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Flotsam and Jetsam

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidShipshape and Bristol Fashion : in good order; efficiently arranged”

Collins English Dictionary

For those interested in the origin of this splendidly quaint phrase Wikipedia is helpful as ever:

“The saying in today’s form has been recorded as early as 1840 (“shipshape” alone being about 200 years older). The term developed most likely in view of the port of Bristol (in the UK) which had (before the Floating Harbour was constructed) a very high tidal range of 13 metres (43 ft), the second highest in the world. Ships moored in this area would be aground at low tide and, because of their keels, would fall to one side. If everything was not stowed away tidily or tied down, the results were chaotic and cargo could be spoiled.”

The phrase is most commonly used now to indicate that everything has been put well in order and I am, given the time of year, currently ensuring that such is the case with regard to the good ship Dignity before she heads for her summer moorage. As part of this preparatory effort I check that her batteries are charged, that all systems are working as they should be and that both main engine and kicker are in good shape. This last involves running them up and checking for any problems or issues.

Those familiar with marine engines and such-like may prefer to skip ahead, but for any ingenues and those otherwise interested here is a very brief guide to how such things work.

The marine engine in a planing powerboat (as opposed to a displacement vessel) of this size (20ft) could take a variety of forms, but is most usually a petrol (gas) engine either in the form of an outboard or an inboard/outboard (sterndrive). The latter features a fixed power unit within the boat and a steerable transmission ‘leg’ which transfers the drive through the hull to the prop. Neither of these types requires a separate rudder, since steering is effected by turning the whole drive unit.

Dignity has a sterndrive – a Volvo Penta Aquamatic with a 280 outboard drive. This lump is based on a big V8 Chrysler block which has found its way into many marine engines over an extended period. Though the basic internals of a marine petrol engine are similar to those of a car or truck engine, everything else is different. That starts with the cooling system.

In a car the coolant that circulates through the engine block to carry away the heat generated therein passes through a heat exchanger in the form of the radiator. This relies on air flow to take the heat out of the coolant. For a marine engine – often buried in the bowels of a boat – there is no equivalent air flow. There is – however – a  lot of cold water just outside the hull.

The simplest thing would surely be to pump water into the boat, pass it through the engine block and discharge it again overboard. This is not feasible, however, since the corrosion caused by water – and in particular salt water – would kill the engine block in short order. The sea or lake water is instead passed through another form of heat exchanger which is in turn part of a sealed coolant system similar to that used in a car engine. To make everything more self-contained the water is pumped in through vents in the outboard drive and returned to the sea (or lake) by similar means.

This complex system involves all manner of flexible pipes and tubes which must be maintained in good working order – for if it is not and one of the hoses fails the result will most likely be the ingress of a whole bunch of water into the boat itself. This sort of thing clearly couldn’t happen to a car on the M25, but even if it could it would not cause the vehicle to sink!

I trust that all is clear thus far?

Now – running the engine whilst the boat is on land naturally requires that a source of water be provided if it is not to overheat. In the image above you can see a hose feeding water through a device that looks like a pair of ear-muffs into the vents near the bottom of the sterndrive (which is in its raised position) and the spent water being ejected from higher up the leg. This mechanism also comes in very useful when taking the boat out of the salt-chuck, because it is essential to flush out as much salt water as possible before storing the boat – for the same corrosive reasons mentioned above.

OK – I think that is about enough boatery for the time being – though as my head is now firmly in nautical mode I can’t promise that it will be the last word on the matter.

 

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It is that time of year when the good ship Dignity is being prepared for her summer sojourn in one of the local marinas, so that we may enjoy as much as possible the delights of being on the water during the dog days… though it has to be said that the weather has not yet quite made the grade (at least as far as those of us who are decidedly fair-weather sailors are concerned).

Now, Dignity is no spring chicken – having been built in 1978 – and thus inevitably usually requires a certain amount of TLC at the start of the season. Her trailer is of an indeterminate age, but has itself clearly been around the block more than once! I have tried very hard over the last couple of years not to look too closely at it; and in particular at the brakes. I had a sneaking suspicion – the which I did not want confirmed – that they were in a condition that rendered them fit only for show (and only just for that!).

