Ashton Boatman

I've not posted anything for weeks, except an account of my visit to the Bingley 5 Rise 250th a few days ago. In fact, I've not been doing much, and not feeling too  well. It's been coming and going, so I never know what I'll be like tomorrow. As far as I can see it's a form of Long Covid. I've had this problem on and off since having Covid early on in the outbreak. Some days my whole body aches, Other times I don't have so much pain but my legs feel weak and walking any distance seems daunting, then it lifts and I'm full of beans for a day or two.

I feel rather like I'm letting people down. Indeed, today I've done virtually nothing and that may have delayed other peoples work. I woke up this morning with every joint from my ankles to my neck hurting and decided to go back to bed. The pain wore off about dinner time, but, by then I was in a psychological malaise. Stirring myself seemed an impossible effort. I've just, after much procrastination, made the supreme effort of logging in and starting a blog post.

Strangely enough, a couple of days ago, two of our more senior volunteers were complaining that young people don't want to work. If you go on the market you see them hanging about doing nothing. Now, I've no time for the bone idle, but I do know that many of the people who habitually colonise Ashton market have substance abuse or mental health issues and no-one would want to employ them until these are resolved. Most people who are able to are working, often for little actual gain because of the ridiculously high rents.

The government bemoans the fact that, since covid, a huge number of people haven't returned to work and are 'on the sick'. This could be because they actually are poorly! It seems to me that Long Covid is a greatly misunderstood and maligned condition, rather like it's close cousin, M.E. Virtually everyone who I've asked who has had Covid seems to have kept some residual effects, often tiredness and lack of stamina, sometimes, but not always, including respiratory problems. In most cases this doesn't stop people working, but in many cases it does.

People say it's my age. Yes, I can expect some physical decline as I get older. When I get brain fog, another symptom, people sometimes hint that I have dementia, and yet my brain is bright as a button at other times. Age related decline. mentally and physically, is a continuum, not up and down.

I generally work more than 40 hours a week as a volunteer for the WCBS, and yet I know I couldn't do a normal job. When I'm feeling good I get a lot done and work long hours. When I'm feeling knackered I do the minimum then go home and rest. I'm in charge of my time.

Despite, or perhaps because of, me taking a back seat, things are looking up. One example is "Forget me Not". I've been feeling ashamed of her condition for years and yet unable to do much about it. Recently a new volunteer called Tony has taken on the task of sorting her out. He's turfed all the useful but chaotic items out of the engine 'ole, cleaned up, tidied up, repaired the engine 'ole bulkhead, broken floor, battery box headlight etc etc. Perhaps, by the time we start operating again, she won't look so down at heel.

The Bingley 5 Rise is the highest set of staircase locks in the country. They're on the Leeds & Liverpool Canal and, together with the 3 rise, lift the waterway from Bingley town centre up on to the hillside. They're made to accommodate Leeds & Liverpool Shortboats, which are 14' wide but only 60' long. The staircase is now 250 years old and the Canal & River Trust organised an event to celebrate this.

They emailed us a while ago to ask if we would like to bring a boat. That would be a nice trip, but all our boats are 70' long. Unfortunately the only surviving wooden shortboat is "George" at Ellesmere Port Boat Museum. Instead I was invited to participate in the heritage workshops that they were to hold. I said fine, I'll happily give a talk about wooden boats. In fact I let myself in for doing 2 talks.

With a couple of weeks to go before the bicentenary and a half event  I learned that there would be no electricity for my projector. The organiser offered to copy and laminate all my pictures instead.

It's been a while since I posted anything, or even took any photos. I've been busy, but mostly getting on with sorting stuff out, which never show spectacular progress and isn't really very interesting.

"Hazel" and "Forget me Not" are lying fallow for a while as we get on with some much needed work on them. At the moment Nessie is working on improvements to "Hazel"s bathroom. Aaron visited today so we put him to work cleaning brass, which he's very good at.

On Saturday 21st I went to Braunston for the National Community Boats Association AGM. With half an hour to spare before the meeting I stopped to have a quick look at Pete Boyce's yard. Nearest the road were BCN tug "Christopher James" and Josher motor "Clent". Pete spotted me taking photos and invited me in for a coffee. Unfortunately I couldn't stop long. Last time I saw "Clent" she had seams you could get your fingers through because she'd dried out. The pessimists said she'd never float again. Now she's nearly finished and Pete is confident she'll be afloat later this year.

On Friday 20th January I traveled to Rugby, starting my Journey at Guide Bridge. Here's a few photos from my wait on the platform.

