Brides don’t have their bottom’s blacked

We are in a frenzy of activity here as we prepare for our first major trip on the waterways.

Isn’t she looking lovely?

The Golden Girl is like a bride-to-be being primped and preened for the big occasion though the analogy breaks down a little in that most brides don’t have their bottom’s blacked. Allow me to explain.

Most narrow boats are taken out of the water every two or three years to check for corrosion and mechanical problems and to clean them off and re-paint the bits that are normally inaccessible. The term ‘bottom blacking’ is slightly misleading as the actual base plate underneath the boat doesn’t get done but I’m not going to miss the opportunity to play with such potential for a little cheeky anthropomorphising.

The actual procedure simply involves taking the boat across the canal from our home marina to the one opposite where they provide the service and floating the boat over a trailer which is then hauled out of the water by tractor. Four days later, once the cleaning and blacking are done, the process is reversed and we can bring our shiny new girl home. Simple eh? Well apart from the fact that our home will be stuck in a shed on a trailer and we will have to find somewhere else to live for a few days. Being homeless for four days simply meant that we could visit family and friends and on the whole I was quite looking forward to the experience. Then I made the mistake of speaking to another boater that had recently had his boat blacked.

Alarm bells started to ring when he asked me if I owned any Wellington boots. I hesitated but couldn’t stop myself asking why and that was the point that ‘getting the boat blacked’ became a completely different prospect. He went on to explain, with a mischievous grin on his face, that because of the steep angle that the boat would come out of the water the rear end, the end I would be standing on, would probably go under water! Apart from the prospect of trench foot, there was also a possibility of the engine bay getting flooded if the bilge pump couldn’t cope. It sounded like the equivalent of sending the bride for extensive plastic surgery a week before the wedding.

I don’t know what it is about my mind but armed with this new knowledge of possible catastrophe it decided to explore all the other things that might go wrong with ‘getting the boat blacked’. I lay awake in the small hours envisaging the boat tipped up at some alarming angle and wondering what would happen to our furniture and belongings under such circumstances. Would they all end up in a broken heap at the back of the boat? Would the sudden shift of weight send the stern even deeper under water? Would I be able to hold on? Should I wear a life jacket? Then, for no logical reason whatsoever I decided that it might be blowing a gale on the morning of our appointment and I would be faced with smashing recklessly into our neighbours homes as I thrashed around trying to manoeuvre out of our marina and into the next one. By the time I finally got to sleep I had managed to conjure up a tragedy that made the Titanic disaster look like a paddling pool accident.

Of course it all went smoothly on the day. I didn’t fall overboard, our belongings never moved, no neighbours boats were destroyed and I didn’t even have to change my socks. In fact, I quite enjoyed the experience and our Golden Girl is positively blushing.

Here are a few pictures in case you are wondering what on earth I am wittering on about.

Waiting patiently to be hauled out

Here we go, onto the trailer

Testing the pressure washer. Oops! Sorry madam.

This is great fun!

Out we come

Our Golden Girl’s bottom.

Going back into the water and this is as bad as it got.

Are you sure she’ll fit through there?

It’s my list to port

I do like a list. Shopping list, jobs list, wish list, etc. I love to set things down in a clear, easily understood format and then obliterate them when they are done, achieved or acquired. Lists are a visible measure of organisation and whilst they may be daunting at times they should always result in satisfaction eventually once they are complete, or even diminished. There is one list however that isn’t giving me any pleasure at all. In fact, it’s giving me nothing but angst. I lie awake at night pondering it and trying to work out the answer to it. I have spent several months now working out how to address it and although it isn’t as daunting as it once was it still causes me consternation.

It’s my list to port.

We didn’t notice it when we bought the Golden Girl. In all the excitement of finally finding our ‘perfect’ boat we never noticed that she was a little wayward. If we had noticed we might have been able to negotiate a reduction in the price. The money saved could even have been converted to one pound coins and stashed as ballast on the starboard side to solve the problem. Now that would have been a neat solution don’t you think? It was only after we had been living on the boat for a while that we became aware that we were never quite upright. I started to investigate, and I started with a list.

Heavy items on a narrow boat

Fresh water tank

Fuel tank

Calorifier (think of it as a fancy immersion heater) (or if you are under fifty, a giant kettle)

Solid fuel stove

Batteries

Engine

Washing machine

Freezer/Fridge

These items need to be carefully distributed on either side of the boat in order to maintain a nice even balance but in our case they are not. The heaviest items are all on the port side and to make matters worse we gave away the really heavy sofa that used to sit on the starboard side with us on top of it. Now we sit on two lightweight IKEA chairs leaning gently towards the fire and the telly.