The trailer does considerably less miles than does the boat, being limited to a trundle down to the nearby boat launch and back a couple of times a year. I take things very gently and – to be frank – the Lexus has more than enough brake-age for both vehicle and tow-load.

The trailer is however (or was!) fitted with surge brakes. These comprise a hydraulic master cylinder built into the coupling which feeds brake cylinders on two of the the wheel hubs. When the towing vehicle slows the forward momentum of the boat and trailer effectively apply the trailer brakes through this mechanism. One of the big drawbacks of surge brakes, of course, is that the same physics applies when one tries to reverse the trailer, which is less than helpful.

Anyway, I finally figured that it was time to bite the bullet and to make a closer inspection of the trailer brakes. A perfunctory examination revealed that they were indeed non-functional. The hydraulic lines had completely corroded and any remaining fluid therein had seeped away. The brake drums and hubs were also corroded to the point that I doubted the existing brakes could easily be made to function again.

Two possibilities came to mind. I could just strip the brakes out and manage without them. A furtive peak on the InterWebNet (though half-closed eyes and with fingers firmly crossed) sadly confirmed my worst fears. For a boat and trailer of Dignity’s weight brakes are a legal requirement… in BC at any rate. Hmmm!

The next best option – if Dignity was ever to be moved again – was to replace the dead hubs and brakes with shiny new electric brakes. The Lexus has a big advantage in this regard in that its tow-pack already has a controller built in to it and it is simply a case of picking up the necessary pin on the seven-way connector. The legislation – with the sort of overkill that probably does actually have its origins in common-sense – also requires that a breakaway mechanism be fitted. Frankly – if boat and trailer not only break free of the coupling but also destroy the required robust safety chains as well I doubt if a couple of drum brakes are going to stop it causing serious havoc – but the law is the law! A battery based mechanism with a safety strap and switch were duly also acquired.

The illustration above shows the new hubs, bearing, electric brakes and breakaway kit. I’m not saying that installation was straightforward; indeed a fair bit of cussing was involved – not to mention one seriously bruised finger on an occasion on which I was spectacularly careless with a club hammer – but all has been fitted and appears to be functioning.

Fingers crossed (including the damaged one) – all systems go!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidA few final thoughts on our rapidly receding trip to Montreal and Vancouver…

Ask anyone with what they most associate the city of Montreal and you will get a variety of answers – the French – the culture (jazz, comedy) – the Olympics – the Canadiens! One thing on which all would doubtless agree – however – is the food. One simply cannot go to Montreal and not take advantage of the city’s French heritage in matters of cuisine.

Montreal – of course – famously gave Canada (and thus the world) both Poutine and the Montreal Smoked Meat Sandwich… the which latter should (when in town) be purchased from the legendary ‘Schwartz’s Deli‘.

Well – we sampled neither – and nor did we make it to Schwartz’s. There is just too much good food to be had and – pining for the delights of a springtime visit to ‘Gay Paree’ – we determined to get our fill of fine French fare instead.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidFor one particularly special evening out we chose a visit to ‘Le Club Chasse et Pêche‘ (for the non French-linguists out there that means “Huntin’ and Fishin‘”). The dinner entrées commence with the wonderfully titled ‘Oysters with Charisma‘ but one should eschew such delights and head straight for the epic ‘Braised Piglet Risotto with Fois Gras Shavings‘. I will describe no further the goodies on offer on this lavish menu to protect the gentle readers sensibilities and for fear of provoking extreme fits of jealousy.

I will – however – just mention how wonderful it was too find a truly extensive (not to mention expensive) French wine list this side of the pond – and to encounter a young Sommelier who knows his stuff. The Chambolle-Musigny was his recommendation and he was not wrong!

