#BoatLife @boatlifelondon - Tumblr Blog

Posts

A week of dealing with boat flooding, in shoes: SUNDAY: I come home to find the boat flooded. All the shoes I own on my boat are soaked from sitting in bilge water for a day. There are some tears. I take them to my boyfriend's house to dry. MONDAY: I wear my one pair of dry shoes that were on my feet yesterday to work. I mentally high five myself for keeping a pair of black heels under my desk. TUESDAY: I mentally high five myself for keeping a pair of silver heels WEDNESDAY: I mentally high five myself for keeping a pair of black leather clog boots under my desk. THURSDAY: I mentally high five myself for the new pair of bejewelled flats I got on eBay that arrived in the post today and I plan to keep under my desk. FRIDAY: I realise I am probably keeping 80% of my shoes under my desk.

Me, when my boat flooded.

#boat #boatlife #londonboaters #narrowboat #flood #shoes #london

What I wore on Saturday: Red woollen poncho, blonde sheepskin hat, rust-coloured caped raincoat and black leather and sheepskin boots. Event: early morning boat tripping to Uxbridge with woodburner roaring, doors wide open. Accessories: a 1ft platform to stand on so I could actually see (at Grand Union Canal)

#londonboaters #londoncanals #boatlife #boatlifelondon #narrowboat #grandunioncanal #sunrise #morning #whatiwore #londonboats #boattrip

#narrowboat #boatlife #londonboats #boatlifelondon #londoncanals #canalliving #boatliving #woodenboat #unusualhomes #retrohomes #boatinteriors

Morning ritual

I used to work at a gym in New Zealand where one of the personal trainers was from the UK, and we mutually found it really funny that our English dads had the same morning ritual: get up early, make a cup of tea, stand and survey the garden. lol dads!

Now guess what I do every morning? That's right. I have turned into my English dad. Actually there's still a lot of my mum in me too which thankfully makes for a good mix. But first thing in the morning: Dad.

Here's how it goes: At 6am I wake up to the sound of boiling water, which is not my boyfriend or my housekeeper Rosie or my cat getting up at the crack of dawn to put the kettle on for me but is in fact the magical sound of my 1970s Goblin Teasmade slowly waking up. Once the water is boiled the Goblin lets out a less than magical BZZZZZZZ just in case the sound of boiling water hasn't woken me up yet and it's saying NO THIS IS NOT A DREAM ABOUT BEING IN A BOILING CANAL THIS IS REAL WAKE UP WAKE UP THERE'S TEA WAITING.

So I leap out of bed (tea waiting! For me!), get my little owl mug and a little jug of milk or actually praline rice milk drink if we're going to be specific and pour myself my first cup of tea for the day, ahhhh. Now let's open the doors, left one first then right one, then open the hatch (top bit) so it's all open and I don't bang my head on the way out.

Then climb up the steps and look out over the water.

Nothing beats this first thing in the morning. Even though it's canal water I feel like I am looking out over a Great Lake, all calm and stillness, a few swans (ducks) gliding across the surface and the overhanging willow gently waving in the breeze. Is it a nice day? Probably a bit overcast because we're in England after all but it's crisp and clear and green.

I usually stand here a little while just enjoying the fact I live on a boat. I hope I never get tired of this because right now I still feel lucky every morning when I get to open the hatch and look out over the water.

Usually after a few minutes I've finished my first cup of tea so time to refill from the pot, thanks Teasmade, then head back outside and clamber over my neighbours boat to the towpath where the shared garden is.

I've mentioned before that there are sort of individual patches of garden for each permanent mooring, which is true. These are more like spaces that everybody takes responsibility for though the person whose boat is next to it will usually look after their patch. But at our mooring there's also an especially large raised area with a big old willow tree right by the front gate and that's the unofficial communal area.

It was looking a little neglected for a while until Soph and Dan moved to that side of the mooring (my side!) and started spending many loving hours rebuilding the garden, putting out plants, adding hammocks, re-tiling the patio and generally spreading round some good vibrations. So when I clamber over my neighbours boat this is what I now get to enjoy.

And because it's nice having a cup of tea in the morning anyway it's just even nicer to have a cup of tea while surveying the garden.

I can sit on a folding chair in the patio under the ivy and look out over the water and admire the new plants at the front of my boat (I have been getting boater garden envy).

