some of the nicest char-grilled octopus ever (£7.50), authentic horiatiki (no lettuce, slab of feta), chips (£3.50), and a serving of gigantes (giant beans; £4.75), followed by a slice of superb baklava (£4.25) with our coffee.
In such a touristy location, the place would probably manage to survive on passing trade alone. But that’s not the feeling you get here, either from the food or the service – we could almost have been on the Plaka in Athens.
Buying a Dinghy – Part One: Why, and which one?
Our first trip by dinghy to the Tesco Express on the other side of the Thames was a revelation. This was such a cool way to do one’s grocery shopping! We simply had to get a dinghy, and soon.
After giving us a little tour by tender of the Thames & Kennet Marina, our generous D Pontoon neighbour, David, insisted we use his little dinghy for our next supermarket trip. By car, it’s six or seven kilometres away, through sometimes heavy traffic and over Reading Bridge. By boat, it’s a mile at most.
Like many others, no doubt, David shops online and gets his groceries delivered, so he only needs to pop across the river every couple of days for bread and milk and such. Generous to a fault, he’s also quick to offer a lift to King’s Meadow, just before the bridge, from where it’s only a five-minute walk to the train station.
That was how we got to Reading Station before heading to London to visit Chas Newens Marine Boat Co. Ltd, located on the embankment near Putney Bridge, in search of an inflatable dinghy of our very own. (David’s dinghy being temporarily unwell, however, he prevailed upon his friends Howard and Sarah’s son, Oscar (14), to take us in their much fancier and more powerful motorboat – shown at the top of this page.)
Family Matters 2 – Paella Party at the Clemmows’
Though it might seem cheeky to review one’s brother-in-law’s paella, I give it five stars. Lyndsay and John host a giant paella party every summer, and this year it coincided with the 30th birthday of their twins, Charlie and Hannah, on Sunday, 31 July.
On Friday, therefore, Uncle Roy and I locked up the boat, headed off from Thames & Kennet marina and checked in at The Arrow Mill for the weekend (reviewed in my 13 July blog). We’d had car trouble again with the new Renault Twingo, but our incredibly generous marina neighbours, Kenny and Heather, lent us their Volvo convertible for the trip.
On the back terrace of Lynt and John’s house – a house that has seen some spectacular parties in its time – four generations celebrated the twins’ birthday together: from Roy’s mum, Leila (93), to a fast-growing brood of great-grandchildren whose names I will not list here, for fear of leaving out a name and offending its parent forever.
Six steps to the perfect paella
Three Days in Cookham
One guidebook describes Cookham as “sitting smugly” on the river. Well, we too were sitting smugly on the river last week, ensconced at the perfect mooring along Bell Rope Meadow: a gentle stretch of tree-shaded lawn dotted with benches, just before the blue bridge. So, when the sunburnt lady from the local council demanded £18 for three nights, we cheerfully handed it over.
Rowing teams, both boy and girl, flitted by with practised ease, sometimes (though not always, fortunately) pursued by a coach on a skiff with a noisy megaphone. All sorts of people came down to enjoy a picnic lunch, parade their infants, walk their dogs or admire the line-up of seven or eight boats; others were just on their way for a drink or a meal at The Ferry, located immediately after the bridge.
Biking around Cookham
Finally, we got out and actually rode our new Brompton bikes. Here’s where I have to admit I was wrong: I thought they’d be expensive toys that we wouldn’t use, and therefore a waste of money. Now I can see they’re going to be extremely useful, especially as Roy dislikes walking, but doesn’t mind getting on to a bike – especially if it means avoiding a walk.
Our first foray was around the beautiful old Cookham Churchyard (me respectfully trying neither to swear at the new bike on such hallowed ground, nor to wobble into the venerable tombstones). Then we headed into the village and along the narrow high street. From there, Roy followed his nose – mine having absolutely no sense of direction – to a path leading to the weir and Cookham Lock. Cookham Lock is exceptionally lovely, as the friendly lock-keeper agrees: “Just a pity the boats come along to spoil the peace and quiet.”
Our second was to forage for sustenance: first at a Londi’s superette, and then at the delightful little French deli near Cookham Station for a baguette (Honorine, sourdough and beautiful; remember the name), a stack of mountain-dried ham and some saucisson sec – plus a glass of chilled white wine on the house. Urged on (nay, nagged) by Roy, I attempted to practise my halting French on the man behind the counter, but he was having none of it. Deciding that he was probably trying to practise his English, I did my best not to take it personally.
