Pickingupducks

Never take life for granted

Like the English weather, we were reminded this week that life can turn on its head in a split second or even be extinguished as fast.

Four years ago this week, we sold up, moved life and work onto a 50ft narrowboat saying: “We’ll try this for two years and see how it goes.” We’re still going, and since that initial moment of casting off our mooring ropes, we’ve travelled a total of 3,530 miles on our boat through 2,328 locks. (I can feel the effort of every one!!!)

This past year has been hard for us. Caring responsibilities have meant for a good portion of the year we’ve lived apart, and the boat has been stationary, but still, we’ve explored 613 miles of waterways and worked 359 locks.

This year, we have new windows in the boat; I broke my nose when a step gave way; we’ve been to Liverpool and finally made it along the length of the beautiful Rochdale Canal. We launched a new business, Moving Crafts, and are hugely grateful to everyone who’s bought craftwork from us. We’ve also experienced one of the most glorious, joyous family weddings ever!

We’ve just finished lockwheeling 48 locks over 3 days for the steam narrowboat Tixall, helping get her and her owner Matt to a steam rally in Cheshire on the Macclesfield Canal.

The bulk of the locks were Heartbreak Hill or the Cheshire Flight which includes 31 locks taking boats and boaters from the Middlewich plain up to Stoke-on-Trent (or the other way round if you’re leaving Staffordshire for Cheshire). To speed the passage of commercial boats, many of the locks were doubled, but now most are sadly reduced to single passage again through dereliction and disrepair.

The 1987 steam narrowboat Tixall is now in place at Bosley to delight visitors at the North Rode Transport Show this weekend, 14-15th September. Moving a steam narrowboat is a unique opportunity, unlike moving our own boat. We don’t have to keep disappearing to shovel coal into the boiler for one thing, keep an eye on our psi continuously, have to rapidly lower a towering funnel at bridges or delight those we pass with the unmistakable sound of a Gresley steam whistle.

So we set off mid afternoon, the first day and somehow a gentle jaunt was in our minds…we should have factored in the boundless energy of our much younger and hugely enthusiastic skipper. After 15 miles and our 9th lock, we were definitely night boating. At this point, just after 11.30pm, I was VERY HUNGRY, happily weary and grateful we’d stopped for a drink and loo break before closing time!

The final paddle closed, the last top gate swung behind Tixall as she headed off to moor for the night, and Boatdog and I crossed back over the lock to start walking home. Boatdog crossed fine onto the lock landing but in the dark (no headtorches because we hadn’t expected to be night boating but we couldn’t abandon ship!), I stepped from the walkway into thin air and then into deep water, walloping my left thigh on the concrete side of the lock on the way down into the canal beyond the lock.

This is what the end of a walkway looks like in the daylight – and they aren’t all uniform sized gaps by any means!

What followed involved lots of struggling, tugging and expletives but finally, caked in green slime with a liberal hand covering of collar grease and shivering from head to toe, I emerged from the deep thanks to the determined efforts of Steve and the bemused if silent encouragement of Boatdog.

It’s a lesson in never taking anything or anyone for granted. This life can be idyllic, but it can also be dangerous and sometimes deadly. Reminders are always chastening and valuable. Being cautious, more careful, and remembering the risks of being tired or ill equipped is essential for us all – whatever we do or however we live.

I have dried out now. The car key remarkably still works. I’m immensely grateful that there was a positive ending to that night, even if it was costly. I am sporting bruises from my waist to my knee, a new phone (gulp), and I’ve had to buy a new windlass for Tixall.

So I start our 5th year living and working afloat (our 7th owning our narrowboat) a bit battered, but hopefully wiser.

We’re treating ourselves by heading into a waterway new to us this week, one we’ve been longing to travel – the Caldon. It moves through the beautiful Staffordshire Moorlands with some breathtaking moments and seems a good place to be glad to be alive.

New beginnings, a new challenge and a reboot

I feel like I’ve returned home to a parallel universe after my time away. I left just about 10 days ago in periodic warm summer days, but I’ve returned to what is clearly autumn.

