MFV BF494 'Pansy', an old Motor Fifie Conversion

a busmans holiday? some electrickery and gizmos for someone else's boat..... has turned into a search for new, more descriptive, collective nouns

it all started on the long ferry ride out to Barra from Oban, all my nightmares come at once, think I'd rather have a large spikey camera shoved up my arse than have to endure that again, oh, hang on a mo, I did that the week before I set off

so, whats the beef. Well, despite being first in the queue for the ferry, we end up as the last car on. No worries though, doesn't make a difference does it?

on this occasion yes, first new collective noun goes to the hinderance of guardian readers. Faster than a German family in benidorm they were up the stairs and into the nice 'observation lounge' to lay out their towels, sorry, guardian saturday supplements on all the seats, so by the time we sauntered politely up to look for a seat there was nowt doing. A hinderence of guardian readers is actually a subset of another collective noun - a 'class war of middle classes'. These are very easy to spot when they are holidaying, the standard uniform tends towards short cargo pants, preferably worn 2 sizes small. these are worn regardless of the fact it is only 8 degrees centigrade and is lashing with rain and a 40mph wind. these pants must also sport a suitable recognisable and expensive brand name. A top this will be 2 possibilities, the short sleeved polo shirt (with upturned collar) or the rugby shirt (with upturned collar). footwear will be sandals for outdoorsy types, preferably with a prominent berghaus logo. these are often worn with socks, the racier type may opt to go sockless. preferred mode of transport for the holidaying hindrance is usually the volvo estate

ok then lets try one of the other lounges... whence we happen upon our next new collective - the plague of cub scouts. In our case this particular plague was closely affiliated to the hinderance and the class war up stairs. 30 or so, very spoilt, very immature vay vay porsh 8 and 9 year old boys, off to the outer hebrides for a week for some dib dib dibbing with Akela. Little bastards every one of them, so we have a lounge, with 25 rows of 3 seats, a capacity of 75. so Akela puts 2 of the little darlings on every row. Akela and his care in the community assistants take a few more rows and pile all there goods and chatels on the remaining rows - the baggage racks were empty

ok, try the lounge on the starboard side. Collective noun number 3 - a picket line of twitchers. they hated us - we had a dog - we hated them more, and that hatred has grown every day with been on the island, but more on that later. So the twitchers, adapt a similar policy tot he little darlings from Chipping Sodbury Scout pack, lay as much of your belongings where ever you can to discourage the hoi polloi from getting anywhere near sitting down

that leave's the restaurant, but no doggies allowed in there.

so the 6 hour ferry crossing was spent, standing up, walking around or sitting on the baggage racks. Walking round was essential to stave off the desire to throw the woggle clad ones over board, who had just realised they had a great big new play thing to run around for 6 hours, shrieking and screaming at each other.

standing didn't work either, as one of the few places to stand was out on deck, which was A: fecking cold, and B: entirely the property of the picket line of twitchers. as soon as you thought ok, I can bear the cold, I'll just stand here where its quiet, word would miraculously filter down to the picket line of twitchers who would appear on mass to look at another fecking seagull, clad in more camo than the Duke of Edinburghs Ghillie, but with less interpersonal skills, they barge past, and line the rails shoulder to shoulder. "Its a lesser spotted pied skua bat" "its a wailing fusticle grebe" etc etc and then"actually its just a seagull" where upon they would all barge past once more to the lounge to double check it was actually a fecking seagull.

why camo for god's sake?? your on a 10.000 ton ferry, in the middle of the sea???

but hey ho, lets try sitting on the baggage racks for a bit again. A few minutes peace now and again until the woggleites re-appeared. the new game was now hide and seek. "Are you going to be staying here?", one of them had the temerity to ask. "We want to use this space"

"We want to sit down but there's as much chance of that as me not going to the chokey for trowing you overboard, now feck off"

so much for scouting and doing good to others. the crew complained about them, the passengers complained about them, Akela just looked blank and adjusted himself in his unfeasibly tight shorts

And the nightmare Dragged on.

And on.