A Hadfield service enters the station.

A trans Pennine unit curves away towards Stalybridge.

Another trans Pennine service bound for Picadilly.

On Friday  me and Aaron took "Forget me Not" for a trip to build the bonfire. We took with us dry wood and boxes of paper to get it started. The idea was to ignite it Friday night. Unfortunately, as we went up towards Jet Amber to wind, the gearbox started slipping, To adjust it I needed a particular Allen key, which I keep in a particular place. It wasn't there. After much searching I went to fetch the van which has some Allen Keys in it, but excluding the necessary size. I went to the shop and managed to find one.

By the time we got back to the basin it was 8pm.

I re-arranged things for Saturday night and rang round to see who would like to join us. With such short notice it was just me and Helen who enjoyed the blaze.

The next thing is to plant a tree in the ashes.

It seems the gods are against me with regard to my plan to use the foliage from the boatyard to make a bonfire to celebrate something, anything. First of all the plan for a Samhain fire was stymied by "Forget me Not"s breakdown. OK, I thought, lets have a Solstice fire. We had a tornado at the solstice! OK then, January 1st to celebrate the New Year ( I thought people would already have plans for New Year's Eve). I was recovering from a hospital visit and actually slept through the New Year fireworks.

"Forget me Not"  was still loaded with brash for the fire. It has to come off. I've re-set the date for the fire to January 12th. Nothing much to celebrate except my dad's 109th birthday. It seemed a good idea to get the load off ready so on Sunday me, Aaron, Helen and Ozzy set off up the Peak Forest. We towed "Hazel" along so that Helen could get a bit more practice at butty steering.

Dukinfield lift bridge is always a challenge to get a deep drafted boat through. It's a favourite fly tipping spot, and, inevitably some of the rubbish ends up in the bridgehole. It's always bad, but we've always managed to get through it. until now.

As usual, I wound the power on as we approached the bridge, expecting to bounce and grind a way through. In fact the stern end of the motor boat leaped several inches upwards and abruptly stopped. The butty came hurtling onwards and jammed between motor and copings with a crunch. 

Various people were waiting to cross the raised bridge so I was glad that we were able to extract the boats before tempers got strained. After dropping the bridge to let people cross, we raised it and had another go. The boat stuck again. Dusk was gathering so we pulled the boats back and tied them for the night.

Next morning I rang CRT. They asked if the boat was deep drafted (with an unspoken implication that that made it our own fault). I pointed out that 2'9" was less than the metre depth that should be available on this canal. Kim came along to help and we had a go at clearing the bridgehole using a grappling iron and a keb. Unfortunately the blockage seemed to be of stone or concrete and we couldn't get it out.

I drove "Forget me Not" at the blockage and, as she entered the narrows, Kim and Aaron each grabbed a line and pulled hard. Again the stern leaped out of the water, but she kept going  and I was able to tie her on the other side while we went back to bowhaul "Hazel" through.

Soon we were at the bonfire site, an area of rough ground infested with himalayan balsam and Japanese knotweed. I checked on trees that we've planted there in previous years, then we unloaded the brash, ready to form into a bonfire. We then had a relativel uneventful trip to Hyde to wind. On the way back we got through the bridge by the usual method of taking a run at it and hoping for the best.

The stereotypical idea of German history is that they were evil aggressors during the Great War, then suddenly became really liberated during the 1920s, only to turn into strutting Nazis in 1933 and then magically transform themselves into democratic workoholics post 1945. Of course, it's not as simple as that. In 1933 the National Socialist Party was disappointed to only get nearly 44% of the vote. After all, they'd done enough voter intimidation and that meant that 56% of the electorate were brave enough and disliked them enough to vote against them. The assumption is that those who enthusiastically supported the Nazis were all fairly nasty people. I thought this for a long time, until I saw a documentary about it. A lot of really nice people, including what would nowadays be regarded as hippies, thought the Nazis would sort out the many obvious problems of the country and wouldn't be too bad really.

When I was in the sixth form I was able to vote for the first time. The voting age had just been lowered to 18. I remember asking a particular girl how she intended to vote, and was shocked when she said Conservative. Her reasoning was that they had promised to allow private radio stations to be set up, which would mean that she would have a huge choice of pop music stations to listen to day and night. Labour had closed down the pirate stations (which actually peddled subtle right wing propaganda between the records) and substituted Auntie Beeb's Radio 1. This was the only thing that interested her.

