The Narrow Boat Diary: a thaw

Phew. After a suitable cooling off period I am pleased to report that the three of us are back on track.

It was Beyonce herself who broke the ice, although as Des and I kept getting the giggles (nerves) it was probably only a matter of time; there's no hiding place on 'The Kettleby Princess'. B was actually very sweet, calling us in from up top, where we had been sharing the helm and enjoying the sunshine. As soon as we heard "Y'all wanna get down here; I got sump'n I wanna say" (how exotic Miss Knowles Texan twang sounds in the rural idyll of the Northants meadows) we went below, having taken the precaution of laying off our craft to the northern bank of the canal, looping a rope (sheet?) around a willow.

Indulge me; I shall try to write it as Miss Knowles said it, because I cannot over-emphasise the effect her Southern drawl had on we two, her travelling companions.

'Thing is', she began, 'I figured it out; y'all call it washin'up. Home we call it doin' the dishes. Makes no difference; wouldna'known how anyways' she continued, flicking her fabulous hair back and settling herself, with an almost imperceptible shimmy, onto the foam cushions by the fold-out dining table (and reducing Des and I to jelly in the process).

'See, me and Jay? We got people do that stuff, and, and now ah'm 'barrassed; you puts that list up on the side o'the boat sayin' "Miss Knowles to wash up"? I figured y'all tryin'a tell me I needed take a bath, and I surely don' need no bath, I mean I know it's kinda primitive here but we got a shower an' I been usin'it, and I know you have too Des, cos I figure you been usin' ma shampoo, but ah'm gonna let that pass on account of wantn' ta get along wid y'all, and anyways it makes up for the houmous. Now I just feel kinda dumb 'cos y'all jus' wanted me to do the dishes, an' I will, I surely will if one o' you fine gen'lemen shows me how, an' I wanna say sorry, 'cos I know y'all meant no 'ffence. I wan'us to be friends: I made us all a cake'. This last, pleadingly.

Des and I, I realised, were now in a sort of trance and quite unable to speak. It's not for nothing that this girl is a global recording and performing phenomenon with a net worth that must rival Luxemburg, I told myself, gathering my wits. Yes, of course, we blurted out, and proceeded to trip over ourselves in the process of making amends, with much talk of 'Two peoples separated by a common language' and so forth. Needless to say, Beyonce's cake was delicious, and with a nice pot of Des's tea to wash it down, all was well once more.

It is my fervent wish that our holiday can now proceed in harmony.

Tomorrow: Foxton locks.

Best,
Fred