GIBRALTAR 4

Today it is only 24 degrees and life has become a little more bearable. In fact I think some of the old brain cells are beginning to revive and come back into service. Still waiting for the radar, but the magic sunhat for the boat is nearly finished - we are in great danger of almost looking posh.
so today it is a story day, so you can get a feel for how the days just flow by.

‘Dave’
‘yes, Jen’
‘The toilet is not working’
‘What do you mean. It was working this morning’
‘But it isn’t now’
‘Nightmare, Jen’
‘Best look at it, Dave’
‘But that means taking it all to bits and everything and I hate toilets’Biggest of sighs from himself. I know this means spanners and screw drivers, so out with the boxes.

So there we are, having to strip the bathroom down, empty all the cupboards and dismantle the box around the pump and then get into the pump. And it is the smallest room in the house too. You can see where the pump is, where the handle sticks out above the loo. The access is not from the front where the handle is, but at the side, just to be even more awkward.
It is late afternoon, hot and sticky and the odour once the pump is exposed is somewhat on the unpleasant side. So take of the blanking piece of wood, off with the pump cap and all is revealed – it is completely clogged with limescale. And there is now water and stuff everywhere. Definitely a rubber glove job. The pump is really hard to get out, and when it does come out into the bucket my heart sinks, as it is now hours if scrape and de-scale. Being watery it is woman’s work, so I pour in any noxious substance that might remove limescale and set to work. Dave cleans up the worst of the wet in the bathroom. At last some hours later it seems clean and then it is the job of putting it back, which is even harder than getting it out. By now it is 10pm and we have not had a meal and are hot, crabby and smelly. Finally it is back together again and off for a trial run. Horror, it still leaks a bit and all the fiddling in the world is not going to make it right.
‘Could cry, Jen’
‘I know. But it is not too bad and will do for overnight’
‘Hmmmmmm. That’s true. OK another go tomorrow. I’ll get the spare one out’
‘What do you want for tea?’
‘Can’t be bothered’
So we eat a bowl of fruit and cream, have a shower and off to bed to face another day.

AM
Dave is upside down under the bunk rootling through all his treasures and finally emerging with his prize. Uh oh.
‘Jen’
‘Yes Dave’
‘That pump I thought was new,...’
‘Yes,Dave’
‘It isn’t’
‘Why is it under the bunk then’
‘Hmmmmm. Must be OK’
‘It’s not one of your might be useful but not really working treasures is it?’
‘Don’t know. We could give it a go.’
So the whole procedure is repeated, pump out, more water everywhere, and now it's lunch time. Being wiser today we break for food before starting the procedure over again, putting in the ‘new' pump. Same struggle and teddy throwing, then the test run is ready. This time the leak is worse than ever and water is cascading into the shower tray. Dave is beside himself as he cannot work out why it isn’t working, but all the tightening and shifting of nuts and bolts is futile. By now it is late again. So it is off with this one and back with the other one which has had even more cleaning and new valves put in. Hours later – still leaking but usable for the night. By now I have even more fizzing witches cauldron of pump cleaning stuff.

‘Dave’
‘Yes. Jen’
‘First thing tomorrow we are buying a brand new pump’
‘But I don’t know why they won’t work and a new one costs money.’
‘Dave, they are knackered and old and leaking and we are not going to go through this again’
‘Guess not. OK new pump’
‘Jen’
‘Yes Dave’
‘If the pump is scaled up maybe the pipe is too. Perhaps I should get pipe as well.’
‘Good idea’
So another bowl of fruit and cream and off to bed.

AM
Off to the chandler and back with lovely new pump and coils of loo pipe. Should be simple to pull out the old pipe and run the new, but sod’s law says that because it is all hot and humid and the loo is a small space, it is going to take lots of pulling and shoving from both of us. The discharge pipe runs from thee loo up to the pump then into the upper cupboard, across to the other side and down through holes cut for it to under the hand basin, under the floor and through to the discharge sea cock. The new pipe does not want to be confined I think but eventually we win and several hours later we have all new piping, and a branny new pump and this test run is magic – until a bit later there is a telltale trickle of blue loo water. Dave is about to throw himself overboard till he remembers that maybe he hadn’t tightened one of the nuts up. This is not too difficult to do, just messy as it lets more water out. But, wonder of wonders, we now have a non-leaking and functioning loo. And it only took 3 days!

‘Jen’
‘Yes. Dave’
‘Where are you going with those buckets of pumps?’
‘To the bin’
‘But Jen! !!!!! They are might be useful, they are my treasures!!!!!!!!’
‘Dave, they don’t work, won’t work and are no longer treasures. I will buy you a second branny new pump to put under the bunk as a real treasure for you’.
Big sigh, and despite his lovely new working pump I still think he misses his treasures.

