Pickingupducks

Under the weather

The Autumn equinox and Michaelmas Day this past week have shepherded us fully into Autumn. The winds are blowing the leaves from the trees and days of rain are swelling our waterways once more. We can only hope none of this water bounty is being wasted and reservoirs are gradually filling once more.

The return of rain after such a long dry summer seems a novelty still, and there was another momentous change for us this week too. For the first time since the pandemic struck I found myself working face to face. This wasn’t a return in any gradual way – no spacious eating with just a few people – nope, this was to an event in a theatre with large auditorium yes, but also lots of compact dressing rooms, and a VIP reception providing big and small spaces to come face to face with many strangers.

I arrived amid squalls of rain which blustery gusts made sure left me dripping. Introducing myself to colleagues I’ve only ever worked with online was a damp experience. We had all formed mental pictures of each other and somehow seemed surprised that we were taller/shorter than expectations. Everyone seemed taken aback by the weather, and I was taken aback by their lack of weather awareness. Many seemed unaware that rain had been forecast, had moved from their homes to cars, to car park and then to venue without experiencing the elements. Even their cars turned their windscreen wipers on, so they didn’t have to consciously do that.

It struck me that weather watching, adapting life to what the weather brings is a fundamental difference between boat dwellers and many others. If I was working with others whose jobs and lives are shaped by the weather like for example farmers or fisherman, I might not stand out so much.

We boaters though are aware of the weather, prepared to adapt, ready to reach for the waterproofs at a moment’s notice. We evaluate showers as coat only or waterproof trousers too, demanding we don the lightweight showerproof or the full force foulies.

Living amid the elements so closely as we do seems to make us more attune to the numerous times a day that the weather changes.

I write this to the accompaniment of pattering rain falling on the canal from the skies above with deeper splatters as drops are shaken into the water from the trees opposite by suddenly noisy buffeting winds. Behind the dripping high hedge there’s a lane running parallel to the towpath. Cars which we wouldn’t notice in fine weather now wetly herald their approach and huge splashes that follow as they pass indicate some localised flooding.

Earlier today the same sky that’s now a dull shade of grey was pink, yellow and red streaming from an orange sun. It was beautiful. We boaters learn too to live in, and appreciate the moment.

We knew that it would turn. We had checked the weather forecast online as we always do, and besides that sunrise clearly told us ‘red in the morning, shepherds warning.’ The weather helps us decide what to do, and how to live.

This week we need a moving day, a day when we move on from this mooring to find another. The maximum we can stay on this mooring spot is 14 days, which will take us to the start of next week, as we have work to do next week.

Before work we want to be settled in our new location with the WiFi signal checked and working well. That means we need to move before Sunday. Friday was an option but the forecast suggested we would have a wet and windy journey, so we look to choose a day when it is at least dry.

Particularly so as we’ve had a coat saga. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to mend my disreputable looking by waterproof coat.. the zip gave way at the end of the Spring when put under strain as I stepped up to climb across a lock. It then refused to stay zipped up. I dismantled the zip, recrossed the zipper and put it all back together again. That didn’t work. I resorted to an old leather belt cynched round the waist – held the coat shut in part but the rain still snuck in through many now-accessible spots. The cost for a replacement zip to be fitted seems more than a new coat. I have put the coat on one side to await the next visit to family with a sewing machine when hopefully I can borrow a machine and install a new zip myself.

In the meantime we will move in the dry. If we do get caught in a sudden squall we can at least enjoy the sheer sensual pleasure of sitting and working from our floating home by the warmth of the wood burner which is now lit, and it’s cooking a casserole too. We’ve got the fire lit to keep us warm and dry clothes and dog so that fuel can work twice for us and save gas too.

It also means it’s cosy for me to sort seeds for Seed Swap Sunday and if we feel like it, feel pampered for another day we found marked on the Milton Keynes Rose which maybe relevant (or not!)!!!

Talking shop

People often ask about shopping… usually as we’re going through locks and they stop to watch, or via the blog (thanks Martine) or as we moor in what seems the middle of nowhere and they walk past with their dogs.

There’s always a wicked (or wistful) temptation to say we live from the woods and fields around us but although we do forage mushrooms, berries and fruits mainly, we certainly couldn’t live on what we pick. (Although we do end up drinking quite a bit of foraged delights!).

Elderflower cordial nearly all used up from June and Spiced elderberry gin steeping for Christmas

It’s the standard shops for us that everyone uses but we do have the advantage that we are shopping local most of the time. Some boaters get supermarket deliveries to bridges or mooring points, but we’ve never seen the need for that yet.

Google maps supplements the canal maps (which is a good thing as some of our physical canal maps are 20+ years old and a weeny bit out of date), and online canal plans. That way we can see what’s coming up or around where we are moored, and then it’s on with the backpack stuffed with extra bags and a walk with the dog to the nearest shop.