I can stare at the plants in front of Sophie and Dan’s boat and vow to get more plants this weekend.

I can stand by the stairs with one hand in my pocket and stare up into the massive branches.

I can potter around the stairs with both hands around my cup of tea looking out at all the greenness and checking out the new plants. My tea is usually lukewarm at this point.

I never appreciated the art of garden surveying when my dad did it. Maybe it's a combination of being lucky enough in London to have a shared garden space, getting into the habit of being up early, making space in the mornings to be mindful, having a pot of tea all ready when I wake up and knowing I have a couple of hours before I need to leave for work, getting older and appreciating morning rituals.

Whatever it is I find myself wanting to get up early and survey. Just have a look. Check out how much the ivy has spread. Appreciate how the willow tree hangs over the water.

#morning #ritual #boatlife #garden #london #london boaters #canal #Canal Boat #regents canal #tea #teasmade #goblin teasmade #1970s #willow tree #plants #boat #houseboat

Summer project - a first mate for the boat. Just needs some red striped bathers and he’ll be fighting off the ladies.

#boatlife #boatliving #narrowboat #sewing #sailordoll #retrotoys #retrodoll #sewingproject #londonboaters #tattoos

The Poo Run Diaries

...is what I may as well rename this blog at this point because apparently that's all the #BoatLife I have to write about. I could talk about the bake sale we had under the willow tree or my power cutting out when I was trying to use my hair dryer and two heaters at the same time but somehow I can't seem to get my fingers to type those stories.

So, poo. We probably all need to acknowledge this is the key differentiator between #BoatLife and #LandLife. Something as a boat person with a cassette toilet you tend to think about on a sliding scale: from the point of having just done a poo run (bliss!) to the point where you can't put off doing your next poo run any longer. The main reason for putting it off being a) giving up an hour of your weekend to an activity that involves taking the contents of your toilet on a journey just to dispose of it in another less pleasant version of a toilet and b) trying to find someone who is taking their boat out so you don't have to walk in public with your toilet contents to complete this activity. Sometimes this pays off but lately I have had to do the Poo Walk (shall we call it) and it's just never as fun.

This was my situation on Saturday. I had guests dropping by later and two full casettes that weren't going to empty themselves and I was facing the Poo Walk. I've mentioned before that the casettes are ber-loody heavy and not something you can just pick up like a handbag and trot off down the towpath with so you need some sort of trolley (or in one desperate case at 5am, a wheelbarrow) if you want to carry them more than 10 feet along the towpath without breaking both of your arms. My favourite transportation device for this activity (other than a boat of course) is Ed's moving trolley.

So I knock on Ed's door to ask if I could borrow the trolley and he says of course I can because he's nice like that so off we go. I heave my two cassettes on and strap them in with elastic rope ties like a protective mother might strap in her two babies lest they suddenly develop the motor skills required to jump out of their pram the minute her back is turned. This part is not even as easy as it could be because my new boat is moored behind another boat and I have to bound across the other boat to get to my one which makes me feel all nimble and boaty when it's just me in my bare feet but not when I'm carrying a 15kg container of toilet contents, so by the time I have both cassettes on the towpath I feel like I've already achieved what I set out to do and almost stop for a cup of tea and a lie down but unfortunately no time to rest just yet.

With both casettes strapped in firmly and a bottle of heavy duty toilet cleaner in beside them I set off down the road in my flannel shirt and shorts. Note this is much more suitable outfit than the white cotton jumpsuit I wore on my first poo run ('Nice to see you're dressed suitably' commented Rob at the time, 'Why, what could happen?' I replied with the false confidence of a virgin poo-runner).

When you're walking along the street pushing an industrial-looking trolley and two cassettes conspicuously strapped to it you soon figure out who knows what cassettes are and who has no idea. The ones who have no idea give you curious, indulgent looks ('Who is this girl delivering odd looking water containers to?') and the ones who know exactly what they are give you knowing nods ('Ah - a poo run. Good luck to you'). So after about 15 minutes, 7 curious looks and 3 knowing nods I reach Little Venice.

In fact I reach Little Venice only to the find the below pictured sign tacked to the door of the Elsan/Poo Room: ‘Blocked Elsan. Please do not use’.