After dinner we strolled through the old town to the Champs de Mars. Much of Vieux Montreal is illuminated at night with projections illustrating the city’s history. This extended Son et Lumière is titledCité Mémoire’ and was established in 2016 as part of the city’s 375 anniversary celebrations. It will remain in place for a further couple of years and is worth seeing for the fascinating eventide atmosphere that it engenders.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidI just liked this chap. Seemed to capture Montreal quite well for me!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAll too soon it was time to head back to Vancouver Island. When one sees Mount Baker aglow on the port side when flying into Vancouver one knows one is nearly home. What a place we lucky souls inhabit…

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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“He looks around, around
He sees angels in the architecture
Spinning in infinity
He says, ‘Amen!’ and ‘Hallelujah!'”

Paul Simon – “You can call me Al”

The west coast of Canada – in ‘architectural’ terms – is jejune. The British settlement in Victoria – for example – dates only from 1843 and Victoria is one of the oldest cities in the Pacific Northwest. ‘Heritage’ houses are thus mostly (and appropriately) Victorian.

Montreal is considerably older – though still youthful in European terms – with buildings dating all the way back to 1671! The old town is a fascinating mixture of architectural styles. Wikipedia tells us:

“The architecture of Montreal is characterized by the juxtaposition of the old and the new and a wide variety of architectural styles, the legacy of two successive colonisations by the French and the British. Much like Quebec, the city of Montreal had fortifications but they were destroyed between 1804 and 1817.

For over a century and a half, Montreal was the industrial and financial centre of Canada. The variety of buildings included factories, warehouses, mills and refineries which today provide a legacy of historic and architectural interest, especially in the downtown area and in Old Montreal. Many historical buildings in Old Montreal retain their original form, notably the impressive 19th century headquarters of all of the major Canadian banks.”

Leaving aside for now the abundance of modern architecture on display, these images give a good idea of the variety of styles – ranging from nineteenth century European to early twentieth century North American – that may be found in Vieux-Montréal:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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It has taken a few days since returning from our trip to Montreal and Vancouver to upload and to organise the photographic images which it has become my habit to capture when traveling – particularly to places that are new to me. Naturally I am now keen to share same with any gentle reader imbued with a sufficiency of patience and indulgence.

This batch of images are of the Notre-Dame Basilica in the old town of Montreal. This impressive edifice – construction of which started in 1824 on the site of a considerably older place of worship – can accommodate 8000 souls! What I like about it – particularly by comparison with many Roman churches in Paris and elsewhere – is that instead of the interior being gloomy and oppressive (with an atmosphere reeking of sin!) it is instead full of light and colour. Apparently the model in this case was that of the Parisian exception to the rule – Sainte-Chapelle.

Less guilt – more gilt!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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Photo by Andy Dawson Reid“In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.”

Mark Twain – The Innocents Abroad

Let it be said at once that in Montreal there is no need at all to try to make anyone understand their own language. The locals will – in a nanosecond – detect that French is not your native tongue, from which point on they simply abjure its use – effortlessly showing up your linguistic shortcomings and contriving so to do without effecting the distainful air that one so often encounters in Paris.

Should you, like us, have transported your existence to the paradise that is the west coast of Canada (some five and a half thousand miles distant from the European continent) but still on occasion find yourself assailed by yearnings for the sophistication and epicurean delights of the French capital… then Montreal is the perfect halfway house in which just such a fix may be obtained.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThis is specifically so of the old town, in which we are currently staying in a perfectly decent Air-B’n’B apartment. Unlike much else in Canada Vieux Montreal is properly old and has a strong European heritage. On our first day here we ventured forth looking for a suitable bistro. In the ‘Modavie’ we found one that was so French that we might easily have been in the backstreets of Paris itself.

The fare was excellent French bistro cooking, with a truly authentic Soupe a l’Oignon followed by a lamb burger made with pulled lamb for me and sea bass (really hard to find on the west coast) for The Girl. We wrapped up with a Pouding Chômeur which reminded The Girl of her childhood.

The evening was made, however, by the wonderful hospitality of our server – Caroline – and the larger than life maître d’ – Lorenzo Baldassarre – who went out of his way to make the occasion memorable.

