We can see clearly now

Our window on the world, or indeed windows on the world have changed dramatically this week. We see the wealth of birds and animals, people and the British weather around our floating home and office very differently today than we did this time last week.



After years of planning, research, saving, and preparation – we have new windows, and not just any windows. We have replaced our single glazed ones which had a metal hopper strip with large panel double glazed windows. We are seeing things totally differently, and are ridiculously surprised by the difference it has made. There’s no line across our view anymore. The world we see seems more expansive. As I write, two blackbirds and a pigeon are flying from beech to oak to alder, each taking their perches in that order. My view of their daily performance is captured in a black powder coated sleek frame, no peeling paint or encroaching green gunge detracting from the scene.

The old windows were a little like anyone with old vehicles with sliding windows might recall. I once had a Mini with sliding windows that acquired moss regularly and even began nurturing a buddleia – our old boat windows hadn’t become that advanced, but were heading that way. They rattled atrociously when we ran the engine or even moved on board, so each hopper had individual pieces of wine cork cut to wedge them either open or shut as desired. The only advantage to them was that they didn’t leak – although as we excavated and removed them we discovered at some point in their lives, some obviously had.


A major issue for our life afloat during the increasingly hot summer months when temperatures have risen above 40 degrees on our metal home, has been the complete inability with the old windows to open much of them to develop a through draft. We painted the roof a lighter to reflect the heat,  retro-insulated as much as we could reach of the steel hull, but the windows and lack of breeze became a major issue.  With that in mind, we’ve gone for windows that can be tilted or removed entirely to maximise any breeze. The highest insulation spec should also help, but time will tell.


Cruising through Wigan last year, we visited Caldwell’s, the company we had selected. We wanted to see their windows in person, to feel them, see how they worked, talk through our requirements. It’s a genuine family firm, we spoke to two Mr Caldwells and a Miss Hannah Caldwell. They listened to what we wanted, made helpful suggestions, and were able to answer all our questions immediately – none of that ‘oh the person who’d know is busy’!

After Skipper Steve had measured our windows for the umpteenth time, we placed our order in the New Year, and on Wednesday he drove to Wigan to collect 7 beautifully packaged, new windows.


They sat overnight in a Derbyshire car park near the boat, and then on Thursday the highly recommended Callum came to install them. We couldn’t have chosen worse weather to be without windows! The rain started in the early hours of Thursday. It thundered unrelentingly on the roof, hammered against the old windows, and by the time Callum arrived (sensibly clad in waders) the towpath alongside the boat (and alongside the first lot of windows to be replaced) was under water. 


He’s a boater too, so undaunted. He began on the smallest of the 7 windows – the bathroom. Inside I was covering everything I could with thin plastic decorators’ sheets to catch the expected falling rust and stop the rain encroaching too much. Steve’s job was to try and prepare the multiple screws that had held in the old frames for removal. Thirty plus years had taken their toll on them though, and demanded brute force. Finally they succumbed to serious persuasion and we’re removed. After breaking the seal around the outside (which wasn’t hard), the window was out. AS the rain hammered in, we began to prepare the bare metal hole for its new window.

Scraping away old sealant and flaking paint, angle griding away rough edges, cleaning off rust, dust and a surprising number of mummified insects, levering out the old wooden frame from the inside that had sealed the gap between the window and the steel side of the boat. The rain pooled in the plastic sheeting, finally forcing it to fall to the bathroom floor where a handy bathmat soaked up the worst. Callum crouched in the protection of the hatch to prepare the new window with insulating foam edging and a bead of black sealant before whisking it through the rain to its new home. Ankle deep in water, he placed it into the prepared frame and it fitted! Don’t ask my why I had any frisson of joy after all that measuring, but relief was certainly evident on the Skipper’s face! Steve then had the job of securing the frame with ingenious clips that are screwed into place – fiddly in some places, straightforward in others, and head torches were as always invaluable for seeing what you’re doing in cramped spaces. 


One down, six to go. Sausage and bacon sarnies and tea on tap despite everything piled high in the kitchen! We worked on, bedroom next, then the kitchen and finally the biggest window on this side, the saloon. All in, and then it was time to turn the boat (we were moored as close to the winding hole as possible to save disruption). Another boater walking his dog came for a chat and told us he was moving on, so we moved to his space alongside stone edging once we turned which reduced the risk of trench foot.

The rain stopped, and the sun tried to come out, as we turned, ready for the next side. Only three windows here – the side hatch adds more light and ventilation. It will be a project for another day.