It’s not all bad news; if you drop anything round or cylindrical then you immediately know which side of the boat it is to be found on and spillages on the sink side of the galley all run to the back of the worktops rather than on to the floor. We also corner marginally better on left hand bends.

As I have explored the dark recesses of the boat I have discovered that the previous owners had made various attempts to redress the balance as you might say. There are bags of garden stone in the engine bay on the opposite side of the battery bank. Handy if we ever moor long enough to establish a patio garden or put in an entry to the Chelsea Flower Show I suppose. We have continued this theme, storing a 40 foot length of redundant anchor chain under our bed on the starboard side but nothing quite seems to solve the problem.

I did come up with the brilliant idea of buying lots of beer and wine and storing it all on the lighter side of the boat. It definitely helped but it turns out not to be a permanent solution. I obviously didn’t think that one through properly.

If anybody can come up with a list of ways we can solve the problem I would be truly grateful.

Does that look straight to you?

Curse of the mad axeman

Arrrrgh!! What’s that noise?

There seems to have been nothing to talk about for the past week but snow and ice. Well, that and stupidly low temperatures rendered even lower by wicked easterly winds. The TV, radio and every nook and corner of social media have been obsessed with it but nobody has been talking about the noises. We have kept our lovely stove well stoked and coped quite easily with the cold and the wintry weather but the noises have been a whole different ball game.

It’s been a bit chilly

Amongst all the research that I did about life on a narrow boat I never came across any warnings about all the weird and wonderful sounds that boats make. Particularly in winter. I’m not talking about the gentle throb of the engine or the jaunty toot of the horn but the strange vocabulary of the boat itself. These noises are amplified and multiplied when combined with ice and wind and, let’s face it, we’ve had a fair bit of both just recently.

Of course if you’ve never lived on a boat before as we haven’t then it’s easy to work out what is going on. The loud bangs of what sounds like metal on metal are obviously the work of the mad axeman on the roof as he tries to break in and murder us in our sleep. Then there is the ear splitting screech of tearing metal as ice pierces the side of the boat just below the water line. The ropes strain to breaking point with agonising creaks which must surely be an indicator that they are about to snap and cast us adrift into the wild dark night. The sudden pounding of the wind moves the boat so violently that there couldn’t possibly be any explanation other than we have been rammed by something like an aircraft carrier or the QE2. All of this is magnified both in volume and by vivid imagination as darkness falls and especially once we are lying in bed in what ought to be blissful silence. Then the groaning starts. It sounds as if some wretched former owner is trapped in the hull, probably as a result of the curse put upon him for renaming the boat. Well it was called ‘Smith’ so you couldn’t really blame him. It’s tricky getting to sleep when all you can hear is the desperate last gasps of some poor soul dying an agonising death somewhere below the bed.

After several days of this we manage to rationalise most of the sounds. The reality is that we haven’t been gruesomely murdered in our beds, there isn’t a stench of a rotting corpse coming from the hull and when we look out of the window we are still snugly tied up to the jetty. All the strange noises, well most of them, can be attributed to the boat moving against the ice and the ropes and a bit of good old expansion and contraction of steel. I’m still a bit worried by the axe I found on the roof though.

Going nowhere – but we have a plan

Today hasn’t worked out as planned at all. The weather forecast said it would be a bit warmer last night and today would be calm but foggy. We had tentatively discussed a little trip out on the boat, just a few miles down the canal to a turning point and back to the marina in time for tea. It would also be the ideal opportunity to let the stove go out and give it a really good clear out. It’s been burning for a couple of weeks now and it tends to get a bit clogged up and less efficient as time goes on. That was the plan, this is the reality: Gill is tucked up in bed with a horrible cold infection, the marina has a thin coating of ice on it again and I have spent the last hour coaxing the fire back to life rather than letting it go out. We are going nowhere today.

Come to think of it, today is like an analogy of the bigger picture. Our old home in Warton is up for sale but we haven’t had any offers so far. Paying bills on two homes means that we are tied to working until such time as it’s sold and being tied to work means that we can’t just take off and travel indefinitely on the boat. In other words, we are going nowhere tomorrow or the next day either.

