Watery Tails

Balkan Extremes

2009-10-28T22:05:00.003+01:00

Despite the not bad weather we were graced with in England, we were pretty surprised to get out of the taxi back in Montenegro (driver stinking of booze but had a vehicle large enough to fit us and our windshield, more of later) to find the air temperature up in the high 20’s and the sun laughing at my attire of hooded top, coat, scarf, jeans, boots. Hooray! Farewell to autumnal musings; here was summer again.

We’d only been back on the boat a few days when a contingent of bicycling Nottinghamites paid a visit. Dennis, Nez and Ian were on the final leg of their month long trip which had taken them from Bulgaria to gentle, friendly Macedonia, through hard-core Albania and finishing with the mountain marathon that is Montenegro. Had we not just been back to Nottingham for 2 weeks, it would have been utterly odd to have them on our boat but as things were, it felt completely normal to be with such like-minded souls. They were a lovely bunch of lads and welcome to return anytime.

However, their arrival coincided with a distinct change in the weather and we waved them off into heavy rain, falling temperatures and building winds the following afternoon. And then the weather went shit.

From mid to upper 20’s, the temperatures descended into the boat madness zone of, at best 10 degrees, at worst 2 degrees C! And it rained. And rained. After the first week, I held my head in my hands one grim morning pondering why I had reneged on my unequivocal statement last spring that I “would never do another Montenegrin winter”. Free marina berth and free offers of luxurious on-shore accommodation had swung it, I guess. But it’s all very well making those decisions on a sultry June afternoon. The crying wind, rolling black clouds and rain which only relents long enough for you to tie up your boot laces and open the companionway, no longer feature in your carefree Montenegrin dream.

So, what do you do when the going gets tough? You agree to go white-water rafting in the mountain wilderness of northern Montenegro. So a mixed bag of ages, nationalities and backgrounds from a variety of craft moored in Porto Montenegro, piled into a van, taking along two dogs for entertainment (and much needed warmth).

And to cut a long story short, it was a crazy thing to do. This began to hit home a little more as within two hours of leaving, what little we could see of the mountains (shrouded in thick mist and freezing rain) were white with snow. Not usual at this time of year, it has to be said. We descended into the high-sided canyon cut by the Piva River which looked oddly wide and full (Pluzine Rijeka) and didn’t see another vehicle for an hour despite the road being good. The reason for strange lake/river was revealed further along the road when we crossed a 220 metre damn, stopping to look at the breathtaking drop that was the canyon proper with its natural, mineral-green river, racing along far beneath us. At the confluence of the Piva and the Tara rivers, we arrived the Montenegro/Bosnia border crossing. It was 4 degrees C. The border guard smirked, “You go rafting??” then boomed with laughter. We now understand why.

The camp was situated on the banks of the glacial-looking Tara River, flanked by near vertical canyon sides, reaching at its deepest, 1200 metres. The wooden cabins had been built for summer climes and we slept fully dressed despite the heater, but they were quite cute and sent me into a romantic spin about my much-dreamed about/desired “wooden A-frame house in the mountains” fantasy. We had an evening of drinking around a big covered firepit which was top fun, despite the strange (but usual) interactions or lack of interaction with the local guides. In typical Montenegrin fashion, they chain-smoked, looked miserable and spent lots of time texting on their mobile phones.

The next day dawned even fouler than the last. It was 1 degree outside and trying to snow. Surely they wouldn’t take us out in this, we all secretly prayed. But they did. We donned the usual wet-suit, sodden and already freezing cold wet-boots, there were no gloves – and we piled in the back of the Land Rover. Already, shaking with cold and with one stop for a member of our crew to be sick (hangover – and it wasn’t me! Or Tim), we travelled yet further into and down into the Tara canyon. It is a far more remote and desolate place than the postcards suggest, particularly with snow edging the track.

Holding the icy metal paddle was a job in itself but once we got going, I thought we would warm up. But the needles of iced rain blew into our faces relentlessly, turning to snow blizzards less than 200 metres above our heads. We paddled, we shivered, we shook – the question “are we nearly there yet?” took on a resonance like never before. What should have been one of the most spectacular trips of our lives (and it would be if the weather was clement), became one of the most arduous. We couldn’t wait for it to be over.

To add insult to injury, the konoba (bar) at the end of our endeavour was closed and our bags had not been dropped off. So we waited, outside, for more than 15 minutes, now getting seriously chilled, before we could change (in full view of everyone, outside) into our dry clothes. No towels, no fire, no hot drinks. It was all very poor, to be honest. And potentially dangerous.

When we take people out sailing, we go to great lengths to make sure that everyone is having a great time. If the weather isn’t good (and we are talking a bit of rain here), we don’t go out, simple as that. We lose money. But we would rather do that than have our clients not enjoy themselves – let alone put them through actually physical pain. This trip should not have gone ahead in those conditions – the camp were on one hand, greedy, taking money when they knew there was no way that anyone could enjoy rafting in near-freezing temperatures – and it was potentially dangerous should anything untoward had happened and we’d had to stay outside for any longer than we did.

This is a real shame as the camp itself is potentially fantastic and we would like to be able to recommend it to people and go again ourselves – but are loathe to do so now under the circumstances. As such, I am not putting a link on here as I don’t want them to have bad publicity – or good at the moment.

Mam Tor Wedding continued

2009-10-28T22:03:00.000+01:00

We have a long winter ahead so I’ll stop beating myself up about a) putting up photos, b) editing the video and c) completing the tale. All of this will be done in time. For now, I’m going to continue my usual bletherings.

Our Mam Tor Wedding

2009-10-14T19:52:00.004+02:00

Grrr, I knew I’d do this. Leave it sufficiently long before writing that I am already losing the warming buzz and remnant glow that accompanies those times when you feel completely enveloped in the loving arms of those whom you care for and those that care for you. Or to put more simply, not write about our dreamy wedding a little sooner.

Now, I’m not one of those lasses that has spent her life daydreaming about that special day, waiting for that perfect moment. Quite on the contrary; I’ve never been interested in marriage. It all seemed like, to put it politely, a load of contrived bollocks. But something in me made me want to marry Tim, a romantic whim if you will, an expression of love. So, on 26 September 2009 we stood a’top Mam Tor and said “I do” and it, unexpectedly, became a momentous occasion for both of us which did actually really mean something. I think most people who were there would be in agreement with that.

In a nutshell, because the detail is becoming less and less relevant as the weeks pass, these are the bits which stick in my mind:

Monday 21 Sept, 5 days to go – After arriving back in the UK the evening before (discussing marquee décor over a pint of real ale in one of our favourite pubs then a massive curry), met with those of our mates who were going to help us make this whole thing work. They made us feel much better and I started to think this thing was really going to work. Oh, and we bought our rings.

Tuesday 22 Sept, 4 days to go – Met with my mother to choose some material to make my wedding skirt, measured up for skirt, came to agreement (surprisingly) easily about what could and couldn’t be conjured up in the timescale and mum skills. Tried on corset – looked amazing but I couldn’t breath and went into a huge panic about how I was going to make it up Mam Tor/get over stiles/dance/eat/drink/sit without my face disappearing into my cleavage. Decided it was a terrible mistake. (postscript: on the day I didn’t lace it up properly so could do all of the above).