For now though, we worked on, old out, preparation of the hole, new in. Just as we started on the last window, the rain started again, and the last window proved the most difficult to get out, but a hammer worked wonders once more. We had the routine down to a fine art, and very little rain came in before a lovely shiny new window was in place, keeping out the elements. Within 5 hours, 7 old single glazed windows and their internal wooden frames were out, and new double glazed windows installed.


Last night was so bizzarely quiet on board the boat (and we’re moored outside a pub by a road) – we could hear a pin drop. Somehow, I hadn’t expected such a complete change. I had to open the window by the bed to hear the birdsong this morning! There are noticeably fewer drafts, and we can begin the process of insulating the internal areas around the new windows, making new wooden frames for the inside as streamlined as our new views on our world. I think new window coverings are also called for – maybe blinds this time with magnets to hold them in place on our sloping walls, so we can pull the blind right up above the window and maximise not only our view of the outside, but our view of these amazing windows.


Not since the advent of our fridge and then our washing machine has anything changed our life afloat so dramatically. As we live with these windows through changing temperatures, we should see even more advantages, to fuel usage in the winter and staying cool in the summer.

Unfortunately the person who said they wanted the old windows hasn’t materialised so if anyone wants them, do get in touch, seems a waste to throw them away.

For now though, I know the new ones mean a bit more work. George Bernard Shaw said “…keep yourself clean and bright, you are the window through which you must see the world.” I need to keep our windows clean and bright – and I always seem to struggle with removing smears during cleaning. Anyone prepared to share their tips to solve this, please?

Stunning at sunset ❤️


New window spec for those interested:
Double glazed, black powder coated frames, thermal break, full hopper so the whole window tilts, clip in installation, mitred tops, 4 inch radius curved bottoms (old ones were 3 inch radius) aesthetically more pleasing, 6 clear glass and 1 frosted glass. All supplied by Caldwells Windows Limited

Tales of the unexpected – including a painful accident


The unexpected can be pleasant, but – as we know this week – not always. How we respond to the unexpected in our lives and our careers says much about us.

American researchers are trying to teach AI (artificial intelligence) to cope with the meaningfully unexpected, to make it able to respond effectively to black swan events (like pandemics for example). 

Oscar Wilde could have been talking about boaters when he said expecting the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect. Life afloat, and as a freelance is in a large part about the unexpected. That ranges from weather to  work, from every day living to every lock we tackle.

Our week started very unexpectedly with a broken nose and two black eyes. A step above the engine bay, which has apparently been dodgy (as I leaned afterwards), decided it had had enough of me. As it gave way, the leg that was on it plummeted into the gap beneath, catapulting me forward and slamming my nose into our 85kg steel hatch cover. Step 0 : Hatch cover 1. Glasses 0 : Nose 0

Fortunately the engine was OK but the unexpected resulted in rather a lot of blood being left around the boat (and over Boatdog anxious to keep me company) until I got to the bathroom and could bleed into the basin and a cold face flannel. We are lucky to have a freezer section in our 12 volt fridge but meatballs, fish fingers or burgers didn’t appeal to press onto my rapidly expanding nose. Chopped parsley on the other hand proved invaluable. I lay with it pressed to my aching face as my head throbbed and the Skipper fixed the offending step. 

Swelling, shades of purple, black and yellow

Eventually the bleeding stopped. Advice was that the crunch I heard and resulting swelling/bleeding indicates a broken nose but as long as it hadn’t gone out of alignment, I could breathe and it wasn’t continuing to bleed, there was nothing that could be done except employ time as a healer. The rainbow bruising has been an unexpected feature of the week as will the new glasses be too (current pair sort of superglued into a shape that stays on-ish in the meantime).

We’ve had the expected delights of Mardi Gras – we know not to toss pancakes too high on the boat (they leave marks on the ceiling) and Valentine’s Day – gorgeous flowers and a delicious meal out for all three of us! 

We’ve also trialled a new experience for us – car hire which had a very unexpected outcome. Skipper needs to be north west this week while Boatdog and I need to be east and both of us need to be involved in transporting things/people so public transport won’t work thistime. Car for one and car hire for the other it has to be. The unexpected outcome was when you hire the smallest car they have, and this us what turns up!

It’s resulted in unbridled unexpected joy for a certain 6 year old because not only is it a Jeep but better still –  it comes in Liverpool red. 