This week I’ve kept track of our shopping habits as we’ve travelled from the Black Country out through Shropshire’s sandstone cuttings and into Cheshire with its rolling vistas and dairy cows.

There was the mile walk from the mooring at the Dudley Canal and Tunnel museum to an Aldi on the edge of Dudley – ideal for restocking with what we could carry. Now having a fridge on board makes it much easier to keep food and we don’t need to shop as often. The small freezer section within it helps keep food longer too.

We combined a morning dog walk of a couple of a miles into Brewood (pron. Brood) from a mooring amid the noisiest owls we’ve heard for a long time. Whenever one of us woke in the night we could hear the tawny owls calling from the pine trees on one side of the canal to friends in the oaks on the other. They kept up a delightfully conversational natter through, it seemed, much of the night. Our shopping trip from their home took us along towpaths with trips to the shops, finding footpaths on the way back as we returned with milk, bread and a happy dog.

Sometimes we support local producers through farmers markets or regular weekly markets but this was a week unlike many others because of the Queen’s funeral, so many suspended their normal routines. Market places stood solemnly empty as a result.

Market Drayton silent and still on Monday for the Queen’s funeral

The lock flight at Audlem, 15 locks taking us down 93ft, come with a real treat we know. Going up it’s a reward for labour, going down it’s a collection of treats at the top to form rewards when we’ve finished. It’s a farm stall with delicious homemade pies, pastries, cakes, scones, ice creams and they even do drinks for walkers.

We see many people walking the 3-mile out and back from Audlem, visiting the stall, and enjoying their goodies at the picnic benches by the second lock down before heading back to the village. The stall is at the edge of a large mixed but mainly dairy farm, outside a newish built house. This is the home of the now retired farmers, their children and grandchildren now living in the original farmhouse and running the farm. Retirement in rural farming life doesn’t mean relaxation fortunately so the stall with its honesty box is stocked daily. They also take cards!

Goodies from there kept us going deliciously in treats and a meal or two for a couple of days. Almost at the bottom of the Audlem flight we found desserts for several days more!

Then into Nantwich and a chance for restocking with heavy goods like tins. That resulted in a bit of weight training and the odd collapsing bag – all in the torrential rain! Steve also took a trip to Screwfix ( a 4-mile walk but he is a dedicated Screwfix user like so many boaters!).

What luck – the best surfaced towpath to carry shopping in the rain

Before we leave Nantwich where we will be for some time now, we have coalboat Bargus calling with diesel for us (119litres, £158.27 and 2 slices of bread for a sandwich!).

We will be fetching our car for a week as we have family commitments to meet and work in Buckinghamshire at un-train-friendly times/locations. While we have the car we will restock heavy bulky shopping and then move on once more without wheels. We restocked with gas from coalboat Roach when we were the other side of Birmingham and are burning the fuel we didn’t use last winter.

Amazon orders can be delivered to collection boxes or local shops en route if required and bigger locations provide shopping trip opportunities which become highlights on this life where the journey is the delight as well as the destinations!

Another year not living for weekends & still afloat

Another year afloat has passed and it’s fascinating to see the difference between this year and last. Last year we dashed to live aboard just after lockdown 1 lifted so we contended with two lockdowns afloat that meant we had two periods of not being able to move – 4 weeks of lockdown 2 on the Ashby Canal in a marina, and 14 weeks of lockdown 3 on the Trent & Mersey Canal at Willington in Derbyshire. This year we’ve been able to continuously cruise all year.

That’s made quite a difference – we’ve cruised 1,235 miles and 2 furlongs this year compared to 697 miles last year. It’s meant more workouts too operating 95 moveable bridges this year compared to 58 last year and 948 locks this year compared to 522 last year. Tardebigge is the longest flight of locks in the country – 30 and we completed that with the help of a friend (thanks Kat) this year. We’ve taken in broad canals (width in locks for 2 narrowboats together) narrow canals, large rivers and small rivers.

Our travels took us south to London to moor in Little Venice for Steve to successfully run the London Marathon from the boat, and off into Wales this year, encompassing 29 canals, sections and branches. We’ve taken in 31 tunnels travelling 15.5 miles underground in total – that’s more tunnels but less distance underground than last year (24 tunnels and 19 miles).

A major difference between this year and last has been the opportunity to share time with family and friends. That has been a delight I’m sure everyone is appreciating. It’s been a major plus for us when they come and take the tiller or help with all those locks, and at Easter two of the family (thanks Freya and Jonny) helped us revolutionise life aboard completely – with the addition of a washing machine! Getting it on board wasn’t easy but they did it, and Steve’s alterations to the electrical system, the wardrobe (where it lives), and the main bed (which had to be shortened by 1cm) worked brilliantly. We also have a new replacement cratch cover which keeps everything there dry (unlike the old one), and will really come into its own in winter.