Hm. For some reason I have an innate suspicion of official toilet signs, perhaps after working at a certain fast food restaurant that would put permanent 'out of order' signs on one of the toilets just so they didn't have to keep cleaning it every half hour, so I decide to check for myself. Upon unlocking the door I am greeted with the ostensible proof that the Elsan is in fact blocked and overflowing and I decide to trust this particular sign in future because I never want to see this sight again thank you very much.

So what to do with my two full cassettes? If you think I'm going to shrug my shoulders, turn around, take them back to the boat and pee in the shower until the Elsan is fixed you are not remembering that I’ve just walked down the street with these things and I have no intention of taking them back unemptied. I like to think I am the problem-solvery type. I came to empty my cassettes and I will empty my cassettes. However contrary to urban legend I would never in a million years empty them into the canal so that leaves me with very few options. At this point there is only one option: the public toilet.

Luckily my Elsan key also works for the public toilet door, which conveniently for me but quite inconveniently for the public is generally kept locked. I push my trolley over amongst some curious/indulgent looks from passers-by and take the whole trolley into the public toilet with me.

The thing I forget to do at this point is lock the door. Oops. Because while I’m in the middle of emptying the first one some innocent passer-by with unfortunate timing obviously thinks she will seize the opportunity for a quick toilet stop and pushes open the door only to see a sight she was surely not expecting to see, namely me with my sleeves rolled up and probably a sheen of sweat over my forehead pouring my toilet contents down the toilet. After which she gives a yelp and immediately leaps back outside, undoubtedly with a newly-formed dread of ever again entering a public toilet on the canal. Sorry innocent passer-by. But count yourself lucky you never saw the state of the Elsan.

#boat toilet #cassette toilet #houseboat #narrowboat #boatlife #Elsan #little venice #london #london boaters

Meanwhile on London Boaters Facebook group...

...in a conversation about whether the Thetford Porta Potty is a good bathroom equipment purchase:

"It's pretty good. I just wish Thetford had made the packaging a bit more discreet for office delivery and the long tube journey home than screaming from every angle that it's an adult potty."

#BoatlifeProblems.

#boatlife #london boaters #london #boaters london #houseboat #narrowboat #toilet #boat #Canal Boat #boat toilet #cassette toilet

For all your boating needs.

#arthurbeale #london #boatshop #chandlery

ALL GOOD THINGS COME TO AN END.

Or do they? I only ever intended to live on a boat for summer, so by the time November has rolled around and I am trundling off to bed in a fleece onesie with two pairs of socks and five blankets I can no longer pretend I am going to be on this boat forever. Even though I enjoy making challenges for myself like ‘building the perfect fire that doesn’t go out within five minutes’ and ‘finding places around the boat that keep food even colder than in the fridge’ I know my days are numbered, in fact I’ve already booked flights home for Christmas and given my two months notice and I have to admit I need to start thinking about moving off the boat.

In the end it takes about two weeks of thinking about moving off the boat and two days of actually moving off the boat and also about two hours of denial turned to major panic about how much stuff I have to move off the boat and find a new home for, including things I have inexplicably gained while living in no space. During those two hours of panic I have to have a shot of a whisky and a hiccupy sob on the shoulder of a friend, partly due to sadness at leaving and partly due to realisation at how many pairs of black tights I own and cannot possibly find any more space for in my moving boxes. After a cry and another shot of whisky and then a cup of tea I do feel quite a bit better.

But as it works out, since we all know everything works out in the end and therefore the title of this blog post is unashamedly misleading, I am happy to say #boatlife will continue thanks to the ongoing blessings of the universe/boat gods. Because on moving day I manage to find another (bigger!) narrowboat complete with own washing machine, storage space and guest bed, available in the new year and on the same mooring. Woop!

Though this is unbelievably jammy it is not really such a mahussive coincidence and is more due to the fact that I have been telling everyone at the mooring that I love the mooring so much and I really want to come back to the mooring and if there are any boats available on the mooring please let me know, and what do you know, a boat becomes available so I jump on it like a cat on catnip and luckily the owners are lovely and offer it to me.

I mean, thank goodness because I’ve already invested in some really key boat things like a Victorian toasting fork for the woodburner and several stripey tops, so you know there isn’t much choice. If I hadn’t got the new boat I probably would have been forced to camp outside the mooring in a large cardboard moving box with portholes drawn in marker pen on the outside pretending it’s a boat until someone was forced to take pity on me or call the police/crisis line/support group for Ex-Boaters Anonymous, hypothetically, just saying.

