Paranoia, Delusion & Boris Johnson Encounter

Sometimes, I just don’t know. 

I feel powerless when I don’t know.

I like to know.

This morning, CRT called at 11.32.... and again at 11.33. It was from an unavailable number and I missed both calls. There was a voicemail though - one of those maddening recorded messages we usually get when calling a company - “Press 1 for this; 2 for that.” An odd message to leave for me though as ‘1’  caused my phone to repeat the message and 2 forwarded to the next message.

I called CRT back on their main number but - being a Sunday - they were closed.

What did they want with me? I’d been good, hadn’t I?

I had a few ideas, all of which made me slightly paranoid. In my mind,  I churned through  some of the possibilities and rehearsed my answers. 

My first fear was that someone had broken into my boat. However, I soon dismissed this as - at the time they called - I was onboard.

My 2nd, 3rd & 4th ideas surrounded the circumstances of my current mooring - Noel Rd in Islington. 

For a while now, this area has been the centre of some conflict between boaters and local residents. As a consequence, CRT have declared this a ‘Quiet Zone’, tweaked the rules and arranged a rota of trusted caretaker boats to stay there and help keep the peace. When I arrived, the current caretaker explained the rules (1) No log burning. (2) Engines to be run once a day, for a maximum of one hour.

I am moored in the exact section of Noel Rd where the complaints had been made so wondered if I had done anything to attract unwanted attention.....

Potential Idea 2: Maybe the kindling I had used to start last night’s fire had been mistaken for log burning? 

Potential Idea 3: I put my generator on at 9.30am this morning and didn’t turn it off until 10.50 am. Could that extra 20 minutes have been noted? 

Potential Idea 4: Last night, I needed to get some water. There’s a tap on the other side of the bridge. The distance - as I found out last night - was exactly one metre too far to reach my tank by joining all my hoses together. Consequently, at around 8 pm, I used my trolley to lug water containers between the tap and my boat - an act I repeated 4 times. Was that the problem? Why was that a problem?

Paranoia.

The only other thing I can think of is that Boris Johnson might have called CRT and complained about me. He lives on Noel Rd too.

I’ll explain.

I wrote to him on Friday night. 

I am about to start an ‘Angry Boater’ podcast and I asked if I could interview him. 

Earlier that afternoon, I’d walked past his house, just as he was opening his door to let a visitor in. He looked just like him.  He was him.

An hour later I was in a cafe on Upper Street, writing my letter. The sighting had inspired me. At 8.30 pm, I dropped it through his letter box. 

I am aware that this flies in the face of convention and is - arguably - an act of delusion on my part. Sometimes I can be prone to self aggrandizing and - when that happens - the idea that I might appear ridiculous or experience rejection does not enter my mind. I become possessed, full of confidence and am driven to act by the power of my emotions. 

When I look back on my life, more often than not, I have not received the payoff I was seeking.... but sometimes I have. The best way I can explain it is that those very infrequent rewards were a great enough positive reinforcement and validation to wipe out all the shame associated with the many more experiences of rejection. Having ‘won’ big a few times now, like any gambling addict, I’m therefore always seeking the next big hit. If I’m in that zone, rational thinking does not come into it. The idea that I could  lose, probably will lose, in fact   - even though I nearly always do just that - seems utterly absurd. 

Here, unedited, is my letter to Boris:

Dear Mr Johnson,

I live on a narrowboat and am currently moored in Angel, alongside Noel Road.

Before I get into my reason for writing to you, I hope you do not mind that I have dropped this letter off in such a direct fashion.  I had heard that you lived around here and your exact location was confirmed to me - by chance - earlier this afternoon (I was walking past when you opened your door to let someone in). 

I thought twice about approaching your letterbox directly but then, as you can see,  went ahead all the same. It was a similar spontaneous moment that led me to move onto a boat in the first place. I did not regret my impulsive actions back then and, hopefully, will have no cause to now. If this is taken as an intrusion, however, please accept my apologies and be assured that I won’t write again. If I do not hear back - or do notice men in dark suits following me in a dinghy - I’ll take the hint that I have overstepped the mark.