Never mind; it’s nice when a plan comes together but it’s also important to be flexible and make the most of things when it doesn’t.

Another plan has gone a bit pear shaped in the last few days but in a good way. We had been planning to go back to our old house and pack up the rest of our belongings to bring them back to the boat. Goodness knows where we were going to put it all but we would cross that bridge later. I knew that we could be imaginative and creative in using all the available space on the boat and I just hoped that once we had it all on board we would work something out. Fortunately, the problem was solved by a simple observation from Gill. She said to me one morning; “the mistake we are making is trying to fit our old life into the boat rather than starting a new one on it”. Light bulb moment!

Just needs a bit of organising

We realised with a bit of reflection that we had been living on board Golden Girl for months now without any hardship whatsoever. We are living in comfort, doing everything we want to do and enjoying life. Why do we need more stuff? So rather than go back to collect the rest of our precious belongings we examined what we were actually missing and it turned out to be next to nothing. What should have been several trips in the car and maybe the use of hire van became one trip, a half filled car and wonderful sense of freedom.

A few more ‘essentials’ to find a home for

We left behind kitchen cupboards and wardrobes full of ‘stuff’ that it turns out we just don’t need. Admittedly there are several boxes of things going into storage but nearly all of that falls into the category of ‘having special meaning’. You know, particular books, photos, keep-sakes etc. No doubt we will get pleasure one day from unpacking them again or if not, some poor relative will unpack them and add them to the pile of rubbish to be discarded.

We thought that we had been pretty good at paring down our belongings over the years but it seems that the temptation to acquire stuff is limited only by the space available to store it in. You may only be able to wear one pair of shoes at a time but given enough cupboard space you can’t half hoard a lot of pairs. We will, of course, have to empty the old house at some point but the contents will mostly be heading to the charity shops or the tip rather than joining us on board as part of our new life. Well, that’s the plan…………. for now.

A dreich day

The Scots would call it a ‘dreich day’, the Irish a ‘soft day’. Personally, I would call it a ‘bloody miserable wet day’. However you want to dress it up, I’m not inspired to experience it other than through the window and with the benefit of a full tea-pot and a glowing fire. It’s the perfect recipe for a spot of self-indulgent navel gazing.

A dreich day

I’m always conscious when I start writing that there are countless blogs out there telling us how to live our lives. From Kafir to Pilates, detoxing to mindfulness there is always some holier-than-thou preacher pushing ‘the solution’ and filling us full of guilt because we aren’t on board. They berate us for our consumerism and accuse us of destroying our precious planet whilst proffering the simple meditative, all-fulfilling alternative of living in a small space on a vegan diet in the woods. Whenever I come across these blogs I worry that maybe I am guilty of the same thing. I have never suggested that anybody ‘ought’ to cycle around Britain on a bicycle and I have never said that living on a narrow boat is in some way the ‘correct’ way to live ones life but I do worry that it could come over that way.

When I was younger I had a passion for reading accounts of unbelievable feats of bravery. Tales of near death experiences on ice encrusted peaks in the Himalayas had me spell-bound. I devoured them hungrily but I never once considered following in their footsteps. I never felt that the authors of these sagas were suggesting that I ‘ought’ to be doing the same thing or that what they did was some kind of path to enlightenment. They were having a good time and they felt compelled to share it as far as I could tell and I was happy to gorge on their adventures vicariously without ever feeling denigrated.

I write this blog because I enjoy it. It’s a handy way of exploring ideas and the world around us and writing things down helps me to get my thoughts in some kind of order. The fact that some people seem to enjoy reading it is a real bonus and that is really all there is to it. I’m not trying to tell anybody else how they should live their lives, just exploring my own choices.

Which brings me to the navel gazing. I’m trying really hard to set aside the novelty aspect of life on the boat and work out why I am enjoying the experience so much. There are obvious factors like the scenery, peace and quiet, abundant wildlife and friendly neighbours (and the stove, don’t forget the stove) but all of that could easily be attained living in a very comfortable house in the countryside.

Don’t forget the stove

The boat, on the other hand, presents plenty of reasons for not living on the water. There is a never-ending round of chores and repairs, we are always tripping over each other and there is never having enough space to store anything. We have cut our personal belongings down to a ridiculous level but there are still more ‘things’ than there are spaces to keep them in. We have limited wi-fi availability, the phone signal is dodgy and we don’t have constant running hot water a lot of the time. Last night the mains electricity was playing on off, on off all evening. Life on a boat is harder than life on land so why is it so much fun?

