Being the only girl (and the only vegetarian) on the latest London WRG
weekend wasn’t at all a problem, and it was nice to have my own bathroom
(and my own a la carte meals – cheers Frank!). Here’s my diary for the
duration.
Friday 7pm, Waterloo
“You won’t believe the smashes we’ve had in this thing,” says Martin
starting the engine. “Went into the back of a ParcelForce van doing ninety
on the M11 just last week. Lucky to be alive we are. And then the weekend
before that I drove it into the Grand Western canal. Talk about laugh!” I
grip the roof handle tightly. As we build up speed on the Hammersmith
flyover the mysterious rattling sounds begin.
It’s late when we get to the village of Cross Keys just outside Newport and
you can’t see the mountains because all the darkness is getting in the way.
At least the church hall seems pretty comfortable. There are eleven of us
including some faces I recognise from the National, although luckily I don’t
feel awkward about being the only new person. We waste no time in getting to
the pub.
Friday night 11pm
We order ten-and-a-half pints and the barman laughs. I don’t know why he’s
laughing; the inside of this pub hasn’t changed since the miners’ strike.
“Is Thatcher still in power?” one of the customers asks me. “Or is it safe
to go outside now?”
“This is a local pub, for local people,” explains Mafys the proprietess. And
later: “Ten and a half pints again, is it?”
Saturday
We need to have a safety induction. “Don’t fall in the canal. And don’t eat
the lime” pretty much covers it. Then they spend half an hour teaching me to
put cement in cracks. “Think of it like icing a cake,” says Tim, pleased to
have found a simile he thinks I’ll be able to relate to. “Hold the trowel by
the wooden end. We call that ‘the handle’.” He pats me on the head and I
start work. After about twenty minutes we have a tea break. The group talks
about how great Top Gear is and I worry about Amy Winehouse’s chaotic
lifestyle. When all the good biscuits are gone, we start work again.
Nigel comes over every few minutes to check my work. “Think of it like icing
a cake,” he explains. Tim comes over to explain to me why you should never
leave an automatic car in gear and I take the opportunity to decide whether
I like Keira Knightley’s new haircut, or if it really does make her jaw look
too strong.
We break for lunch. Sort of getting used to throwing tea bags into the canal
now but somehow it feels wrong. Martin gives me a brief geopolitical history
of the Mon & Brec canal whilst I wonder whether it really is ankle straps or
nothing this autumn, or if I can get away with last year’s rouched pixie
boots at least until Christmas.
Saturday 5pm
Really pleased to have repointed a whole section of the wall by the end of
the day. To celebrate our hard work on this overflow drain, we take a walk
up about a mile of overgrown, crumbling canal and the fourteen plant-clogged
locks which have fallen into disrepair. Realise it’s just the tip of a very
big iceberg and unlike an iceberg, it isn’t going to help by melting even a
little bit. Feel a bit depressed by this when we get back to base but
luckily what Frank is cooking smells delicious.
Disgusted to report very little evidence of washing taking place before
dinner. Most of group now looking like coalminers. I scrub and scrub to get
the lime out of my skin – worried it’ll eat big holes in my face while I
sleep, and I’ll wake up looking like Daniella Westbrook.
Later we go to the pub again where the landlady is training her fat spaniel
to be in the circus. She throws snooker balls which the dog gamely catches.
It doesn’t have any teeth left but the act is really coming on.
I get my knitting out and as everyone’s too tired to talk about car engines,
Top Gear and plumbing tonight, we sit around and watch me knit until
midnight.
You make your own fun in South Wales.
Sunday 8am
Slept okay but getting really grumpy now. Luckily builders’ tea really perks
me up, also thought that television will be arriving. Wonder if there’s a
film on this afternoon?
Sunday 9am
Argh! It isn’t a television but a television crew that are arriving, to film
something called Waterways’ World (I think it’s a sequel to a Kevin Costner
turkey). Luckily I will be wearing a hard hat so no-one’ll notice I haven’t
washed my hair since Friday. Everyone pretends not to be really excited
about the telly crew getting here but I notice quite a few people seem to
have ironed their red t-shirts.
All the excitement of the telly crew visit over, we get back to the real
business of the day – drinking tea.
Sunday 11pm
Finally get home, no thanks to Transport for London. Darling is delighted to
see me. “The washing machine broke. I’ve had these pants on for three days
now. Did you know you’re getting mud all over the floor?”
Despite all this, I am hoping to do another weekend soon…
Sophie Smith