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