One of my work colleagues sold his house and went to live on a canal boat.
He was full of the benefits and joys of doing so, the reduction in his expenses, the joys of fishing from his living room, having swans as neighbours, there seemed to be no downside. Except perhaps the narrow rooms...I visited him a few weeks back......This was not his boat. The occupant was away.
The night before, kids had opened a lock gate further down the canal. As the boat-dwellers slept, the level went down.
Most of the boats just sat on the bottom. It's only about four feet deep.
This boat, however, snagged on a stone ledge. And tipped. Until the canal came in.
somehow I'm not tempted to sell up and join the floating folk any more.
This story has the lovely sound of a fable or a morality tale just waiting to unfold. It make me want to tell the story in full, flesh it out, give it details that it does not deserve. Unfortunately with a lot of other things this week I have misplaced my poetic license. Let me know if it turns up, as I recently lost quite a few things in your neck of the woods.
ReplyDeleteGood thinking.... I might just use it as a seed for something else..
ReplyDeleteOr maybe, maybe it would be better to see your take on it?
Thoughts that occur.Canals are shallow. Generally only 3-4 feet deep, so a sinking drama can und up ludicrous rather than tragic.
If you're not averse to mud,
you could probably wade awy from the stricken vessel.
I did find a poetic licence, dropped by the roadside recently.
It seemed to have a forged birth-date, and a number of stamps relating to violations of the license terms, and indeed its withdrawal, by court order for two periods of 30 days.....