After three nights in Cookham, we moored overnight near Temple Island, a few kilometres from Henley-on-Thames, and cycled into town for a couple of sangrias at Hotel du Vin. Despite the bumpiness of the path in places, the fading of the light and the potency of the sangrias, we made it back safely, apart from a little short-term damage to the bits that connect with the bicycle seat. So, I think we now declare the bikes a success.
Towpath walk to Boulter’s Lock
One extra day in a place can make all the difference. As we’d decided not to go further downstream this time – to Eton and Windsor, say – I set off solo to find the towpath to Boulter’s Lock, one down from Cookham. Find it I did, and followed it along the Cliveden stretch, deservedly described as the most beautiful part of the Thames – river wilderness to one side, pastoral idyll to the other.
The lock is unusually situated between a road and a river island with a restaurant; a cute bridge links the two. Parched by now, I couldn’t wait to buy an ice cream from the Italian mama presiding over the ice-cream stall.
Stanley Spencer Gallery
Just a five-minute walk from Cookham Bridge is this picturesque art gallery. Built in 1846 as a Wesleyan Chapel, it is now named after one of Britain’s most famous artists and currently exhibiting a special collection of his works. Spencer (1891-1959) was a son of Cookham, and had a special affinity with the place. Though it’s not his most spectacular work, I especially like View from Cookham Bridge, because it looks down past the little white Ferry House and along to Karanja’s mooring on Bell Rope Meadow.
Granted, we have the luxury of time. But the longer you spend in a place like Cookham – or anywhere else, for that matter – the better you’re going to get to know it, to appreciate it, to absorb its special charm and to remember it.
Brompton Bikes
From the start, I had my doubts about this bike business. I thought we wouldn’t ride them enough to justify the expense. But once Roy gets the bit between his teeth, there’s no stopping him.
Folding bikes would be more compact, and therefore easier to stow away neatly in a hatch built for the purpose on the aft deck of our Dutch barge, Karanja. Roy’s research showed that Brompton bikes were the best; Brompton bikes we would have.
Something else worried me about the idea of a folding bike – or a folding anything, really: It would have to be unfolded before use, and then refolded after use. You see, I’m somewhat mechanically challenged, to put it politely… which my husband sadly fails to do. Watching my ineptness with regard to anything from a re-sealable cardboard box to a toddler-proof stair-gate to a Magimix, his initial mild wonder develops into disbelief, frustration and, finally, intense annoyance.
“Just look at it, surely you can see how it all fits together?” No, Roy, I can’t. I really, really can’t. So, for me and others like me, here are the:
Instructions according to Roy – 5 steps to unfolding your Brompton bike
Note: Before you start, make sure you’re standing on the left side of the bike; that is, with the saddle pointing to the left. (You see? Already that makes no sense.)
Step 1: Release the pedal (from its misery, if not your own).
Step 2: Release the grip below the saddle; pull the saddle up to the desired position; secure grip once more.
Step 3: Swing handlebars out from clip (on front fork) and secure (with clippy, twisty thing).
Step 4: Release whole of front section with little plastic, hooky thing on front wheel hub, which attaches to the rear frame, and swing it to the front. (This may not actually happen the first time. Try again.) Now secure it with the same type of clippy, twisty thing described in Step 3. (No, not the same one.) Note: When you swing the front section forward, turn the handlebars slightly so that the front wheel does not catch the stowed rear wheel.
Step 5: With your left hand on the handlebars, and your right hand on the rear of the saddle, lift the saddle while swinging the rear section out until it clips into place. (This might take a few goes.) Then wipe away your tears, blow your nose, and ride off into the sunset. And be grateful that I spared you the video version.
And now – 5 steps to folding down a Brompton bike
Step 1: Release rear section with small lever under the saddle, and swing it under the frame. The bike will now rest on its two little stabilising wheels. Note: ensure the pedal that has the clip is on the top of its arc, towards the front of the bike. (If you forgot to do this, have a little cry.)
Step 2: Release front section and swing it back so that the little black clippy thing on the front wheel hub clips over the rear frame.
Step 3: Unscrew clippy, twisty thing for handlebars, and lower into place, clipping it into clippy thing on front fork.
Step 4: Lower saddle. (Can you remember how? No, I can’t either. Still.)
Step 5: Stow collapsible pedal.
In theory, says Roy, the whole thing – whichever way you do it, up or down – should take about 20 seconds at most, and 10 on a good day.
Hah!
By Train to Marlowe
As Marlow is just one stop away from Bourne End, and it’s an hourly service, by train seemed a good way to get there.