Nazism is now creeping back in by a strange route. It's called libertarianism. That sounds good, I mean, we're all into liberty aren't we!  It's a bit like anarchism really, no laws, do your own thing man. Real hippie values, except for one big difference. Anarchism, in all it's many forms, tends to assume a level playing field. Everyone equal, no rich, no poor, resources shared. Libertarianism does not change the power structure. There are rich, there are poor. There are no gun controls. Anyone can say what they like  (eg, Libertarian Elon Musk has removed moderation from Twitter) so if you want to defame an entire race or class or gender just go ahead, it's a free country innit. If someone wants to intimidate you out of your home with bigger guns or more wealth, well, they're free to do that. If there's a deadly disease going round but you don't believe in it then no-one will make you stay at home, wear a mask or, God forbid, get vaccinated. Ah, there we go. All those nice people who are into aromatherapy and herbs and are (quite rightly) suspicious of big pharma.

The problem is, if you go down the libertarian route, you quickly find yourself in a very illiberal world. Donald Trump is a libertarian, but his appointees to the American Supreme Court have all but removed a woman's right to choose in the USA. It's a creeping journey towards Gilead.

My friend is a lovely woman. I've known her for years and, though we've never been really close, counted her as a friend. She runs a little cafe where I sometimes go for a butty at dinner time. She's qualified as a spiritual healer and used to be part of a group that were doing healing in return for a donation every week. It shocked me to discover that she is now selling copies of "The Light" in her cafe.

Here's what Wikipedia says about "The Light"-         

The Light is a self-published, monthly British far-right and conspiracy theory newspaper founded by Darren Nesbitt (frequently under the pseudonym Darren Smith) on 27 September 2020,^[1] which claims the COVID-19 pandemic was a hoax. The paper has a sister publication, named The Irish Light, which was launched in Ireland by Gemma O'Doherty and John Waters.^[2]

The paper has been criticised for spreading COVID-19 misinformation, Anti-Semitic conspiracy theories, Holocaust denial and death threats.^[12][13] It regularly prints articles written by conspiracy theorist Vernon Coleman,^[1] and according to a review from Harvard Kennedy School "includes content that is aimed at prompting participation and activism amongst adherents of conspiracy theories, rather than simply presenting information".^[10][14] The paper has called for executions of journalists, politicians and doctors, leading it to being described as containing 'extremist propaganda'.^[15][16]

Although the company behind the paper was dissolved on 15 February 2021,^[17] the BBC reported in June 2023 that at least 100,000 copies of The Light were being printed each month and that the publication had more than 18,000 followers on the social media site Telegram.^[18][19]

Claims

The print publication regularly makes conspiratorial claims surrounding Bill Gates and world leaders, promotes climate change denial and claims vaccines are weaponized mind control devices.^[1][20]

It has called for modern-day Nuremberg trials for journalists, politicians and doctors and repeatedly referenced conspiracy theories concerning Agenda 21 and the Great Reset. It regularly criticised the COVID-19 restrictions in the United Kingdom by comparing vaccination efforts to Nazi extermination camps.^[1][11][21] The paper was also found to have spread false claims concerning vaccines, COVID-19 and COVID-19 death figures.^{[22][23][24][25]}

In September 2022, The Light shared an article written by far-right conspiracy theorist Paul Joseph Watson claiming that Lyudmyla Denisova, the former Ombudsman for Human Rights in Ukraine, had admitted to lying about the Russian military committing rape crimes in Ukraine. The disinformation analysis group Logically found that Denisova had only accepted her use of inappropriate language in describing the rape crimes, but had not admitted to lying about said crimes.^[26]

In November 2022, The Irish Light ran a headline with the phrase 'Died Suddenly' connected to marketing efforts around the release of an independent anti-vaccine film of the same name. In this issue, the paper used the images of 42 deceased individuals, claiming they had died due to being vaccinated. Upon investigation, none of the deaths were found to be due to vaccines but were caused by drowning, long-term illness, car accidents, meningitis and other events. The misuse of the names and images of the deceased individuals being used to promote anti-vaccine conspiracy theories caused severe distress among family members of the bereaved and an increase in online abuse.^{[27][28][29][30]}

Far-right links

The paper has printed articles by Holocaust denier John Hamer and recommended books by white supremacist Eustace Mullins,^[11] and has featured an article by pseudonymous blogger Lasha Darkmoon which said that people should be able to question the Holocaust.^[11][18] It also defended radio host Graham Hart, who was sentenced to 32 months imprisonment after making anti-semitic remarks on his radio show in which he characterized Jewish people as "filth" and "rats" who "deserve to be wiped out".^[18][31][32] The paper also regularly references the far-right Cultural Marxism conspiracy theory, which has similar roots in antisemitism, and has promoted the neo-Nazi propaganda film Europa: The Last Battle on its Telegram channel.^[11]