Wednesday 23 Sept, 3 days to go – Wrote the ceremony script with Tim. Spent a lot of time on the internet hiring vans which we realised we needed. Met a worried Tim in town and picked out tie colour and reassured him on choice of shirt (he just couldn’t get his head around how his neck size was all they needed).

Thursday 24 Sept, 2 days to go – Tim went on his stag do at 9am (under strict instruction to meet me, in a fit state, at 1pm Friday in Edale). They finished around 5am. I am saying no more other than tank driving (in a pink tutu), an ostrich costume, Carry on up the Khyber at the Screen Room, lots of drinking, the conga, human pyramids, pile-ons, lots of drinking, male nudity, chest injuries, lots of bruises (and this is only what I’ve gleaned from the evidence). I, on the other hand, was in a state of dull worry about the logistics of the following 24 hours – which was a real shame as some of my pals had put on a low-key non-hen eve and I just wasn’t myself (though “myself” would have ended up piling into town and getting into a similar state as the groom so probably a good thing all round). My, I am getting sensible in me owd age.

Friday 25 Sept, 1 day to go – Arrived at Whitmore Lea Farm, our site for the weekend, with some pals to find the marquee company (Premier Event Marquees, from Goole) telling us that they wouldn’t erect the marquee on that site because the grass was too long, there were sheep in the field, it was too uneven. Gob-smacked, utterly shocked but keeping my head, we found them two alternative sites (without sheep, long grass and flat enough to have static caravans on one of them). They still wouldn’t do it – they had just cleaned their marquees for the winter they told us and “shouldn’t even be doing this job”. They also told me that their boss thought I was “dodgy” and said that even if they chose to put up the marquees, they would need £500 off me there and then in cash as a security deposit. Charming. And nigh impossible.

Not having mobile phone reception in the entire valley was not helping matters, and after running back and forth from the farmhouse to make phone calls home to Tim, after 2 hours of trying to work with the marquee guys, they finally left saying how terrible they felt about the situation (they later told their boss that I was “threatening and abusive”). Lovely.

So, it was now 24 hours before our wedding party and we had nothing. No marquee, no furniture. Then an amazing 6 hours unfolded, sparked off by an incredible and highly capable friend who took the parish mag by the horns and rang around all the movers and the shakers in Edale village (herself from a village knew that something could be done; myself, from suburban Birmingham, just stood there dumbstruck). Within the hour, the farmer, his wife and their two mates plus us were running about all over the place and by 4pm had: 7 mini marquees from the vicar, enough trestle tables from the village hall, 100 chairs from the horticultural society. And the lads finally turned up, plus a van load of light and sound gear plus more tarps than you could shake a sheep-shitty stick at.

By nightfall, the stunning but previously empty field was filled with a fairly large, fairly stable structure made up of numerous marquees gaffer-taped together.

I found my mum, drank whisky and we finished my skirt. Then had “dinner with the mums” and a lacklustre bridegroom trying his hardest not to look stupidly hungover.

Oh, and Tim's kilt arrived.

Saturday 26 Sept, the day – Awoke to the kind of day that, had I ever had romantic dreams about getting wed, I would have chosen. Autumn colours on the trees, falling and swirling on the breeze, carpets of crisp yellows and russets on the paths, a deep blue almost cloudless sky and warmth in the sun. The gamble to get married on top of one of the coldest, windiest, cloudiest, wettest places in England looked like it might just pay off.

Arrived on site to find a mini-town had grown overnight in our field: kids playing on a big trampoline and being transported around in a tractor’s scooper by the farmer, tables set up and already being laid out for dinner, the beginnings of a spectacular veggie buffet were arriving, lots of sound and lighting gear, an extravagant toilet set-up being dug and built at the far end of the field and lots of tents. We did what we could then rushed back to Edale to get changed.

There was Tim, trying on half his kit for the first time and getting in a mess. Me, the only bride in history not to have time to wash her hair, who having forced down beans on toast (not really the best food for a woman about to wear a corset but mother made it for me and I was almost passing out through lack of food and too much emotion), got stuck into the champagne with my two “ladies” and mum and suddenly cheered up – and started enjoying myself for the first time in a lot of hours.

Then we both managed to get up the hill in an unplanned fashion – plan was that Tim was meant to be one of the first up and I would follow so I didn’t have the grand entrance thing going on. However, surprise surprise, we were late so Tim missed his walking party and got a lift half way up – and I was even later – so ended up being the last one up there unintentionally – but it kind of worked in the end.

Then it all becomes a big blur (that’ll be the champagne I guess).

However, I will try to reconstruct the rest in my next post.

The photos say the rest – as does this enormous list of thank yous:

Michelle and David: for lending us their lodge in the mountains of Monte for our honeymoon

Jes: Photography and camera

Everyone who provided food for the magnificent buffet

Katie's mum: seamstress, flowers, food, speech and being calm at the right moments

Tim's mum: organising food, dancing

Katie's step dad: ironing groom's shirt, getting groom up the hill, providing shower gel and shaving equipment 1 hour before the wedding

Gus and Sara: Katie's ladies, giving her the bottle to get up the hill, wedding cake (gus)

Michelle and David: for lending us their lodge in the mountains of Monte for our honeymoon

Jes: Photography and camera

Malachi and Harris: filming of ceremony and party

Chan: electrics, sound, light, materials, resourcefulness

Andy and Rhiannan: bar, enthusiasm, marquees

Chan, Andy, Andy, Gareth: Planning meeting earlier in week. As the crisis unfolded, their professionalism, resourcefulness, materials, enthusiasm and experience inspired confidence in the eventual result. Once we had ditched the marquee company and started doing things for ourselves, there was never any doubt of the result.

Gareth and Elaine: transporting furniture to and from villagers

Vanessa: tea tent, decor, rallying of troops on Sat morning, provider of great lights.

Boy's team: Nat, Andy, Mal, other Andy and Tom for putting up the village marquees without fuss.

Andy Nurse: speech, stag do, constant support and ever-present assistance to groom

Jo and Cath: table decor, crisis management post-marquee disaster, resourcefulness at critical point - in two hours the wedding rose out of the ashes thanks to them

Farmers and villagers: advice, hospitality, resources - we won't forget your generosity

Cath and Andy: keeping the fizz on ice until the toasts

Elaine P: brilliant children's entertainment, book her in London for your parties: http://www.ministryofgiggles.co.uk/

Egg and Moll: toilets that even the locals were impressed by

Kim: wood collection and transportation

Ben Caulfield: advice, site rec and toilets

DJs: George, Gareth, Andy, Ol, Chan, Chris M

Ziggy: "that speech"

Clean up team: Chris and Jo, Elaine, Eleanor, Gareth, Andy, Rhiannan, Kim, Ol, Chan, Nurses.

Mum & Richard, Mum & Steve, Dad & Sally: cash!

Wedding ceremony team, Gareth, Ol, Gus, Andy Nurse: fantastic improvisation on the day, brilliant performances with little notice and no rehearsal.

Premier Event Marquees in Goole: for their ignorant and unprofessional behaviour which led to the "Dunkirk spirit" which pulled all these brilliant and resourceful people together to create something far better in the end - it would not have been the same with you.

And everyone else who, as soon as they arrived on site, realised there was a job to do and offered their help immediately. No amount of money spent could have created that atmosphere, which is entirely fitting for us.

And finally, a special thank you to Gareth who was our "Man on the ground" from the very beginning and without whom, this whole event would not have been possible.