Uniforms and backpacks are taking over the early towpath from habitual dog walkers; leaves fluttering from hedgerows and trees like confetti dot the water green, yellow and red; evenings cool rapidly bringing heavy dew; while hire boats carry more grey hair and less young pirates.

The water has changed too. I’ve been away, revelling in the ever changing movements of estuaries, meres, and crashing waves instead of experiencing gentle ripples from winds, boats and birds, or expected cascades in locks.

Boatdog has gleefully tackled the challenges of slippery dune sand and spiky marram grass. She’s charged over shore and shingle, celebrating with utter delight her successful archaeological forays that uncovered exciting remains from decaying dogfish to crunchy crabs.

It’s been a gloriously different setting – walking in the wind and rain, sun and showers, surrounded by new natural glories. She and I have sat on sandy mounds watching egret and curlew, oystercatchers and ringed plover foraging on the shore before turning to forage ourselves, and bringing back delicious, crunchy, salty samphire from the estuary edge.

It is good to be home, cocooned once more close to nature surrounding the boat, and crucially for me, to have felt needed, wanted, and useful. That was more vital than a break and a reset. Sometimes, we all need to feel we have a value as well as to get away, even from paradise, and it is hard when you lose your inner compass. I’ve returned, ready to reset mine slowly, but I hope, surely, over the coming months. I recognise the importance of purpose in my life and how devastating it can be to feel rudderless and worthless. So I’m back reinvigorated, better educated aware that the only one who can resolve this is me – and I’m armed with a new challenge.

Setting up my wonderful Inkle Loom with the help of YouTube!

I came back bearing a beautiful Inkle Loom astonishingly handcrafted by my ‘patient’ when I tried to distract him from boredom by showing a picture and speculating how hard he thought it would be to construct. I was asronished when he actually took the mental challenge to reality. This longed-for treat is something to enjoy learning and eventually maybe even mastering. I shall look forward to help from weavers in face-to-face meetings when we moor near them and from shared wisdom on social media.

My time away and a deliberate reduction in social media use have had a positive effect. Doom scrolling was depressing and taking way too much time with no discernable benefits, and I found better things to do! I’ve been sleeping, eating wonderful fresh fish, drinking gallons of water, and walking whilst I’ve been away, although oddly, I eschewed the bath on constant offer in favour of unlimited hot showers!

The better things to do with my time aside from weaving, have included (within hours of returning) unexpectedly meeting up with boat friends, admiring the work completed on board by the Skipper in my absence, as we revamp the interior of our tiny home (retro fitting a small space is always easier when there are fewer living there), and moving before we outstayed our allotted time.

Above us, as the weather changes, the swallows are busily swooping low over the water and fields, feeding frantically to build their strength for the massive journey to come as most of them head to the warmth of Africa, and they are massing ready for the off.

Unlike the swallows, our onward trajectory is not set in our psyche. We are actively thinking of where to go next. We’ve enjoyed time back in the familiar black and white setting of Nantwich, with its convivial dog cafe and indoor market, sandstone church, and seen the sculpture trail appears to be ageing along with us!

The Nantwich Aqueduct sculpture trail dog is sporting a debonair new look!

We fancy waters new to us and even slower travel, so as the swallows fly south, we are without haste, pointing our bow north-east.

Huge thanks to all who have contacted me with messages of blog enjoyment and best wishes – I really appreciated each and every one. I hope you’ll join us on our foray into unknown waters as we move next week into our fifth year living and working afloat (an experiment we said we’d try for two years to see how it went!). While we’re looking ahead to the autumn – I found this week that at least one supermarket’s looking further ahead!

Taking a break

These are the weeks of the year I find hardest.

This year, they seem harder than ever after so many joyous moments that have been missed by those I’ve lost. Moments they would have loved to have been part of. We lost them all in different years but all in August.

I find myself thinking back, and it’s now decades in fact to conversations we had or those I wish we had had. To things I wish I’d said or never said.