One one of my little wanders I thought I'd have another trip up to visit the hinderance. Had to leave there though, on account of overhearing a discussion that was going on betwixt 2 of the more chinless of the species. the topic was the hot topic of the week. Expenses. "I think its disgraceful how people should be allowed to see the minute details of MP's expenses. Most of them won't even understand what it means"

Maybe he was an MP? He was certainly a bit of a member. I had to leave

Maybe a trip to the bar? It says no dogs on the door, but Im past caring

so in I goes and waits dutifully at the bar. In comes one of the hindrance, blue polo shirt (with upturned collar - no socks) a pound coin gripped firmly between thumb and forefinger, straight past me, and raps on the bar with said pound coin. "I say, I say....." (obviously you say, no bugger else would have the effrontery)

"I say, what sort of tonic do you have?"

"The sort that comes in a tin" (priceless!)

"Oh (pauses to digest this earth shattering statement) I suppose I'll have a gin and tonic then"

jesus mate, "suppose" don't force yourself. Lisa, (the girl behind the bar) bless here, duly obliges, smiles and takes his money, which took a while, for him to extract, coin by coin from his girly purse, obviously unfamiliar with having to deal with small change. The bastards can put an 89p claim in for a bathplug on expenses though

"There's nee wonder you scots hate us English" was all I could think to say as I ordered a Guinness.

"not of all you, just most of you" I'll drink to that

and on and on it went. the one highlight, was the sight of a woggleite, having stuffed his fat posh face with sweets for 3 hours and ran around like a someone who's nana had substituted his smarties for amphetamines, succumbed to the increasing swell in the minch and launched his lunch and several kilos of E numbers down his shirt and onto his bag. Suffer ya wee shite!

but eventually journeys end, the hindrance, the class war, the picket line and the plague all fought to get down the the vehicle deck first.

although just before disembarking a woggleite approached. "excuse me, your son called me an idiot"

options were

1: call son over and chastise him, the correct term to use should of been a fucking idiot

or

2: call son over and chastise him - punch first insult later

or

3: inform woggleite he shouldn't be behaving like an idiot then should he

Ok, I admit it I took option 3

We were last on so bugger it, I'm having another pint, and this time I'm going to sit in a warm comfy seat to drink it, I'll get off in 10 minutes! So here's to the Crew of "The Clansman" they don't pay you enough

so that was 2 days ago. and I thought all my collective noun troubles were a thing of the past

but no, a new one. An Annoyance of corncrakes. The political machinations and their implications on the working man in these parts put aside for a moment. they're an noisy bunch of bastards. The machair outside the window is full of the buggers. and that can only mean one thing. and sure as eggs is eggs, at 7am this morning, a picket line of twitchers, stood outside my bedroom window, marvelling at the sodding things

Easy solution. I let the dog out. that shifted em. but only to the other side of the field. 10am, they were still there. time to play fetch with the doggy in the middle of the corncrakesville

the picket line were none too impressed.

*MC Corncrake takes over the Mic - SCCCCCRrrreeeeeee (or is that a snipe?)*

Just to put your mind at rest Skippler a couple of updates from the mainland.

Bill Oddie has been dropped from "SnailWatch" - fantastic news. A press release has alluded to the fact that he is suffering from depression, which I think is excellent! The grapevine suggests the humourless pygmy was binned on account of his pathological whining and constant innapropriate sexual innuendos, on a show which is all about badgers, moles and the odd owl.

Newcastle United FC suffered a minor blip on their hunt for European football.

Pansy is fine, nothing to worry about - I've deliberately steered clear so as not to cause trouble. She might be a bit full of water as I'm not sure whether I put the plug back in last time. Might be down soon to burn some paint off, may even replace the knees, deckbeams and sternums before you get back as a bit of a surprise. I've bought 14 tonnes of Fimo, this man I met on the way back from a pub in Shields reckons it's exactly the same as wood but you don't have to cut it.