Now – Canadians (and those who have visited) will need no convincing of the ‘Frenchness’ of Montreal. To others, have a look at the photos in this (and subsequent) posts and see what you think.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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A reminder of just how big this country is…

Yesterday we travelled east to Montreal. Now – granted we were not able to go by the most direct route (when utilising loyalty card points one is at the mercy of the airline) and were thus routed via Vancouver and Toronto with all the commensurate delays during flight transfers, but nonetheless the trek took around thirteen hours! From Victoria one can be in London in less time…

Furthermore – Montreal is three hours ahead of the West coast. As a result it was long gone 3 am when we finally collapsed into bed in our rented apartment!

As The Girl is wont to say in such circumstances:

“Did ya get the number of that truck?”

Fortunately we seasoned travellers are alert to such rigours of the road and our only engagement for our first day in Montreal (aside from some explorative dining out of course) is a visit to a Scandinavian Spa and Massage Studio for some seriously recuperative pampering.

Bring it on, say I!

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“O Fortune,
like the moon
you are changeable,
ever waxing,
ever waning,
hateful life
first oppresses
and then soothes
as fancy takes it;”

O Fortuna
Carmina Burana
Various

 

Regular cohorts of this cornucopia of little consequence will know that I am a great fan of Rugby Union Football. The more ardent amongst you will also know that I am a long term follower and supporter of both the Scottish national side and – at club level – of Bath Rugby. Both of these venerable institutions are quite capable of producing delight and despair in equal measure.

For many years I suffered along with many other Scots the painful cycle of blind optimism dashed by crushing reality as I followed the fortunes of Scottish rugby. Then – all of a sudden – over the last couple of years we have been delighted to observe the most scintillating recovery of form to the extent that Scotland can now (with the occasional unfortunate aberration) almost always be relied upon to play an adventurous and exciting game – resulting in not infrequent and often famous victories.

Bath also play the adventurous game (for which we love them dearly) and back in the old amateur days of the game (which only turned fully professional in the mid 90s) they had a long and glorious record. Since then they have struggled a great deal more but they are still capable of considerable achievements. A mere three years back they made it to the Premiership final – sadly being overpowered on that occasion (as so often) by the merciless Saracens.

Since then they have found themselves in something of a unfortunate cycle. They start each season well, win some brilliantly exciting and dashing games against serious opposition and find themselves at the mid-point of the season hovering around the top four. Sadly they then go into a decline as the season takes its toll on bodies and spirits, ending up disappointingly lower in the table than once seemed likely.

This season followed this familiar pattern, with a number of brilliant wins followed by inexplicable and unnecessary losses. As the final weekend of the regular season approached (this one just passed) Bath were lying in eight position. Now – there are two initial targets for any Premiership side – to get into the top four (and thus into the playoffs) or – failing that – into the top six (and thus qualify for the European Cup competitions for the following year). On this occasion, for Bath to achieve a coveted and lucrative top six finish they would need to win their final game by such a margin that they would gain full points (including a winning bonus point) and the two clubs above then – Sale and West Country rivals Gloucester – would both need to lose, in the case of Gloucester without gaining even a losing bonus point.

On this occasion fortune smiled upon Bath. Their last fixture was a home game against the already relegated London Irish. Sale hosted heavyweights Leicester (smarting from being unable to finish the season higher than fifth – thus missing the playoffs for the first time in an age) and Gloucester went head to head with the ever-present current runner-ups, Saracens. The results were as follows:

Sale Sharks 13 : Leicester 35

Saracens 62 :  Gloucester 12

Bath 63 : London Irish 19

Europe here we come…

O fortuna indeed!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe previous owner of of our beautiful peninsula home left us a number of unwanted gifts of the variety that keep on giving! Quite enough has already been said on the matter of sun-rooms, law suits and heart-stopping contractors’ invoices and I promise that no further mention will be made thereof. There is one other (very minor but most irritating none-the-less) ghost-like and continuing reminder of the past.

