Crafting new ideas

January hasn't exactly been an inspiring month. It started off with a heap of snow, which I can't say I enjoyed. I was six when I decided I absolutely did not like winter, snow or any other typical manifestation of that season. As for Zoe, she quite liked it to begin with, but then she got ice balls stuck to her legs and feet and that wasn't so much fun; nor did she like wearing the little snow booties I borrowed from my daughter much, but she tolerated them very well. I think we were more entertained by the kicking donkey impressions she made before she got used to them.

We are not amused!

Luckily for me, Daughter 1, Jo, is a master of crochet these days and she made me this wonderful hood, which helped keep the worst of the icy blasts off. I find it incredible that it only took her an evening to make it. 

My lovely monk's hood

On that note, I decided to try my hand at crochet myself while outdoor activities have been so limited. I've been getting a bit of cabin fever even though the snow didn't last long. I'm so used to being able to spend time outside, even if it's only for long walks, so the cold has been difficult to endure to say the least. Anyway, I've managed to make a hat, which some of you have already seen and I'm now busy with another one in a more complicated design, It's taking me a while as I don't have the patience to sit still for very long, but this was the beginning of it. 

The work in progress

I made a couple of bloopers in one row and didn't notice it until I'd got too far to undo it, so I'm hoping no one will notice once it's on my head, and if they do, well they're too close for courtesy anyway. 😊

This is the one some of you have already seen

Another project that kept me busy for a few days was adapting my kitchen stove to be more Val-friendly. I am not a cook and have never made any claims to be, so when we first found the CC Mk1, I was a bit flummoxed by the huge Boretti stove that occupies a large portion of one wall. I realised I was supposed to count myself lucky, but I had no idea what I could do with such a beast. It has six gas burners and a huge oven.

At best, we used two of the hobs and the oven was only turned on once a year when family came to visit. However, I now have a combination microwave, so the oven became even more redundant, and for the last two years, I've just used it as a cupboard. Then, with the increase in energy prices, I started thinking of replacing it and gaining more counter space by buying a smaller stove. Bad idea.

If I wanted a new all-electric cooker, I would need a new group added to the main electricity board as well as a new socket and plug for phase 2 or 3 electricity. My solution was to turn off the gas to the stove, remove the burner grates and the loose tops of the burners and make an extra 'counter' to cover two-thirds of the top. Then I bought a two-hob, free-standing induction plate, which neatly fills in the last third. The oven is also unplugged. The upside is everything is still there if we ever need to resurrect the stove, but now it's much better suited to my way of preparing and cooking food.

As for the Boretti itself, it's a fine appliance, and it still looks good, even if it's now just a cupboard with a small cooker on top!

A much more Val-friendly arrangement

I found the wood for the counter in the cellar, shabby and discoloured, but after sanding it, colouring it with garden fence stain and varnishing it, I was very happy. Koos then helped me by cutting the aluminium trim neatly to size and we used silicone kit to stick it on. I must say I'm very pleased with the result. 

We also spent one Sunday installing a rainwater tank in the garden. I've wanted one for a long time and now, at last, we have one. Hopefully, this will help water the plants in the summer although we have to seal the pipe that feeds the tank. With the rain we've had in the last few days, the tank is full and it's leaking out of the hole that receives the feed pipe. There's always something, isn't there?

I rather like its organic shape. Excuse the messy
garden, though. I haven't had the courage to go
and tidy it up!

So that's about it allemaal. Nothing very exciting and I wouldn't blame you if you've lost interest by now. Sadly, we haven't been able to do much on the boats except give them a clean up a couple of times, so news on that front is pitifully lacking. Here's hoping the weather cheers up some more and gives us a chance to get busy again. I'll finish with a boaty photo just as inspiration. Till next time!

Good morning lock Evergem, this is Vereeniging Papa Golf 1234

 Well I've finally done it! Some of you may recall I took my VHF radio exam in December so that I could register the portable VHF radio I bought for Vereeniging.

Of course, I was thrilled to pass the exam, but the real test was the one that followed. How could I get my handheld radio registered for my beloved barge? When I say that these things are organised and regulated by national authorities, you will, I think, understand that these institutions' purpose in life is not to make things simple. 

The thing was, I received my 'certificate' for passing the exam. Actually, certificate is a bit of a misnomer as it's a plastic card like all the others we have in our wallets and much like my driving license. Anyway, that told me my qualification had been officially recognised; at least, so I thought. However, on logging in to the relevant government website to register my VHF, I received a message that I couldn't do so without a certificate and it appeared that the fact I'd passed the exam wasn't yet on the system. Okay, I thought, I can wait, but in the meantime I wrote an email to the relevant body, the RDI (Rijksinspectie Digitale Infastructuur), to ask the how long it would take.

I have to say they were very quick. A nice person from their office wrote to me to say that if I wanted to register a VHF radio, I'd need a permit. She also sent me the link to where I could read about it. Well, that totally rocked me. I thought I had the permit I needed by passing the exam. What now? 