An interesting first for me today, been doing this internet malarkey, nearly as long as I've been doing this boating malarkey, 20 years man and boy as they say (bit longer with the wet things). But I've been defiled and finally lost my 'never been banned' cherry (was it good for you too!!). Joined a small forum a couple of weeks back. Should I do them the service of a link from a high google ranking boaty site to another?? (answers on a postcard)

Seemed like an interesting place though, and one with good potential, or so I thought, so I gets stuck in, offered a few potential solutions and thoughts to a repair problem someone had, based on past experiences and all that. Big mistake. I wasn't even in full gobshite mode, in fact I hadn't even warmed up, and being the new boy was on my bestest behaviour and wore clean pants at all times

So after getting shot down in flames (familiar territory, so no big deal). I suggested they should just ignore everything I'd said. clearly a heinous crime, and thusly I was banned - "petulance in my recent missives" Well apparently I wasn't banned - I'm "just not a member anymore". Hadn't even got my post count into double figures

So whats wrong with redecking a boat with conkers and butterflies wings anyway

*Moderator creeps over the side, fingers like grappling hooks*

Nivva been banned - my arse, and if you've genuinely nivva been banned from a foraye then - whassamaddawichoo.

musings on 'elf n safety

bugger all to do with anything boaty (well almost), but I've come to the conclusion that by and large we have turned into a rather limp wristed nation of soggy apologists. It all started by watching the panic set in as the end of the world arrived in London in the form of a bit of snow. An entire fleet of modern buses is grounded, for safety fears. Compare these with the routemaster of years gone by, air assisted anti lock disk brakes, traction control, power steering, pneumatic suspension versus a bloke with a strong left foot and arms like popeye. Used to be quite a regular thing, snow in the south east, and the buses just kept going.

all the schools close, 'cos the playgrounds' are a bit slippy. Hang on, that was the best bit, 50 yards long slides across the playground, but oh no, can't have that, one of the little darlings might fall over

which brings me to more boaty themes. The internet is a wonderful place, full of useful and not so useful information and a veritable goldmine of knowledge when you've got a problem to solve, but even this seems to be succumbing to the 'Elf and Safety disease. So you find a forum and ask your question, and someone somewhere will come up with some sort of a solution, but then the avalanche begins. NO NO NO, you mustn't do that, it might not be safe, you must adhere to BS-XYZ standards and wear a thermo-nuclear NBC spacesuit with bullet proof safety goggles, and you have to buy this widget for a gazillion squids (ensuring it has a CE mark/kite mark), cos anything less might break or endanger the coypu breeding industry in norfolk or some such bollocks

Poor old heath robinson would turn in his grave. The good old fashioned British solution would go something like, "take your Flim Flam, get a bunch on nails, some poisonous glue and big hammer and keep hitting it till it works, then paint over it with some even more deadly chemicals, whilst eating a full fat cheese butty on white bread with butter, then have a cup of tea (3 sugars) and a fag whilst the first coat dries" If after hitting with a hammer the problem persists, its probably an electrical fault, so pull all the wires and lash loads of insulation tape over them, then stick them back again"

Sadly, I fear, it has now become totally endemic, we have lost the resourcefulness that made us what we are. We have been nannied into submission and dulled into apathy. Maybe the economic depression (gordon's words not mine!) might bring back a bit of the make do and mend spirit and get everyone off their fat arses and force them to do something a bit practical. Oh yeah, and if you bash your thumb with a hammer, please don't try sue the hammer manufacturer for failing to affix a safety label telling you not to hit your thumb with a hammer, its called an accident, they used to happen all the time, and only a few people died from them (I think)

*Ahem* I left the wobbly half cut bottle full of turps next to the fire Skipper as I thought heat might speed up the cleaning process. Luckily "Joe the Cabin Boy" mentioned the fact that "turps can get a little bit burny" so I moved it a bit.

Dark nights & cold days are upon us, so, until we get the 'spacher working, its getting a tad chilly on the old girl, although a dozen litres of diesel engine purring away for a while does make the engine room nice n toasty, which is where most of the 'doing' type stuff has been done of late. So now is the time to reflect a little and plan ahead to what is, what will come to pass and what shall never be.