We did not actually ever meet the old lady (who shall remain nameless). All of our dealings went through her whack-job of a realtor. We do know that we she moved to Vancouver, but we know not where or even if she still inhabits that other place. She and her (deceased) husband clearly at some stage had a small bank account with the CIBC. We know this because we still receive – through the post –  monthly statements addressed to the departed owners.

Now – I am a patient soul and quite capable of playing the long game. For the last two and a half years I have been marking the envelopes “Return to Sender” and popping them back in the post box. Towards the end of last year, however, I finally got a bit fed up with this rigmarole.

I called CIBC…

As seems so prevalent these days with customer service departments the world across the conversation did not go well and, sad to report, satisfaction was not to be had. Apparently the only way of stopping these statements is for the account holders themselves to write to the CIBC to request such. I enquired of the young man who was not helping me what might be the outcome should the elderly person concerned have expired in the meantime. He was no help with that query either.

I have no means of contacting the vendor and am certainly not prepared to go to any great length trying so to do. I returned instead to my previous course of action. Then – a couple of weeks  ago – one of the envelopes that I had inscribed reappeared in our post box. Unimpressed I added a further curt missive and pushed it back into the post box.

Two days later it was back again!

I visited the post office. They informed me (most politely) that had I just crossed through the address and written “Moved” upon the envelope they would have been obliged to return it to the sender. Clearly adding more invective gave them an excuse to abrogate their responsbilities

Now – this is all very irritating and one begins to marvel at the dogged determination that all concerned have shown in generating an entirely wasted sheet of paper, stuffing it in an envelope, paying postage to send it across Canada – only for it to be sent back via the same route presumably to be simply shredded (one hopes!) and thrown in the recycling back at the bank.

This sort of situation simply must arise all the time. I find it hard to believe that no remedy can be devised for such madness…

Bah – say I!

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By Walter Albertin - This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3c14346.This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons:Licensing for more information. Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30034723This post is the second in what will be a very occasional series (the first such having been contrived back in March 2014 on the subject of The Who’s ‘See Me, Feel Me‘!) on fleeting moments of musical genius.

When I heard a short while back that Paul Simon was about to retire from touring at the conclusion of his current expedition I realised that – though I am an enormous fan of the man – I have never seen him perform live. I was, fortunately, able to acquire tickets for the Vancouver concert in May and thus to avail myself of an opportunity to rectify this anomaly before it is too late.

Now – few would deny that Simon is a songwriting genius. As I have pointed out previously, a lyricist who can use words such as ‘misconstrued’ and ‘pertains’ or phrases such as ‘doggedly determined’ and ‘arc of a love affair’ without coming over as precious, is quite clearly walking a considerably better walk than are the rest of us.

In this instance, however, the subject is not the lyrics. As was the case with The Who’s perfect palimpsest this post concerns a musical moment, one which occurs in that quintessential Paul Simon solo contribution to the ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water‘ album – ‘The Only Living Boy in New York‘ – a song written in reaction to Simon’s being left alone in New York on the occasion of Art Garfunkel’s trip to Mexico for his acting role in the filming of Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch-22‘.

The song is a magnificently wistful meditation on Simon’s solitary state, greatly enhanced by the gorgeously sinuous bass playing of the great Joe Osborn. Two verses in it hauls itself into the first of two vocal renditions of one of Simon’s brief but typically splendid tension-raising bridges. As it cascades back into the verse Simon’s solo voice is replaced with a distant ethereal choir which matches – wordlessly – the delicate acoustic guitar chords that give structure to the song. For the third line of the verse the ‘aaahs’ sweetly follow the descending bass figure, pausing momentarily before swelling into the final cadence with a heart-tugging “Here I am” that makes the hairs stand up on the back of this jaded hack’s neck.

The empyreal choir (actually Simon and Garfunkel themselves tracked a dozen or more times) reprises its verse twice more in the playout to the song – each time with a little greater intensity and drowning a little deeper in reverb. This delicious effect was achieved by recording the harmonies actually inside the echo chamber at Columbia’s LA studio.

For those who must know such things I believe that the harmonic progression for the phrase concerned can be annotated thus:

|Emaj7 Emaj9|B Abm7#5/E|

Pure magic!

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