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.

Bass buttons

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.

Wind key

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.

Evening walks are cool and beautiful

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.

Dappled shade is invaluable

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.

Last week’s situation…

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.

Relaxing

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.

WiFi hot spots and an alarmingly hotdog

Living afloat in the UK, as some have found living on land, has been testing this past week as the highest temperatures were recorded – 40.3 degrees Centigrade in Lincolnshire.

Summer heat comes as no surprise to many narrowboat dwellers. Living as we do in steel boxes we do tend to expect summers to be hot. The 17-19th July days of 2022 were though, ridiculously hot, dangerously hot for some. Like most extremes it didn’t last for long, although the Met Office have been issuing health heat warnings since 8 July. For most of that run up time we’ve been working in a bricks and mortar house, painting, refurbishing and reletting whilst trying to recover from Covid.

This week has for me has also included working online. I foolishly imagined colleagues would recognise when I appeared on calls via Teams with slicked back hair and apparently dripping that they would realise I was swelteringly hot – I do live and work in a steel box after all. But they felt it must be ” so lovely by the water”, and complained how cold their air conditioning settings were making them. I worked on through gritted teeth…

It helps in the heat if you have a breeze, or can create one by moving but at the height of the heat this week we weren’t moving for work and social reasons, and no breeze was coming off the water. Normally we’d moor in shade in such circumstances but where we needed to be the visitor mooring has no shade whatsoever.

The sun just beat down…and down…and down until I was debating seeing if it was possible to fry an egg on the roof, given that it was too hot to touch. (I couldn’t summon the energy to walk to the shops to buy eggs though). Good thing we don’t have a cat! The veg garden on the roof (painted pale grey to reflect the heat) has virtually perished… although it may resurrect if we get some proper rain.

A has bean??

We have had doors at both ends of the boat wide open and a large side hatch (swan hatch to us) which we also left open 24/7. As we’ve been moored near a pub we turned the boat so the side hatch was on the water side – saves uninvited guests and feels more comfortable that way sleeping with it open at night. All our windows are single glazed top hoppers, so just the top drops open, but believe us, everything we could open was open.

Some boats run generators all day to power air conditioning units…we know this as one was moored behind us one day. As we had everything we could open open on our boat, the noise nearly drove us mad.

I worked with my feet on wet towels, a wet tea towel slung round my neck, and kept refuelling regularly with water or squash.

The main issues were the internet and the dog.

The dog first – he’s more important. At over 14 years old now he is less able to cope with the heat. Previously he’s always been trimmed short in the summer but his last grooming earlier this year proved utterly exhausting and stressful for him, even though the groomer made it as easy and quick as she could and allowed me to stay with him. So we decided not to put him through that again.

Instead short river swims every few hours and an Aldi cooling mat along with topped up water bowls have proved invaluable during the day.

The nights though have been a very different story. He has struggled in the humid nights, as have we all. His breathing has been ragged and he pants so hard and so loudly that had we been able to sleep we’d probably have been awake with him. Socks in the freezer helped me sleep a bit, as the freezer can’t ice a hot water bottle for me. Maybe I should have frozen a couple of pairs for him?

Finally we succumbed as the mercury rose and decanted to a daughter’s house. Fortunately for her, she’s on holiday and we were keeping an eye on the garden (crisped rather than flourishing). For two nights we and the dog slept on her downstairs wooden floor with the patio doors wide open – it was the coolest spot in the house. We still sweltered, restless in humid heat but we survived.

On the boat our only thermometer is ourselves – but many other boaters have an impressive range of gadgets and soon they were filling social media with their recorded rising temperatures as the heat intensified.

The internet was another issue, for work and leisure purposes. We run a 3 modem and have an aerial boost, and generally it works fine for what we need – teams call? No problem. Emails, no problem. Both of these simultaneously with two of us working simultaneously, no problem. Our only drop out bad spot that I remember was Wheaton Aston on the Shropshire Union Canal where we had no connectivity at all, but the canal ran in a cutting and we assumed that was the issue. I remember walking through the cold (it was icy whilst we were there on 2 April to find connectivity from my phone to send a document.