Looking around the ol' t'interweb for ideas and inspiration, there are lots and lots of these delightful old trawlers, MFV's, seiners, drifters and what have you out there, but sad to see that most have been sacrificed on the alter of live aboard conversion. Why oh why oh why do people do it. It seems to me there are 2 basic ways that a lot of people attack the problem of converting an old fishing boat. the 'shed' method' or the 'caravan' method

As many boats have got the chop as part of the EU's stupid and completely wasteful decommissioning policy, the odd few have apparently been 'rescued' or god forbid, some even say 'preserved' only to suffer the indignity of having what can only be described as a shed stuck on deck. Luckily, ours, whilst not original is far more sympathetic to the boat than most

Why do they do it? If you want a floating shed, buy a shed that, err... floats I guess. If you want a floating caravan buy a caravan that doesn't float, and go to sleep in it at low tide somewhere remote!

so, the next few months are going to be spent plotting and conniving, (yes some of it will be done in a shed - thats a wooden structure in a garden BTW) with a bit of graft chucked in the mix just for good measure. Hopefully at the end of it, we'll be heading in the right direction to get her looking proper again.

Meantime No 2 has done some stuff & drank several gallons of bovril in the process. Bovril filters have now been placed on the mugs to help him along. More paint has been sloshed on unsloshed bits in the hole, plans are a foot for new fuel tanks in the making, Can you use feet as fuel? if so keep it quiet as HMRC will slap a recreational foot use duty on them sharpish no doubt, although they may allow us to keep 40% of our feet for domestic use and be exempt from general foot duty (general foot duty?? didn't he fight along side wellington??)

This week should see the last of the refitty type stuff refitted in the hole; storage lockers to put stuff in so we can't find it again, newly mounted and re-wired 'spacher; shiny things here and there to attract spiders, that sort of thing. I may also drink bovril unattended, smoke a few fags and gossip with our nautical neighbours. Any pairs of hands at a loose end have been invited to come join the fun, Left answer phone messages for Jonathan Ross & Russell Brand, as I'm led to believe they might have an opening available. Toyed with the idea of cobbling together a radio transmitter and anchoring 6 miles off shore so they can keep in practice till january, just to piss the daily mail and it readers off as much as anything. Barack Obama has been invited also, as despite the fact he won the election, he's got to sit through another couple of months of retardisation before he can start picking up the pieces, and Clarkson has asked if he can come and hide from the lorryists for a while

ho hum, onward and sideways

/*** UPDATE ***/

just a little footnote here, based on the fact that this particular post seems to come up a lot in peoples search's for trawler and MFV plans and drawings. I do have in my grubby mits a few different sets of drawings for the various designs of these old fishing boats, among others I've got some Fifie Plans, Ringer Plans, 65' MFV plans and 50' trawler plans and drawings

if anyone wants a copy for reference or model making drop me a line

Had a major Eureka moment today. Started with the quest for a new starter motor which 'suffered' in the wee conflagration in the hole. So we've got a Ford Lehman 2715e 6 cylinder diesel, not what you'd call common, but not a rare beast either. The starter, after a full strip down revealed its original Lucas part number, so quick ring round the usual suspects of Marine engineering companies that sell/service big old Fordy's, £399 plus Vat plus a 60 quid deposit for the old unit in exchange. Go to an agricultural engineers, the exact same lucas unit, £110.

So my Eureka moment, off down the town hall tomorrow and am going to change my surname to 'marine' by deed poll. I will then take the relevant papers to the bank, who I am sure, upon seeing my name is now 'Mark No 1 marine', will quadruple the balance in my bank account, and generally credit my account with double what I pay in from now one. Simple huh?? Remember you read it here first! If all goes well next month I will change my name again and add the letters 'MP' as I'm guessing that will have the same effect again

*No.2 is piped a'board*

Already tried the name change approach Skipper I'm actually called "Salmon Marks and Spencers Bang and Olaffson Thompson" it's written on the inside of me wellys and the contract I drew up and signed for our boat owning partnership. (Note to self don't mention "contract" to Skipper!)