26th October
I’ve observed a few more differences about living on board. The kitchen light flickers, but only when the engine is running. We run the engine every evening for an hour to recharge the domestic batteries. The other difference is the further effects of a baby crying in a small space. My eldest daughter is late to bed because the baby is crying so much in the bedroom. The little one is overtired and possibly traumatised by being left with our childminder for the first time this week. When she has stopped crying and gone to sleep I can put my eldest to bed. Our childminder is much loved by Big Sister and much trusted by us parents, but to Baby Sister she is a complete stranger.
So this weeks top ten...
1) Flickering lights
2) Controlled crying in a small space
3) Going on the back deck to throw a tub of dishwater into the Cut.
4) Filtering all our drinking water. Suspicions that we never want to see the inside of our watertank. Ye olde boat wife kept her drinking water in Buckby cans on the roof (tin jugs bought in the Buckby neighbourhood).
5) Having lunch with children while scenery constantly changes outside the window: locks, lakes, fields, reservoirs, gongoozlers, pubs, moored craft, cyclists, joggers, fishermen, dog walkers; England passes me by at three miles per hour.
6) A friendly chat with the coal boat boys.
7) We never get a lie-in. We’re up with the kids at 6.30am seven days a week.
8) Turning off the lights and taps, because electric and water are finite resources.
9) Canal freezes; iced in and run out of water I meet other boaters at the tap in the same situation. Have to borrow a spanner to get water as vandals have removed the handle from the tap.
10) The view outside the window is nearly always tranquil and beautiful.
I texted my boat-mum mates today.
“Hiya. Where you moored? We’re in Broxbourne, headed to Stonebridge this weekend.”
Single Boat Mum says,
“Springfield. How you doing? What’s your winter plans? Don’t know what I’m doing! Very tempted to go to Angel at some point.”
Barge Mum says,
“Boat Wife! So weird was just about to text you! We live in a house! Sold the boat on Sat, it was a real rush job but it’s done now.”
Monday, 27 December 2010
Towpath Talk
24th October
Both girls have colds and are miserable and crying intermittently. Because of their night-waking we’ve all lost sleep which leaves me irritated and short tempered. Their wails resonate around the inside of the boat while I do the dishes and The Doctor hauls the boat backwards into the lock by pulling on the mooring ropes. After filling the water tank at the tap belonging to the Lady of the Lock he takes us down through the lock and we briefly moor up on the bollards below the lock while we go to say goodbye to the man who lives with the Lady of the Lock. He’s crossing the black and white painted foot bridge over the lock as I approach with my family. I nod at our boat down below, engine put-putting, ready to go, at three miles an hour.
“We’re making a high speed get-away,” I say.
“Oh right,” he smiles. “Have a good journey then. Back to London is it?”
“Yes, slowly. Probably Broxbourne today.”
“You’ve got your copy of Towpath have you? There’s plenty there.” Towpath Talk is a canal themed newspaper with monthly news of the Cut. He keeps a pile of them outside the house for boaters to help themselves.
“Um, no not yet.”
“You’re in it you know.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah, back page. There’s a picture of you and the girls.”
This cheered me up no end. Each month there’s a feature called The Wet Web, about things of interest to be found on the internet. I suggested they feature my blog, and the journalist liked the idea of featuring a selection of blogs by mothers on board. Unfortunately, neither she nor I could find any other such mothers so I thought perhaps she wasn’t going to be able to feature my blog. She has instead, however done a feature about canal related things to do with the kids and managed to feature me that way.
The Lady of the Lock is at work so we were unable to say goodbye to her. I tucked my poorly baby into the pushchair on the back deck. She was snuggled in under two blankets with her hood up and she quickly stopped crying and went to sleep for two hours. We moved on around the bend, past Roydon station and cruised slowly past Single Boat Mum’s golden wheat field. There is a backdrop of blue sky on this sunny October day. I was taking things off the roof, like the chimney and the arial, to prepare for the low bridges, and then duck my head down low as we pass under each one. The water level is much higher than when we came this way earlier in the summer, so there is far less head room. Afterwards, back inside I had to turn the fire up because without the chimney up there is less draught to draw up the burning diesel fumes. I’ve never much worried about walking down the gunwales while moving, or trip-trapping on the roof, little feet like a mountain goat among the life saving rings, avoiding stepping on the solar panel. But since I’ve been reading Ramlin Rose I think of all the ways people got killed and injured on the Cut in the past, especially all of the tragic ways that boat children died.
As The Doctor steered us out past the weir at the end of the Stort I came out on to the back deck to have a look.
“Well, that’s it then.” I said, hands on hips, surveying the point where the two rivers meet.