By modern standards our life now is quite primitive and at times less comfortable than the one we are leaving behind but at the same time I can’t help but feel it is more satisfying. It’s certainly more demanding. To some extent it’s like going back in time. My dad was a joiner and spent his working days being creative in a physically demanding job. In his limited amount of free time he was normally found repairing or restoring something or tending his modest vegetable patch in the back garden. Leisure time was a novel concept then and life was full without having to be filled. Perhaps the boat takes us back some way to that time when there was always something that needed doing as opposed to finding something to do.

Humankind has done a magnificent job of making life easier through technology. From electric tooth brushes to pneumatic nail guns we have managed to take the labour out of nearly everything we do. There is no need to walk anywhere if we don’t want to, lifts and escalators have taken the place of staircases; and digging, weeding, hoeing and harvesting are all taken care of by Tescos. Now we have so much more free time and we can go to the gym or for a run to get the exercise that used to be an integral part of everyday life. I genuinely don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad one but it does seem a bit odd when you think about it.

Our new lifestyle on our Golden Girl is definitely more taxing than our old one but at the same time it is strangely more satisfying. The simple processes of staying warm, dry and well fed require a little more effort than they used to and that in turn brings a greater sense of achievement. The boat is definitely more complex than the house was. There is more to learn, more to go wrong but also more reward from making it work. It demands more time and investment both mentally and physically and for me, at least, it’s just more interesting.

I’m going to put a note in my diary and read this again in a few months time and we’ll see if I still agree with myself or whether it turns out it’s a fool’s paradise I am living in and not a marina at all. In the mean time life on board provides me with plenty to do when I’m not contemplating mental conundrums on a dreich or soft day.

Right, enough of all this philosophical navel gazing stuff, I’m off to empty the toilet.

Still raining

You lucky gits!

“You lucky gits!” Said the lady behind the counter of the convenience store. She offered us a bag for our shopping and having initially refused we quickly remembered how useful bags are on a boat and changed our minds. When we explained that we had come into the village on a narrow boat she sounded genuinely pleased for us and just a little bit jealous, hence the lucky gits comment. She is right of course, we are incredibly privileged to be bobbing about on the canals on our own boat but what she didn’t know is what a steep learning curve it’s all been. I have heard it said that you should never make the same mistake twice because there are plenty to choose from. There are plenty of boating ones to make I can tell you for sure.

Not only are there lots of things to get wrong, there are whole categories of things to mess up. There are technical ones related to electricity and plumbing, including toilet related issues of a cassette capacity nature. There are lots of boat handling mistakes that can result in simple things like failing to land on a mooring properly due to wind aggravated problems that leave you pinned helplessly against the wrong side of the canal for about half an hour. See this post for details of our rescue. There are also silly practical ones that I am only owning up to purely for your entertainment so please laugh in private and not in our faces next time we see you.

Swinging Bridges, whatever next.

We have left the boat for a few hours without shutting the stove down sufficiently and come back to a floating sauna which nearly rendered the sofa a molten blob of plastic. Ooops, quite serious that one. We convinced ourselves that the aerial for the telly was broken until a friend pointed out that when you relocate your home every day you have to retune the T.V. Duh. Oh and we have settled down for the evening more than once only to realise that we haven’t put the chimney up and then had to scramble onto the roof to affix said appendage. In addition, we have forgotten to take it down but I count that as a different mistake.

Our troublesome chimney with impressive decking background

Getting used to travelling at less than three miles an hour and having a form of transport that is severely restricted in where it can go has meant a fair bit of planning when it comes to shopping and keeping the cupboards stocked. We have managed to get that one mostly right and haven’t had to go on emergency rations yet. Cash hasn’t been a problem as the ubiquitous ‘hole in the wall’ pops up in the most convenient of places.

How convenient: A hole in the wall.

We have also proven to be pretty hopeless at planning how far we can get over a period of days because of delays like locks, swing bridges, (especially on windy days) and getting stuck for a couple of nights because we don’t particularly want to travel in horrible weather. Then there are the stoppages. There are issues on the canals like broken locks, low water levels or inconvenient fires close to our route. (See BBC News for details) This latter one has just closed the Blackburn locks but we are hoping it will be open again tomorrow. All of this has resulted in a bit of a last minute dash for our home mooring at Rufford in order to be back there by Friday. Not what we intended and a really good reason to retire and never have a deadline again. You see that’s what I mean by learning from our mistakes.