I know that, as a result, I need to take time out away from social media for me to take a break to get myself back, and that’s what I aim to do. I need space away to focus on reality and let nature around the boat bring its healing to bear.

I’ll be back hopefully mended and back stronger and positive with our blogs in a few weeks – in early September when we start our 5th year permanently afloat.

Memories are made of this

Narrowboats; tents; wildlife and wildflowers; days without agendas; windswept sandy beaches crammed with rock pools not people; ice-creams; wellies full of water;

beachcombing treasures; leisurely chatty meals with all generations together; no-tech-games from garden quoits to i-spy and inventing imaginary concept vehicles – the more outlandish the better; more ice-creams

long walks; wet walks; leisurely walks; learning from each other; revelling in each others’ company and viewpoints; making new friends and catching up with old; chatting about everything from Pokemon to sheep dog trials; travelling on different kinds of boats;

Waves on Coniston Water experienced from the steam-powered Gondola

finding new places and sharing old familiar ones; learning about the past and making lasting memories for the future.

Paddington Bear looming over Cheshire in aid of charity

I absolutely treasure those special times when we get to whisk our grandson away and explore the greatness of our island together. We all gain so very much – and we’ve returned with loads of wet and ripped clothes somehow! 💙

What next? Where next? And How?

It’s been steaming this past week on the canal in more ways than one. Met up with steam-powered narrowboat Tixall on her way from Audlem to the River Weaver, and of course there’s been the heat from the weather, let alone a furnace producing steam!

We’re starting August in a strange place in more ways than one.

Currently still moored in Cheshire but about to head to the Lake District without the boat for a few days camping in the company of a 6-year-old. This year we’re combining a bit of boat time and seeing new places during our summer time together before returning to take part in our annual community volunteering event at the Mountsorrel Revival.

It would actually be too hot for him on board I feel after the past week which has had Boatdog and I prone in the heat. Liveaboard boaters tend to move in the early mornings and evenings when the temperatures soar, seeking shady spots for the middle of the day. Holiday boaters are out in the heat, slathered in suncream and making the most of the weather. All of this can lead to chatty queues at locks at all times of the day!

Whatever the weather, a 6-year-old wants to be on the move, active, and doing throughout the day. He also needs cool water to swim and paddle in when it’s hot, and whilst the canal may be coolish, it certainly isn’t swim and paddling quality round our current mooring. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate staying as still as possible in the heat of the day with a small fan circulating warm air round the metal box that is the boat. So we will spend time with him creating the best of all worlds, including hopefully a bit of steam boating on the Coniston Gondola.

It certainly isn’t easy living on the boat when it’s this hot. Having the new windows helps a lot, especially being able to lift them out to maximise the flow of any air that might be moving, but on my own I can lift them out – I just can’t get them back in.

The small bathroom window is a doddle but having lifted out one big window earlier in the week and then sweated buckets taking over an hour to get it back in by myself I’ve opted for blinds down on the sunny side, all windows and vents open and that will have to do.

In the next few weeks after 6 months without serious movement, and spending most of that time apart, the Skipper and I have some decisions to make, and we need to work out a way of living together again within the constraints of our floating home. The first decision is where to go and in part this is governed by factors other than our own desires.

At the moment, there are issues on several canals due to water restrictions (I kid you not), trees down, and vandalism to locks. The latter caused a lock gate to collapse onto a boat on the Audlem Flight in Cheshire this week, leaving the boat and its crew trapped. That has to be one of the most terrifying situations for any boater, particularly one with a dog or children on board. Stuck at the bottom of a damp dank lock with the only way of getting off or back onto the boat is by climbing the ladder if you can reach it easily.

Our thoughts are to take a short jaunt after the Lakes to get back into the swing of things. To book ourselves back onto the 7-mile stretch of the Monty (Montgomery Canal) as it wends its way from Frankton to Crickheath. This, like Ashby, is a waterway under restoration and, thanks to hard-working volunteers, offers us a few more feet of canal every few years. It would be good to travel it again and see how things have moved on since we last made our way along it.

