High Tec Paddling Kit

My time in the ‘office’ has also allowed me to tinker around with those bits of technology that are needed – in the widest sense of the word ‘needed’ – for the next stage. Purists look away now, but I have a tiny Creative Nano MP3 player which can hold about 15 full CDs of music. Coupled with some, allegedly and so far demonstrably, water-resistant earphones I can listen to music as I paddle along; this is nice. But what to listen to? I set off with a mix of full albums by Amy Whitehouse, George Thoroughood, Charlie Parker, Leonard Cohen, Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix and John Hiatt as well as the complete Madam Butterfly, two CDs worth of Mozart arias and Carmina Burana. The little miracle of miniaturization gets wrapped in two layers of zip-lock plastic bags with just the earphones cable snaking out, and then tucked inside my jacket. Once so mummified it’s impossible to change any of the settings, so I program it to random play and live with whatever bizarre juxtapositions of warbling, instrument thrashing, drink ravaged angst and country savant hollering crops up (and that’s just the Mozart). I’ve made it a rule that everytime a Stones track comes up I paddle as hard and fast as I can for the two or three minutes of Keef and Charlie’s thing (they being, let’s face it, the essential Stones’ experience); I call this interval training.

Now I’ve had the chance to change albums over; a few had to go. Carmina Burana is the most overrated load of guff ever, isn’t it; no wonder it’s always get used for ‘revelatory’ moments in schlock movies. That and being out of copyright. And Leonard, too, has been dumped; though for the opposite reason; I tend to just stop and drift with a beatific grin on my face when ever he comes on. Karen Polwart – Sun Coming Over the Hill, being one of the best lip-trembler sad-plaints ever sung in a Scots accent – is in. And Thea Gilmore’s ‘Harpo’s Ghost,’ an album I just happen to like rather. And ‘Rogues Gallery’ the uneven, but appropriate-enough double-album of sea shanties/chantys, pirate songs, marine folkers and other ocean song performed by a rag-bag of singers. It’ll give me a chance to learn all the words of ‘The Good Ship Venus’ from the lips of Loudon Wainwright II, for example.

And I’ve put on the whole of Dylan’s ‘Bringing it All Back Home’ onto the wee machine. Inspired I guess by Andy’s faultless rendering of Bob’s fiendishly involved patter songs, ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ and ‘Maggie’s Farm’ in Dick Mack’s the other night. I have plenty of time to learn the lyrics as I dip my paddles and sing-a-long.

Now hoping to dodge the rain showers and catch a stern wind, I’m about to cycle the few miles out to Ventry and check on my kayak again. Still, I hope sitting on the quay where I left it. And with my kayaking kit in Shed-man’s shed. If nothing else this will provide me with some exercise and a bit of bracing air as well as some nice views. And perhaps a pint of Murphy’s in the pub by the pier.