Naturally, we arrived at the station two minutes after the departure of the 10.53am train, so we explored Bourne End’s useful but not terribly exciting high street: a Costa, another café, a Sainsbury’s, a shoe-repair/key-cutting/photo-printing shop and so on.
Marlow station isn’t in the centre of the village, as the Bourne End station-master had kindly warned us. From when you turn left at The Marlow Donkey pub (named for the affectionate local term for the original choo-choo that plied this route), it’s about a ten-minute stroll to a seriously chi chi high street. Here you’ll find some interesting clothing boutiques, a couple of art galleries, cafés, restaurants, aesthetics clinics and nail salons; plus several decidedly upmarket charity shops – we counted at least two Oxfams! – selling cut crystal glasses and Royal Doulton tea-sets.
Wounded bulls
At the end of the high street, you cross Marlow Bridge to get to Macdonald’s Compleat Angler Hotel – named for the book by 16th-century English writer Izaak Walton, who stayed there in 1659. Amazingly, The Compleat Angler is the second-most reprinted book in the English language, after the King James Bible!
On this, the hottest day of the year, the terrace was fully occupied; we contented ourselves with a large G&T in the bar lounge. At GBP15 each, we felt almost as though we were back in Singapore.
Drinks had been drained and a table not yet forthcoming; so we took the very next train back to Bourne End, crossed the bridge, turned right and followed the river for cod and chips at the The Bounty Pub. (For more on that, see my previous blog.)
Pubs and Restaurants in Bourne End and Cookham
An idyllic riverside location in a picture-perfect village isn’t enough. When you’re forking out for a gastropub on the Thames, you want really good food and service, and – after trying a few along the way – that’s what we eventually found at The White Oak, Cookham.
Though our mooring at Bourne End looked to be a bit “ulu”, as they say in Singapore – meaning inconveniently far-flung – it was in fact only a ten-minute walk from Bourne End village, and five minutes from The Spade Oak pub. On the plus side, The Spade Oak has alfresco seating and an interesting menu; disappointingly, both the food and the service were patchy: over-brown chips came with my cod (£11); Roy’s delicious fillets of sea-bass (£16) were served lukewarm the first time round; and other people’s drinks took forever to arrive. (Intrepid Roy got ours directly from the bar.)
There must be a connection between The Spade Oak and The Ferry at Cookham Bridge, nearby: the menus are identical, and the service equally poor. We’d stopped in at The Ferry on our new bikes for a couple of halves of cider, which did eventually come; but having witnessed the sorry confusion, decided not to return for dinner. A pity, that, as it has a nice alfresco setting right on the river and was literally 150 metres from our mooring.
Instead, we tried our luck along Cookham High Street. I loved the ambience of Bel and the Dragon, which came highly recommended by a couple of our marina friends,and could have spent a week curled up with a few of its marvellous collection of old books. Disappointingly watery cocktails (£8) – especially Roy’s martini, even the second time around – drove us away after one drink.
Across the road, the menu at The King’s Arms was almost identical to both The Spade Oak and The Ferry – just laid out differently. So, after a glass of French chardonnay (£6) at young and buzzy The Crown, which marks the end of the High Street, we headed back to the boat for a chicken curry that I’d made “just in case” – fortunately, as it turned out.
The White Oak
Finally, we made it to The White Oak in The Pound, Cookham, a pleasant 15-minute walk from our mooring near the bridge. It fully deserves the moniker “gastropub”; it’s #1 on TripAdvisor, and you can see why. Spacious bar, well-proportioned restaurant and lovely garden were all full to capacity on Friday, 22 July – the first day of the summer, according to the manager. (The last day of the school term?) Even so, the service was lovely, the atmosphere convivial and the food excellent.
We opted for the day’s set menu (£15 for two courses; £19 for three). To start, breaded beef rib, horseradish and carrot salad for both of us. To continue, we shared both the slow-cooked pig cheeks, sultana and caraway ragu, mash and burnt savoy, and the smoked haddock, squid ink and leek risotto.
For dessert, just one sticky toffee pudding with ice cream to share, and all washed down with the unoaked Chilean chardonnay (£20) pictured below. Fabulous.
The Bounty Pub
Marina neighbour Al (who, by the way, lives on a boat named “Alestorm”) said we should visit The Bounty if we found ourselves in Bourne End. You can only get to this popular establishment by boat, or by crossing the pedestrian and railway bridge*, turning right and following the river for a couple of hundred metres.