New cover measured, made, fitted in 24 hrs

With friends, we took in another of the amazing wonders of the waterways this year too, the river in the sky that is the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, a world heritage site. We steered the boat on the Llangollen canal, on water held in a cast iron trough suspended 126 feet above the River Dee, by 18 hollowed masonry pillars.

There are still two wonders for us to explore, the Anderton Boat Lift in Cheshire which we have seen on foot but won’t be able to travel until at least 2023 because it has mechanical issues, and at the other end of the network the Caen Hill flight of 16 locks in Wiltshire.

The cost of living is something which is occupying most of us right now, and we are no exception. Costs have risen – our boat licence which allows us to travel the waterways managed by Canal and River Trust has risen from £880 to £908 and is due to rise again shortly by another 4%. Our energy costs (diesel for electricity, hot water and propulsion, gas for cooking, and coal for warmth and cooking), Living afloat we get no Government cost of living support payment.

We’ve spent an additional £3 a week on diesel so far, and the gas costs have risen by 34% this year. We haven’t bought coal yet this year as we still had coal left from last year’s stock to burn but we know the cost has risen significantly. I predict much more foraging for wood, and we’re trying to see if we can both fund a large lump sum and find somewhere to store a tonne of coal for this year. A bulk buy of a tonne can save up to £400.

The solar Steve installed last year has more than paid for itself now. We’ve recouped 137.65% of the installation costs in the year, saving £417.71 in diesel and that’s given us 84 solar kilowatt hours of free energy – bliss! It’s also contributed to 180 less running hours of the engine.

Workwise we are earning enough beer money. We refurbished one rental house when it came vacant and relet it whilst still refurbishing which was great. Deena has work coming in and projects on the go which keeps her ticking over and with the help of a wonderful boaters group and YouTube has mastered crochet at last! She’s also won awards in two photographic competitions.

So another year afloat draws to a close having brought snow, hail, rain, ice, winds in the form of Storms Dudley, Eunice and Franklin (fortunately our only loss was a doormat but it was weird to feel seasick as waves appeared on the canal!). We’ve encountered frozen canals and boiled in temperatures that have risen into the 40s.

Steve joined the Mermaid Club (apparently so named) in the early part of the year with a fall from the boat into the freezing waters at Whaley Bridge on the Peak Forest Canal. He damaged his ribs and a knee in the process and took a couple of months to recover. In June after avoiding Covid for so long, we were both struck down with it and it took us time to get over it but recover we have.

Cola too needed a dental operation (about the cost of a year’s coal) but even at 14+ years old in dog years he’s recovered well. The times of being unwell were the low points of the year but yet again the daily delights of wildlife encounters and living slowly have more than made up for them.

We’ve also had an abundance of highlights this year including:

Steve completing the London Marathon
Deena’s cancer scare being just a scare
The WASHING MACHINE
The new CRATCH COVER – measured, made and fitted in just 24 hrs by kinver Canopies
Fabulous holidays staying with and seeing family in Cornwall and Settle
Helping erect a Peace Pole in Leicester
Helping Forces Afloat – an amazing charity
Playing the Blisworth Tunnel Blues for its inaugural performance in the tunnel
Spending irreplaceable time with family and friends

We have our Boat Safety Certificate test due again in November (nail biting – should be OK but it’s like an MOT for boats and who knows if we’ve interpreted the requirements as an inspector will).

Then where next? No ideas yet and we need to look at the winter stoppages list to work out where we can do. This coming year we’d like to discover the Caldon, Rochdale and the Lancaster Canals but there’s no rush at 4mph and we’ll carry on just taking life as it comes!

Our experience of an historic week

Living afloat we sometimes feel apart from the world, separated from hustling bustling life by our slower, quieter pace.

This week we too have watched as history unfolds before us, with the passing of our Queen and accession of King Charles III.

We heard the news of the that the Queen was unwell on the radio via BBC Sounds on my phone. It seemed such an uncharacteristic announcement we knew it must be serious and kept listening until the early evening announcement of her death. We then went to a pub nearby to watch the television coverage.

Sitting there in a pub named after King Charles II, we heard the news of King Charles III’s accession. We watched the crowds arrive outside the Royal palaces, and walked somberly home in the embrace of darkness.

On Friday I was working from the boat discussing with colleagues, as so many others were, how we should respectfully mark the Queen’s death and period of mourning. It is a new situation for us all, a time of many changes and much uncertainty. Seeking put and implementing protocols developed for the occasion was the order of the day. I also enjoyed a marmalade sandwich for lunch of which I feel the Queen and Paddington would have approved.

Steve shared a different aspect of public mourning, travelling as he was, off the boat.

Change will now be a continuous theme for some time – our currency passports, stamps and for us, the beautiful swans with whom we share our daily life. Most of us know that Queen Elizabeth II technically owned all the unclaimed swans in open waters in England and Wales – now they will be the King’s swans.