The paper has also been criticised by the anti-racist group Hope not Hate for its support of the far-right by interviewing anti-Islam party politician Anne Marie Waters, printing articles co-authored by the English Democrats chair Robin Tilbrook and Heritage Party leader David Kurten, and promoting material by Mark Collett, the leader of the fascist group Patriotic Alternative.^[11] According to its founder, he is in communication with the editor of the German far-right conspiracy theory publication Demokratischer Widerstand (Democratic Resistance), which has stated that it is a "partner" newspaper of The Light. Demokratischer Widerstand has been linked to the Reichsbürger movement, the group behind the 2022 failed coup attempt in Germany.^[18]

Distribution and Criticism

The paper is purchased via private Facebook groups and Twitter contacts and then distributed by volunteers who are instructed to airdrop copies through letterboxes or abandon the paper in public spaces.^{[33][34][35][36][37]} Local leaders in towns across the country have accused the publication of "inflaming division and harassment with false and misleading claims about vaccines, the financial system and climate change".^[18] Its distributers have also been criticised for deliberately targeting teenagers and children.^[47]

After copies of the paper were distributed in Stroud, residents protested against the paper, stating: "...we are alarmed by The Light's use of the pandemic to push support for antisemitism, Holocaust denial and racist hate speech - as well as for denial of climate change, NHS-bashing, and other reactionary views."^[4][7]

Everything seems to be being difficult at the moment. The revised bonfire date is January 1st, but the way things are going I don't know if we'll manage it. "Hazel" has been alongside a wall in Dukinfield over Christmas. This is where we take her to charge her batteries thanks to our friends Dixon & Smith, Motor Engineers. Though they go home at a decent time, they share the yard with another garage, run by a workoholic, so we can usually get in quite late in the evening. Surprisingly. they didn't work Christmas Eve, so we were locked out over Christmas.

Yesterday, 28th December, they were open, so we could complete the charging cycle. My plan was to do that, which would only take an hour or so, move "Hazel" back to the basin then take "Forget me Not" to the bonfire site and unload her cargo of brash. I rang Aaron and he agreed to help.

I'd woken up in the morning to hear radio reports of a tornado in Tameside the previous night. Social media pinpointed it to Stalybridge. with reports of damage on Knowl St. First job was to visit the boatyard to assess the situation.

It turned out to be not too bad. The whirlwind had redistributed various items and ripped one of the roofing tarpaulins on the outdoor workshop, but nothing that can't be fairly easily fixed.

When we got back to "Hazel" I had a nasty surprise. Because it was already well charged I hadn't put the solar battery on charge. Unfortunately I'd forgotten to switch off the fridge and, with hardly any sunlight, this had totally flattened it over the festive season. With all the rain and no power for the pumps I found that the back cabin was flooded. Once power came down the wires again I discovered that there was a problem with the pumps anyway.

Aaron went home and I set to work trying to trace the problem, kneeling in wet water most of the time. After a break to eat my butties and have a brew I noticed some discomfort in my lower body.

In 2019 I had treatment, including radiotherapy, for prostate cancer. Apparently about 5% of those who have radiotherapy in this area develop side effects, such as a stricture (blockage) in the plumbing, meaning that they can't pee the normal way. I was one of the lucky 5% and about 2 years ago I was fitted with a suprapubic catheter. That's a plastic tube that comes from my bladder out through my belly and down to a bag on my leg. It's really screwed up my career as a porn star, but it's better than the alternative, a slow and agonising death through retention leading to kidney failure.

I had a look and realised that there was no tube protuding from my belly. I thought it had broken off at the skin.

I quickly locked up, went back to the basin to stop "Forget me Not"s engine which was charging her batteries, and drove to the shop to collect Emuna. Collecting things from the house for a possible hospital incarceration, we got a taxi to Tameside General.     The taxi driver said he was glad he was retiring soon as robots were going to take all the jobs. I helpfully suggested that they might do away with pensions! He knew who to blame for the world's ills, not the desperate refugees but the super rich who hoard their money in tax havens.

A&E Waiting time 4 hours. Emuna got a taxi back home as I'd forgotten my spare catheter. I've been to Tameside before for less serious problems and they never have the right size in stock.