At this welcoming, relatively cheap and decidedly cheerful joint, shirtless mad dogs and Englishmen happily roasted in the sun, while Roy and I cowered under what little shelter there was to polish off some jolly good cod and chips (£11). Happily, the friendly service included a lift back across the river to the Bourne End Marina, just five minutes from our mooring.
* In the days when The Bounty was Al’s local, he recalls, it was only a railway bridge, and they used to walk across the railway track, flattening themselves against the sides if a train came along. The pedestrian bit was added later for a bit of ’Ealth & Safety. (He also recalls popping into the pub on a Friday night and not getting home until Sunday.)
Down the Thames to Bourne End from Thames & Kennet Marina
After several exploratory trips both upstream and downstream from our long-term berth at Thames & Kennet Marina, it was time to venture a longer voyage: downstream, we decided, heading for Marlow.
Monday morning’s warm and sunny July weather made for an auspicious start, but only after we’d headed up to the top of the marina for our virgin pump-out – i.e., clearing our black-water tanks (see previous blog titled “Pump-out”). Feeling virtuously clean on the inside, too, we finally set off at 10am.
Somehow, I thought we might stop off along the way for elevenses at Sonning, a bit of sight-seeing at Henley-on-Thames, an ice-cream at Hurley or Hambledon, or a spot of shopping at Marlowe. Silly of me, really. Even if mooring had been easy to find on such a popular stretch of the Thames on such a beautiful summer’s day, it’s not in Roy’s nature to stop. He hates to stop for photographs or bursting bladders when he’s driving a car, so why would this boat-driving business be any different?
Some stupendous property lines the river, as you can see:
And, for good measure, some classic scenes of Henley-on-Thames:
Six hours and seven locks later – Sonning, Shiplake, Marsh, Hambledon, Hurley, Temple and Marlowe – it seemed that all available mooring had been taken by earlier birds. With relief, we spotted a gap to port just before Bourne End, between a barge and a cruiser. “I can get in there,” declared the optimistic Roy, and so he did. It helped that both of our putative neighbours kindly rushed out to grab ropes, move their own vessels a bit and help ease us in – their hospitality possibly motivated just a tiny bit by fear of imminent collision.
Neighbours at Bourne End
Speaking of hospitable neighbours, Bill, Maria and their wholly lovable golden retriever have been living on their barge for four years. This week, they also had with them two primary school-age grandsons, whose parents would be picking them up on Friday. Were the kids enjoying the trip?, I asked him.
“I think so,” he said uncertainly. “It’s hard to tell. They’re a right couple of little sods at the best of times. I reckon we’ll be swigging gin out of the bottle by Thursday.”
Apart from The Spade Oak pub a few hundred metres up the road, and the long stretch of Thames Path for hikers, runners, dog-walkers and fishermen, our Bourne End mooring had one attraction irresistible not only to Bill’s grandsons but to everyone else, too: a soft-serve ice cream van stationed in one corner from nine to five. You don’t get to bond with all your neighbours at a mooring, but Mr Whippy is something different.
How to Pump Out Your Boat
Pumping out your black-water tank – that’s where the toilets flush into – is easily the least glamorous thing about living on a boat.
Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be done very often. How often is safe? Our marina neighbours Fairy and Duncan do theirs every two or three weeks: “Duncan doesn’t believe in gauges,” says Fairy. (Duncan, for the record, was previously a yacht master.)
We inexperienced types, however, do have to rely on gauges. So when, a few days ago and exactly a month after the launch of our Dutch barge Karanja, her waste gauge indicated that the 1,000-litre tank was three-quarters full, we reckoned the hour had come – especially as we were about to embark on a week-long cruise down the Thames.
Virgin pump-out
Fortunately, we were able to observe neighbour David pumping out his barge, Elysian, just the day before, with the help of his neighbour, Andy. David (an ex-Army colonel) was quite comfortable with Roy being there, but seemed unsure that a lady should be witness to an operation with such an embarrassing potential for whiffiness.
Pump-out protocol
- Move your boat to the pump-out station.
- Get one or two coupons (depending on boat size) from the marina office – free for berth-holders, GBP15 for visitors.
- Insert nozzle of pump hose into your boat’s discharge outlet.
- Feed coupons into pump machine to start the pump.
- After suction has built up – it takes about a minute – open valve on pump machine.
- Observe exodus of shite through viewing panel at boat end of hose; when complete, push pause button on pump.
- If you like, use water-hose provided to run some rinsing water into the tank, then complete your pump-out.
- Now feed in a little water – just for a minute or two – to cover the bottom of your tank.
- Feel pleased and proud that your ducks are all in a row.
