If you think it’s worth it – give it a go!

Well we made it – we scraped the profile gauge that was supposed to be the indicator of whether we would get through the lowest openly navigable tunnel on the inland waterway network, but thought it was worth a try.

Let’s try, there’s only our home and office to lose, and the chance to get to the end is too enticing

If you think it’s worth it – give it a go – seems a worthy mantra for most things.

Froghall Tunnel has a reputation for leaving boats (and their crews) battered and dejected, scraped and defeated. It’s only 75m long but what a breath-holding, knuckle-scraping length that is. It is also approached and exited on irritating bends which make it difficult to line up to get a straight entry and easy exit.

It has loomed over (if a tunnel can do that) us for the past few years, acquiring as the unknown tends to do, a fearsome hold on our minds. Every boat we hear that hasn’t made it is another alarm (is that boat similar to ours? will we? Won’t we? Should we? will we get in and get stuck?)

Then there are the boating colleague we hear who have made it through (often with a few scrapes) and delighted in the calm of Uttoxeter Basin beyond. We recalled their boats, studied photos of them on social media and tried in vain to compare with our own but it honestly was a fool’s game.

Turning from the Leek branch to mainline

We originally thought to leave the Leek Branch of the Caldon Canal and make it to the tunnel on the ‘main line’ in two gentle days but once underway it seemed to get increasingly urgent to get there and see if we would fit through. We left the Leek dead end through the Leek Tunnel, helped an Anglo Welsh hire boat which had been trying to get past a fallen tree and got stuck in silt, then got stuck ourselves for a bit, before chugging on and turning at Hazlehurst Junction onto the ‘main line’ (which is just another branch now).

From there we dropped down onto the River Churnet for about a mile (this time whilst doing the lock onto the river I sent a photo of the river flow indicator board to the Skipper to ask if he was happy it was in the green. That’s after I mistook weed on the a river Aire board for a green indicator and we ended up accidentally travelling rather rapidly up it in flood…). I was surprised it wasn’t in flood after the weekend’s horrendous downpours but it wasn’t.





The only way to really know if we could get our boat through this tunnel was to try it. We began planning (stupid not to really) at the last waterpoint before the tunnel, at Consall. We filled the water tank in the bow with as much water as it would take, to weigh the boat down and sit her as low in the water as possible. Then we took everything off the roof, the plants, the boxes, the gangplanks, the rake and brushes, the boat scraper winter step that gets us through the winter (and autumn) mud, and we lowered the solar panels flat to the roof. We also took off our canvas cratch cover and folded it inside the boat. The highest part of the boat by the time we’d done all of this was the tiller pin… so Jemima was carefully removed, to be replaced with a totally flat cable tie to ensure the tiller doesn’t slide or get bashed off the swan neck that connects to the rudder which gives us direction.



After that started the Tetris-like game of trying to find spaces somewhere inside for everything we had just removed from the roof. Eventually everything was fitted somewhere, albeit a bit chaotically, and we set off again just as the drizzle started.



The section between Consall and Froghall Tunnel has some highlights – firstly the platform and waiting room for the Churnet Valley Steam Railway overhangs the canal because the two are so close together, and then the canal is incredible narrow and shallow in places, meaning going is slow and heaven help you if you meet another boat! So there were a few distractions, but the tunnel was looming large (actually small and narrow) in our thoughts as it approached.


You come at it from a bend and through the brambles and greenery at the entrance it is actually difficult to see it clearly, and to line up effectively for it but suddenly, there it was and there we were, edging towards this low dark space.



OK so it is short this tunnel and you can see the end from the beginning which helps but it is INCREDIBLY low. So low that I filmed going through from below the roof with my phone just peeking up and the highest part of the boat turned out uncomfortably to be the Skipper’s knuckles resting on the tiller. We edged in and bent double – steering and filming from the most contorted positions.

Not much room in here…

It wasn’t until we emerged blinking that we realised we’d probably been holding our breath for most of the journey through.

Once out in the sunlight, and straightening ourselves as well as the boat out, we cruised on to Lock 1 of the Uttoxeter Canal that now leads down just into the Uttoxeter Basin. It offered a totally deserted choice of mooring pontoons alongside what the Canal and River Trust online map assured us was a full set of services – Elsan, rubbish and water points.



We’d already been to a marked rubbish point at Consall when we were sorting the boat, only to find the bins marked as pub only, no boater waste, so we’d had to wedge the rubbish bag back in with everything else. I was thrilled to get to Froghall and begin clearing out but no – more bins marked as not for boater waste. A lovely lady cleaning toilets which turned out to be council provided pointed us to a waste bin beside the road, so thank goodness we’re pretty sustainable in terms of waste!



It was clear there was a CRT rubbish bin sign by the bins we weren’t supposed to use, so I photographed it and contacted CRT to ask just where we were supposed to put our waste, and if they knew boaters were unable to dispose of rubbish at either Consall or Froghall as marked. The reply was astonishing – these facilities closed in 2020! You’d have thought they might have updated the map in the ensuing FOUR YEARS! It literally stinks though because as continuous cruisers our the licence we pay to CRT for using the canals, facilities and being able to trade from the boat has doubled for us over the past 4 years. It appears the facilities are shrinking and this could have alarming environmental consequences for the environment we value so much  around our canals.