Work has been unexpectedly calm and straightforward this week and we’ve have unexpected joys in sunsets and visits from expectedly-ever-hungry swans.Whatever your coming week holds in store – I hope it is peppered at home and work with unexpected joy.

Moments are what matter – of hygge, niksen and ukiyo

Small is beautiful in our world. The fact that our home, office, workshop, and studio is just 50ft long is a clue to why small is something we treasure. Not everyone can have or would want to have a micro home, a tiny home, but everyone can have micro moments in their day that add joy and delight.

I’ve been thinking about what makes our tiny home so special to live in, what it is about living this way that brings such joy and positive energy. Living afloat isn’t for everyone, living in a space this small isn’t for everyone either, but it is has many elements that combine to make it an experience for us that is both special and valuable. Many of those single elements are available to everyone, it’s just that here, we have them in close proximity and intensity.

At this time of the year when it is absolutely miserable outside, rain lashing the windows as I write and wind moaning around us, it is such a treat to feel bathed in heat from the wood burning stove. We are cosy inside, at different moments of the day dreamily watching the flames rise and fall, flicker and form in moving shapes behind the glazed door. In the evenings the flickering light from the fire joins the dancing flames of candles. Every mug we cup in grateful hands brings instant warmth and a glow to fingers chilled from being outside, from moving the boat, walking the dog, collecting shopping, or foraging wood.

These delightful moments happen multiple times a day, and perhaps because they bring a momentary pause to our days with comfort, calm and relaxation, they are mini recharges, little mood boosts. Moments the Danes would call hygge perhaps. Moments that make us grateful. They are not earth shattering moments, but together they combine to make us feel good, and that is invaluable.


It also appears that we are indulging in niksen and ukiyo ( who knew?)! Both are good for us, and now I know what they are, I concur. Both appear daily in our floating lives with great regularity. Niksen is the Dutch concept of doing nothing, and I mean nothing. Doing absolutely zilch. Ukiyo, on the other hand, is the Japanese concept of living in the moment, removing yourself from struggles and strains of life. [Interestingly given that we live on water, ukiyo-e apparently means the floating world, a transitory, pleasurable world remote from responsibilities. Initially, it referred to the hedonistic escapism of brothels and courtesans. It became the focus of an art movement captured in wood block prints that are famed today. Perhaps the most iconic is the Great Wave off the Coast of Kanagawa, which features Mount Fuji dwarfed and framed by a huge arching wave sweeping from the left of the image.]

The joy of capturing this moment this week ❤️


We combine ukiyo (living in the moment) and niksen (doing absolutely nothing) regularly in our days too, with obvious benefits (boatdog does it particularly well). Whilst one of us may be steering the boat, the other can be found doing nothing productive, nothing that leads to a set outcome, impact or result, but happily gazing, utterly focused on the swan gliding past, or the ducks splashing in our wake, watching clouds or reflections.

Minutes of peace are invested watching water moving ahead and beside us as we move slowly on our way. Moments of doing nothing but watching, listening, feeling and smelling the air around us and living in the moment where we find ourselves at that given time.

Boatdog busy expounding niksen

Those who spend their days researching such things have identified that moments such as these are invaluable for well being. We are fortunate to experience them multiple times each day. This morning I probably had hygge, niksen and ukiyo combined as I lay in bed in the darkness of the early morning. snuggled down enjoying the warmth beneath the covers contrasting with the chill of my nose. I was transported into another world, by the dawn chorus. Such pleasurable moments are indulgent treats, gifts to oneself, and a wonderful way to start the day.

The dawn chorus seems louder and more joyful in these quiet times when the increasing light begins to extend the days. Between rain showers, from the hedge next to the towpath, robins, blackbirds, chaffinch, blue, coal and great tits, thrushes, sparrows and goldfinches all celebrated the arrival of another new day. We have a ringside seat, as together they create the best way to be woken.

It’s not a time for conscious thought, for conscious meditation, but a time for just focusing on the musicality in a hedge beside our window, a time to just enjoy, just be still and just listen.

The early morning offers mists and sunrises. The evening offers sunsets and moonlight – both times to soak up in awe the beauty around us. Times to stop, to stare and appreciate what is around us, to mindlessly stroke boatdog as she sits beside us and not to worry about what we needs doing. Everything that needs to be done will get done in time.

