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I don’t know what it is, but I like it

Before I shuffle from the mortal coil I would like to finish a novel, of which I have the barest bones sticking out of the mud at the moment.

It is set, partly at least, near this boatyard. This is a picture of my favourite boat. It has a wooden hull, sea-silvered. It used to flap in its dry dock under a great blue tarpaulin, but over the winters this has now disintegrated and blown away altogether. The renovation work, or whatever it is that you do to an old boat, is under way, but it is slow. In my mind, this is The Ark. Noah, the captain, comes up on the weekends, when Mrs Noah will let him, and used to rearrange what was left of the tarpaulin. Now that’s gone, I don’t know what he does, but this white flotation device didn’t used to dangle down as it does now. Perhaps Noah kicked it off the deck in irritation one time.


Feeling like: the bottom of a boat

I have no idea what that feels like obviously. Most would say, the *bottom of a boat? Surely, an inanimate object that cannot feel!

Well, even if that is so, and there is no evidence I can muster to the contrary… there still remains the fact that the bottom of a boat has a life of it’s own. It spends a lot of time in water, and the water and the salt and the sealife leave their marks. One day, the captain orders that the bottom of the boat be re-treated, so that it remains hole-free and waterproof – seaworthy. So, the boat is hoiked out of the water and put in a dry dock and treated, then, back into the water it goes for the waves to do their worst. A boat has no self-determination. It must merely float until it is overwhelmed by one circumstance or another, upon which it sinks.

That’s why I feel like the bottom of a boat. At least a dry dock gives you a different perspective on life.

This is not necessarily a bad thing. Look at this one: a thing of beauty and wonder.

boat hull

*Sea dogs would tell me that the technical name is not bottom, but hull.
Never mind.
Details, schmetails.

‘I’m wicked and I’m lazy’ Photography

I have about two minutes to do a post today. I hate it when I can’t write. If I don’t have time to write, it means I don’t have time to think. Although I do not wholly agree with the Descartian dualism ‘I think, therefore I am’, I must confess to starting to feel disconnected to reality if I don’t have a chance to winnow the mental chaff on a daily basis.

Anyway, here’s some more weekend weather. I was taken with the colours of the little boats, lined up against the backdrop of the unremittingly grey sky. The photo is lazy because I couldn’t be bothered to get out of the car, or by the evidence of the water drops faintly visible on the shot, the energy to push the button to open the window.

The song is Lazy heavily featuring the talent that is David Byrne. Not such a bad song to have stuck in your head.

‘I open up my mouth and air comes rushing out..’


A Rusting Hulk

Whenever I pass this marine skeleton along Paglesham Creek, I always wonder what it was.

I took this photo ages ago, back in the winter, but it resonates with me now because recently, as I have said, my brain just won’t work. My mind has been like a rusting hulk, run aground and of an unknown provenance. Now, I don’t want to jinx it, but it feels like the tide might have come in overnight and perhaps we are, once again, afloat. Perhaps…

‘Starry Starry Night’

This is the bottom of a boat I photographed on the beach much earlier this year. It reminded me of Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhone, which in turned reminded me of this song.

Southend’s Bottoms

I am obsessed.

With the bottoms of boats (if there is a technical term for them I shall be enlightened I’m sure…).

One of them (down below) reminded me of Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhone.

Others reminded me of nothing more than themselves.

People can be like the bottoms of boats ~ layers upon layers are revealed if they are weathered hard enough.

Listing, Slipping & Sliding

Paglesham Pool, towards Wallasea Island

‘…You know the nearer your destination
The more you’re slip slidin’ away…’

Paul Simon