Until March!

#boatlife #narrowboat #regentscanal #london

Photo on left of poo run by me. Photo on right of boat parked up at Little Venice by Terence Lapidus.

WHAT HAPPENS ON POO RUN STAYS ON POO RUN

Just kidding, I talk about poo runs all the time. Mostly with other boat people but also with land people who want to know what on earth a ’poo run’ is and what it involves. Well you’re about to find out. Because there was an incident on last Saturday’s poo run. Uh oh. Think about the worst thing that could happen when you’re going to empty a container of poo and you can probably guess what happened….yes! That. And it happened to me.

Imagine - lovely sunny and mild Saturday morning in October, and we’re gathering at Paul’s boat with our toilet cassettes (containers of poo) for a nice boat ride to Little Venice. And it is a nice boat ride, it’s what happens before and after the boat ride that isn’t that nice, the boat ride itself is very enjoyable and chummy, let’s-share-tea-and-chat-about-poo-and-other-boat-things kind of vibe.

We are running a little late because Paul has had to literally crawl into the tiny hull of his narrowboat to unwrap some piece of material from the propeller and consequently have a quick shower (like I was going to want to very shortly - but ten times more) so we are ready to set off about midday.

On a poo run the only things you need are a) your poo run key and b) your poo. I had my poo run key, which opens the door to the building/cupboard at Little Venice where you go and empty your cassette. I refer to it as the ‘poo room’ but it has a real name like the Epham or Epsam or something unrelated to poo that sounds like that. Really it’s a cupboard-sized room with a long-drop in it, almost like a huge toilet, which you empty the contents of your toilet cassette into. It has two metal doors that almost look like those old doors to the basement under Dorothy’s house in the sepia part of Wizard of Oz, except that even if there really was a twister on the canal nobody in their right mind would be climbing through those doors. And you, lucky boat person, have a key for that cupboard. This to me exemplifies the power of membership because having that key makes me feel pretty special. The pride I feel in owning a key to a toilet is a little unbelievable. I really feel like I am part of a special society of boaters because I have a key to a room where people go and empty their poo. I don’t even really know why this door needs a key to be honest. Because if we didn’t have keys, I somehow doubt that everyone who lived on land with flushing toilets would be rushing to get into that cupboard and it would be so crowded all the time that it would just spoil it for everyone. But who knows.

So – I have my key, now I just need my poo. Here’s the tricky part, I have two cassettes that need emptying and one is the dodgy one with the broken seal. This dodgy one doesn’t just leak, it actually likes to squirt when you make sudden movements while holding it. Spoiler alert! I’d been ignoring this cassette for a while because there hadn’t been a lot of boat trips so I’d had to walk to Little Venice myself a couple of times and empty the cassettes individually, and there was no way I was wheeling the dodgy one along a main road for 20 minutes (are you NUTS?) so consequently had just left it outside. And now I couldn’t avoid it any longer.

I approach the cassette very tentatively because who knows, maybe the pontoon will move suddenly and something disastrous could happen, turns out I am just prolonging fate on this point though I don’t know it yet. Everyone is lined up waiting for me because I’m last one to get ready as usual, and probably also because they know this is the dodgy cassette so something is bound to happen. I manage to pick it up very gingerly and slightly away from my body which is no mean feat as these things are heavy as…heavy….and I carry it to the towpath. From there it’s just a short walk to Paul’s boat. Unfortunately not short enough. Because the plastic cassette has been sitting on the wet ground for a couple of weeks and the bottom of it is wet, and that’s the part I’m holding, and I don’t really realise this until I am mid-walk and my hand starts slipping. So my natural reaction when I’m carrying something heavy and my hand starts slipping is to quickly pull it closer to myself into the crook of my elbow and try and replace my hand in a better position, and that’s what I do, quickly, and what happens when I make quick movements with this cassette? It squirts, right in my face in fact, and I lose my shit. Literally. I drop the entire thing on the ground and when it hits the concrete it squirts a stream not just in my face but over my legs and my arms, it’s a bit like a slasher movie but with poo, I probably let out a girly scream because there’s poo all over me and all over the towpath, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry but really I’m just I’m trying to keep my mouth closed at all costs while I steady the cassette on the ground until it stops. Then Terence, bless him, gets the hose and sprays me down.