It is often nature that allows us to experience many of these special moments, and living as we do with just a sheet of metal between us and nature is a joy. This week it’s even brought us closer to that other famed relaxation experience – running water. In this case water running into the boat from a leaking swan hatch! Not quite as soothing as experts indicate, but thanks to a repurposed coal sack installed in the pouring rain we are dry inside once more and will furnish a more permanent repair eventually. For now we’re busy getting back to the business of feeling cosy, relaxed and as ever, feeling very glad we have chosen to live and work like this.

Planning another leap or two this month

If January was our time of hibernation, February is time for preparation.



Preparing for what we need to do, for getting ourselves and the boat to the right place, and making sure we are all where we need to be. It is still a time for planning rather than big movements because this is the winter stoppages season on the inland waterways.

Each winter, when mainly only the hardy continuous cruisers remain on the waterways, Canal and River Trust undertake their major programme of essential repairs and maintenance to the waterways and towpaths. They publish a list in advance for comments, but as with any work to old structures, things can change as it rolls out. Doing one piece of work in one area can flag up issues in another that need tackling, and the significant storm damage this winter already has led to so many more jobs that need doing. This year alone, the planned works were expected to cost around £50m – with the unexpected additions on top of that.



If a lock is closed near you it’s an amazing opportunity to go along and see the incredible engineering architecture of these invaluable structures. When you can see the bare bones, you realise just what lies beneath the water. Sometimes Canal and River Trust hold open days with explanatory boards or experts. You can explore the possibilities online Canal & River Trust

It’s not just closed locks that can bring insight into the architecture of our industrial history – opportunities to watch essential maintenance can be as interesting. Dredging used to be more regularly carried out when commercial loads were at risk of delay. As we’ve seen recently elsewhere in the world – money talks. We got up close to the dredging process and how it works these days on the Trent and Mersey this past week while on the move.


Dredging isn’t just essential for boat traffic – it keeps the ecosystem healthy for wild and plantlife. An excavator with hydraulic legs using a sieved scoop to remove debris and silt from the bottom of the canal whilst letting the water drain back in. The solids were then dropped into a floating barge which was collected periodically by a tug that transported it to a disposal site where the material was moved out of the barge and spread on designated land.



Just as CRT use this winter time to plan ahead to keep the canals operational, we are using this time to plan ahead for ourselves. We moved the boat in two hops this past week, from a mooring where we enjoyed 14 days of ice, storms and calm. We were so grateful that we sat tight when we did and had that period of immobility.

This week I went to see the state of the River Soar where we had aimed to moor, and the narrowboat which was swept away with its entire pontoon mooring during Storm Henk is still blocking the County Bridge at Barrow on Soar, a tragic reminder of the power of flooding water. I feel desperately those for whom Sea Jade was their home but thank heavens they managed to leave the boat in time.


We need to cross another river, the Trent, on our trip into Derbyshire to reach a location where we have arranged to meet a window fitter who will undertake the removal of our good but old windows with new, thermal break, double glazed ones that are currently being manufactured for us in Wigan by Caldwells.


At the moment the river is not in flood, and if we can make that 12 mile, 6 lock hop this coming week we will be able to moor up for a few weeks again.

Once we have our new windows (bliss), we are then planning a longer 114 mile, 4.5 furlong and 70 lock trip that will take us along narrow canals, broad canals, through nearly 3 miles of underground tunnels and on part of England’s only privately owned canal, the Bridgewater. It’s a route we know well and will allow us to move our home nearer to be where we want to be – near another member of the family where we can be of use. But we know we can’t do that journey right now – we can only plan it because of the winter stoppages.

There are three current stoppages that would hold us up if we set off now. Two involve the replacement of lock gates in Stone and near Middlewich. These run from 8 Jan to 2 March so by the time we have the windows, we should be clear to start moving with a purpose again.

It is an advantage of a floating home and office that we can take it where we need to be. After several years of moving where we fancied, last year we ‘hurtled’ (always a strange word to use for narrowboat travel) across 201 miles and 200 locks in 21 days to where we hoped we could be useful. It was a series of very special experiences.

Now we are considering a similar, shorter trip in a different direction – another journey with purpose and the pleasurable opportunity to be able to base ourselves in another part of the country where we can do what our lovely family does so well – support each other.

It is an unexpected advantage of this floating life, which, when we first embarked, seemed such an indulgent, selfish thing to do, one that would bring immense pleasure to us alone. Now it seems that we can indulge ourselves and be of use to family too, giving us the best of all worlds. We are lucky and blessed to be able to do this.