Technically he also owns all whales, sturgeon, dolphins and propoises under a 1324 statute made by King Edward II . Fortunately I don’t think we’ll encounter any of them on the Grand Union, particularly as we’re almost in the very centre of England now.

I have once again been hugely grateful for the peace and reflective calm being on the water brings, for the quiet and peace to think, reflect on a life so full of duty and service, to feel gratitude and to mourn uninterrupted, for calm in which to process the momentous change which we knew was coming one day but which still feels sudden. It makes me reflect on how much calm and quiet are essential to us all and our wellbeing, particularly at turbulent times.

BEWARE – learning is hard!

As schools and colleges return, and universities prepare for their students, I’ve also been at the sharp end of the learning curve, learning vital lessons.

It’s a tough business learning – sometimes we go into it with trepidation, sometimes with huge confidence. We’re here after all at whatever stage we’ve reached, because someone decrees we have enough skills, knowledge or just years of life to get to the next stage, so we should be OK. But joining the dots to connect what we already know with what we are now learning or expected to learn can, believe me, be a real struggle. Equally daft as it may sound we sometimes forget we are learners, and not expected to be learned at the start. That’s something we tend to forget and so perhaps we should all, particularly those of us who teach, go back to being learners on a regular basis.

Teachers make all the difference – I know. Their patience and capacity to help us join the dots, see ourselves as learners and celebrate the learning process; their ability to allow us to break away from the taught curriculum and enjoy exploring our subject for fun at times; their capacity to recognise that learning is an exhausting business – mentally and physically (believe me this week there have been times when I wanted to just curl up ‘on the carpet’ and recover); and their ability to encourage, enthuse and motivate keeps us learners going when the going gets tough.

Tudor House – Elizabeth I apparently stayed here in Itchington – in the days before plastic bunting…

I’ve learned so much during the past two years working and living afloat – about our boat, about nature, about myself, about life. I’ve been encouraged by the boating community to learn about gardening on a metal roof, the history of the canals, crochet (which was an alien artform for years and now is becoming something little short of an obsession…) but I do miss making music and that’s what I’ve been fortunate enough to start learning again this week.

In past lives I’ve played double bass (a bit tricky on a narrowboat where space is limited although I hear some do it. A string bass would have to live in the shower – and interesting playing at my level really demands others for a jazz band or orchestra)… I also played piano for a bit – smilar situation in terms of space and I never really felt at home with an electronic keyboard… then I played cornet and tenor horn in a brass band hugely benefiting from, and enjoying the supportive community, as much as the stirring traditional sounds (thanks Toddington Town Band)… so what to play on the boat? I wanted something I could learn that would enable me to make solo tuneful music, or play with others when I found musicians afloat or along the towpath pubs. I’ve encountered guitarists, fiddle players, and then pow – a melodian player!

I wanted to add a different clip but clearly need to learn more tech skills!

This wasn’t just a talented, inspiring melodian player but a generous, capable teacher and as passionate about her instrument and music as I would love to be again.

Serendipity I can vouch is alive and well on the waterways. Becci and I were moored by each other by chance. We met by chance and I shall always be immensely grateful to her (or I will be when my fingers and shoulders recover).

The sound of her tuneful playing drifted gently to our boat and I couldn’t resist going out to listen, to have a front row seat as she on the melodian and Marcus on the violin brought sheer delight to late summer evenings with their music. Then joy of joys, she generously offered me a chance to try a melodian, gave me a lesson full of encouragement and enough but not too much instruction, getting me to a starting point and not baffling me completely. She went and fetched ‘a spare’, trustingly lent it to me (to me – a total stranger) with a stage 1 book and a case, and gave me private, safe space to experiment, to practice.

That has reminded and taught me much about learning and teaching. About how exhausting it is to be a learner. The melodeon is like nothing I have ever played before. It is from the squeeze box family so notes are made and altered by the process of pushing and drawing, or in Dr Doolittle terms pushing and pulling the instrument…and they aren’t always logical I soon discovered.

Focus isn’t always easy to achieve as a learner…

Learning can be heavenly, ordered and structured and sheer hell at the same time.

Learning is complex, whatever you are tackling. On the D/G melodeon I was lent, the right hand had two rows of button keys to manage (in the scales of D and G I guess), whilst the left hand theoretically controlled the wind key to let the instrument expand as well as bringing in the bass keys.

I woke at night fingering and scales (honestly!). It reminded me of trying to learn to drive in a way – intensely physical and complex, being asked to undertake mulitple alien actions at once seems impossible. Engaging the clutch, changing gear, looking in the mirror, steering and looking where you’re pointing the car simultaneously seem utterly unfeasible at first. For me that was the same with starting to play the melodeon. I physically ached after practicing – my shoulders and my fingers, my wrists and elbows felt the strain because I was so tense in this alien environment. I know how to read music but felt utterly at sea trying to transfer that knowledge onto this new-to-me instrument. I became exhausted quickly and realised that when I flagged my concentration and desire to learn dissipated rapidly.