Wheaton Aston in early April on the Shroppie

We know we don’t get brilliant connections from the boat moored at Mountsorrel, but usually we get some signal. Our system comprises 4G router connected to 3 network mobile to create WiFi aboard…known as MiFi. We have a 4G aerial that picks up the signal which is helpful in our Farraday cage.

Some people have aerials hanging in windows. We did that for a while but found the external aerial more effective. It’s attached to the bow and we raise it when stationary and desperately try to remember to lower it when setting off so we don’t wipe it out on a bridge! We’ve only set off once and had to lower en route – a bit like scuttling down the gunwhales and removing the chimney mid cruise when it looks like a low bridge is about to decapitate it.

Anyway…back to the internet…fortunately we were able to connect to mains WiFi via our holidaying daughter’s house although our laptop demanded we reconnect it to her provider almost every 15 minutes! I’m loading this postfrom my phone in her house because no images will load on the boat.

It has been frustrating but we have survived, and it all panned out so well, it’s as if it was planned! In case you may think we are taking unfair advantage of our eldest… we have cleaned, gardened and left some £ as a thank you as well as providing 1.55am taxi service back from Birmingham airport!

Normal service and weather looks like it will be resumed next week and we’re on the move again. We’re also giving thought to what retrofitting modifications we might make for next year’s heat wave…Double glazing? Tinted windows? Opening windows? More insulation?

We hope you managed in the heat and have emerged triumphant, if a little toasty round the edges.

Waste not – want not – a valid mantra for today

We’ve been working flat out this past week off the boat (well as flat out as you can with Covid although both of us have now finally tested negative) refurbishing a rental house as one tenant left for another to move in. It’s been a salutary time of ups and downs.

The tenant who left was a single mum of one who has lived there for several years. She told us she wanted to stay but struggled to make ends meet after being laid off for part of last year due to the pandemic and now facing mounting costs. She and her child have moved in with her mum.

After she left we moved in to refurbish the house. One of the first things we found was the freezer section of the fridge freezer literally crammed with food. Knowing how strapped she is for cash, we rang and asked when she wanted to come and fetch it. The response had us lost for words: “, I haven’t used it in ages, just chuck it please.”

It felt so wrong throwing food away when the UK’s food poverty rate is among the highest in Europe. This week The Big Issue has an article which makes sobering reading.

Food banks in the area where the house is can’t handle frozen food. They just couldn’t take it. Many recipients of food banks haven’t the capacity to freeze food either, and the dates on the food proved the point that hundreds of pounds worth of food had been languishing in that freezer for months. The food was highly processed, mainly ready meals.

While many people end up in food poverty because of low or irregular incomes, spiralling costs of living and debt, it made me wonder how much unintentional waste many of us may be creating through carelessness, or ignorance.

Are you like me, guilty of any of these:

*Not keeping an eye on dates on products – particularly on food which can lead to food waste.

*Not teaching our children to revere and reward frugality to prevent waste.

*Not making the most of what we have so there will be more to go further.

I find it alarming and shameful to think how thoughtlessly wasteful I’ve been in my own working and personal life over the decades.

I know at home and at work I have been unintentionally over-consuming. This profligacy of ignorance could have allowed someone else to benefit rather than to go short. It might even have allowed a company to make more profits to plough back in. If enough of us enabled that then perhaps another person would have a job, an income.


Waste not want not was seen as a wartime mantra. Mother Theresa said she only ever felt anger when she saw waste. This week I understood how she felt but I also felt sad. Sad that a little family is struggling when with some guidance they might be able to manage a little more easily.

If we all wasted less there would be more to go round. It isn’t rocket science. If we consciously consumed there less resources would be used, wasted and there would be more to share.

I felt really bad this week but grateful too, to be spurred on to do my bit to make sure that I waste less, use less. Graveyards are full of buried unfulfilled dreams, I don’t want my vow to make the world world a better place in my own small way to come to nought. I have to do more to ensure it happens.

We’re back on board aware that having a smaller space helps us be more frugal, less wasteful but also that as we revel more in the glories around us we feel we need less to make us satisfied, fulfilled.

Back home afloat reflecting on lessons learned this week

Covid, violent colours and discarded underwear – our life this week

Covid seems to have left one us bu is clinging to the other according to lateral flow test. We are now both sounding as if we have colds and coughing has been reduced mainly to the evenings.