Weathering the storms when you live and work afloat

It’s been a stormy, destructive week for so many. Hot on the heels of last week’s Storm Henk we’ve had to contend this week with both Storm Isha and Storm Jocelyn. The winds are still strong, but we seem in a time of respite with sun streaming through the boat windows.

I’ve photoboombed this one!

It’s interesting that we are already approaching K in the storm list, though I’ve seen no indication of when Storm Kathleen will strike. The last time the UK reached the Ks was with Storm Katie in the 2015-15 season. 

Since we moved into our floating home and office in September 2020 we’ve lived through 26 named storms. Some stay in the memory. All require some planning if there’s an advance warning from the Met Office, but you can’t always get everything right.

Our main choice is to get off rivers or avoid getting onto rivers when storms are forecast. This autumn we cruised down to the Midlands from Yorkshire. We had intended heading onto the River Soar to be close to family, but we are so relieved we couldn’t get on initially in October because of strong flow warnings. Since then, there have been storm damage problems along the Soar, and the level of the river has been fluctuating wildly.

Possible to see the top of mooring bollards on the Soar before it got too high

Three boats have sunk on the Soar during the recent storms.  Two still haven’t been recovered  – one up against the County Bridge at Barrow upon Soar and the other at Redhill Marina. 

Canal levels can generally be managed in a way rivers cannot as we’ve seen again this year.

The River Soar discharges into the Trent. The River Trent has reached record levels this month, breaching previous height records set as recently as 2020. There is nowhere for the excess water in ths Soar to go but upwards and outwards.

This area of the East Midlands has been hit with rainfall between October and now, that is 150% above the average rainfall levels set between 1991-2020. Villages have flooded, as marinas too. It is surprising in some ways that so few boats have been swept away and/or  sunk. 

As storms hit, Canal and River Trust the charity with responsibility for our canals and some rivers need to work with the Environment Agency who look after the major rivers to reduce impact of flooding and manage the situation for home and business owners, either floating or static. Storms Babet, Gerrit and Henk have caused significant damage in the Midlands. But it is out of storm time when both need to work on maintenance to ensure drainage and structures are sound and effective.

As liveaboard boaters we seek particular attributes for mooring spots on canals when winds are forecast. We look both up and down. Looking up to avoid obvious tree dangers – ones that look dead or dying, ones that overhang the cut, and ones that look as if they could shed branches onto us. You can’t always get it right, but we’ve been lucky so far. 

We look down to find mooring that gives us maximum security. Rings or bollards set into firm concrete are good, as is strong metal piling alongside sound unfolded towpath that allows us to use chains around it to attach our ropes. 

We moved from a mooring on the Ashby where we were on rings but under over hanging trees on both sides of the canal,  to where we now are on the Coventry. we made sure we were stocked up with water and fuel

We are moored now to metal piling on a sound, well-drained towpath. Whilst there are trees nearby, the slope of the ground takes them away from the canal. we gave some shelter from a hill.

So far it’s been a good choice. Weve been iced in, blown about and had torrential downpours. The result has been a few branches down on the towpath and destruction limited to the bird feeders we’d put out. Mind you, finding them in the undergrowth has led to more destruction of my now less-than-waterproof winter coat.

Designer duck tape!

In 2021-2 we were on the Grand Union Canal in Chester when three violent storms hit within a week. Elsewhere in the country three people died and 1.4million people were left without power as a result of Storms Dudley, Eunice and Franklin. 

Eunice alone with its extensive flooding cost Canal and River Trust an initial £300,000 with a final cost of around £1million. That’s a lot of for any charity to find. This year they’ve had to be sorting fallen trees, towpaths washed away and some structural damage too.

We were able to tie up to mooring rings in that case, set into concrete and it all held us safe. We checked ropes every few hours at the height of the storm. There were waves with white tops coming down the cut at times. it’s only time I’ve felt seasick on a narrowboat.

A bizarre highlight of Storm Franklin was being bashed by a wheelie bin which we fished out. That was a relatively lightweight, if large, piece of debris but that is another issue of storms we shall need to watch when we do move.

There are risks for boaters of weakened buildings and trees as well as large chunks of debris floating in the water. Large branches are probably the worst and most dangerous we regularly encounter after high winds. Flooding leaves thick, slimy mud – lethal around locks and moorings. A drying wind such as we have today is hugely welcome. Let’s hope for many more of them and that Kathleen doesn’t make an appearance at all this year. 