To get there from where Boatdog and I have been for the past week or two, we’ll travel down the Middlewich Branch turning onto the Shropshire Union at Barbridge Junction and then making our way onto the Llangollen Canal at Hurleston Junction. It’s 40 miles to Frankton where the Monty starts. Bookings limit the number of boats allowed on the short restored length for obvious reasons, so we’ll have to check there’s space for us when we are ready to go. There’s a daily allowance of 12 boats down the Frankton Locks a day, and 12 up, and the maximum stay once down there is 14 days. It is an absolutely beautiful stretch of waterway and it will be glorious to get down onto it again if we can.

Then where? We have yet to explore the delights of the Caldon Canal, having been thwarted every time we’ve headed that way so maybe we’ll return via Middlewich and Stoke on Trent to the Caldon before heading up the Macclesfield Canal for (sounds daft saying it as I swelter in the heat) Christmas!

We’d have to move from there before 6 January unless we are happy being stuck by winter stoppages work until March. It will probably all change but it’s good to have a plan of some sort, even if just a vague map in the sand.

Next year we want to explore more of the 100 miles of canals that make up the Birmingham Canal Navigations. We’ve been into the heart of Birmingham, to Gas Street Basin and made it to a few other areas but there is still much of the BCN that we haven’t investigated.

A new POV on a floating life

What an amazing fortnight it’s been – a joyous wedding in glorious sunshine of our youngest daughter and the gaining for us of a wonderful son-in-law. The bringing together of so many friends and four generations of family from all over the globe, some we haven’t see for years, and many who haven’t seen each other for years, or ever met in some cases. So many hugs, conversations, and joyful emotions in one place on one very special day.

Stunning photographs will capture moments forever but unique days like that when you know how precious time is, result unexpectedly in deep dive conversations. For me many of those brought our decision to move from bricks and mortar onto a narrowboat into a new perspective, the perspective of how others view that move. Some have voiced their thoughts over the past 5 years, but I’ve not had the chance to hear what many family and friends thought. Some have been afloat with us over the years but many have not.

There were clearly different viewpoints – all of which we’ve heard from time to time, except the last…

“How amazing to do that”

“Wish we/I could but I don’t have the confidence, courage or cash”

“You’ve always been a bit mad, so this is the next stage for you”

“Don’t know how you can live like that, cramped, claustrophobic and always moving on, never feeling settled.”

It became clearly obvious to me just how quiet life is afloat, particularly so as I’ve spent much of the last 4 months alone with the excellent but not chatty boatdog. Within hours of the preparation day before the wedding, I was feeling exhausted – concentrating on multiple conversations in different languages. It is hard both mentally and physically. Trying to remember names, and who said what or who I’d said what to so I didn’t keep repeating myself was a brain workout I hadn’t expected. My voice packed up quite rapidly, reducing itself to a gravelly croak by the end of the wedding day. A week later it’s only just beginning to return, and I’ve also found myself beset by some sort of virus (fortunately not Covid apparently). Another realisation of how rarely I come into contact with lots of people and talk to them – clearly that just means I’m an antisocial boater!

Around the wedding, we had a week in bricks and mortar in a rural holiday cottage. It was a delight in some ways that instantly come to mind – huge spaces to walk around, space to fling your arms out and twirl with glee, a private garden to sit in, flushing the loo without calculating how many days are left before it need changing/ emptying and a bath to soak in with unlimited hot water. For us, not having an oven onboard, we had a chance to do some different cooking, too.

It also underlined why bricks and mortar now has limitations for us. Views remain the same, changed very slowly by only seasons or weather. If there are external factors that grate – from neighbours to being on a flight path at certain times, you can’t just pull up your mooring ropes and move on. Walks always start the same day after day. You are removed from the weather outside, often for hours at a time. We were distanced from nature by the built environment – no ducks or swans tapping a morning alarm.