It’s a good thing that we are out of bed at least as one of our tenants gave notice a month ago. We knew we were likely to be faced with some physical work to do to get that house back on the rental market.

It wasn’t until we had the handover of keys and house inspection we worked out what needed to be done. The longer it takes to do the work and the longer the house lies empty we are responsible for council tax, services and without an sizeable chunk of income. Covid is tiring even in mild doses, but needs must.

A quick glance indicated a thorough clean and total repaint – could have been worse… We had new ceilings upstairs some months ago and we knew we’d have to paint them when the plaster cured anyway. What I hadn’t quite bargained for was trying to resolve a tenant’s approach to interior design that appears as eclectic as Boris’s approach to governing with integrity. One bedroom in punk pink and apple green and another in black…

The first half day was spent deep cleaning the bathroom and making an increasingly long list for…yup Screwfix!

One thing Covid has done is make me incredibly clumsy…that’s reduced the number of mugs and tumblers on the boat. When working around 10 litres of paint at a time it’s nothing short of a potential ticking timebomb! At the time of writing this blog, the only disaster to date has been with a much-needed, well-earned cup of coffee which I promptly upended in my lap as I took a rest in a deck chair (the only chairs we have in the house with us and bit do we need sit downs!). That then meant I couldn’t walk to the car three streets away as I looked like I’d had a seriously embarrassing accident!

So we’re 1.5 days into the turnround and so far the blackout room has been washed twice and experienced a brighter vibe with its first coat of white. This has been achieved with the socially distanced help of Steve’s brother who kindly provided ladders for us as he’s in the locality.

The underpants found tucked into the original Victorian fireplace have been removed (with gloves)… The kitchen has a brand new working mixer tap. The kitchen door now has a working door handle. The bathroom has a working lock and the oven is being steeped overnight in some no doubt hideous chemicals applied with gauntlets to save what skin I have left after scouring the bathroom!

The pink/apple room has been washed twice and awaits its first coat of single colour emulsion tomorrow.

A weekend of emulsion, gardening, cleaning, glossing and more cleaning awaits us. Hopefully that will get us to a point where we can put it back on the rental market to attract a new tenant, and continue other bits like recarpeting etc before they move in. Our tenants do tend to stay a long time, so it’s quite a while since this house had a serious makeover.

Getting back to the boat in the evenings even though moored 80 miles away from where we’re working, reminds us how incredibly lucky we are. It’s quiet, calm, and moving. Whichever way you look there’s something different to see, views created by wildlife or light. There is something both uplifting and liberating about leaning out of the swan hatch or sitting on the roof, drink in hand (taking Covid gin medication seriously as advised). In a town house life is much more constrained – bricks and mortar encase us with a static density that seems to separate us from the world outside and turn us inward.

Both ways we’re isolating still – keeping ourselves and any lingering bugs to ourselves. Once work is done and both of us record negative tests then we can socialise again, making up for lost time.

Is it a conspiracy or are we doomed?

After years of being told that we really should cruise the Erewash Canal which ambles between Nottingham and Derby, this week we’ve made it onto Erewash waters but it now looks as if we won’t be able to complete the navigation.


The River Soar took us to its junction with the mighty River Trent in the shadow of Ratcliffe Power Station. Suitably clad with lifejackets for all of us, we crossed the Trent, grateful that the blustery wind had dropped a little as we made it past the opening to the Cranfleet Cut beside the yacht club and Devil’s Elbow rowing club, to cut straight across to the Erewash Canal.

Crossing the Trent from the mouth of the Soar feels a bit like going to sea!

So far so good. We moored up on the Trent Lock landings, headed through without issue and left the rivers behind us for the calm of the canal. Surrounded by chalets in the fields, pubs, a tea room and chalets on the water, this is a hugely popular place to spend time. Walks across the fields , along the Erewash and Cranfleet Cut lead to the stunning Attenborough Nature Reserve. It’s no wonder people flock here, not just from Nottingham and Derby but from across the country. 


For us this visit up the Erewash gives us a long-awaited chance to catch up with old friends and former colleagues we haven’t seen since pre-pandemic days. We sorted a packed calendar of visits to the boat, stocked up the fridge and got ourselves to Long Eaton as our first point of call (mooring just past the West Park Footbridge handy for The Bridge pub). Duty called with work first and then disaster no. 1 struck.