Little and often and a safe learning space proved the key. Practicing a set piece, enjoying a bit of free exploration, and then doing something else. Do we all allow our learners to do that? What autonomy do we, can we offer them in their learning? How do we ensure a balance of structure, fun and freedom in learning? What creative and positive outcomes might such an approach fuel?

Maybe we can all press the right buttons as teachers and be a bit more Becci in our approaches – generous, passionate and with a capacity to make learning safe, and possible. She showed me through her practice what practice can achieve. She didn’t bat an agonised eyelid when I sadly returned her beautiful melodeon to her, performing with stomach-churning nerves an excruciating rendition of Hot Cross Buns and Baa Baa Black Sheep, although one I felt ridiculously proud of achieving. (I would add that Steve thought Baa Baa Black Sheep was Three Blind Mice but ho hum, you can’t always expect much of the audience!).

A melodeon feels too expensive an instrument for me to purchase right now (£900ish) and I’m not sure it is for me. So here’s the thing – what should I try next in my bid to make music aboard for a reasonable financial outlay? Something that doesn’t take up too much space and won’t set Steve’s teeth on edge for too long whilst I’m at the early learner stage? (The dog’s OK – he’s deaf fortunately for him!)

All ideas very welcome please! if you want to hear Becci and Marcus for yourself and can get to Northamptonshire join them at Balfolk which sounds huge fun!

Life is easy when there’s just no choice.

Living afloat has its challenges – I shall be getting my steps in along the towpath trying to find a decent signal to post this blog for example – but they are without doubt outweighed by the positives.

Lockdowns made life hard but also strangely easier. There were fewer choices to make, fewer decisions to ponder. We could go for a walk, or a jog or a run, a cycle or a stroll but we didn’t have to find excuses for parties we really didn’t want to go to, or suffer endless work meetings in person.

Two years living and working afloat was what we originally mooted when we had the spontaneous decision to up sticks and downshift to a 50ft narrowboat.

Two years has flown by and there is no decision to be made – we cannot currently imagine leaving this life right now. There are new waterways still to explore, old favourites to revisit and much more relaxed living to do.

We’ve found ourselves a tourist attraction in various places – Stratford-upon-Avon being one. We have photobombed selfies by strangers on our boat (and apologised in true English fashion!). We have had numerous small children peering in at us, as we eat, work or just relax. I particularly loved one small curly headed young soul who pressed sticky fingers to the sitting room window from his viewpoint on the towpath and declared in piercing tones “There’s someone in here- and she’s alive!” (Always good to know!)

We have discovered a community which is generous, collegiate and creative. We have had neighbours who have taught us new skills; shared knowledge (boating, artistic, musical and intellectual); shared wine, cake and beer with us and generally been real highlights in life. That’s not to say everyone on the waterways is a delight and we have had the occassional neighbour we’ve encountered when we’ve loosened our mooring ropes and moved away to moor in more convivial surroundings.

We’ve had weeks with no neighbours, just nature for company and enjoyed the solitude too. It seems impossible in some parts of the UK to get such peace as we are gifted, but on the waterways it seems in generous supply.

Every day, even if we’re moored in the same place, bring something new – new wildlife (many of whom ignore us as we sit on the boat so it becomes like a huge hide), new views brought by the weather or the light, new neighbours, and if we’re cruising daily then it’s almost a sensory overload of new sights and sounds.

There’s food and fuel to forage, a simpler more sustainable life to lead and it’s one we are finding filled with unexpected riches.

Each season brings its own highlights. Winter is perhaps my favourite – the stove is burning 24/7 and the boat is a cosy haven as we come back in from the cold. A stewpot simmers gently in the day and baked potatoes cook in the embers in the evening. The waterways are quieter, fewer boats and the weather brings us spectacular sights.

Autumn is misty, moody and atmospheric, bringing hedgerow fruits like apples, blackberries and sloes full of summer sun (or sundried perhaps this year!). In fact this year the blackberries have been so early we’ve been picking them since July. Apples are now ripening just days before September.

The elders have been fantastic- laden with starry white frothy flowers in early summer which gave us delicious Elderflower cordial for summer drinks, and now heavy with deep red berries. Spiced elderberry gin is steeping ready for Christmas as we speak.

This awareness and engagement with nature’s larder is just one of the unexpected benefits of living so close to nature. We are outside as much as we are inside, even on days we are working and that wasn’t always if ever the case in bricks and mortar living.

I write this listening to a tawny owl in the oak tree above us having a chat with another across the opposite field in the gathering dusk. During the day we watch the cycle of life from our swan hatch, now aware of morning duck pilates routines (left leg stretch, right leg stretch, left wing extension then right, neck rotation and full body shake – a totally unselfconscious routine which is a lesson for us all!).