Leaving a lock without sinking or drowning. Phew!

On the whole though it has been a blast. Testing, stressful, relaxing and demanding all at the same time but overall I think we can definitely say that we are two very lucky gits.

Life on a narrow boat. It will be relaxing they said.

So I suppose you would like to know what it’s like to live and travel on a narrow boat. Well, if the first ten minutes of our journey are anything to go by I can categorically report that it is terrifying.

We managed to get all our stuff on board, take the car back to Rufford which will be our long term marina for this winter and then go by train back to Burnley and take up residence on the boat. There was some dispute with the many spiders on board who seemed to be under the impression that the boat was theirs but we resolved that by throwing them out of the windows. After a fitful first night’s sleep this was our first experience of ‘driving’ the boat.

We checked the fuel, filled the water tank, had one more cup of tea and then realised that we were all out of excuses. It was time to go. I had been told, and had read many times, that reversing a narrow boat is really difficult so the fact that our boat was parked nose into the bank had been playing on my mind all night.

Tight squeeze

The close proximity of a large number of very valuable craft didn’t help to allay my anxiety as I fired up the engine and nervously engaged reverse.

Lots of expensive boats

The boat took off at about seventy miles an hour backwards, or so it seemed. In practice it was probably more like one mile an hour and concentrating hard on all those YouTube videos I had been absorbing over the last few weeks I gracefully carved a beautiful arc across the open water. When I thought I was far enough out I put her into forward gear and set the tiller to take us towards the exit. What happened next took me by surprise to say the least. Our Golden Girl took on a mind of her own and drifted sideways towards all those expensive boats and the flimsy wooden jetties they were moored on. In my panic I couldn’t remember anything about the insurance cover I had purchased just two days ago. Did it cover multi million pound damage to boats and the destruction of inland waterways? While I was simultaneously contemplating this and throwing the throttle and tiller about wildly (just as everybody had advised me never to do) a kindly gentleman appeared on the end of one of the jetties, gave us a bit of a push and suddenly I was in control again. With racing heart and clammy hand I aimed the boat at the exit of the marina hoping to get out quickly before anybody else saw us. What I didn’t see was the large steel black and white guiding posts sticking out of the water. Gill was leaning on one of them with all her strength preventing me from felling it with fifteen tons of steel. Another marina resident sat calmly sipping a cup of tea and gave us a cheery wave as we finally made it out into the canal. She wisely reminded us that paint was replaceable so not to worry too much. I was a nervous wreck by now. I was under the impression that the boat would be controllable merely by judicious use of the tiller and throttle from the stern. I didn’t realise that you needed a supply of both land and boat based humans to fend off obstacles and prevent extensive damage to other people’s property. For the next half hour we pottered along sedately while my heart rate came back down to normal and I puzzled over the contradiction between the lazy, laid back boating life that everybody had talked about and the terrifying, mega stressful first ten minutes that I had just experienced. Then I remembered that about two hours ahead of us lay seven locks and I started to sweat again.

That will be a lock then.

Five days, twenty one locks, six swing bridges and a few bottles of wine later, we find ourselves moored in Skipton and relaxing over beers as we chat like old hands to other boaters. Any casual eaves dropper would just assume we have been living on board for years listening to us swapping stories of handy knots and reverse thrust turning as we contemplate the ingrained dirt of our calloused boaters hands. If only they knew.

We learned an awful lot over those five days but that’s for another post.

Welcome to our Golden Girl

Well in terms of blogging drama I’m afraid I have disappointing news. Today we completed the purchase of our Golden Girl.

She goes on forever!

The survey went really well. Our surveyor, Peter, gave us the thumbs up after giving the boat a thorough going over. He scratched and scraped her bottom and submitted the poor girl to a detailed and intimate prodding with his sonic probe and to the great relief of all concerned he declared her to be generally very thick skinned. Which is a very important quality of a steel hulled craft that is prone to rusting away whilst sitting in the canal.

Our lovely surveyor Peter and the even lovelier bottom of Golden Girl

There were a few minor issues of an electrical nature which the current boat owner is addressing but nothing that will stop us roaming the waters and setting forth on our next exciting adventure. (Edit: these have now all been resolved)

As always I don’t like to make promises but it is my intention to document what will no doubt be a catalogue of predicaments that we will get ourselves into over the coming months and maybe years while we literally learn the ropes. In the mean time I can only offer those who are sufficiently interested, a few more details of our lovely new home.

