Those damn broads

Tame. Lame. Mundane. Three words that the 17 year olds of today would apply to the holiday that Me, Dave and Rupe went on to mark the end of our 'A' Level Examinations in 1981. Given the Hollywood movie treatment I can easily see a blockbuster in the making with big name actors in the three main roles, I'm thinking Christopher Mintz-Plasse for me, Jonah Hill for Dave and Michael Cera for Rupe. I know that represents the main cast order for Superbad but on recollection my late teenage years were not so different, revolving around cars, thoughts of going to Uni, girls, Special Brew Lager and the occasional ride in a police car. We did have a bit of a run in with the Police after being spotted running around with air-rifles near the hospital. The security guard challenged us and we had to go to my house and await the arrival of a Constable. I thought quickly and the real armaments were swopped for my younger brothers' plastic toy guns and we got away with an actual apology. Or am I confused and thinking that I was in Superbad? The attending officer did look a bit like Seth Rogen. The idea of a holiday to celebrate the end of our secondary education had been discussed for some time. The three of us regularly hung out and Dave and Rupe had known each other for some years at another school. I cannot recall what exotic destinations we had considered. Jump forward here to the equivalent thought process of today's 17 year old. Ibiza, Majorca, Ayia Napa, Prague, New York, global circumnavigation by hitchhiking, bungee jumping and white water rafting in New Zealand. For us there was only really one candidate for the holiday of a lifetime. Rupe brokered the deal. He had family there. They knew the ropes, the benefits and pitfalls. They could communicate with the locals for us in case there was a language difficulty. Ultimately, they could bale us out if we hit trouble. So, one saturday morning in the June of 1981 the three of use set off in Dave's Morris Marina Van, me in the back sat on a scatter cushion, headed for a week aboard a small boat on the Norfolk Broads, Norfolk, East Anglia, England. Of course we had started joking based on different combinations of 'Norfolk Broads'. This was a bit sad and we stopped the wordplay after we realised that the only broad we could think of from Norfolk was the celebrity cook, Delia Smith. The trip down from Hull to the eastern bulge of England is long and tedious mainly on busy 'A' roads with short sections of dual carriageway to overtake Pea Lorries, Tractors and an infinite number of Bernard Matthews Bootiful Turkey articulated and refrigerated trucks. The plan was to call in at Rupe's Grans. She lived only 5 miles from the boatyard where we were scheduled to pick up and be briefed on our boat later in the day. Very elderly, but sprightly and well spoken, Rupe's Gran had prepared a light lunch at her house.She was concerned very much on matters of safety on the water. Being a longstanding resident close to the Broads she had for some reason, perhaps this very day, compiled a scrapbook of drownings, incidents and general tragedies of boaters, fishermen and the occasional poor handbrake applying motorist. In my mind the Broads took on the personality of The Bermuda Triangle or something out of Jules Verne. On leaving her house and promising to wear our life jackets permanently we remained very pale and silent. The alternative of a holiday in a caravan at Filey seemed distinctly attractive and safe. Our boat was an old cabin cruiser. Mostly off white and with a Starsky and Hutch style stripe and banding in light blue or duck egg blue colour. One cabin up front with the living area and galley, one cabin astern and the midships with a retractable convertible roof. The boatyard owner struggled to operate the roof which was seized up. We concluded that the summer so far had been mostly wet. Briefed on priming and starting the engine, main controls, maximum speed limits and marine etiquette we were let loose. The owner did not seem too perturbed by our immediate hoisting of the Red Duster Flag and the simultaneous wearing of Captains' hats. The boatyard chandlery had sold out of Jolly Roger flags and pirate cutlasses that morning. He will have seen it all before. We chugged along at top speed of 4mph. Provisions were stowed away, jars of cheddar spread, jam, marmite and lots of sliced bread with a few staple meals which just required added water. Fruit and vitamin C was notable by its absence.Scurvy would afflict us before the week was out. Rupe took command, a natural leader. The first river traffic we came across was a similar boat to ours but with an all female crew. Convinced that his opposite ranking figure had given him the eye, or aye-aye, Rupert attempted a handbrake turn to follow. The manoevre became something like a fifty point turn and by the time we were even at right angles to the bank, the Bunnygirl cruiser was long gone. On a strict vote Rupe lost out 2-1 on spending the rest of the week searching for the girls.He sulked in the gunwhales. The Broads consist of a number of main river arteries linking in to the large wetland lakes. Some of the river banks were developed with mansions and cottages all with their own jetty's and boats. Other parts were just open and rural. Mooring was encouraged at specific points usually a short row from a village pub or shop. We had paid extra for a wooden rowing boat that towed behind our cruiser. We found our sea-legs after a couple of days and settled down to a life on board. The weather was reasonably warm but that brought out the midges and mosquitos. We learned to smoke, not inhaling, to stupify the biting insects. Duties became defined. I cooked, Dave and Rupe fought over the Captaincy. Possessions were frequently jettisoned overboard prompting a recovery mission in the rowing dinghy. Rupe's favourite trick was to wait until Dave had one leg on shore and one on board when mooring and then ease away from the bank. The choice of landside or shipside was often the precursor to a ducking. After one particularly acrimonious episode the mooring rope fell into the propellor and we were stuck. I was lowered over the stern on a rope in deep and eel infested waters to try to untangle the obstruction. This took some time to do in the freezing water. I earned some extra rations for my endeavours. Fishing was a quiet period which was welcome. We caught nothing. The week passed by very quickly. Surprisingly we found ourselves quite close to our starting point by the last day. Rupe's Gran had warned us off trying to get to the tidal part as we could easily get lost and find ourselves just off Holland if we got disorientated. The boat was returned in one piece, just, and upon guaging the fuel tank we were astounded that in a week we had only covered 28 miles. We got a rebate on unused fuel and blew it on fresh food to ease recover from our scurvy condition. It was a good vacation but I, personally, could not wait to get home for a good wash. We should really have rung Rupe's Gran to let her know we were safe and well. I imagined her sighing heavily as she closed up the morbid scrapbook at the next available blank page looking wistfully out towards the treacherous waters. You, like me, are definitely thinking  that Helen Mirren cast in that role would find it quite challenging.