Anyhow, my reason for writing.....

I recently started an online project I call ‘The Angry Boater.’ 

Many boaters seem to like it. A lot of others hate it. I’m just grateful that many people are finding it interesting enough to have an opinion (www.angryboater.com).

My aim is to explore issues of interest to boaters but through a more humanistic / bigger picture filter.   I decided on the ‘angry boater’ name as it contrasts with the stereotype that so many people have about boating and the waterways. Many seem to mistakenly believe that a boating life is all about passivity, connecting with nature & slowing down. That is certainly the opinion held by plenty of non boaters and none of these things are necessarily untrue. Furthermore, many boaters reinforce this image by naming their vessels after concepts from the semantic field of  serenity, dreams, escaping etc. (FYI, I nearly renamed mine ‘Al Qaeda’ when I had it repainted last year. On that occasion, however, after I had  thought twice, I managed to repress the urge..... and, again, it is not a decision I have regretted).

The truth, as I see it, is that boating has its stresses, challenges and negative aspects - just like all other areas of life. It is my opinion - philosophy, perhaps -  that anyone who chooses to live their life with one sided perceptions is destined to find the world a struggle. If I find a situation challenging, I  try to empathize and understand what the needs driving those with opposing beliefs might be. I can’t say that I always get it right but I’ve found - the attempt, at least - makes my life flow much more smoothly.

I am about to start an ‘Angry Boater’ podcast - the next phase of my project. There does not seem to be any kind of regular boating broadcast atm and it’s a concept which, if I get it right, will be of interest to many boaters as well as the wider community. 

My idea is to top or tail each episode with my own  (boater perspective) thoughts about issues that have grabbed my attention. The main focus, however, will be an interview with a special guest. Ideally, I’d like to interview my guest on board,  although that is not essential. As with my writing, there will some kind of boating discussion but it’s the bigger picture /human interest stuff that really interests me.

Would you consider being the subject of my first episode, Mr Johnson? It would be very informal and of un-paralleled benefit in assisting me to build this project. If there any topics that you wish to be off limits, I would of course respect that. 

Even though I have no conscious political agenda here, if you wish to do this on board and feel that there is a potential media opportunity to consolidate / reinforce The Mayor’s support of Londoners with alternative lifestyles, I would be fully supportive of that too. 

Kind Regards

Joel Sanders

After I had dropped the letter through Boris’s letterbox, I went to Waitrose, hunting for yellow stickers.  

Within 10 minutes, I was at the deli counter, snapping up the last of the chorizo tortillas. 

My phone rang.

That was quick, I thought.  

The Mayor of London was also calling from an unavailable number. This, of course, was to be expected. 

I took a deep breath and pressed the green button.

“Hello Boris!” I said, with all the charm & confidence that I could force into my handset.

It wasn’t him.

It was a machine again. PPI. 

48 hours has passed now and he still hasn’t called. 

But maybe one of his people has called CRT and  - in their capacity as oversee-ers of all things on the Regents Canal - CRT are passing on the message that under no circumstances is this boater permitted to post things directly through The Mayor of London’s letterbox. The British Waterways Act of 1995 forbids it and it is a contravention of my license.

                                                           **********************

Now I know.

My power is restored.

I like knowing.

Last month, I completed an online CRT survey and I said it was OK for them to contact me to seek my opinion on other boating matters.

Sometimes, it’s better not to know.

Joel  - March 23rd, 2014

Tantrum in a lock.

I haven’t been feeling particularly angry for the past week and had been thinking that my next blogging effort might feel contrived. 

Yesterday, however, I left Camden for Kings Cross and .... well, I had a little moment.