First off, she’s a narrow boat. She’s not a barge and she certainly isn’t a long boat. Long boats usually came with lots of oars and a crew of hooligans hell bent on mischief of all kinds. We don’t have any oars.

This is the pointy bit at the front which we call the prow.

She’s 57 feet long, 6′ 10” wide and has a draught (the bit that sinks below the water surface) of 1′ 9”. Working from back (stern) to front (prow) we have:

A small back yard where we will stand to steer the boat and hold social gatherings of an evening. Technically it’s called a cruiser stern but it’s amply big enough for two chairs and a bottle of Chablis on ice.

All back yards should have a life belt of course.

A lounge/diner complete with wood burning stove, comfy but dodgy looking leatherette sofa and compact dining table with two chairs. Guests will get a tray on their laps (assuming they get dinner).

The galley (kitchen to all you land lubbers reading this) is fully equipped as they say with stove, grill, fridge, freezer and washing machine. There is loads of storage space which on a narrow boat is a particular luxury and I am already eyeing up at least one cupboard for tools. (You don’t get a shed on a narrow boat unfortunately)

“Put the kettle on darling”

After the kitchen comes a spare bedroom. Now I know you are all busy checking your diaries and visualising life on a free floating Bed and Breakfast but I should warn you that we will probably convert this space eventually into a sitting/dining/getting-away-from-each-other space so get your requests in quickly.

The bathroom is compact but nicely fitted out with a good shower, hand basin and caravan style cassette toilet which guests will be invited to take their turn in emptying. Unfortunately there is only a door on one end of the bathroom, the other one being open to the main captain and lady captain’s bedroom. (You can go back to your diaries now and cross out all those prospective weekends you have pencilled in).

Note the posh toilet rolls that came with the boat.

The main bedroom has a double bed but as is common in many boats it is hard up against one side of the hull and negotiations are still on going as to who will be doing the gymnastics several time a night to go to the bathroom. When I say negotiations, I mean Gill has told me it will be me.

Main bedroom and front door.

Finally we come to the prow. This has another outdoor seating area which I suspect will mainly be used by guests who will be able to sit and watch the world go by at 4mph whilst sipping an early evening gin and tonic as Gill and I wrestle with locks and swing bridges. (Maybe you shouldn’t have been so hasty to cross out those potential visits after all eh?)

Despite appearances these are NOT spare wheels.

We have solar panels, central heating and all manner of boaty bits and pieces, the purposes of which we are hoping will become clearer with experience.

It make take a while to get the hang of everything!

The plan now is to use our two week holiday at the end of September to get to grips with the boat and then move it to its new home in Rufford. No doubt there will be a story or two to tell and no doubt those stories may involve the forty odd locks along the way!

P.S. We have just made our maiden voyage from the dry dock to the marina but that’s another story.

Those necessary nerves – 24 hours to go

Golden Girl will be surveyed tomorrow and we should know by the end of the day if we are buying her or not.

Will she be our dream girl?

There is something delicious about being on the very cusp of an adventure. I love the feeling of anticipation; that exquisite cocktail of excitement tinged with fear and the magnetic attraction of the unknown. The fact that this particular step into the unknown has been over two years in the making ratchets up the expectation and as the time left to the finish line diminishes the emotions grow stronger and the waiting gets harder.

I’m not really sure when this journey started. I’ve always loved canals and often wondered what it would be like to live on a narrow boat. It may go back ten or twenty years or even longer. The problem with ideas like that is that life gets in the way and we rarely get beyond the dreaming part. It’s just too easy to think of a million and one reasons why we can’t follow our dreams and convince ourselves that something we would really like to do isn’t an option. When we were planning our cycle trip around the coast of Britain we heard it over and over again; “Ooh, I’d love to do something like that but….”. The fact that we did actually break the tradition and go and do it changed us fundamentally and it has given us the ability to get beyond the dreaming and make something a reality.

Cheers – remember this?

That’s why we plan to part with what seems like an insane amount of money later this week and buy our boat. I wouldn’t say we aren’t nervous about it and things will ramp up another notch or two when we put our present home up for sale and commit to life on the water. (I can’t even swim!) But that’s the whole point I suppose. It must be nice to be really content with the status quo but we are all different and I’m just grateful that Gill and I are similar in that we are always looking for what is beyond the next horizon.