Cracking cryoacoustics at work

Snow blankets, dampens and muffles but ice, ice has a totally different way of changing life and the soundscape.

Ice means you hear new things, you are separated but connected to other boaters in totally different, sonic ways. It disperses sound, it reflect sound waves and helps us hear more clearly.


Like so many across the UK we’ve been watching and experiencing ice this week as we live and work afloat. This week we’re moored in the West Midlands, in the lee of a small hill. That has provided shelter from the icy blasts which have swept across the countryside.

At the start of the week we were watching the ice forming ahead of us on the canal and behind us but it was mid-week before it engulfed us too. If you look along a frozen canal everything looks static, people could even say frozen in time, but this is a noisy, constantly changing environment. The ice creaks and groans, it flexes and cracks, thaws and resets in tiny patches constantly. It is always changing.

Ice changes the nature of a canal, making everything static for a while. Boats stop moving as the sharp scraping ice damages hulls and blacking. Nature forces a pause, a valuable chance to take stock and change pace.

When it began to embrace the boat on Wednesday night, when a boater friend joined us on board for a meal. Whenever one of us moved however slightly, shifting on the sofa, reaching for a glass, there was a growling protest from the encroaching ice. As she left into the icy night and we moved to the stern to say farewell, the gathering snarled in protest at being jostled and forced to reposition.



There are narrowboats opposite us on private moorings, and a sheet of ice now connects us to them in a way thawed water never can. When someone on our boat moves, it creates movement in the water, which nudges the ice sheet. The same happening on the other side of the cut means we know when anyone moves in the other boat as the ice creaks and groans against our boat. In the day, there are other sounds and distractions, but at night, when everything is still, the ice soundscape comes into its own.

We’ve also got ice inside this year because our secondary glazing has failed, but that’s a quiet companion, albeit a bit silently drippy!



The ice is a new entity, it’s an umbilical cord linking us together. It moves to make us aware when people move around their boats in the night, get up to leave for work, and when they are still and quiet. It tells them about us and how we live and move around our boat. In past years, when we’ve been iced in, we’ve always been moored with boats at a distance ahead or behind us, so being moored opposite others is a new experience, a new soundscape for us.

The ice turns the towpath into a crunching sounding board too. We can hear walkers coming crisply towards us. As we’re here for a bit we’ve put the bird feeders out and from the warmth and comfort inside by the stove we’re watching robins, a variety of tits and even a thrush or two enjoying a necessary feed.



Ice isn’t as obvious a view changer as snow, but it makes the familiar look and sound different. The regular neighbours of a feathered kind, the mallard ducks and swans who were round us regularly early in the week, enjoying the clear water by the boat have now moved away as the ice has swamped us. Nonlinear do we hear them tapping as they nibble at the weed on the waterline, or squabble noisily amongst themselves. Mr and Mrs Swan and their two cygnets from last year have taken up residence in a canalside field.

Our seasonal crackling, creaking companion won’t be around for long the meteorologists tell us, by the time you read this we expect the ice to be a mere memory and we will have returned to rain once more. It won’t go quietly either. The thaw will bring new noises to enliven our days and nights.

It is invigorating and refreshing to live seasonally, to be aware of the changing seasons, mindful of how they change the way we hear the world around us.

Coming out makes us appreciate life

Leaving the marina, after a month of shuttling between there and bricks and mortar, to return to continuous cruising is liberating and also strangely different.


We’re back living off grid, no longer connected via a 24volt shoreline to the mains. The gas hob automatic ignition no longer works, the shore light no longer operates and we have to consider each day the state of charge in the batteries to make sure they are not dropping below 50%.

All of that feels like relaxing back into normality. But there are differences, and because of the pause in ‘normal routine’, those differences are more apparent, which helps us to appreciate them. We’ve been fortunate also to be off the rivers at a time when storms and flooding have made them truly perilous.

We are heading back towards the rivers, to the River Soar to be precise, but it will be some months before we get there. We’re back to slow moving on the canals for now, and it feels so, so good.

Living is different in the daytime – there are muddy towpaths to welcome our feet rather than (often slippery) wooden pontoons and compacted aggregate paths. That means more of the outside joins us inside from boots and paws! I get more indoor exercise with a mop!

We’ve been more aware of those frozen nights, giving us a thin coating of ice across the canal, making it creak against the boat as we move inside. Those cold nights also give us the delight of crunchy morning walks.