Finishing work on the first day moored there (glad it’s all online) I was aware of feeling as if my head was going to explode, as if it was too heavy for my neck, as if an elephant was sitting on my chest, and generally that I was exhausted. Yes, I’d done some work but not enough to shatter me completely! I took myself to bed and woke up completely disorientated the next morning. Just for precaution’s sake I took a Covid test and almost fell off the sofa in shock when two lines appeared. Meeting up with more and more people as we have has obviously brought us into contact with more than we bargained for. 

Quick cancellations to everyone we had hoped to see, and disappointment added to the misery of feeling ill. Still, sleep seemed to be the main thing my body sought, and we had a pleasant mooring spot so we stayed put and I snoozed. 


The next day’s I joined MS Teams meetings sounding very husky, and by the end of the morning it was all o could do to stagger back down the boat to bed. It’s a good thing that downshifting has led to shorter working days!


Steve’s hayfever has been appalling this year, and he seemed to be getting a lot worse. Then on Friday morning he too sounded like me – so another test was brought into play to discover that we both have tested postive.

The dog is now in charge of us both! 

Cola taking his caring duties lying down

Then we faced a very urgent practical issue about living aboard – we filled up with water at Barrow on the Soar, and emptied all our rubbish and toilet waste there, with the idea that we would be at the top of the Erewash before we needed to empty the toilet waste again. One cassette lasts two of us 2 days. We currently have one that’s now full and one that’s filling… and despite having thought this year about buying a third one, we still have only have 2 aboard which gives us 4 days cruising between emptying…and now we are down to less than 2 days… These are things you don’t need to think about in a house.

A full cassette awaiting emptying

Staying at Long Eaton longer than intended, and feeling the way we do, travelling 7 hours, 10 miles and 13 locks to the end of the canal at Langley Mill and the next waste disposal ahead of us is not something we genuinely feel we can manage. Behind us there’s one at Trent Lock much closer but we’re facing away from it. To get there we need to travel ahead 2 miles and 3 locks to a point we can turn and then head back through those same locks and on a bit further, a total journey of 5 miles and 6 locks which will take 3 hours to reach the waste point. So that’s the plan. 


We have to see if we have the energy to manage the locks, feeling as weak as kittens? It could take us ages at best and be a danger at worst, but we need to do something…and so we shall try. We cannot risk an overflowing loo (a horror of living afloat!). Some boats have a larger waste tank which has to be pumped out every few weeks or months but that costs each time and we took ours out of this boat in favour of economical cassettes which can be more easily transported for emptying in times of delay or ice stopping us moving to a pump out point.

Sandiacre Lock

So on wobbly legs, we have moved up to Sandiacre Lock, turned in the old Derby Canal junction and made our slow way back to Trent Lock. When we have the energy the loo can be emptied.

We feel absolutely exhausted! 6 locks and 5 short miles has finished us. They weren’t straightforward either as we hoped – whenever are they when you just want life to be easy. Handcuff keys were needed on all which delayed unlocking and relocking, and we came across a pair of warring cob swans fighting to the death over territory inside Dockholme Lock. Fortunately swan food moved cygnets and the pen out of the way to safety. We filled the lock to get the birds within our reach reach a boat hook helped separate the warring pair until we could squeeze the younger male back through the gates onto his side of the lock. The dominant male then left in a huff heading for the opposite direction.

Pen and cygnets safe

We are well stocked up expecting to see many friends so have lots of alcohol and cake ingredients! Marie Antoinette moments will probably abound as my bread making is rubbish and the bread is running low. We’ve been inundated with generous offers of help from boaters and shore based friends but we’ve arranged a distanced family food drop when we can get back on the Soar OK.

There are many pluses to being ill afloat – it’s just just step or two from a sickness to lean out of the swan hatch, to breath clear air whilst watching swifts and dragonflies dart just above the water lilies.

Our trip on the clear waters of the Erewash has been brief, eventful and downright doomed. We are being forced back by Covid. We need to return the boat to a set location on the Soar to work in Bedfordshire at the end of next week so we are forced to head away just as we were beginning to explore amid willows, dragonflies, swans and waterlilies.

The eye-catching Erewash is now top of a ‘must do’ list, joining so many other waterways we have still to explore.