I have been holding off from writing any more about this whole boat business until the sale has gone through but now that we are so close to the finishing line I have realised how important this period of anticipation is. I have been really guilty over the last twelve months of wishing the time away. Wishing somebody would come and view the house, put in an offer, get their survey done, exchange contracts. Wishing the right boat would come up for viewing at the right price. Wishing the money would come through so that we could make an offer and finally wishing that the boat survey would happen so that we could complete the purchase. I’ve become a little obsessed about the next step rather than trying to enjoy the journey. Finally, with just hours to go I’m trying to savour every last morsel of sweet anticipation before reality smacks us in the face and the inevitable “what have we done” moment occurs. I’m a bit more prepared this time though. It happened on the first morning of our big bike ride as I pedalled along the road out of the village I was suddenly daunted by what we were doing and scared of what we had committed to. The feelings soon passed once the journey for real was underway and now at least I know from experience that those early nerves are just a necessary component of any great adventure.

I’ll update the blog at the end of the week or early next week and tell you what it feels like when a dream comes true after two years of anticipation. Or, if she turns out to be a rust bucket destined to sink in the first lock she encounters, how it feels to have your dream snatched away when it’s just inches from your grasp. I suppose it will make a better blog if she turns out to be a rust bucket.

Dream on

Narrow boat dreaming – again

If we ever do get our narrow boat I think I might rename it Dreaming, or Dream On, or maybe even Nightmare. For the last six months I feel like I have been swinging between sweet dreams and frustrating nightmares as the idea of living on a boat on the canals has remained tantalisingly out of reach. In my last post I hinted that we were getting serious again about looking for a boat but I don’t know why because there was absolutely no progress on the house sale. But what a difference a month can make. Not only is Spring now in full and glorious bloom but we have also had a firm offer on the house from somebody who isn’t stuck in a chain. It’s hard not to get excited.

Sweet dreams

Of course I realise that nothing is guaranteed with these things and until contracts are signed and money is in the bank anything can happen but we are allowing ourselves the luxury of dreaming once more.

Oddly, I woke up a few days before we received the offer in a strangely joyous mood only to realise that it was because I had just dreamt that the house was sold. It was a terrible blow to find that no such thing had happened in reality and my mood plummeted at the thought that we could still be in this position in six or even twelve months time. I could have got very depressed at this idea but I decided there was no use in moping and I really must take stock of what we have got and live for the moment. Life is full of blows and disappointments and I guess it’s all about learning to deal with them.

The problem with dreams is that they make us even more vulnerable to being knocked back. Goodness knows most of us are just bumbling along through life never knowing when the next wave is going to smash over our bows or a sudden squall is going to blow up from nowhere and drive us off course. It seems to me that all we can do is learn to take the knocks when they come and hang on tightly to that dream.

Which reminds me of my boxing days. I’m not a big fan of the sport but as a school boy I did have a bit of a go at it under the tutelage of non other than a British Olympic coach Kevin Hickey, who just happened to be our P.E. teacher. I learned a little bit about ‘going with the punch’ and that the difference between this and ‘going into a punch’ was a whole world of pain. I was a seven stone weakling at the time and I used to spend my lunch breaks happily battering a six and a half stone weakling around the gym. My comeuppance came when my sparring partner was off school one day and I was put in the ring with Charlie Parker (it’s all true I promise). He promptly knocked seven bells out of me and taught me a valuable lesson about complacency. It didn’t stop me fighting though.

Just a few months later I was back in the fray going head to head with a formidable opponent. I had come across this boy before and knew of his reputation. He was a skilled and wily opponent. I was on the defensive for quite a while before finally getting the upper hand. With a couple of deadly blows I had him exactly where I wanted him and in just one more move I was able to declare Check Mate. I might not have made it in the noble sport of boxing but I was at least Year Four Chess Champion.

All of which is a long winded way of saying that it’s OK to dream so long as you are prepared to take the knocks when the dreams are cruelly snatched from your grasp, or in our case, constantly held at arms length.

So for now we are back in the game of serious boat hunting with the caveat that it could all still come to nothing. And talking of re-naming boats, if you remember back that far; I could live with most names but I came across one the other day that would just have to be given to the sign writer. “Knot a Yot”. Really? What were you thinking of.

I hope the sale goes through quickly for all our sake because there is only so much I can write about dreaming. By now I really was hoping to be regaling you with fascinating and hilarious tales of life on (and possibly in) the water. Fingers crossed eh?

Remember the palm. Never give up.

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