Summer's end and Blighty beckons

2009-09-18T11:52:00.001+02:00

What appear to be London Plane trees stand by the water’s edge here in the marina, their maple-shaped leaves curl at the edges and their colour is changing. The few horse-chestnut trees found in this part of Montenegro are dropping their spiky green cases to the ground below, emptying themselves of shining, silky smooth conkers that taste faintly of blood when you touch them with your tongue. The sun has lost its intensity, the late afternoon holds a hazy, soft light. And for the first time in so many months, I am held in a closed up boat, dressed in fleecy trousers and dodging those drips again.

Our remarkable summer is rapidly drawing to a close and despite life being frighteningly brilliant at the moment, I cannot help but feel a certain sadness. Another summer gone, another summer I haven’t got to look forward to, one less summer in my life. Doesn’t autumn bring home your mortality?

I’ve been told I’m a brat. Which is, of course, true.

Anyhow, less of this morbidity and more of what we’ve been up to this summer. Well, it couldn’t have gone any better really (unless someone took pity on us and decided to donate a million quid to the Monty B leak-prevention fund). Our hopes and dreams were realised in early September when we hit our 52nd booking of the season which met our “one booking a week, every week of the year break-even/enough to survive and more” imaginary goal. So we have enough money to get through the winter, though not enough to plough back into the boat in anything other than an essential maintenance manner. But we are lucky to have done as well as we have and if we manage to find some other income over the winter, even better.

From mid May until the beginning of September, life was a blur of frenetic daily boat cleaning and associated arguments, big smiles and lots of enthusiasm, escape from the heat out on the water, sailing, lots and lots of sailing, gaining the vicarious pleasure of taking in the scenery, seen hundreds of times, through fresh eyes, lots of jumping off the boat and splashing around (though lots more watching other people doing it and making sure they didn’t drown), more tomatoes chopped than I care to think about and the sumptuous pleasure of watching the light and G&Ts soften everyone’s faces as the sun dipped behind the soaring peaks. Then usually we would crash out within an hour of dropping anchor. Lots of high energy and clean fun.

We both seem to be at our happiest when sailing, which is a bloody good job seeing as we live on a sailing boat. With Monty’s hull problems last year, we were always a little cautious I’ve really got into it this summer and just love the feel of controlling the boat when she is under sail. We spent many a day outside the bay, on off the Adriatic coast, with clean wind, deep blue waters and views of the mountains (and the many storms). We’ve learnt so much, by trial and error, as the year has gone on and I just wish we had the time this autumn to take Monty B on a voyage to somewhere.

But the reason why we are not doing this is because in 3 day’s time, we will be back in Blighty and in 9 day’s time, we will be standing on top of Mam Tor getting married. This is all followed by the biggest event I will ever be organising (particularly via a USB dial-up internet connection from a boat) – a two day party for around 100 beings, under canvas, in a beautiful spot in the Hope Valley. Our own “Weddingbury”, hopefully without the flash-floods, heavy-handed security and mud baths. See the ever-changing weather forecast for 26 September in Edale: http://www.accuweather.com/world-forecast-15day.asp?partner=accuweather&traveler=0&locCode=EURUKUK131Edale&metric=1

Is it Pammy or Timmy? Who can tell.

2009-07-15T15:22:00.002+02:00

We were a tad surprised yesterday when a boat anchored (a bit too) close to us at one of our favourite swimming spots and Pamela Anderson started prancing around on deck in a tiny sparkly bikini. A double-take was necessary - was this Tim in fancy dress? But no, it was the chestistically inflated scrap of a woman herself.

The bodyguards were quite exciting, with their sinister shades and bumps in their trousers (their holsters, I can only presume). The funniest bit of the whole episode was watching the diminutive Pammy attempting to swim, whilst being almost suffocated by her enormous floating breasts.

ps. this is Tim's re-enactment of his best fancy dress costume of all time, where he went as Pamela Anderson to a White Trash party.

pps the sleeping person in the dog suit happens to be yours truly.

Who'd have thunk it?

2009-06-24T11:55:00.006+02:00

We finally bit the bullet and entered a regatta a few weeks ago.

Team: Katie (skipper), Tony Browne (tactician), Tim, Laura and Biba (willing crew).

Dogs: Louis, Mollie and Schoona.

Course: Tivat opposite sailing club - Verige channel - Perast islands - Verige channel - Zaliv Tivatska - Zaliv Hercegnovska - Igalo - Herceg Novi breakwater

I have always been somewhat reticent about entering a regatta due to our lack of tactical sailing experience and I didn't want us to look like total dicks. However, the addition of our tactician, Tony, and Laura (experienced crew) gave us the confidence to bite the bullet and enter the race.

Half an hour before the race, Tony was hoisting our spinnaker (which we'd never used before) and fashioned a quick bodge on our slightly broken spinnaker pole. The winds were light as we crossed the start line, but with our fab green spinnaker out front and the addition of 600 litres of water we'd just put in our tanks that very morning (always a race winning tactic, that one), we made good ground and were doing pretty well.

Once around the islands off Perast, we started the beat back up Verige channel and the weight of our boat compared to the (empty) plastic fantastics began to show. A heart-stopping near collision with Pedja, Tim's ex boss, added to the drama as we squeezed every inch out of every tack. Then into Tivat bay for several hours of floating about in dead air, time for a quick swim, some food and all the boats began to bunch up.

Tony's ever-ready, eager approach and constant monitoring with the binoculars gave us the edge for some of the time, finding the tiniest breaths of wind here and there but overall, it was a long slog up to Herceg Novi.

Then the nail-biting finale began, with us just ahead of the rest of the cruising yachts (the racing boats had come in ages before). A misunderstanding about the location of the finish line almost fooled us into thinking we had won - but upon realising we had to round another buoy, we gritted our teeth and with every single ounce of our psychic energy, we urged Monty B forward.

A last minute tactical and silent tack, fooled the boat nearest to us and we inched ahead towards the line, willing the boat to move faster, and as a beautiful breath of wind caught our sails, we crossed the line.

And won!

With legs like jelly, my hands still grasped around the wheel like they were frozen, I couldn't quite believe it. Cheers and clapping from all the other boats - all the local sailing guys, some of the first Montenegrins we had met back in 2007, the Yugoslavian army teams, all the blokes who reckoned that our boat was an "old timer's boat" or a "nostalgia boat" - we beat them all.

And me, a female skipper - a first in Montenegro, that is for sure. Plus the locals think we are utterly bonkers taking 3 dogs on the race too.

A brilliant job by the whole team but most of all to Tony for his brilliant tactical awareness and sail-trimming skill - we learnt so much that day and we all said that it was one of the best days we'd had in years.

And then I woke up and it was all a dream.

Working like billio

2009-05-31T23:36:00.000+02:00

After several months of boat reconstructactivity, summer has hit like sticking your head in an oven and we are in the full swing of charter season. After getting down to our last 100 euros and being ever so slightly worried that the dream was exactly that (again), we picked up 6 charters in 2 weeks! Hooray! Bookings are coming in, the website seems to be getting some hits via search engines and everyone who comes out with us is having a gay old time. It is the best job either of us can imagine and yet again, we’ve made new friends in the process (which included being taken out for a civilised meal last night which somehow culminated in the demolishing of a litre of Black Label Smirnoff between four of us and getting in at 5am – rock n roll).