My biggest fear was losing touch with friends and family, of family particularly feeling we had selfishly abandoned them. We’ve seen more people since lockdown lifted and shared more meaningful relaxing times together than we ever did before. Our home and lifestyle is a gift we have the good fortune to be able to share with others. We make an effort to see family and they to see us, and all have been incredibly supportive – perhaps also relieved as we sail off into the sunset after our regular catch ups!

The question people often ask – apart from do you live there in the winter? Yes, all year or is it cold in winter? (no not with the stove lit) and is it claustrophobic? no because you can always hop off and walk along the towpath – we’re not in the ocean – is what we miss?

We now have a fridge and a washing machine on board, coalboats deliver alongside, floating traders offer all manner of essentials and treats, we can can get supermarket deliveries to the boat, Amazon delivers to shops or lockers on our route and honestly we haven’t found anything to miss yet, so we obviously need to stay afloat until we do discover that we’re missing something!

Two years have flown by – we’re healthy, happy, financially still afloat and feel so fortunate. We know this life isn’t for every. We have no choice but to keep moving on, doing what we’re doing, as it works so well for us!

Anniversary effects and decision time

Anniversaries are strange things – personal and public at the same time. They can cheer and depress us, sometimes simultaneously thus not aligning totally with the psychologists’ definition of anniversary effect being solely related to trauma.

We’ve celebrated 33 years of marriage this month – tongue in cheek this maybe traumatic for my Other Half! Seriously it is though, something deeply personal and yet delightfully recognised by friends and family who were at the ceremony with us, or who appeared in our lives after the event.

We both feel that time has gone in a flash but looking back are astonished that those years have encompassed so much – living, studying and working in France and Switzerland, England and now afloat; the remarkable births of two incredible independent daughters who have grown into delightful young women of whom we are hugely proud, and our own transition from newly-weds to parents, and now grandparents.

Our wedding anniversaries are regular reminders, that despite life’s ups and downs, we are stronger together and support each other in ways that we would never have initially imagined when we first met all those years ago on the Le Mans 24-hour circuit, a circuit overlooked by the maternity hospital where years later our daughters were both born.

I know for example that I could never have even considered let alone completed my Doctorate for example without our incredibly strong supportive family as Steve also found for his marathons and our charity cycles over the years. We’ve continued adventuring together into new countries, new ways of living and new career paths. The constant has been, and remains, us, together.

August for me also marks the anniversaries of the deaths of my mother, brother and father, all united by their month of departure although thankfully not in the same year.

It used to be a month I loathed (aligning with the psychological definition of anniversary effect) but now, with time, it is becoming a month when I celebrate them, their lives and achievements, and my gratitude at having them in my life. I also, if I’m honest, heave a probably stupid sigh of relief when we get to September 1st and I find I’m still here!

A friend said recently that annual reminders from LinkedIn also depress him. They form for him an annual reminder that he is still in a job he feels lacks challenge and stimulation but from which he feels powerless to move because of circumstances, or perhaps himself…

For us LinkedIn reminds us annually that Steve has been successfully self employed for over a decade now, and that I am approaching 2 years of self employment, exchanging living for the weekends for living. Those are positive reinforcements that we both made the right decisions for ourselves and our individual as well as joint futures.

That change of employment reminder for me also indicates we are approaching our anniversary of living and working afloat as continuous cruisers. We are are concluding our second year afloat.

When we set off from Sileby Mill on the River Soar in September 2020 we said we’d “Give it 2 years and see what happens.’ So two years are nearly up, and decisions need to be made.

One incontrovertible decision this year is that the Boat Safety Certificate (BSS) needs renewing whatever we are going to do. We need a current BSS to continue cruising or to sell the boat if we decide to move back on land. The BSS is the equivalent of an MOT for boats, ensuring outline safety of the public and boat users. I would give more details but the checklist is 9-pages long, so you can understand that could take an age, so I shall spare you!

Our BSS is now booked for early November in Middlewich, so we have the pleasure of heading to Cheshire once more to get that completed.

Pre work is booked, an examiner is booked, and fingers will remain firmly crossed until we have a new 4-year certificate is firmly clutched in our hands.

So, what to do as our 2-year self-imposed deadline approaches? Should we move ashore to new challenges, and sell nb Preaux with a new BSS? Should we consider staying afloat but stop continuous cruising and move to a long term or permanent mooring? Should we return to be weekend and holiday cruisers living ashore with the boat in a marina or boatyard? Should we stay working and living afloat as continuous cruisers and keep cruising off into the sunsets?

Do we increase or reduce our workloads or have we got the balance right? If we stay afloat should we increase or reduce our cruising?

There are so many choices. Decisions, decisions… what to do? Which way should we go?

Summertime and the living (and working) is easy..

The long hot days of summer are back with a vengeance as I write. Living, as well as working afloat, has a different feel.

