Ashton Boatman

Following the Green victory in the Denton and Gorton election my right wing friends seem to be concentrating on attacking the party for its rather liberal drugs policy. Let me preface my comments by pointing out that I do not have skin in this game. I am not dependent on mind altering chemicals legal or illegal. I do however live in a town where chemical abuse, including legal alcohol , is obvious and linked to health issues and petty crime. The war on drugs seems to have been lost here.

Let's scroll back to 1996. We kept most of our boats at the Boat and Butty yard in Runcorn. The Boat and Butty was set up by the wonderful Peter Shrubsall, Shrubbie, and his partner Marion. Unfortunately Shrubbie died in about 1985. Marion carried on the business but did little more than call in every month to collect mooring fees.

Our boats were occupied  by young people who kept them afloat and formed a loose community.   After "Forget me Not"s launch in 1994 I moved there and lived on "Raymond". There were other people living there on their own boats, including Ginger.

Nobody really disliked Ginger but he was shuffled away to the far end of the moorings because of his need to stick needles in himself. His partner, Linda, had a similar need to fill herself with alcohol. I remember seeing her getting into a taxi to go for rehab. I have actually seen healthier looking corpses.

Ginger needed to be in Runcorn because it gave him easy access to the drug dependency unit in Widnes. This supplied most of his needs. Because of the War On Drugs it was closed down. The only way that Ginger could get what he needed was to engage in the retail trade for illegal substances. A continual stream of sad shuffling people started to call at Ginger's boat. Unoccupied boats on the moorings were broken into.

 Retailers need wholesalers, who arrived in a black BMW.

Ignorant of what was actually going on I challenged these people. They claimed to be plain clothes police but could not prove it.  I said that in that case I'd call the real police. They said that if I did that they'd kill me. I don't give in to threats so I rang the police. I asked them to be discreet. 

The police were soon there, sirens blaring. They leaped out of their car, truncheons drawn, shouting my name. Discreet I said. The BMW had gone.

Usually when someone says they're going to kill you they don't mean it literally. It was pointed out to me that these people probably did mean it. Being stubborn I stayed on, spending each night in a different place. The nice friendly community evaporated. Most people kept their heads down. There had been several drug related murders in Liverpool recently. One person started a campaign of vandalism against me, damaging my possessions. I believe that he sank "Raymond" while I was away. I later learned that he had been told to make the place safe for the drug dealers with threats against his daughter as an incentive.

All hell was let loose. The criminals ruled the boatyard and the police seemed happy to let it go on as long as only hairy hippy boat dwellers were affected. All night cars and motorbikes were coming and going providing a delivery service. 

The man who was damaging my property was actually in touch with someone well known, who I can't name but some people will be able to guess, who put it around the canal grapevine that I was funding the boats by drug dealing. If this had been true we might have them all restored by now.

We started making plans for moving our boats out of Runcorn. Luckily we'd been invited to move them to Portland Basin.

Suddenly things calmed down. I read in the local paper that 3 men from Kirkby had been arrested in Widnes outside an industrial unit. Inside the warehouse was the biggest indoor skunk growing farm busted up to that point. The 3 men were in a black BMW.

Friends of Raymond took over that boat. Sometime later I delivered some of her fittings to one of their members at Braunston. He opened his front door and, when I announced who I was, he took a step back and looked scared. I hate to think what he'd been told about me. Canal gossipmongers can do a lot of harm.

All the above happened because of the WAR ON DRUGS. It was similar when they banned alcohol in the USA. More people died of alcoholic poisoning, crime increased and the only people to benefit were the Mafia.

In my view the only political party with a sensible and responsible drugs policy is the Green party.

My Fascist Foot

On St Georges day me and some friends went to a Ceilidh in an Irish Club. The music was supplied by the excellent Cutback Ceilidh Band. We all had an excellent time and I danced with great energy and enthusiasm. Next morning I woke up to find my left heel was hurting. Never mind I thought, it will soon go away.

Weeks later I was still suffering from a very sore heel, and just to add to my joy, the arthritis in my right big toe started up again. During some of the trip to Liverpool I was hobbling painfully as we worked through locks. I'm used to running about, bowhauling butties and generally putting in a lot of effort as we work a flight of locks, but instead I had to try to minimise the amount of walking that I did.

I rarely visit a doctor. I generally find that, however carefully I describe my symptoms, they just don't seem to get it. My resistance was eventually broken down by the fact that I was beginning to feel disabled by this ailment, and was beginning to doubt that there would be an end to it.

I had to wait nearly a week for an appointment. The receptionist explained that if I rang back the following day I could have a 48 hour appointment, but I knew that I would forget. The doctor that I eventually saw was a pleasant young woman in Muslim dress. She looked at my foot and pressed it until she found the sore spot. She offered me painkillers. I explained that I could cope with the pain, but I really needed to know what was wrong with it. I really don't like to take drugs unless I really have to. She said that painkillers would take down the inflammation, but offered no diagnosis. I mentioned that I took glucosamine with chondroitin to control the arthritis in the other foot. Who has prescribed these things she demanded. I explained that they were available in health food shops. She didn't seem happy about this, but said that it may be gout.

I had considered the possibility of gout, but thought it unlikely as I hardly drink and eat little red meat. However, I agreed to a test for gout, and the doctor seemed happy. I left with a prescription for painkillers, that I had no intention of collecting.

The tests showed that I do not have gout, but the pain did not go away and I was no further forward. Luckily my wonderful partner, Emuna, is very good at researching things online. She found some information on a condition called Plantar Fasciitis which exacly matched the symptoms that I was experiencing. It was all to do with a tendon in the bottom of your foot getting overstretched. There was some useful information on how you could manage the condition without recourse to the products of multinational drug companies. I have been following the online advice and it seems to be slowly getting better. I rather wish it had a different name though. I don't like having a fascist foot. In my experience fascists are normally a pain in another part of the anatomy.