By this time, it was just before the Christmas holiday and after trying unsuccessfully to decipher the complicated language in which the site was written (usual governmental gobbledegook, but even more obtuse in Dutch), I decided to give it a rest until the new year. After all, I wasn't going anywhere by boat, was I? Not in the frigid weather we were having. And anyway, we were in France, far away from my beloved Vereeniging.

On our return to the Flatlands, I received a second email from the lady at the ministry. She admitted with effusive apologies that she'd made a mistake and I didn't need a permit after all. I just had to register my VHF in the normal way. Naturally, I thanked her but was still a bit mystified, since when I'd first applied, you might remember I wasn't allowed to complete the online form due to my lack of certificate.

Thankfully, the RDI seemed to have recovered from their holiday hiccoughs and I was able to complete my details without any further stern messages. But that wasn't the end of it. I still had to wait for my registration to be official before I could set the VHF device up.

Then, at last, a few days ago I received the letter and yet another card with all the details: the ATIS code (a special number that identifies my device precisely) and my call sign, which is the one beginning Papa Golf (or PG1234, which is not exactly it but you get the idea). 

The nerve-wracking part of it was that I now had to programme the radio with the code and be extremely careful not to make a mistake. The documentation said that if I got it wrong, I'd have to send the device back to the distributor or manufacturer to have the mistake corrected. Gulp!

So... I enlisted Koos's help and together we sat down and went through the process step by step. It took us a while and lots of checking, re-reading and repeating but eventually it was done.

I can't tell you how chuffed I am now to have Vereeniging's own VHF and her own call sign. That makes all those weeks of studying worthwhile and I can't wait to get out on the water again and use it.

And that's it for this blog. Till next time allemaal. I hope you all have a good weekending and I'll fill you in on all the other news and updates later.

A different kind of New Year

Normally, we go to the coast on New Year's day, as many of my long-time blogging friends know by now. It's been our tradition since we bought the Crumbly Cottage Mk1 (see this old post from 2014) until this year when we were simply too far from the coast to get there; 422 km too far, in fact. We still felt impelled to go somewhere, though, so Koos suggested we go and visit a lock and a tunnel over the canal he'd spotted as he was driving back to the Crumbly Cottage Mk 2 from Chaumont, Haute-Marne's departmental capital. Since a canal is as good as the sea to a boat-loving Val, off we went, only to discover it was a real treasure.

Not only is the tunnel at Condes, where we found Koos's sighting, the only two-way canal tunnel in France (two commercial 5-metre wide péniches can pass each other comfortably in the tunnel), but beyond it there is both an aqueduct and a lifting bridge. What's more, although you can't quite see it from where I'm standing to take the photo below, the end of the lock that Koos initially spotted from the car is next to Zoe. That makes four major waterways' features all in one place. Quite a bonanza for us! As the proud mayor of Conde said when these four monumental structures were built in the 1880s, 'Within 500 metres there are four fine examples of 19th century industrial achievement'. And he was right. From the lock to the tunnel is less than a hundred metres, and the aqueduct with its bridge are less than a hundred metres from the other end of the tunnel, which is itself 308 metres long.

We very much enjoyed our discovery and it made a great alternative to the normal 1st of January beach outing. In fact, the aqueduct and its bridge made it extra special because, as some of you know, I have a bit of a thing about them, so I hope the photos give you a good idea of how these structures hang together.

Zoe and I are standing next to the lock

I'm now standing at the beginning of the aqueduct
looking back to the 'two-lane' tunnel

Along the aqueduct over the Marne

The Marne again

The lifting bridge over the end of the aqueduct

An overview

I hope you've enjoyed this small piece of canal history and engineering. There are many websites that include a sentence or two about Condes' special canal features, but none that are specifically dedicated to its construction and how it came to be. I'll keep looking, though! Have a good weekend, allemaal, and I'll catch up with you next week.

Old and New

New Year’s traditions vary throughout the world, but a common theme is, I think, noise. The clocks chime midnight and everyone raises glasses, spirits and voices all together. As I said, noise, lots of it!

However, I find the regional variations are interesting, mainly because some of them are, at best, a little odd. In London, the thing to do is gather around the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square, jump in the fountains and generally get both inebriated and wet. Why anyone would want to get cold and soggy while celebrating in the middle of winter is beyond strange, isn’t it? But then with my dislike of both (cold and wet stuff, especially combined), I could be considered a bit biased.