By now the pain was getting bad. We've all experienced the feeling of urgently needing to go. It's hard to concentrate on anything except finding a place where you can empty your distended bladder. I had that but with no way out for the liquid that my kidneys were continuing to deliver  unabated. My bladder stretched until it was fit to burst. I couldn't sit still but had to walk about.

Luckily the triage nurse recognised the seriousness of my predicament and put me to the front of the queue. Emuna arrived just before I was called in.

The nurse who did the initial inspection told me that the catheter had not broken but had come out. This shouldn't happen as there's a balloon inside to hold it in place. It must have deflated. A standard catheter change should be done in no more than 20 minutes, before the portal closes (sounds like a line from Dr Who!) I'd now been catheterless for over 2 hours.

A doctor came, had a look, and told me that they couldn't deal with it at Tameside and he'd get me blue lighted to Stepping Hill in Stockport. Fairly soon he came back to tell us that there was no ambulance available ( What a surprise ) so Emuna called a taxi. The nurse came back to give me a squirt of morphine in my mouth. It took the edge off the pain for the journey but soon wore off.

"Stepping Hill and step on it" I told the driver. It was rush hour and I was cursing every red light and tardy driver that got in our way. Eventually we got there and handed the letter that we'd been given to reception at A&E. They said go to the Surgical Assessment Unit (SAU). Where's that? We asked. They looked at each other. "I think it's down the glass corridor" said one. "Go to the main entrance and it's signposted from there" said another. The main entrance is pretty well blocked off by building work but I knew a way to it via a nearer entrance.  From previous visits I also knew where the glass corridor was.

We reached the main entrance, Emuna fretting that I might be taking the wrong route. We looked for signs directing us to the SAU. There were signs for just about every department, but not a mention of SAU. We asked a nurse. Blank looks. We went down the glass corridor. We asked another person in uniform. More blank looks. A porter pulled a patient on a bed out of a lift. We asked him. "Take the lift to the second floor, turn right and it's first on the right".

We stumbled into the ward to be met by a very nice tall sister who, realising how much pain I was in, offered me some paracetamol. My mouth was dry by now but I was determined not to drink anything. I was starting to get a bit of lower back pain which made me concerned that it might already have backed up to my kidneys. There was only one place it could go and that was already full. As the sister went to get some water I swallowed the pills dry. Emuna drank the water.

The doctor had been waiting for me but it seemed an age before we were shown into a treatment room and a young bearded South Asian man appeared. It was now about 4 hours since the catheter came out. The young doctor soon realised that he needed back up, so he summoned a more experienced doctor, who also looked very young to me (but so do police officers). She directed him in the procedure. I had feared I would have to have surgery as the portal must be firmly closed by now. In fact he carefully inserted a very small size catheter, then took it out and put in a slightly larger one, and so on until he got to the proper size.

OH, THE RELIEF!!!!!

They brought us each a cup of coffee and we sat for a while. I suddenly felt wonderful. As we left I skipped out of the door shouting wayhey out, with Emuna following saying "Stop It"!

Emuna's poorly knees had now had enough and she could only walk slowly along the long hospital corridors. We called at the main entrance reception to ask for a local taxi number. There was nobody there. We carried on to another exit where we met a really helpful Afro-Caribbean nurse who was just coming into work. Rather than just give us a number, she rang the taxi firm for us and negotiated with them. Soon we were being whisked back home at a much greater speed than the outward journey.

Back home Emuna made a simple meal. Tiredness was creeping up on me so I went to bed and slept like young log. Emuna struggled to sleep and spent most of the night watching films on her laptop.

This morning Emuna wanted to go to the shop to tidy up what she'd left in the middle of (and make sure no-one sold her wheelchair). I drove her to the shop and then carried on down to the boats. I disconnected the charger from "Hazel"s now fully charged battery, but I was starting to feel uncomfortable in the general area that had received attention. I rang Aaron and he agreed to move the boat back to the basin for me.

My idea was to spend the day doing office work, but, in reality I read for a bit then wrote this. Emuna spent the afternoon snoozing in her reclining chair. I'm still pretty uncomfortable and hoping I don't get an infection. The bilge pumps can wait. I'll be back at work when I feel OK again.

Heroine of the night, my wonderful wife Emuna who stuck with me all the way through despite her knackered knees.

Sadly, because of excessive winds caused by Storm Pia we had to postpone our planned Solstice bonfire. It looks like it will happen on January 1st instead, to welcome 2024. Here are a few pictures of "Forget me Not" and "Hazel" returning down the locks from Stalybridge to Ashton with a load of brash for burning.