We live and work differently in this type of weather. Because we are involved in supporting a major community event in Leicestershire this weekend, meeting up with friends and family, we aren’t travelling although we are pottering about a bit, so we aren’t cooling the boat with through breeze from movement.

We are then moored up much of the time, but look to moor in semi shade. We seek enough shade to keep the boat (and us) cool, but enough sun for the solar panels to charge the batteries to give us what we need in terms of power.

For us that means power to run the laptop, power the wifi, cool the fridge (the most power-hungry), charge phones, provide lights, plus power for the water pump so we can access the water in the tank, and flush the loo. We are fortunate to have gained an average each day this week of 401 watt hours a day from the solar which means even being in partial shade, we have enough to top our batteries back up to 100% each day.

During the day we keep the very effective curtains (recycled duvet covers with blackout linings) closed on the sun side. We open every hatch, door, and available window hopper, removing hopper glass where we can (turns out on this boat that’s only one…).

The dog in his black fur coat is wise. He takes to lying pressed flat against the cool floor which has no insulation between it and the hull being only ballast. The hull lies in the water and theoretically stays cool that way, so he’s wise. He alternates between lying flat on the floor, and lying on his Aldi pet cooling mat which is draped on his sofa (yes, he’s taken over a sofa for himself as all our visitors are aware).

It’s tricky where we are for him to swim because it’s not easy to get in and out of the water but he’s managing to keep cool, and managing the occassional evening swim. He also enjoys drinks on evening walks from many generous boaters.

Working hours for us are tending to be early and late – apart from online Teams meetings for me which come mid morning – fortunately before the heat has built to levels that impede thought processes. The main issue I’ve found is that one of the trees giving us much-needed shade is a plum, and so I have to cut my camera periodically on calls whilst I pursue plum-fuelled wasps around the boat to escort them out.

The weather is ideal for getting the washing out on the line and it dries rapidly whilst I’m working, ready for when we want to move on after work. Rotary washing lines can’t stay up on the move – bridges, trees and bushes being a bit of a hazard or we would be a hazard to them!

Moving is itself a challenge at the moment- around 10% of the network is closed or facing restrictions because of water shortages. Notices from Canal and River Trust ping into our inboxes almost daily.

Water shortages mean low water levels but also create blockages as weakened trees crash into waterways. Our routes to our next destinations are limited and circuitous as a result. We are planning our route north but recognise it may change day by day.

Steve’s working on the boat too – altering the bathroom to give us more storage as we now have an extra toilet cassette to store. This was the product of our Covid time, a third cassette so that if needs be we can cruise for around a week without needing to find a waste point. It will be handy in the winter if we’re iced in for that long too.

Ah…winter…a comforting thought. Being able to regulate heat with layers, quiet canals and toasty warm stove time. Steinbeck said: “What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” For me the heat of summer adds appeal to the depths of winter.

Back in baking season – we need to make the most of what we have. The elderberries are laden with lush black fruit so its time to make spiced elderberry cordial and gin.

It also means that we’ve enjoyed some astonishingly clear skies allowing us to enjoy the Sturgeon Moon over water this week – another truly beautiful gift of nature.

So they predict we might have a much needed downpour in the coming week. The combines are working through the night to gather in the harvest while they can. In the meantime spare a thought for me this weekend – apparently organisers of the fantastic festival in the riverside village where we used to live were unable to find my previous Peppa Pig costume (phew – that’s quite a relief in this heat!).

That’s a shot of both of us greeting each other!

Now though they’re looking for me to be half a camel…or a dragon/dinosaur. Having failed to find someone else who wants to drape themselves in beige fur with me and parade through a village high street in the midday sun it appears the dino/dragon might be the solution. Photos promised next week – if I survive!

Essential ingredients for quality of life

Holidays – a chance to relax, recharge, reconnect, revitalise and learn. We’ve done all of those things in 5 days this week with gusto and glee.

We’ve recharged our batteries with new sights, new routines and new places. It’s made us even more appreciative of our families and friends, our wonderful lifestyle and our floating home. We recognise that we did the right thing for us by downshifting, downsizing and moving home and work afloat. That leads me to promise more on anniversaries next week!

We’ve loved immensely seeing those of all generations who we love, but haven’t seen for a long time thanks to circumstances and Covid.

We’ve benefited immensely from seeing life through the eyes of a considered 10-year-old and hugely enthusiastic 4-year-old, both absolutely delightful and thought-provoking company. Being with them this week was a huge treat.

With them we’ve learned about many things. Let’s start with alpacas: here’s a taste…they are camelids, their offspring are called crias, a female/male spit off is a pregnancy test, they have no top teeth, and their vocabulary includes hums, clicks and gentle mews. Also my sister in law has bred alpacas for decades now. She runs courses to share what she has learned with others so we were all fortunate to benefit from her encyclopaedic knowledge.