If you don’t know it, heading east, Hampstead Rd lock is the first of three in Camden. Unless your boat is less than 50 ft long, it’s very difficult to moor up there. A proficient set of circus & rodeo skills is essential - specifically, tightrope walking (along the gunwhales)and lasso-ing (centre rope over the towpath bollard - whilst balancing on the aforementioned gunwhales). 

I can’t even juggle.

As a single boater with a 62 ft vessel - unless the gates are open when I arrive - I have a problem. On more than one occasion, rather than deal with the complications of Hampstead Rd Lock, I’ve turned my boat around and fled back to Little Venice.

Yesterday, again, the lock was against me (there are two parallel locks but one was chained up). 

Naturally, I had one of my tourette’s moments.

After the expletives had organically worked their way through my system, I swung my boat around in the wide basin. I’ll find a spot near Edgware Rd instead, I thought. I’ll be fine there. Anyway, I love shwarma & falafel.

Suddenly, I had a Jesus moment.  

I floated in neutral for a moment and looked behind me.

Now that I had turned around, I could actually reverse towards the closed gates and safely moor up in order to work the lock. Once the gate was open, I would be able to turn around again and drive in. 

Why had this never occurred to me before?  

It was so obvious. 

Thanks, Jesus!

A few minutes later, the lock was set and I was trying to pull the gate open... but I couldn’t ... and I had no idea why.

Pushing was even less effective. 

The paddles on the opposite gates were down and the water levels had fully settled. As the hordes of curious Camden people watched over me, judging my abilities with their mixed sets of trendy, touristy & druggery eyes, I pulled and pushed at the blasted gate until my back nearly snapped. 

Just as I was, again, about to give up and head West, a Prophet carrying a windlass appeared out of nowhere. 

“I can’t get this open,” I said, “I don’t know why. I am weak.”

“It might help if you lowered that paddle first,” he replied sarcastically and un-prophet-like, pointing towards the bottom gates. 

I did not like the Prophet’s tone.

I looked again at the other gates and, after a few seconds of  squinting, saw that one of the paddles - whilst not raised - was not completely lowered either. It was off by a couple of inches.

Before you judge me as he had done, I am perfectly aware that this is important. With my slightly diminishing eyesight, however, I hadn’t spotted it. 

“I don’t like the way you are speaking,” I snapped, “There is no grace in your tone. You have a cocky & superior sneer. Why is that?”

I also used two words that I have never used anywhere before - “supercilious” & “imperious.” I am clueless as to where they came from and, later that evening, I did look them up to see if I had  used them correctly. 

My language does become very precise when my shackles are raised. It’s a stark contrast with my younger self, who could only react to conflict with incoherent Whinge and Babble. Some might suggest, these days, that I deal with conflict in a rather supercilious and imperious manner.

Once I had confronted his manner, the tone changed. He told me that I had misunderstood him and that he was simply pointing out that the paddle was not fully down. I am confident I had not misunderstood him though but, if the roles had been reversed, I would have come up with a similar excuse. Either way, he was apologetic and humble. I then calmed down - and also became apologetic and humble. 

In his head, he had probably thought I was yet another new, inexperienced boater who didn’t know the basics of how to work a lock. 

In my head, I had probably taken offence at being confused with a new, inexperienced boater who didn’t know the basics of how to work a lock. 

Before I opened the gate, we made some small talk. He wasn’t another boater, as I had presumed. He was there to control the water levels.

I hear that superior tone a lot in boating though. There are too many know-it-alls and - even though I can sometimes be one too - an arrogant, preachy, superior, shit-talking, supercilious, imperious  tosser - I do not like these types. In other words, when I judge those qualities in others, it is always myself with whom I am really in conflict.

It’s not just boaters, of course. Only last week, I went to see ‘War Horse’ on Drury Lane and encountered another mirror to my arrogant side at the Box Office. I asked him about the view from our seats and, with a pompous, unsympathetic sneer, was told, “You have restricted view tickets, sir. You’ll be lucky to see 50% of the stage.”

“And why did it give you such pleasure to relay that news?” I responded.

“I’m just relaying the facts, sir.”