June is getting busy with visits from James and Lucie (our very first charterers and winter landlords) who we owe several days sailing, the Nurses paying their third visit and my mum and Richard, paying their third visit also. I’ve also had a random email from Sam Pink Hair, who reckons she’s en route to Monte on her bike. Crazy girl. I’ll eat my battered sunhat if she makes it. With chips.

Built a bed big enough to put a Tim in

2009-05-31T23:26:00.004+02:00

Yes, finally, we’ve extended the bed. Or rather, Nathanial Xenon Comber extended our bed. Nat paid an eight day visit to re-gig our cabin and doubling the size of our bed. It is now bigger than king size and is absolutely wonderful. Marital bliss is resumed and Tim’s bruises have faded. Great to see Nat too and have our first proper boat guest staying on board.

He did seem to think that our idea of a hard working day wasn’t that akin to his. He clearly works too hard.

Cheers Nat – you have made a big difference to life aboard Monty B.

Dog mungus

2009-05-31T23:03:00.001+02:00

I’ve decided to get my arse into gear and write a blog entry every week as of today. When we are busy, and rain is rare, it is difficult to find the time to commit to something so sedentary as even our days off at the moment seem to involve constant activity. I’m not complaining; not for a moment. Things are GREAT.

I think I’ve found writing the blog difficult since John’s demise, knowing that one of these days I really should change the title of my blog and update the profile, so that John is no longer “current” – but every time I go to do it, it makes me so sad I find something else to do.

But we have so much to report and the summer is already zooming along without record, so I need to start writing more regularly.

And I guess the first and most important bit of news is that we have a new dog. She is a diminutive blonde with a naughty gleam in her eye. Part corgi, part ferret or something like that, she is one of a kind. Prior to living on our boat, her home was outside the Pantomarket in Tivat (a half-decent supermarket), where she had stared meaningfully into shoppers eyes in exchange for cheap food. We’ve named her Mollie.

She has adapted to boat life amazingly well, apart from the occasional break for freedom during week one (one of which involved her jumping off the boat and swimming across the harbour). I think after spending the first two years of her life doing exactly what she liked, it took a bit of adjustment to being told what to do (I can relate to that). But she quickly realised which side her bread was buttered and she is now utterly devoted (to everyone who comes on the boat).

Erm, lots more to tell. Another post.

A feat complete

2009-04-28T13:06:00.002+02:00

The lack of posts is indicative of how busy we've been but against the odds, we managed to put the insides of Monty B back together, move out of one flat and spring clean it, redecorate the previous flat and squeeze our stuff (which has somehow expanded at an exponential rate over the winter) into a 30 square metre space in some kind of organised fashion. We've also managed to fit in a 3 day holiday in Croatia (mate Danny's birthday spent in luxury villa near Dubrovnik) and a weekend trip to take in silent, unspoilt beauty of Skadar Lake (hosted by our Skadar resident pals, Ben and Emma). More of in another post.

There is still shed-loads to do and this week's plans have just been scuppered by the arrival of a nasty low pressure system with accompanying rain and wind.

We are currently on anchor in Muo, opposite Kotor Old Town, swinging around like crazy and being buffeted by harsh, gusting SE winds. We've been on out on anchor for nearly two weeks and it has been pleasantly calm. I'd forgotten what this felt like (and so had Louis, who is quivering on our bed being comforted by a sick Tim - sick in that he has been stung by one of Montenegro's evil bees which floor you for a few days). All very refreshing and .... elemental.

Monty B's hull strengthening programme

2009-04-28T11:49:00.013+02:00

A bit of background here: in February 2008 we noticed that our hull had an indentation on either side which had, most likely, resulted from our rig being over-tightened before we left Greece combined with the heavy weather that we experienced on our journey from Greece to Montenegro in December 2007 (see blog entries http://yachtmontyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/potential-nightmare-scenario-1.html and http://yachtmontyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/right-place-right-time-right-people.html)
We were extremely concerned when we noticed the damage and were initially told that we wouldn't be able to sail in anything other than light winds until the hull was strengthened. In the spring, a second authoritative opinion was that the problem was nothing like as bad as it appeared and it was merely one of the batons in the hull that had warped slightly. This turned out to be true in the end, but the indentation is not a good thing and we want the peace of mind that Monty B is a truly strong sea-boat that will last last many more years which is why we decided to go ahead with the work.

So we took it pretty easy over the summer, sailing in nothing over a F4, with the expectation that the help that was offered to us by the local boatyard back in Feb, would materialise in the autumn. It didn't. All very Montenegrin.

But we struck lucky once again when a good friend of ours, Tony, who is a master of all things maritime and a trained chippy, offered in his rare moments of spare time to help us do it ourselves. We had consulted many casual experts on a way forward with this and Tony's plan, to create two new wooden ribs and a stringer made a lot of sense to us novices and looked achievable. Little did we know how much work would be involved at that point. Tony spent his precious days off his stressful day-job, working his chippy and boat-building magic.

So the work began in February.

We started by stripping out the entire saloon. The moulded seating had to be cut out, all the wooden supports and panelling and ceiling panels were removed which was no mean feat. Then the beginning of the truly messy tasks began with sanding down the fibreglass in the areas of the hull where our new ribs were going to be fitted. This took in the region of 8 person days and resulted in the first picture below. The supports you can see are steel ribs which are chainplates for the shrouds and you can also see the glassed-in steel batons that support the hull. It was the lower baton that had warped slightly causing the hull indentation.

The second stage involved cutting some difficult to track down marine ply for the ribs and stringer. This alone took two weekends. The result is the second picture below. This shows our port side with the newly built wooden ribs (the verticals) and new stringer (the horizontal) which provide exceptional strength to the hull. The new ribs were glued in using West System epoxy (another 10 extremely dull pages could be written on the trials and tribulations of getting our hands on that stuff, here in Monte).

The next stage was to glass in the entire structure then fair the visible parts of the rib. This is the part of the tale where we learnt how bloody noxious epoxy can be as during day 5 of exposure, I was dizzy and sick. Burping epoxy is never a good sign. Unfortunately, it had pissed it down most days whilst we were working so it was hard to ventilate the area. I stupidly only used a ventilator on day 5 after discussing how I was burping up epoxy with an Aussie superyacht skipper a few nights previously in the pub (I am nothing but a classy chick). Ironically, this is when I got sick.

Anyway, a week later this was all done and we vowed never to do fibreglass work for more than two days at a time, ever again.

Then, it took six days for Tim to reconstruct the saloon while I sorted out the rest of the boat, ready for moving back in. I have to hand it to the lad: he takes perseverance to a whole new level. Almost every single element of the saloon had to be recut to take account of the new ribs and stringer - and the most hair-tearing out moment came when the fibreglass seat mouldings touched the stringer itself - so some of the new stringer had to be planed back. Aghhhhh! (It was at this point that I got told not to come back to the boat until I calmed down).

The pics below show the saloon put back together. The only visible part of the new structural support are the painted white ribs, running parallel with the steel ribs, which actually look quite good in the flesh.

The final pics are our beloved Monty B back to being our home again.

So, that was that. It was a huge job but the end result is that we now have an immensely strong sailing boat that we now have supreme confidence in. We are utterly indebted to Tony for his guidance, hard work, easy manner and giving up his precious free time to help us give Monty B a many more years of a happy life. Also many thanks to Laura, his fiancee, for giving up her man on so many weekends.