Then, in New York, they watch a big ball descend a flagpole in Times Square. It seems this tradition began back in 1907 and has as much reason to it as wallowing in a fountain – in other words none. In Brazil, they don white clothes, go to the beach and jump over seven waves, with each wave representing a wish. Make sense? Sort of, I suppose; about as much as the Spanish tradition of eating 12 grapes at midnight, one grape for each stroke of the hour on the clock. Of course, in Scotland, they do it sensibly and just go to a nice warm pub to celebrate with hearty vigour, but they do sing that wonderfully stirring song Auld Lang Syne.*

What beats me totally, though, is the Dutch tradition, which I’d never encountered until I first came to the country: mass destruction by fireworks. Okay, I know there are organised firework displays in many countries at New Year, but the Dutch take it to a new level as up until this year, it’s been an excuse for everyone to spend thousands of euros on all manner of incendiary devices in the lead-up to 31 December. As for the night itself, known as Old and New or jaarwisseling, I swear war could have broken out over the country and no one would notice. The first time I witnessed a Dutch New Year, I was astonished. It was jaw dropping. We were in a seventh floor flat and were looking out over the city of Rotterdam when the night sky suddenly burst into a blaze of light and colour as far as the eye could see. At the time, I thought it was beautiful, stunning even, and it was, but that was before firework manufacturers invented those dreadful bombs that simply explode with thunderous bangs that make your heart stop, your home shake, and your teeth rattle. Then life in the city just became wretched for the entire Christmas and New Year period. Our animals were, of course, absolutely terrified. Poor Polly, our collie, and then Sindy, were gibbering wrecks hiding behind the toilet or under the bed. For them, it was a nightmare from which they never recovered.

We went away as much as we could for New Year in those early days. Firstly, to the barge in Brussels and later to the Crumbly Cottage. Sadly, even at the latter we weren’t free of the cacophony entirely as our village is still in the Netherlands, but at least it didn’t sound as if we were in the middle of a major assault in a conflict zone, an analogy that’s not unreasonable given the number of injuries, property damage and deaths that have occurred in recent years.

Now, though, at last, the government has listened to pressure from not only the people, but the police, the ambulance services and the hospitals. This year, thank goodness, will be last Old and New when fireworks will be permitted and from 1 January, 2026, they’ll be banned other than at organised and controlled displays.

As for us, we’re aware, like everyone else, that this being so, it is likely to be the worst year ever, so we have escaped even further. My family, and all our animals, are in France where it is blissfully quiet and there’s not even a sparkler in sight.

So, all it remains for me to say now is Happy New Year, allemaal. May 2026 bring you only what you wish for, and I’ll look forward to reading and enjoying your news, blogs and comments in the coming months.

Here’s a wintry photo of what the Dutch do best that I really love. With the current cold spell, we could well be seeing the skaters out and about soon! It’s way too frosty for boats, so this is the next best thing.

*Apologies for the simplistic summing up of Scottish NY. I know there are wonderful celebrations in Edinburgh and other cities, and I adore the pipes!

Happy Christmas

This post is just a Christmas morning quickie to wish all my blogging friends a lovely festive season and a very good new year. We are currently at the Crumbly Cottage Mk 2 and have been delighted by the village Christmas decorations. Unlike what we are used to, they are gorgeous, informal and mostly homemade by the villagers. Trees are outside, not in, and it’s a joy to walk around and see the charming figures they’ve created. I’ve put a selection here for you to see, but we are especially proud of the top one, which is our own contribution.

After seeing the effort the village had gone to, I scouted round in the attic and found some wood to make a ‘tree’ of our own to put outside. After sawing it into shape, we (my daughters and I) painted and decorated our version with baubles and bits we’d bought. Voilà! A permanent tree we can use again. We had so much fun making it too.

I hope you like the photos, allemaal. Have a lovely week and I’ll catch up with you all in the New Year!

Our own Christmas tree this year

 

Winding down

 The end of the year is almost here and I can hardly believe how fast it's whipped by. I think I'm like many in not being able to grasp the speed at which this year has disappeared, but, in truth, it started like any other in so far as we began with winter, which then morphed into a beautiful spring. After that, though, the weather was anything but normal for our part of the world. We had a beautiful, dry spring and a wonderful hot, dry summer. The only downside was the lack of water in the canals, which limited our faring, as it has done on numerous occasions in the past years. However, what the water shortages resulted in was a particularly lovely slow cruise in September, which Koos and I enjoyed immensely. 

Autumn was also gorgeous with colours the like of which I haven't seen in a long time. We spent some of both October and November in France and were amazed at the beauty of the hues the trees offered us. Since then, though, the world has reverted to its usual seasonal grey murk and both the latter part of November and early December have put us firmly back in our northern European place. Luckily, I've been immersed in work, which has kept me distracted from the gloom. I've also been busy (as you might remember) cramming for my VHF radio exam, which I'm thrilled to say I passed last Thursday. 

So now we've begun the last two weeks of 2025 and before we know it, 2026 will be upon us. Tomorrow, I am going to London to see my family and at the weekend, we'll be heading down to the Crumbly Cottage Mk II to spend the Christmas holiday there. 

I'm hoping I might get to write another blog before the end of the year, but for now, I'll finish this one with a few of the photos I've enjoyed most from this year's highlights.

I'm not giving them captions, but they are in chronological order and reflect how blessed we are to spend time in such beautiful environs in the Netherlands, Belgium and France.

Have a good week allemaal, and I hope I can close the year off with another post before the holiday begins.