We returned to the boat with two friends who had never experienced a narrowboat. I feel 2 nights afloat on a 50ft boat with 4 adults plus a Boatdog helped them delight in the flora and wildlife of England’s canals whilst also feeling the resulting space constraints of our lifestyle. It helped me to see how I can move things around to give more space even when there aren’t so many of us!

Now though it’s back to Boatdog and I on the boat alone without a car. If I’m honest, I love that too much. We’ve found it relaxing and a time to recuperate and reorganise. I’ve had more exercise, transporting toilet cassettes by borrowed trailer along the towpath to an Elsan point, arranging Click and Collect shopping into my backpack, and sleeping for obviously necessary hours. Thoughts now exist of remodelling the kitchen and battery bank to install an electric oven on board although in the winter the stove will still be the key cooking spot.

Maybe all this actually underlines that this floating life is actually an opportunity to have the best of all worlds, the chance to float through life and work combined with the opportunity to holiday on land in a cottage with a bath!

One magnificent, memorable day looks like changing more than just the lives of our beautiful bride and proud groom in many ways! It also made me realise that whatever you want to achieve for your children you can – I managed with a lot of help to create bouquets (happy), buttonholes (which I would do very differently another time), and the piece de resistance of a floral broken arch. All after years of believing after a passing comment by my own mother that I had no ability or eye for arranging flowers. It’s a lesson for all of us, mothers or not. Don’t limit others’ beliefs in themselves inadvertently or deliberately.

We can all do much more than we believe with the right impetus and support. We can also all live our dreams that way too.

Normal service will be resumed soon!

This week’s blog is going to be late because we’re focused on the glorious family wedding of our youngest daughter and catching up with family and friends from across the globe as a result.

Mega blog will follow!

When personal tragedy strikes, can we count on our fellow humans?

Are people fundamentally good? Thomas Hobbes maintained that people were totally self-centred, while Jean-Jacques Rousseau was totally committed to the theory that people were fundamentally good. Hobbes was English and lived in the 17th century. Rousseau was French and lived a century later. Could that indicate both were right in their national experience, or perhaps that people can change dramatically in 100 years?

This past week we’ve once more experienced the goodness of people. We’ve watched people go out of their way to support and help a stranger without expecting anything in return, in all weathers and at all times of the day and night.

It all began last Saturday afternoon near a beautiful country park created around lakes historically made by mining subsidence. The Leeds and Liverpool Canal enjoys a well surfaced wide towpath and runs along one side of the park.

A man was out walking his own dog and that of his daughter. His a Rhodesian Ridgeback, a large dog that you see people actively give way to on a towpath if it’s off the lead, his daughter’s, a French bulldog, short, stocky and one that rarely people give way to. Both were off the lead. As they approached a crowd of people at a trading boat he lost sight of the “Frenchie” as it disappeared amid the human legs.

Within half an hour it was apparent the dog was missing. His daughter was alerted and the family began searching. As they searched they asked others, including boaters in the many narrowboats along the towpath. That’s how we came to hear about Frank also known as Frankie and officially Franklyn.

His owner knocked on the side of the boat to ask if we would keep an eye open for him. We set off with Boatdog (firmly on a lead as I didn’t want to lose her too) to make a search. Our hope was that as his owner said he loved other dogs, that he might come to us and we could then put a lead on him and bring him home.

As we walked we asked other boaters, bird watchers, cyclists and dog walkers to keep their eyes open. Others walking the other way we’re doing the same and within a few hours a huge number of people were actively searching for a dog most of us had never met, owned by someone we didn’t know. Those among us who enjoy the privilege of having a dog in our lives can imagine the horror we would experience if our dog went missing, but lots who helped were not dog owners.

In late afternoon boaters with drones on board had put them up in the hope they could spot Frank but by night time there had been no sign of him. His family imagined he had been confused when he couldn’t find them, and had wandered around possibly in circles. Armed with torches (and one girl told me “I carried a baseball bat just in case – it’s so dark out here!”) they toured the park in teams stopping to barbecue in the hope that would bring Frank trotting out of the undergrowth snuffling towards the deliciousness wafting towards him. Aboard Preaux, Boatdog’s dreams were probably laced with sausageness!