For us, the experience has been irreplaceable. We have learnt loads of new skills, it has built our confidence in many quarters and we now know a hell of a lot more about our boat. Seeing her stripped down to the barebones shows you what yachts are all about. Though I have to say, we are very, very glad to have finished.

Day 7063

2009-04-08T21:57:00.003+02:00

It feels like I have spent the last 7062 days working, dawn till dusk, beneath the decks of Monty B. I haven't, of course, but after finally getting the boat onto her cradle (the boatyard kept her on a buoy for 7 days until I went mad in Serbian), we have worked our pale, winter asses off.

Monty spent 8 days in total in the yard and we achieved almost everything that we had wanted to get sorted out of the water. Which isn't bad going considering that were planning on having her out for 3 months. However, in lieu of time has been a large amount of money. We ended up paying men to do jobs that we would have done ourselves, had we had time. But I, for one, am quite pleased that I didn't have to spend the winter inhaling old antifouling and breaking my back holding an electric sander above my head for hours on end. Terrible admission, I know, but as I have now certainly lost my "inhalation of highly toxic chemicals" virginity, I am glad that I have paid some old guy to get the cancer rather than me. Particularly as they are happy to use the age-old health and safety technique of holding a cigarette in the mouth, puffing on it continuously whilst dry-sanding years of old antifouling paint. I couldn't do that, you see. I've given up smoking and respirators just don't cut it (for a claustrophobic).

So, we had donkey's years of old antifouling removed, two coats of epoxy primer and two coats of antifoul added, a new dark red boot stripe and Monty's bottom was reborn. She looked like an Orca with her slinky, black below-waterline hull and fin keel. Gorgeous girl.

The second good decision made was to employ a very un-Montenegrin Montengrin, Miko, to repair our stern. Half hippy, half Francophile, Miko showed us how fibreglass work can be treated as an artform and taught me the value of patience. After many days of his detailed, deliberate, painstaking brushwork, we now have a beautifully rebuilt stern. And he has become a new friend.

While all of this was going on, we were sweating it out below decks (summer has arrived). Seacocks replaced, plumbing all checked, continuation of hull-strengthening involving daily epoxy poisoning and cleaned out fuel-tanks. God, was that it? Surely we did more than that..... oh yes, lots of chemical cleaning of the hull (which we've decided needs repainting in full next winter).

As agreed with boatyard (for once, as it was in their favour, they did what they said they would, when they said it), we were plonked back in the water on April Fools Day (30 minutes after midday so all the seacocks worked).

The difference in handling was unbelievable! The photos show how many tons of mussels we had clinging to the bottom (though the cold water of winter had done for most of the barnacles). But it was still slowing us down and affecting handling much more than we ever realised. It was like driving a new boat!

Plus having seen Monty stripped down to her bare bones, inspected every inch of her and cleaned and serviced all the motorised parts, we are now fully confident in her ability to do her job.

Now we just need the sails back on.

Back in Kotor harbour, after a day off nursing celebratory hangovers, we've been working full on days ever since in a race to finish the re-structuring work so we can put her back together and move back in. It has just taken us three days to do what we wanted to do in one.

We have about five days of work left to make the boat fit for living on and only two days to do it. Bugger.

So tired. Body threatening illness at the beginning and end of every day. Next day off in 4 days time and even then I'm meant to be DJing. So tired, so tired........................ keeps me out of trouble though. And it is all GREAT! No horrible surprises, everything went astoundingly well in boatyard, such a relief!

What they give with one hand

2009-03-20T09:31:00.003+01:00

So, we get up bright and early, full of enthusiasm for our first day of work on the boat now she is out of the water.

For starters, I'd left my car in Dobrota a few days before so off we trekked - to find it with a flat battery. Grrr. Friends came to help and we were back on the road within the hour but it wasn't a great portent for the day ahead. A lurking feeling started in my stomach.

We arrived at the boatyard, excitedly trying to spot Monty B on her new cradle. But she was nowhere to be found......or was she? Wasn't that a North Wind ketch, swinging from a mooring buoy near the boat yard.

Yes! Of course it bloody was.

After all that, crew and all, a seemless entry into the dock and problem-free lift, they had decided to put her back in the water while they "made some space" in the boatyard.

We left them to their own devices with a promise that they would take her out later that day.

We rang them this morning. Monty B is still on the mooring buoy.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Hold on to your bar stools Part II

2009-03-18T13:48:00.004+01:00

WE HAVE FINALLY GOT MONTY B OUT OF THE WATER!!!

Unbelievable but true. And despite the ton or so of mussels growing on her bottom, she is looking pretty good.

But we are avoiding the boatyard today as we left Monty hanging in the sling yesterday as the cradle she is meant to be going on, has been taken by a salvaged yacht that was washed up in Budva last week ,after sailing itself back from the Italian coast in a storm.

They grunted something about swapping our boat with another blah blah, quite how they are going to do it with only one travel lift and no spare cradle I don't know. So instead of bearing witness to their Balkan shennanigans, we are staying at home, nursing our hangovers and hoping that by tomorrow, Monty B will miraculously be sitting pretty on a cradle.

We are being charitable at this hungover moment in time.

We are still in shock that SOMETHING has actually happened. Are we really still in Montenegro? Or is this just some strange dream?

It all went like clockwork too and we had great crew: Laura, Ben and Emma. Cheers all.

A change is as good as a rest

2009-03-02T20:39:00.004+01:00

Snowy scenes - the Bura blows, the snow falls, Monty B becomes Snowy b and the view from the Prcanj apartment.

After avoiding even glancing at our blog for weeks on end, I thought it was about time that I moved it on and put something a little more joyous on view.

Before I start, we'd both like to say a big thank you to everyone who sent us words of consolation about our John. We were really touched and it helped a lot to know that there were people out there who understood what we had lost. For such a small creature, he has left a huge hole.

Anyhow, enough.

Progress - there has been some:

1) Our mate Tony, who spent all of his twenties sailing the seven seas and is now a desk monkey (well, an important part of the soon to be Porto Montenegro marina), has spent the last three of his hard-earned Saturdays aboard Monty B. After Tim spent days stripping down the saloon to the fibreglass, the past three weekends have involved building the new wooden ribs that are providing one hell of a solid support for many years to come. Monty B is going to a beast! Tony expertise has been invaluable. As well as his years of working and living on boats, he is also a chippy by trade so we definitely found the right man for the job.

The ribs are now in but not glued. And we have decided to ditch using cheap polyester resin and go for West System epoxy on Tony's advice. If you're going to do a job, do it properly - and it will be a good pro job which is far more than we could ever have hoped for. Of course, we are now back in the "how the fk do we get WS epoxy in Montenegro?" and the answer is "you can't". For lots of reasons getting this stuff from anywhere to here is also a major headache - but we are getting there.

2) The best bit of news we've had for a long while is that A Day out on Monty B is now official! We are now part of Avel Yachting and have full public liability insurance so all we need now is a boat. Our new website is at http://www.montenegro4sail.com/ if you want to take a peek.

3) Windshield, ahh, the windshield. Well, almost got all the years/layers of silaflex off the GRP. Our current plan, supported by some and poo pooed by others, is to use 8mm plexiglass and a heat gun. And somehow, miraculously, a windshield will appear. I think it is time to invest in a camcorder.