It is at night that living outside a marina really comes into its own for us. At night where we’re moored this week, there are no lights as there are in a marina. The night is dark, velvety smooth darkness that embraces the boat and together with the hooting calls of the owls, makes for a sound, deep, dreamless sleep. Nighttime in a remote spot is the difference between mono or surround sound, a fully immersive experience.

Noise in the marina has been a major issue for Boatdog. The bird scarers in surrounding fields terrified her. As a result she cowered outside her safe space of home and walks became a struggle for her (and us). Now she’s relaxing a bit although there are birds scarers a distance away, which we can still hear, and she does react, but we are reducing her terrors day by day. She enjoys travelling too and on cold days now sports a jumper I made  her from leftover yarn.

We are also back to moving the boat to sort out the basics – filling up with water is no longer available from a tap at the side of the boat, we now need to cruise to a water point. We filled up before we left, though, so that should last us for about three weeks before we need to consider finding a tap. Waste is something we need to sort more often. No longer is it a short haul of the toilet cassettes to an Elsan point on the marina or a short walk to a rubbish bin. We need to plan waste trips!

The nearest rubbish and toilet disposal we don’t need to pay for (i.e. not in a marina) is 11 miles 6.25 furlongs away. We have another 4 days before we need to empty the toilet, so we could actually go further to the next waste point if we want to.

We’ve had the invaluable and essential refill of gas and smokeless coal, too, this week so we are ready to move on.  Mark on Callisto was heading up the Ashby this week, and we caught him whilst we could. It makes economic sense and is supportive of the traditional commercial carrying on the waterways to buy from the coalboats. Most carry diesel, gas and coal, kindling, and in some cases they offer pump out for boats with toilet tanks. Many carry fenders, engine oil and other chandlery too. The other advantage is the sight of a friendly face, a chance for a chat, an opportunity to ask about conditions ahead (or behind) and catch up on news.

There are coalboats along the network, but unless we all use them, all of us, leisure and continuous cruisers, then the future for these essential services is at risk. Theirs is not an easy job – it’s heavy, hard work, but without them our life on the cut would be much more difficult and costly. They moor alongside, load directly onto our roof or into the bow, fill us up, and head off. We don’t have to move – just liaise by text or social media to find out where they are, let them know where we are and what we need. They accept cards, cash, or BACs. In the case of the coalboats, BACS stands for Brilliant And Convenient Service!

So we’re back in the comfortable, comforting  routine of musing over where we go next and at what pace we want to move, how long we want to stop on each chosen mooring, whilst tasty scents from pans simmering on the stove fill the cabin as we slowly cruise. It is leisurely and relaxing whilst being active and demanding at the same time.

Our sojourn in the marina and in bricks and mortar with the family was wonderful and hugely enjoyed. An added bonus has been the increased appreciation of our life together on the water – absence after all, really does make the heart grow fonder for this life we’ve chosen.

Heading out into the unknown

It’s been a harrowing start to the new year for so many. We know of boaters who have lost their homes, been washed off moorings by rising flood waters and either damaged or sunk by water or falling trees.

Not our pictures but these photographers captured the terrifying reality of the past week fot some whose homes have been marooned or lost

We’ve been hugely fortunate having made the decision to base ourselves in a marina with controlled water levels and secure moorings but this weekend we’re heading back out to where we belong – travelling the canals and (eventually when they become navigable again, the rivers).

So this is preparation time. We’re making the most of the mains electricity we paid to be connected to. The washing machine is going flat out and we’ve taken the opportunity to do one really hot wash (we normally wash on cold).

This is supposed to be part of the item in the picture below!

The old throttle and gear handle (officially the Morse control) came off in my hand on Steve’s birthday as we made our way from Middlewich and Steve made one of his fantastic hasty repairs. This is what we use to go forwards, backwards and alter the boat’s speed for mooring so when we’re on the move it’s working hard all the time. Despite its temporary repair it still had to be nursed with care through all the remaining months, and coming up through Atherstone Flight was nerve-wracking wondering if it would snap again.

This is it in pieces still as I write. It needs to be together if we are to move this weekend…

We think it may have been an original handle, so it’s given good service for over 30 years, over many miles and through many locks. Finding a new one at a reasonable price was no mean feat, but Steve sourced one and is now in the process of installing it with his Christmas presents of new throttle and gear cables.

While he’s doing that I shall be filling us up with water while we’re moored right by a water point, emptying all the toilet cassettes, finishing a Spring clean whilst I’ve got the immersion heater working and giving loads of hot water and washing all the rag rugs at the same time.