So it is a lovely place here in this basin at Froghall, worthwhile getting to particularly with the excitement of the tunnel, but without facilities, we can’t stay for too long.



The one major excitement we have discovered, which we weren’t expecting, is The Railway Inn. If you’re in the area don’t miss it. A family run pub with excellent local ales, home-cooked food, and a warm welcome for all of us, including unlimited dog treats! One of the family even refused to hear of us getting a bus to fetch our car and drove us back to Leek! Such kindness keeps us afloat and makes us want to pass it on in any way we can.


So next week, we’ll have another go at that tunnel – we just need to recover from our first attempt and play Tetris with everything before trying again! Then it’s back down the Caldon, along the Trent & Mersey, hopefully over the River Trent (flooding permitting) and an attempt to complete our voyage along the Erewash Canal which Covid so dramatically stopped some years ago. After that, I’m really really hoping for a winter cruising schedule unlike any other we’ve ever tried – more on this anon.

New waters and nerve-wracking decisions

A change of scene does us all good, as boaters know only too well.

James Brindley welcoming us at the start of the Caldon

This week we’ve begun exploring the Caldon, somewhere we’ve wanted to travel for the past five years. Problems with locks and water levels have stopped us until now, but now we are here. The Canal takes off from the Trent & Mersey Canal in the heart of the Potteries at Stoke-on-Trent. From there it wends its way through industry, housing, Edwardian parks with 21st century mugas (multi use games areas), through deeply wooden glades to the foot of the sweeping hills that crown the Staffordshire Moorlands.


The skipper has classed it “Llangollen without all the boats” as the ‘Golly’ attracts boaters in their hoardes. I have no idea why the Caldon doesn’t do the same. It is beautiful, peaceful, and offers its own breathtaking challenges, even if not a world-class towering aqueduct.

Winding through the Churnet Valley, the canal becomes two-pronged. One branch winding its way to the creative market town of Leek known  well by William Morris; the other, mainline, working its way to Froghall. The Leek branch was built to bring water to the rest of the canal, and the entire waterway was built to transport ironstone and limestone. Both were used in making ceramics.

This is a waterway which like so many in Britain today, we can only navigate and enjoy because of the incredible, unstinting work of thousands of volunteers. These are people with vision, with passion and determination.

The Leek Arm or Branch, which we are currently enjoying, was abandoned in 1944. In 1957, Leek Urban District Council bought it and filled in the section between the Churnet Aqueduct and Leek Basin. That land now houses part of an industrial estate.

In 1961, a formal notice of closure of the Canal was posted, and two years later, the Caldon Canal Committee was formed to campaign to keep it open. The individuals involved fought and worked hard, and in 1974, the waterway was officially reopened to navigation (although without the length that sits under the industrial estate).


So this year marks 50 years since the Caldon Canal reopened due to the efforts of so many people, and today  there is a major celebration event which we will be attending at the Stoke-on-Trent boat club at Endon on the canal itself. It is due to them that we along with kingfishers, green woodpeckers, moorhens, ducks, walkers, fishermen, runners, cyclists, and other boaters can enjoy this beautiful waterway. We want to support and salute their efforts by using the waterway, and joining in the celebrations.

That’s before we dash off, not by boat, to another great celebration of heritage boats, traders, and traditional music at Tipton on the BCN – the Birmingham Canal Navigation The Tipton Canal and Community Festival is another example of boaters and supporters of the network coming together to meet up and celebrate the privilege of living, workin,  and supporting the inland waterways. It promises to be a chance to meet up with great friends and enjoy some fun together.



As a drect result of the efforts of Staffordshire volunteers, there are now 20 navigable miles of the Caldon, 17 locks (one a staircase), 3 lift bridges, and 2 tunnels. The Leek Tunnel often puts people off because they’re unsure if they can turn after it, but there is a winding hole before the final end of the navigation, where we turned happily in and then we reversed up towards the end.

Next week, we will make it along the second arm of the canal towards Froghall, and that is going to be a heart-stopping experience. Heaven knows if we will be as fortunate to have such an easy passage.  Froghall Tunnel is LOW… very low.

Will we make it without wrecking our home or getting stuck?

Before it, there is a gauge that is supposed to tell you if you can make it through the tunnel or not. People say (alarming phrase really…) that it’s pessimistic by several inches so the advice is if you look close, give it a go as there’s a beautiful wharf with great mooring beyond, close to a wonderful tearoom. Some hire boat companies refuse to allow their boats to try Froghall in an attempt to reduce damage – to the boats and the tunnel.


We’ve seen 4 different dimensions of clearance for Froghall… and we’ve had friends who have made it and friends who have not. We aim to check in at the gauge, fill with water to get us as low as we can be, remove our cratch cover, and hope we can inch our way through the tunnel. I think this will be one for the skipper to take the tiller on!



Will we make it? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. We will try, and next week, you can find out how we did (unless, of course, we are still wedged in there without an internet connection)!

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!!!)

Preaux entering another lock!

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.

Tixall steaming up the Bosley Flight



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.

My father, mother and brother ❤️

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. 

Prone in the heat this week

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!

Scrubbed up well!

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.