4)After resigning ourselves to the fact that the boat wasn't going to come out of the water at all this winter (except for a 24 hour clean down and antifoul), a friendly Russian called Yuri has offered us his boat cradle for all of March. Of course we found this out just after I'd booked my flight back to the UK for a week so we hope to come out for the last two weeks and get the bare essentials done. Better late than never, as they say. Or, I'll believe it when I see it, as I say.

Of course it is impossible for the boatyard to book us in or even consider scribbling it in a diary - we have to "ring them a few days before". Ok....

5) It snowed, a lot. Monty B was covered in snow which was quite a sight. Most of the month has been clear, cold and snowy - exceptionally beautiful.

6) I haven't had a proper drink for a month then made the classic mistake of mixing vranac (local red) with Nik Gold (local strong piss) on Friday night in quite significant quantities. This is why you shouldn't have time off booze, your hangovers are definitely worse; I felt DIABOLICAL on Saturday. There seems to be an unhealthy chemical reaction between said tipples which combine to create the most hardcore of hangovers. I actually uttered the words "this is the last hangover I ever have" and meant it (at the time).

7) Oh, and we've moved house. Not wishing to outstay our welcome in the lovely Harvey apartment, we are now living in a gorgeous stone building in Kotor Old Town, right on the back walls. It is a stunning place, all very country-cottage inside but top floor apartment so great views of the walls and battlements. Tim is in his element, I can tell ya. We traded a month's accommodation for 2 cruises on Monty B - a great deal for all of us.

8) I'm flying home for a week on Friday. This is the first time I've gone back to the UK since August 2007 so it is all rather weird.

WE HAVE FOUR WEEKS TILL WE HAVE TO MOVE BACK ON THE BOAT. FOUR WEEKS. FOUR WEEKS. FOUR WEEKS. Lots of jobs are started, none, I repeat none, are finished. We have no saloon, no windshield and still don't have a bed big enough to fit a Tim in.

The countdown begins...........

Winter 2008/09 photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/beormakate/Winter200809

A Dog called John

2009-02-10T22:27:00.014+01:00

Last week whilst out on one of our favourite dog walks, John ate some poisoned bait* that had been put down to kill animals. He was panting quite hard in the car on the way home and we thought he was just thirsty but when he was sick as we got out the car, we realised that something was very wrong. We called the vet who arrived within 20 minutes.

After 2 hours of constant treatment his temperature came back down to normal and he looked much perkier. The vet took him off the drip and said that the outlook was pretty good. John was standing up and even started looking around for the cat that was wailing in the distance.
Once the vet had left, John started to go downhill, his breathing became shallow and suddenly he stopped breathing. Tim rushed over and started to give him mouth-to-mouth and heart massage while I rang the vet in total panic. Then he started breathing again - small, shallow breaths, but breathing all the same. Tim had brought him back to life! It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen.

The vet arrived shortly and put him back on the drip. But his temperature was dropping and he didn't look well. We just watched him, willing him to be okay. Within the hour, he suddenly stopped breathing again. The vet tried to rescuscitate him but his heart had stopped.
And that was it.

Not for one moment of the whole five hour saga did I think John would die. I couldn't believe that he could - not just like that. Not here one minute, gone the next. We just sat there, horrified, stupified, torn up inside. The vet was nearly crying too.
-----------------------

So our John has gone. The "best dog in the world" is dead. We buried him on the side of the mountain the following day.

He was my first dog. I saw his picture on Babbington Dog Rescue website and knew he was the one to complete our little family. I spent every single day that I knew him (other than 6 days spent mid Adriatic) with him by my side.

He was the most perfect dog when he was indoors or on the boat. Cuddly, quiet and ever so slightly solemn, spending most of his time curled up with his best mate, Louis. They adored each other - to the point that they shared food from the same bowl and Louis sucked John's ears every night when they went to sleep.

As soon as you let him out the door, he'd turn into this incredible running machine - terrorising anything furry that crossed his path (except dogs, which he avoided). He loved his walks and was lucky enough to get lots of them - despite sometimes wanting to throttle him for being so crazy, it was always a joy to take John for a walk because he so obviously gained so much pleasure from it. He had also recently discovered fishing - and could never quite get to grips with where the fish had gone when he dived in, squealing.

He could also jump as high as my shoulder. I know I'm not the tallest but in relative terms, that's a bit like me jumping to the top of our mizzen mast! What a dude.

________________________________________________________________

Everything was going so well; we were looking forward to such a bright, exciting summer. We were one happy little family and John's (senseless) loss has taken all our bounce away. Poor Louis has lost his best mate. He is so sad and keeps looking for him everywhere. We are doing our best to keep him perky.

Good night John John - we love you so much.
__________________________________________________________________

In some perverse way, we have to count ourselves lucky. Louis also displayed mild poisoning symptoms for 2 days and we suspect he may have eaten a little of John's sick (yes, foul, I know). He could so easily have been killed too - which just doesn't bear thinking about.

* This was identified by the vet from John's vomit which had meat in it which was stained bright yellow. He thought it was a banned pesticide called Kreosan which locals still use to poison animals. It is not an organophosphate (we have a poison antidote for that). This was an accidental poisoning; it was not meant to be eaten by someone's pet dog. However, it was left next to the path in a area where people walk their dogs, the mentality of which just beggars belief.

A message from Tim

If I have one valuable purpose in life, it is to protect the things I love. John was one of those things. A member of our family. Every morning I would greet him and Louis the same way. Their entwined, half-asleep little heads would lift up as I came into the room and allow me to lean down and cuddle them simultaneously with my own. That start to the day has been taken from me. I tried to protect him and he knew.

He was only six years old and we had him for his last two years. We saved him from a life of hunting and beatings and starvation, judging from his behaviour and appearance when we picked him up from the sanctuary. It is fortunate then, that dogs live in the present. He was so gentle at home yet manic on walks. But always obedient once trained. I have never seen a happier dog and he made us as happy in return. We had ten years left of John but now none. He has been removed absolutely and clinically by the indiscriminate cruelty of one man.

John was a beautiful dog. Whenever required he cuddled you, but only as long as his best friend Louis was ok. He never registered pain or discomfort. He never whined or sulked. Ever. Not in the worst storm or most dangerous trial. On the terrible voyage here from Greece I tethered the dogs to me when I thought we were going to get knocked down. Waves broke over him and he didn’t flinch. He never complained. Not even at the end. He was loyal and enthusiastic. He was honourable yet he could never know what this meant. He made us feel loved and he cared about us. He protected us whenever we were threatened. When four dogs attacked his mate and him, he charged. They were all bigger than him and they ran.

He feared nothing except the violence of man, and he was right to do so.

He loved Louis most of all. He was his best friend, always inseparable. Even though John was much tougher, he was happy to let Louis have the upper hand. He never challenged the pack, he was just delighted to finally be part of one and we were delighted to have him. Whatever he got from us, he gave back far more than he could have known. Just like all dogs.

John was extraordinary. I have had several dogs and I love and remember them all. But I have never known a selfless dog – it’s in their nature to put themselves first. John was absolutely selfless. We do not have children so our dogs are substitutes. Some people think we are mad for doing so. I think we are just filled with love. Our dogs know this as did John and all the others, as does Louis, as will all the rest to come, whoever they are. John died with our voices in his head and our hands on his heart. If I have this, I will think myself lucky.