Away from the farm at an owl sanctuary we learned about the silent flight of the barn owl, how they look like a cloud to small rodents below (shades of Winnie the Pooh for me minus a balloon), and how the most common UK owl is the traditional twit-ter-wooing tawny.

We have returned to hearing and seeing owls regularly from the boat more informed about them and the pressures under which they live.

We also learned about the creative potential of electricity and the dangers of plastic watering cans and their capacity to hospitalise (neither of us fortunately). The latter is not our story to tell but we will ask permission to pass on what is a cautionary tale!

It has been lovely to be away, it is also lovely to be back and we were glad we made the decision to moor in a marina, albeit at the end of a very long pontoon!

We are back more determined than ever to make a bit of every day a holiday – to chill more (can we actually do that?), to maximise shorter respites like lunch breaks, spare hours and weekends.

“Vacations are considered a source of happiness and an essential ingredient for quality of life” said Filep (2012) and Richards, (1999). We concur but we’d add from our own lived research that narrowboats, friends and family are a vital source of happiness and absolutely essential ingredients for quality of life.

P.S. Boat dog you’ll be glad to hear has also enjoyed a break from us, is recovering well from his operation and now learning about life with even fewer teeth. He too is glad to be back home afloat.

First holiday prep

Our holiday planning started as most people’s does. The 5Ws and an H or two come into play. When… what can we afford …where shall we go…how shall we travel…what do we need to pack…etc.

Like so many people we are thinking of a holiday for the first time since Covid struck the world. It will also be our first summer holiday since we left bricks and mortar living nearly 2 years ago.

When to go?

When can we have a 4-year-old to entertain us? First week in August? We’re motoring ahead with that date then!

Who?

Two crew and a 4-year-old to keep them in check. No dog this time because it could be warm. He’s also due to have a veterinary dental op this week. He’s going on his own holiday to our youngest daughter who is actually his owner.

Why holiday when we live in bliss every day?

Because we want a holiday with a 4-year-old and to see family and friends after all this time of separation. It does seem odd to be leaving the boat particularly as we have friends packing in their bricks and mortar homes at this very minute ready for a canal boat holiday!

Where?

Cornwall and Devon as that’s where many friends and family are – lucky lot!

What to pack?

Whst we need including picnic rugs for the beach, so I did the washing as we cruised this morning (absolute bliss to be able to do this rather than spending hours in often stuffy laundrettes). It’s now drying in the sunshine.

How much to spend?

Budget is always interesting living as we have chosen to do (and because the dog’s op is the price of an entire holiday budget). We have been saved by a sister-in-law who we want to see and who generously offered accommodation.

How to travel?

The furthest south canal with water in it is the 14.5mile Bridgwater and Taunton Canal in Somerset. It joins the two towns but joins nothing else on the network! So we will travel by electric car and foot.

That creates the BIG question…what to do with our home whilst we swan off?

The options are simple. Moor it on a towpath mooring that allows long enough mooring to cover the time we are away, or moor in a marina.

With towpath mooring break ins are rare, but they do happen and some of the forums have shared recent increased reports, perhaps something to do with bored or curious youngsters? It’s a risk that one takes – some people have cctv etc but that often indicates there’s something worth stealing on a boat… our boat has nothing worth stealing (no tv etc.) but lots of items of sentimental value as it’s our home. Sometimes mooring ropes are untied or cut – some we know get round this by using chains and padlocks, but often that’s an advertisement that a boat is unoccupied.

That leaves the marina option, which is what we’ve gone for. Peace of mind means we can relax. Yes there’s a cost, but it’s manageable. It has meant a couple of long cruising days (20 locks yesterday for example) but enjoyable in the sunshine as a prelude to the holiday to get to our chosen marina.

We are now there. We made it through all the boats and found the right pontoon without hitting anyone or embarrassing ourselves, so we can now pack and relax.

Clients know we’re away, tenants don’t need to know because if they have problems they contact us and we resolve them remotely, so we’re all set for the off. It’s a mix of emotions to lock the hatch and walk away for 5 days. Excitement and guilt – not quite sure why I feel guilty but this home has a personality in a way bricks and mortar don’t. She’ll be fine with the fish and ducks for company, and probably enjoy the peace and quiet, not having to move, just chilling on a pontoon.

I think I’ve managed to clear all the spiders who invaded on one of this weeks overhanging-tree mooring spots otherwise we could come back to a monster web from hell!

So now we’re ready for gazillions of games of I-spy (including those which go “…begins with B” and when after ages when we all give up ends with “I’ve forgotten what it was now!”), crunchy sand-sprinkled sandwiches and five days of fun! Oh, and hours of car singing…

If you’re heading off on holiday have a wonderful time. If you’re heading off on a narrowboat holiday – lucky you. Embrace the slow life and reeeelaxxxx. Just to get you in the mood here’s a cool, slow and tranquil part of our journey through the beautifully constructed Saddington Tunnel.

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