One of his familiar blankets lay outside our boat, others were spread around in the area where he disappeared acting on the principal that he was likely to try and return to the place he last saw familiar humans. Once traffic on the towpath died down, I scattered a few dog treats on the blanket and went to bed hoping that when we awoke the blanket would have gone, and Frank would be sleeping soundly back in his own bed.

Sunday dawned and the sight of Frank’s weary owner and friends wearily still patrolling punctured my optimism. Like other boaters I set off for our morning walk with renewed purpose, taking a different route to the night before. I carried on spreading the word of Frank’s disappearance to runners and walkers I met and as many times as I told someone, someone told me. Such was the sense of community that by the time I was walking at the end of the day I didn’t encounter a single person who didn’t know. A lost pet drone charity came out but the lush tree cover across the site made it difficult for them to categorically sweep areas.

Sunday night saw the family and friends still out, now armed with a tent and flasks, and on Monday tracker dogs and a thermal drone came to support. All the while lost pet charities and boaters (those who had been there from the start of his disappearance and those who had moored up since he vanished), bird watchers, walkers, runners, cyclists, horse riders and the park staff were still out searching and spreading the word of Frank’s disappearance. Not knowing how he was was eating away at those who loved him as any pet owner would imagine.

Also on Monday we went up and down the canal with our boat, looking at the steep concrete sides as we did en route to the water point. I’ve seen a leggy roe deer drown in there this year because they couldn’t get out, so I feared a stocky short legged Frenchie would have had no chance. We saw nothing.

Then on Tuesday a neighbouring boater walking alongside the canal on their way back from the shops found his lifeless body floating. They notified his family and managed with difficulty to get him out.

It is devastating that this much loved pet has died, and died so unnecessarily. A relief perhaps to know that he hasn’t been stolen, sold, or remains lost and terrified, but heartbreaking also.

What has struck me most about this awful tragedy has been the multiple ways in which it showed Rousseau was right all those years ago – humans are inherently good. When we see others in pain, the majority seek to alleviate their suffering by searching, offering warmth, shelter, food, and hot drinks through the night together with vital words of comfort and compassion. The transient boating community played an important role in this awful situation, as it has the capacity to do in all the communities we pass through, and I am so proud to be part of such a caring, considerate group of people. Yes, there are always one or two who shun involvement, as there are in any community, but the majority step up and keep stepping up.

We may be transient, but as individuals we can bring a ray of hope and help wherever we travel if, and when, it’s needed.

Be the change

There’s been what feels like a meteoric change in the UK this week, one I hope we can be part of bringing onto the waterways.

This week we’ve had the pleasure and privilege of spending time with those who count, who really count – the next generations. These are the individuals who will shape our countries and build the future, and we need to make sure that we hand strong foundations over to them and their children.

For three delightful small family members from New Zealand, this week was their first experience of canals and narrow boats. They had the chance to experience the peace, tranquillity, beauty, hard work, and dangers on a short trip. By the end of the day, they left in their wake hundreds of very replete swans, ducks, and geese.

Before bed, the docu-scribe among them recorded the day thus:

Today we went to Steve and Deena’s on their canal boat. It was so cool and we all loved it. We had a cookie. It was a ginger cookie. I liked it when the canal boat was going up in the locks and downs it was fun and we liked throwing food at the ducks

He obviously didn’t think it overly important that as he wrote one of his siblings was experiencing the wonders of the NHS via A&E after falling in beside the boat and splitting his chin on the gunwhales… he didn’t let a minor moment overshadow his day and for that lesson I am grateful. I’m the one who would dwell on that accident continually, replaying it constantly in my mind and imagining I could have done something to stop it happening. Ridiculous, I know, as accidents happen and all was resolved and all is well.

If we can follow the balance and perspective of our young scribe I feel that will bring us hope.