We will meet again, my dogs and I. When my time comes, I will remember them all and they will run beside me one last time.

I miss you John, sleep well my beautiful boy,

Tim

* * * * *

Throughout life we love others and are loved in return. But that love often fades as we move on. The love for our dogs does not fade. They never betray or disappoint us and they deserve our care and protection whenever needed. During my research into local poisoning cases, I found this site. If you want to help pet and stray animals in Europe,
http://serbiananimalsvoice.wordpress.com/2009/02/02/vital-action-for-european-strays-and-pet-animals-a-request-to-every-eu-citizen-to-act-and-act-now-thank-you/

Finally someone has set up an excellent national database of UK rescue dogs. It's time to put the boot into those who profit from selling dogs and creating all these strays – http://www.dogsblog.com/

Poisoning information for dog owners. I am also putting together a first aid kit for here, I have no doubt at all that if we’d had one at the time, it would have made a difference. If anyone’s interested, email us. See also: http://www.actionagainstpoisoning.com/FIRST%20AID%20KIT/firstaidkit.html

Nurses visit the Boka

2009-01-26T17:59:00.005+01:00

A week of pure fun with Andy and Cath (The Nurses) reminded us (like we need reminding!) of two things. Firstly, that we are incredibly lucky to have found such a great place to live - I felt so proud of the place and it was great to view it through fresh eyes. And secondly, how much we miss our mates.

This is the Boka Kotorska, at sundown, on Cath and Andy's last day.

But you can't have everything and after spending the first 36 years of my life in the highly urbanised West then East Midlands, I wouldn't change this for the world. I've mentioned this too many times to remember but I'll say it again - the first thing I do every morning is gaze at the view and it still astounds me.
Anyway, we had a top week. Loads of "good, clean fun" was the quote from Andy. I'm not sure why people would usually associate me with something other than "clean fun" but it sounded good, nonetheless, so I will repeat it. I didn't even get to wear my old pink wig that they kindly rescued from their house and had brought out with them.

In between all the fun, we managed to make arrangements for a new windshield to be fabricated in the UK and the Nurses were going to take the old one back with them on the plane for the fabricators to use as a template. This was all well and good until we got the windshield off (after the usual hassle of seized, broken screws dealt with calmly by the Nurses) and we discovered that at least one panel was not the original and it began to flex out of shape (thus, we decided, no use as a template). And at that moment, Raki the chandler, walked past and gave us his tuppence worth, saying that you could definitely get a replacement in Monte.

So the Nurses went home empty handed having spent the last morning of their holiday labouring. Cool!

After a bit of following up, a local guy called Alex came to see us a few days later. Took one look at the windscreen and shook his head. No way this is going to get done in Monte any time soon. There WAS a place in Podgerica but their machine was "broken". Eee, bollocks, but of course, not exactly a huge surprise.

So, the upshot is that it DOES need to be heat formed and the UK company can still use the existing screen as a template. Sooooo, somehow we need to get it back there without it breaking into a million pieces. Tis a costly affair but an essential repair that, unless it is done very well, is going to cause us no end of nightmares in the future. I made the mistake of searching for "windshield" in my gmail the other day and found this horrible list of mentions of the sodding windshield and associated leaks going back to the second week we moved onto the boat.

On many things we seem to go round and round in circles but this particular job is in a class of its own. The constant liveaboard boat issue of weighing up quality versus cost is all too apparent and on this particular occasion, we've just got to shoulder the cost I think.

Now we're being told that there is a place in Zadar (12 hours from here) that MIGHT be able to do it. GAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Oh and now we have no windshield during the wettest month of the year (though the plastic and gaffer tape option is actually more watertight than the window ever was!).

Jeez, am I moaning again? Really don't mean to - this was meant to be a jolly post about our lovely week with Cath and Andy. We did have a brilliant time - thanks so much, you two, and can't wait for you to come out again in June when, fingers crossed, Monty B will be shiny, fixed and ready for visitors. Roll on summer, I reckon.

Thank you to all my friends and my mum!

2009-01-11T11:51:00.003+01:00

for making me feel loved on my birthday.

Gareth, you've come up trumps again and yes, the Grace bit made me cry. Check out Gareth's birthday message http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsSYbQwLc5k

This is one of my favourite tracks, ever. Love and miss you all so much.

Never bemoan the lack of live music in Kotor again

2009-01-09T14:00:00.003+01:00

Check this guy out.

There're not many things I miss about home but music is one of them. So, you can imagine how devastated I was to come across this poster on the bus stop in Kotor and find that I had missed the opportunity to see this guy play at Disko Maximoooos. Bugger!

It's my 38th birthday today!! Hooray for me. Sadly, I'm still plagued by a cough, a snivel, aching limbs, a bit of a sweat on, sore throat, bad temper and suspected terminal illness - ie. Man Flu. So I am being SENSIBLE today and having a quiet one (one bottle of fizzy cooling in fridge). Well, not that sensible from the dogs' perspective as I've been following them around the flat, doing my (very realistic) zombie impressions and scaring them to death. This is what happens to me when I've been confined to the settee for a few days.

Tim is (don't fall off your chair) meant to be cooking dinner tonight. Veg chilli, anyone?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There has been tip top progress on the boat over the last few weeks. We've managed to get all the sails off and the genoa is booked into a sailmaker in Dubrovnik to have it's sacrificial strip replaced. We've had "men who know" on the boat to look at the structural strengthening issue and have come up with a plan. We are now on the hunt for marine ply and West System epoxy which, of course, requires importing from somewhere. Tim has been dismantling the interior of the boat which is now almost completely stripped down on one side.

Our friends Denise and Steve came to help us for the day. Denise and I unseized the hanks on a stubborn foresail whilst supping Baileys coffee and Steve managed to get our posh Cetrek autopilot working! At last. What a star! Despite the old Lefkas rat chewing up the wiring diagram!

The Restoration Handbook! What an amazing find. We found an incredibly useful, step by step book which has recently been published by a couple who have completely renovated their North Wind Mistral yacht!

We are battling importation issues about getting a new forehatch, communicating at length with plastic fabricators about replacing our windscreen (first quoted £1600!!) and emailing Croatia in terrible Croatian in an attempt to get the bits we need.

Tomorrow we re-enter the modern world with a visit to Dubrovnik to find various bits and bobs, go to Lidl (luxury) and pick up our mates, Andy and Cath from the airport.

THEN we can go out and celebrate my birthday! Hooray!

Love hate relationship

2008-12-29T14:45:00.004+01:00

The joys of living in such a stunning place are very occasionally overshadowed by the way this country works (or doesn't). Yet again, yes - again, the boat yard have told us that they do not have room for us (a lie), they do not have the manpower to get our boat out (possible, hey, why not give one of yer mates a call and get the manpower, eh?) and we have to phone them back on 9 January (my 38th birthday, as it happens) to "discuss" it. We were hoping to come out tomorrow or Wednesday.

Honestly, it really does beggar belief how crap some things are here. There seems to be this weird macho approach which involves being as obstructive as possible so that when whatever you need actually does happen, you are so immensely grateful that you don't mind paying the ridiculous fee that is charged. It seems that it is "cool" to refuse to offer the service that you supposedly offer. Weird.