I walked away at that point and now regret not having pushed the point further. As it turned out, we could see at least 70% of the stage - although, admittedly, much of that was through a metal griddle.

So many people in boating think they know best and can’t wait to impose their wisdom on others. Egomania covering up insecurity is what it usually is. Listen to me! I’m  worthy! I’m better than you. 

Thinking about it now, I’m reminded me of a character Harry Enfield used to play - a pompous self-aggrandizing older man who used to tell everyone, “You don’t want to do it like that! You want to do it like this.” Maybe you remember? 

“You don’t want to do that! You should have a pump out system that doubles as a carpet freshener.”

“You don’t want to put them there. Your gas bottles should be stored in the weed hatch.”

“You don’t want to go to a swimming pool. You should use the canal!”

“You don’t want an inverter charger! You should be generating your own electricity with an exercise bike.”

“You should tighten your stern gland at least twice a day.”

“You don’t want to use that ! The only coal worth buying is Tay Brite.”

“Should” is one of my least favourite words. It is nearly always used to express ideas that are unhelpful, critical, preachy or unrealistic. You should definitely avoid using it.

When we are bonafide experts in a field, we do not feel the need to show off or shout about it. Then we are comfortable and, from that perspective, are more likely to communicate with calmness and humility. There are no ‘shoulds’ when we are centred. There is just what is and what is not. 

The moment has passed. I have no resentment. I was in a foul mood before the windlass guy came along and I possibly carried an energy that put him on edge from the offset. On the other hand, he might also have been having a bad day, long before I appeared to make it worse.  Perhaps, working through that tiny explosion together, helped to centre us both for the rest of the day. 

So endeth the blog.

Joel - March 11th, 2014

Space Invaders

At 3 pm today, I was having my hair cut in Camden. 

The lady with the scissors had cut my hair several times before and, as usual, the conversation turned to boating.

“What do you do when tourists stand on your boat?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said, “That’s never happened to me.”

Less than an hour later, I was lazing around on my little ship when I felt the boat wobble. It was not the kind of wobble caused by another boat passing or the kind caused by a strong gust of wind.

Someone was standing on my boat. 

My mind sped up. Over the next 3 seconds, these are the thoughts that came and went.

1. I am not double moored. That is not another boater.
2. I have not overstayed. That is not CRT tying a patrol notice to my rear door.
3. It therefore must be a stranger. A stranger is standing on the stern of MY boat!

By the 4th second, I had become infected with a sense of territorial self righteousness. I exploded  off my beanbag, removed the glass from the nearest porthole and stuck my head through the hole. A young girl, early 20‘s perhaps, was pointing a camera in the direction of my rear deck. 

“What’s going on?” I shouted.

“We’re just taking a photo,” replied the photographer, nervously.

“Get the fuck off my boat!” I yelled in the direction of my stern. 

“I’m so sorry!” came the invisible cry - the voice of another girl - as she stumbled back to the towpath, the place from where she should have never dared stray. She sounded mortified.

Then they were gone. 

How would she like it if she found a stranger posing for a photo on the front step of her house? 

What she’d done had been even worse! 

She had been standing ON my boat! 

That’s practically inside! 

Outrageous!

I closed up my porthole and sat back down. 

Then I started to feel guilty.

In just those 3 words - “I’m so sorry!” - I had heard fear, sincerity, regret and anguish. I do not want to be responsible for causing another person - one who intended me no harm - to feel those things.

Their crime had not contained a hint of malice. It had been nothing more than a naive transgression and, for that, I had turned Pitbull on them.

I wanted to find them, tell them it was OK, that I understood the innocence of their mistake. I wanted to gently educate them, explain that these boats are people’s homes - not tourist attractions. 

The moment has passed though and I can only manage  my guilt with the thought that - perhaps - I taught them an important lesson that will serve them well somewhere down the line.

On the other hand, I’ve got a cute story lined up for my next haircut.

Joel - March 5th, 2014