So that happened, and then the rest of my day was actually pretty good because let’s be honest it can only improve from there. The others help me take the cassette to the boat and eventually we get to Little Venice and I empty it for the last time before throwing it in the bin where I should have put it weeks ago. And I wash my hands about five times with soap and water but even then I’m sure I can still smell something on them.

Ah, boat life. Be grateful for flushing toilets.

#boat #boatlife #narrowboat #regents canal #london #boaters london #poo #poo run #little venice #boat toilet #cassette toilet #elsan

THESE ARE NOT BOLT CUTTERS. Photo of my boat by Emily Khoury. Photo of non-bolt cutters on right from Google.

I’ve been climbing through my own bedroom window for two days now because I don't know what bolt cutters look like. It would be useful to know what bolt cutters look like because I managed to jaillock my front door the other evening and therefore don’t have a lot of choice in my entry route but I’m lucky at least that my boat bedroom window is of the shuttered open variety and not the glass porthole kind.

The combination lock on the front door has been temperamental for a while so it did cross my mind that one day this would probably happen, but it actually happened when I was leaving for work the other morning and sat all my bags down so I could start my usual reverse-safebreaker routine of getting the numbers exactly in line then giving it a friendly wiggle (because it can always tell if I try to give it an impatient wiggle) and it actually locked in a very suspiciously easy fashion. Then it was so pleased with itself it decided to stay locked when I came home and wanted to unlock it again.

I tried coaxing it open by saying please let me open you, and open sesame! and trying to mask my impatience, which I felt was more than reasonable of me considering I was getting drowned in the rain at the time. But after trying the same combination again and again and realising it just wasn’t going to happen, I clambered through my bedroom window and have been doing so ever since.

After a couple of days of trying the lock again every morning and evening I am now getting a little tired of the whole bedroom window as new front door scenario. Especially since I’ve realised I need to change the toilet cassette and it’s the dodgy one that likes to squirt stuff out the top and the only way to get it outside is by lifting it over my white duvet which let's be honest is really just a comedy skit waiting to happen.

So this morning I find myself trotting down to the workstation on the mooring to look for some bolt cutters.

I do have some idea in my head of what bolt cutters look like from my days at Wellington Girls’ high school. We used to have random locker checks and every now and again an unclaimed locker would have to be cut open by the school Dean and Assistant Principal, probably in the hopes of finding some contraband, and usually instead finding mouldy food. In my head I have an image of long, steel things that look a bit like garden shears. To my delight I find something that looks like this so I skip back to my boat only to find that they are in fact garden shears. I know they are garden shears because I say to my neighbour Kendall, are these bolt cutters? And he says no, they're garden shears. Back to the workstation with those.

It does occur to me that perhaps the bolt cutters are well hidden away, lest some stranger has the same idea as me and starts getting happy with them, breaking in to people’s boats and so on. So, I reflect, it is probably time for my first visit to the mooring handyman, Toby. Toby has been living on the mooring pretty much since he was born so he definitely knows what bolt cutters look like.

However I never quite make it to see Toby because on my way to see him, ok while I’m killing time chilling by my boat before I set off to go and see him, I spot Ed. Ed is working on his boat roof with the type of equipment that makes me think a) Ed must know what bolt cutters look like and b) ah yes, I remember now that Ed is also a bit of a handyman and may be able to help me.

Hey Ed, I say casually, you don’t have some bolt cutters do you? Bolt cutters? he asks, looking only slightly concerned. I explain the lock situation. Well, he says, I may have bolt cutters somewhere. But I also have this. He holds up something that looks like an electric saw, but what do I know, and anyway as long as it can cut through a lock it’s fine by me. So Ed throws over his extension cord (careful of the water!) and in only slightly more than two seconds he’s standing by my door with the electric saw ready to go.

Then just as he touches the saw to the lock, the lock somehow remembers what it’s meant to do, and it goes hey Ed I’ll take it from here thanks and springs open. Huh! On the bright side we have achieved the thing we set out to do and I can get through my front door again. Thanks Ed! Though I am a little disappointed because it felt like we were all building up to something quite dramatic and my temperamental lock has robbed us of the climax. And I still don't know what bolt cutters look like.

#boatlife #lockedout #bolt cutters #RegentsPark #regents canal #london #narrowboat #boaters london