Ironically the next day after a 7.15am start to move the boat through a swing bridge from where we had to leave it to get to A&E, I found myself many miles from the boat being educated by an enthusiastic Beaver Scout into how to stay safe near water!

Proudly clutching his well-earned Canal and River Trust Explorers Challenge Badge and full of advice to keep those around us safe in, on and near water I found myself glad my 6-year-old grandson has had the chance to be on our boat regularly since he was born. He said with wisdom beyond his years: “You need to be careful round the boat Granny, and look out for other people too.” Very true, and I’m grateful it’s a lesson he lives out too.

So two lessons in two days from those under 10 have served me well. Thursday dawned bright and clear in Leicestershire, and having postal-voted, I was able to spend every moment I could in the inspiring company of around 90 5-year-olds. They were on a school trip to the Great Central Railway, and I was privileged to be part of the team dedicated to keeping them safe and enabling them to make the most of their day.

As our steam locomotive pulled its chattering carriages across the viaduct over the shimmering expanse of Swithland Reservoir, my group spotted some big white birds in the water. Swans it turned out are something hugely exotic for these city children – not one could automatically name them accurately. All of them live not far from the canalised River Soar as it winds through Leicester, where swans, ducks, and geese abound, but the canal and its wildlife have not yet become part of their life and awareness. Outings like Thursdays bring them a vital new perspective.

By encouraging future generations to experience and appreciate our waterways and their wildlife, we stand a good chance of preserving them for the future. As humans we stand up for what we care about.

By the early hours of Friday morning, it became apparent that those who cared and voted for their country had voted to change the government. The new Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, made his initial address to the nation. I was struck by several words in his speech, which have stayed with me ever since:

Respect. Actions not words. It will take a while. Public service. a world better for our children.

Who wouldn’t want those things?

It made me realise that if we want the waterways around us to still be here for our children and grandchildren, their children, and grandchildren, then it is something we can and should all commit to ensuring. It is up to us, all of us who benefit from our waterways, in any way, to fight for them, respect them, and take positive action to ensure that the waterways remain as unique places that inspire, invigorate, and nurture.

So I will be asking what can I do to change things for the better for the waterways and the country I love. I hope you will do the same too, and although it will take time, we can keep moving forward together to take responsibility to improve things. It’s not about leaving it to other people, to the government, to CRT, but about us getting involved however we can to make things better. That maybe in small constant ways, litter picking, not travelling too fast on the waterways so we don’t erode banks or in bigger ways like volunteering.

Personally I recognise I need hope that things can and will get better in the future and I also believe that being an active part of that change will make me value it more. I’m aware it’s not just for me and my young ones.

Do share other ways you can think of ways that we can all contribute positively.

Election matters

General elections are different when you live afloat as a continuous cruiser, moving from location to location.

We’ve already voted via postal votes after managing to register to vote as No Fixed Abode voters – see our previous blog for the ins and outs of that initial saga!

This election has brought us clear positives:

No candidate fliers – we don’t get post unless we collect it as we did with our postal votes.

No candidates knocking on the door – although I’ve yet to meet any family or friends who have encountered canvassers in person. I did meet a Reform candidate in another constituency when trading and actually sold to her and her husband, but I wasn’t of much interest to her because I wasn’t a voter in her area.

No remembering your id to be able to vote.

No need to leave the dog outside the polling station.

No juggling of work schedules on the day, resulting in a mad dash to a polling booth.

It’s been a positive experience given that when electioneering we do hear gets too much, we can just turn off the news!

So we’ve voted already. I’ve heard many people say they can’t be bothered to vote this time, but however you intend to vote next Thursday, July 4 – please do vote if you are registered. Your voice, your vote counts. The more people vote, the more representative the outcome, whatever that may be for us all.

And in other news (always welcome in an election campaign) if you are taking place in the Ironman competition in Bolton this weekend – good luck – we’ll be cheering you on and organisers have been hard at work this week around us getting everything ready for you!

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