Measham teapot and ginger jar secured 🤞

I will be checking anything that could suffer from engine vibration is made secure – memo to self we’re running out of non slip fabtic and bluetack! Boatdog will no doubt be staying out of the way, snuggled on her bed that was (to her delight) washed earlier in the week!

Once we’ve finished all frantic activity, we will no doubt indulge in long hot showers in the marina’s showers with their underfloor heating and never-ending hot water!

It has been a good move for us to have had the boat in a marina for the past 5 weeks. We’ve been away from her often, and it’s been comforting to know she would be OK with people keeping an eye on her. When we’ve been back onboard, we’ve been grateful for strong mooring points as storm winds have rocked and buffeted us. We haven’t had to worry about finding moorings away from trees that might land on us or trying to moor into saturated ground. We’ve had the car with us and benefited from secure parking that hasn’t flooded, so the pluses have been many. We haven’t had to contend with flooded, muddy towpaths, either.

But for us, it is time to get back on the cut. We have missed it. We miss moving; miss mooring in dark,unlit places with only owls for company; miss seeing new places; watching wildlife in their homes outside ours; miss the changing views from our windows; miss discovering towns and villagss we would never have stopped in without our floating home: and most of all we miss the feeling of freedom.

Where will we go? We will go safely, and slowly without any rush. Our first intention is to head off the Ashby, along the Coventry, onto the Trent and Mersey. That will take us some weeks – yes, weeks! We are heading into Derbyshire for a major change to the boat! Exciting times ahead.

Whatever the year ahead holds for you, we hope you are warm, dry, and safe. That there are things to look forward to, adventures to be had familiar things to bring you comfort amid much to bring you joy. For us, those all come from our family and living out on the cut.

Wishes for you for 2024

We wish you a healthy and happy year ahead.

We wish you contentment and calm: peace and perspective.

We wish you love and laughter, tears of joy alone, and the chance to make happy memories on your journey through 2024 to last a lifetime.

May you find the courage to follow your dreams wherever they lead, embracing what you find along the way.

May 2024 be special for you and those you love.

And may most (if not all) of life’s locks in the coming year be set in your favour.

Happy Christmas!

This Christmas, some former UK veterans will celebrate having homes thanks to the charity we’ve donated to in lieu of sending cards. They won’t only have a home, but one that floats with all the benefits we know that brings for physical and mental health.

Bringing boats that need new owners, often boats that have been abandoned, back into use for homeless veterans many of whom also feel abandoned, is valuable work. It has galvanised many companies, individuals in the boating world and former veterans to unite in working together to get boats ready for service, but anyone can get involved. We know what it takes to renovate a boat – you need many, many skills!

There are jobs for everyone in such a wide-ranging project. Every boat demands multiple jobs, from skilled plumbing, electrics or engine fettling to making curtains and furnishings. General tasks of sanding, washing, cleaning, scrubbing and when boats are being moved to be worked on, there’s lock wheeling to do (that’s something we’ve been delighted to help with), are tasks for everyone, skilled and unskilled.

Lockwheeling for the amazing Pete Ballinger as he towed nb Capricorn in for Forces Vets Afloat in 2022.

Christmas is a time when every charity is vying to get their important work recognised, seeking donations in an ever-shrinking pot as people struggle with the cost of living and the cost of festive extras. For us Forces Vets Afloat has resonance through its connection with the forces, with canals, with providing people homes which change lives, and in an environment which brings a combination of challenge and calm. If you’re a boater looking to gift your own boat new ropes you can support the charity by buying ropes through their website www.ForcesVetsAfloat.co.uk –

The winds of Storm Pia are rocking our own home, and rain is lashing against the windows as I write this. Being homeless in any weather can be soul-destroying but at this time of the year it seems even more poignant. Having a home which offers shelter and security but can also physically transport anyone to a new, rewarding way of living is a truly remarkable life-changing gift. It’s also entry into a wonderful, supportive community.

Delighted to spot what I was convinced was the Christmas star on the Coventry Canal (actually Chris Hicks’ wind generator but that’s a bit too prosaic for this time of year!) 🤣

Giving isn’t just for Christmas – it can make us all feel good at any time of year. The skipper is off giving blood as I write, something we both organise to so as often as we can through the year whenever we are near a donation point.

Whatever you are giving this Christmas and throughout the coming year – enjoy your giving.