GIBRALTAR 3

2 Days in a row- wow!!
Well have done the washing and lowered the tone of the neighbourhood somewhat, but needs must as they say. Washing means over the sink with the fan going full blast, then into the buckets to go up the deck and onto the line.
Dave reckons it is the most expensive clothesline in Gib as it is usually used for the colourful sail and is special kevlar stuff. But works well indeed.
Maybe I should tell you about our neighbourhood. When we were in Tobermory we were considered a big yacht, especially for 2 old codgers to manage, but here we are a pip squeak. We are surrounded by very large yachts and motor boats.
In the picture you can see little old us, the white one with the washing, between the big blue power boat (recently bought for £11 million), and the big blue yacht in front. Big yacht is over twice as long and has everything you can think of including air conditioning and a microwave - the only 2 things I could envy perhaps in the heat. Behind the yacht you can see the back end of the big American power boat that is taller than our mast - look for the people on the side deck to get a sense of size. The second story has a full gym set and you can see them pedalling away and doing treadmill things. Top story has a pool. Dave reckons it is as big as a frigate. And there are more of the same around the corner and more come in and out every day. So much money seems obscene to me - the cost of the American boat is thought to be in the region of $1 billion, £500 million pounds. And then there is the cost of running them and keeping the crew. Surely there must be a better thing they could do with all this excessive wealth. I might have mentioned it before, but when we arrived the boat behind is was a vast yacht, and this was the smallest of 8 boats the owner had dotted around the Mediterranean, all with crews on board, in case he felt like getting away at any time. So we put a bit of reality into the scene, especially with our eccentric array of covers until we get the sunshade, and our constant work in progress. I think we are the happiest too, we are always having a laugh, but the folk of the big boats always seem so glum.
We are not so fond of our other neighbours either.
Every night, especially over the weekends, we are blasted from the casino with the most evil disco music imaginable played at maximum volume until 7 am. Added to this is the drunken shouting that seems to be the obligatory accompaniment and you can imagine we are somewhat sleep deprived. You can't shut the hatches entirely, even with the fans, and it is a bit miserable. You can see from the pikkie we are just across the way. All the boats complain, but nothing happens. Bring on the mail and we are out to peace and quiet.

End of moans - from now on there are only good things to write about!!

GIBRALTAR 2

Well, despite my best intentions it has been ages since I promised to be a little more regular with the writing. I blame the weather, as I am sure my brain goes into melt down here when the temperature goes over 30 and the humidity over 90%. It becomes too hard to move, and far too hard to think. But it is possible to sit in front of all the fans you can muster and chill out. Most of the busy work has to be over by 10am, so housekeeping (yes, I do do some!) and shopping and laundry are all early morning jobs. But it is now September, and, wonder of wonders, the days are definitely getting a bit cooler – it doesn’t get to 28 or 29 till after lunch and the nights are now about 24 -25 which is becoming a little more sane. Still high humidity though, over 80% today. I will finish the moan by letting you all in on the wonderful life of the disco – it throbs on loudly and headbangingly inanely till 7am Thursday to Monday. Oh woe, can’t shut the hatches, turn the fan up till it’s whirring like a helicopter waiting for lift off, and hope zzzzzs will come. Then stand by for the drunken shouting – so the two of us are wandering around like the two golden oldies you all think we are doing hot drinks and loo runs like Wal and Amy in the olden days. So sad in two such youngsters – sigh.
So we are still here. Why? You might well ask.
We are having a problem getting mail. It is a problem all those living on Gibraltar have, the mail is dire. It can take 2 days for a letter or 4 weeks, for no particular reason, and parcels are worse. We received have received mail posted 3 weeks previous, and this arrived after some posted after the first lot had been sent. So we are now down to the wait for 1 more parcel. This we decided we ought to have as, after lots of talking back and forwards, it came about that we are going to be the proud possessors of a radar. We have tried to keep things as simple as possible and have managed so far without one, but since the technology is now available for boats our size, it seems stupid not to have the benefit for the once or twice in a life time when it can be an essential safety tool. So the platform is all ready for it, all we need is the box. Once the box arrives it is still not simple. What you get is a card in the post telling you to go to the parcel office. So you tramp your way over there and queue up, the parcel is retrieved and then inspected by the man from customs who is based there. It was OK with the books, he was not interested in those, but we had had 3 months of prescriptions for the two of us forwarded, a small trolley load really, and these all had to be tipped out onto the counter and each box inspected and accounted for. By the end of the exercise I think everyone watching was wondering how 2 such old crocks could dare to set foot out of the house, far less take off in a boat. Dave went over the other day with another lot of cards and came back saying he had to go to the customs depot as the parcels had been considered taxable. So it was passport and ship’s papers and off he trudged across the runway to the border, about a mile or so. I thought he had been put in a cell or deported as he did not return for ages, but he had managed to retrieve 2 rather battered parcels. Just as well he had gone, as the run around he had had would have had me causing an international incident. But I have my replacement mini-iron and we have Terry the Tiller number 2. Why it is all so chaotic no one seems to know, except that it no longer comes by air for some reason and it is thought it gets held up in Spain – but then everything here is Spain’s fault, right or wrong! Having got the mini iron it is too hot to use it, but I gaze at it fondly and remember that it is supposed to get cooler sometime.
Apart from waiting for mail, we are still waiting for the sunshade. We had made such good arrangements we thought and the steel work was done as promised, but the canvas work is another matter as the original lass has let us down badly and now decided to pull out. I was frothing at the mouth as we could have been out of here. However, a little silver lining appeared when a young man put his head under the sheet and asked if we wanted some canvas work done. It transpires that we are not the only ones being given the run around, and this lad’s father has worked on the boats here for 20 odd years and the son has been setting up a business in Malaga and this includes a young man who is excellent with cloth and so it goes. The bimini story will soon follow.