I hate to sound all Tory about this, but it does seem that as there is no competition here and there never has been, no one seems to bother trying and it is okay to be completely rubbish at your job. There is no service culture here; something we both love for the most part but when you really do need to get something done, it goes beyond amusing....frustrating....to downright fkg annoying.

So we are still on the quay in Kotor and in reality, I'm sure we won't be lifted by the yard for at least another month. Frankly, ridiculous.

Boze! It's christmas! Not that you'd know it.

2008-12-24T20:21:00.005+01:00

Happy christmas to all our family and friends, old and new. Thank you for supporting us and the good ship Monty B.

We are marooned again, but this time on land. The road between us and town has been closed, indefinitely, as yesterday a loaded truck crashed into the sea taking half the road with it. So our plans for Christmas Eve drinking in Kotor Old Town have turned into veggie sausage rolls, a bottle of wine and Alabama 3 tinnily playing through the XBox.

Feeling slightly homesick and still wish we'd made it back to Blighty this christmas. But that's the way it goes, I guess.

Easy to please

2008-12-02T21:37:00.007+01:00

I've taken to baking cakes. Not for myself, I add, but in an attempt to plump up my friend Birgitte who is lucky enough to need huge amounts of calories to aid her breast-feeding of twins.

Spurred on by my first effort - an almost impossible to fuck-up carrot cake - this time I have made up the recipe for a coffee sponge. Made up as I cannot find one on the internet which matches the ingredients that I have in the kitchen so I have improvised.

So, who is easy to please? Our Tim, of course. My culinary improvisation included spooning out a hefty amount of sugar and sunflower oil from the mixing bowl as things began to drown in it, and putting it in a bowl on the side to be washed down the sink later. "Wow, that's delicious!" announces Tim, as he sticks his paw in it and sucks off the rancid sugary, oily ming. The end result may not meet the taste test of a leggy, Danish blonde but I have a feeling it won't go to waste.

Along similar lines, well, it's related to eating at least. I think we've been in the Balkans too long as yesterday I made the bold statement, "The cabbage is really GREAT at the moment - we must do more with it". Hmmmm. Vegetarian diet in a strictly carnivorous, locally-produced food only (mountainous) country getting a little tedious, dear?

We've lost our anchor dragging virginity!

2008-11-26T19:21:00.003+01:00

We nearly lost the boat on Friday night. We spent 4 hours - 1am till 5am - standing on the road in Muo, in the pissing down rain, near freezing temperatures, on our way home from a night out, watching Monty B at anchor being absolutely battered by one of the most horrendous storms I've ever seen.

She was heeling so much at times that she looked like she'd go over. The water was white with gusts of wind nearing force 9. Just terrible. We stood and watched, aghast, unable to do anything as there was no way we could reach her in the tender. At some point, our mate Dan turned up on his way home from Kotor so we spent some of the time sheltering in the car, just watching, waiting, worrying, praying for it to stop.

Then the worst happened and she dragged her anchor, moving along the shore and getting closer to it with every gust. No idea how long for, time stood still, I was hysterical, crying and yelling, there was nothing we could do. I had to drag Tim away from the tender with all my strength, screaming at each other, as he wanted to go out to her but would have been killed. We dragged about 200 metres in all and ended up 10 metres from shore. Just as I was contemplating swimming, but realised I couldn't get on board anyway, and began planning what we would do when she grounded, plus ringing everyone boaty that we knew to come and help us, the wind suddenly dropped - it was like someone flicked a switch. We ran to the tender, jumped in (she was filled up like a kid's paddling pool), the outboard wouldn't work (how typical!), Tim desperately yanking on the ripcord whilst I held onto Dan's hand as hard as I could to stop us being whisked out into the bay. We gave up trying and just paddled like crazy to the boat, got the engine on, took an hour to haul anchor as the voltage on our battery was well down then reanchored just as the sky was showing signs of light. Moments later, the wind veered 180 degrees and started howling from the other direction. It was about 1 degree c, we were soaked to the skin from spending 4 hours in driving rain (me in a mini dress and boots) and frozen to the core.

Spent the next few hours under damp blankets, dropping in and out of sleep. The wind dropped around 9am so we went home to save our poor dogs who' d been in for 14 hours alone and hadn't even pissed anywhere. They are so good! We got changed, checked the forecast, it was shit, so we took the dogs to Jason's then back on the boat until darkness fell and the wind dropped. Then home to a pizza and bed by 9pm. Exhausted. Yesterday, we moved the boat onto the quay in Kotor, she is now trussed up like a turkey and hopefully, safe. Money is no longer an issue - we have to keep her safe.

Hauling a boat here is like pulling teeth (at the moment, I'd recommend doing neither in Montenegro)

2008-11-18T13:59:00.004+01:00

This is the great moody view of the mountains from our apartment, on those rare stormy days.

We still haven't got the boat out of water. We are paralysed by having to rely on locals to help and our own need to keep costs within budget. We've decided that if it isn't sorted by the weekend (at least an agreed plan with a boatyard) then we are just going to have to go to Tivat and pay stupid money.

We spent the night on the boat last night as the winds were so strong - a big Bura blow was building up when we got back from work and we were worried. As always, we were solid as a rock and didn't budge an inch but the sleepless night kinda focuses the mind! Despite the cold, the wind, the awful noise (I tried to sleep in the saloon in my sleeping bag as the slamming in our cabin left it impossible to sleep - it's a bit like a ferry slamming into the boat every few minutes which, strangely enough, makes you jump out of your skin even though you know it is just the waves and it's okay), it was still good to be back on board.

But I'm zonked. Had next to no sleep at all - though Tim a bigger zombie than me and is making no sense today whatsover which is partly why I elected to go home and walk the dogs instead of work with him earlier! Back to looking pale, tired and old - wow, it's only taken one night! I was looking so much better too - so much more alive and bright from having sooo many good night's sleep in my new bed. It was good to be with Monty B and there was no way we could have relaxed back at the apartment - living on land is nowhere near as interesting or stimulating - which are the things I really need to keep me perky. We just need to get our bed extended on board then living aboard for at least 9 months of year would be a pleasure!

Check out the temperatures here for later this week - brrrrrrrr! Looks like winter is finally making an appearance.

www.wunderground.com/global/stations/13457.html?bannertypeclick=miniWeather2

Driving home for christmas - or not as the case may be

2008-11-10T11:37:00.006+01:00

"We want a lift to the UK too!"

As I look at the staggeringly beautiful view from where I sit at my desk in the apartment, I wonder why I want to go home. But I do - only for a few weeks, I emphasise - but I need to see my friends. It will have been 18 months since we left the UK, come christmas, and it has come to the point that I feel a strong need to see the people I love.

One of my very best friends has a child that I have never seen, two others now have three children, the youngest of whom I don't even know. Another pair now have a little girl who was only a baby when we left. I must be getting old; but seeing my friends' children grow up has become important to me.

Plus, there are several others who I care about dearly and miss - I want to spend some valuable time with them.

Tim hasn't seen any of his family since we left and is unlikely to unless we return to the UK. Time is ticking.

But, our lift home at christmas has fallen through so we are now unable to get back. We have to do it by road because of the dogs but my car won't make it back there and it's a long way for a single driver anyway. Plus the costs, unless split, make no sense.

So......is there anyone driving from the Balkans to the UK for christmas that would like to lift share?? We could even get ourselves to Italy if needs be. If so, please email me yachtmontyb@gmail.com or ring 00382 67859309. HELP!!!