“Yep.” Smiled the Doctor.
“The end of the Stort. I doubt we’ll ever go there again.”
“Probably not.”
“I suppose there’s lots more beautiful things to see out there. Everyone says the Oxford is good, and the Kennett and Avon is meant to be beautiful.”
Yesterday we returned from a week’s holiday in Plymouth and I was convinced that I wanted to live in a house, with plenty of storage space and full size hot baths whenever you fancy it. But today the sun is shining and I’m talking to The Doctor about all the canals we’ve still not yet seen.
Fieldes Weir lock is our first lock on the Lee. I put a cup of tea for The Doctor on the roof hatch above the back door while he stood on the towpath and pulled the boat in with a rope. It looks like the sunniest Autumn ever and breezy trees wave at our Rodney roof as we enter the lock. Whenever I’m winding the lock gate paddles up or down I feel like that animated bloke at the beginning of Camberwick Green. Through the window I can see my big girl who has just turned three years old, is sat up at the table concentrating hard on a colouring book.
From Dobb’s Weir lock I can see a lake and swans shining in the blue. Exhilarated at cruising through sunny locks I feel that boating is in my very being, in my bones. I wasn’t born to it, and I’m a terrible swimmer, (I’ve never been in, thank goodness) but I’ve been doing it ten years now and it’s a way of life. The Doctor is reluctant to leave the Cut. He doesn’t want to “give in”. That’s what Ramlin Rose
says too. “You never gives in. If yer gives in yer goes under.” Although, I think her life on the Cut was a little more harsh than mine. If you had a baby you breast fed with one hand and steered the boat with the other. The toddler you tied to the roof, and your priority was getting the boats ahead.
We moor beside a patch of woodland where the tree trunks are bedecked with holly and ivy twisting around their trunks. For a relaxed Sunday afternoon, we give both kids ‘pink medicine’ (paracetamol) and go to a cosy canal side pub, crunching autumn leaves on the towpath as you go. Mother hand in hand with daughter, baby on father’s shoulders pointing at the birds in the sky.
“Birr!” she says. Bird!
It’s like going out with a couple of nutters. One repeatedly throws her food on the floor. The other one takes her boots off and walks stocking footed on the pub sofas. The baby tries to pull baubles off the Christmas display table, threatening an avalanche of candles and pine cones as she tugs the black velvet table cloth down towards her on the floor. We eat roast dinners before the medicine wears off and head back on board for bedtime.
Both girls have colds and are miserable and crying intermittently. Because of their night-waking we’ve all lost sleep which leaves me irritated and short tempered. Their wails resonate around the inside of the boat while I do the dishes and The Doctor hauls the boat backwards into the lock by pulling on the mooring ropes. After filling the water tank at the tap belonging to the Lady of the Lock he takes us down through the lock and we briefly moor up on the bollards below the lock while we go to say goodbye to the man who lives with the Lady of the Lock. He’s crossing the black and white painted foot bridge over the lock as I approach with my family. I nod at our boat down below, engine put-putting, ready to go, at three miles an hour.
“We’re making a high speed get-away,” I say.
“Oh right,” he smiles. “Have a good journey then. Back to London is it?”
“Yes, slowly. Probably Broxbourne today.”
“You’ve got your copy of Towpath have you? There’s plenty there.” Towpath Talk is a canal themed newspaper with monthly news of the Cut. He keeps a pile of them outside the house for boaters to help themselves.
“Um, no not yet.”
“You’re in it you know.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah, back page. There’s a picture of you and the girls.”
This cheered me up no end. Each month there’s a feature called The Wet Web, about things of interest to be found on the internet. I suggested they feature my blog, and the journalist liked the idea of featuring a selection of blogs by mothers on board. Unfortunately, neither she nor I could find any other such mothers so I thought perhaps she wasn’t going to be able to feature my blog. She has instead, however done a feature about canal related things to do with the kids and managed to feature me that way.
The Lady of the Lock is at work so we were unable to say goodbye to her. I tucked my poorly baby into the pushchair on the back deck. She was snuggled in under two blankets with her hood up and she quickly stopped crying and went to sleep for two hours. We moved on around the bend, past Roydon station and cruised slowly past Single Boat Mum’s golden wheat field. There is a backdrop of blue sky on this sunny October day. I was taking things off the roof, like the chimney and the arial, to prepare for the low bridges, and then duck my head down low as we pass under each one. The water level is much higher than when we came this way earlier in the summer, so there is far less head room. Afterwards, back inside I had to turn the fire up because without the chimney up there is less draught to draw up the burning diesel fumes. I’ve never much worried about walking down the gunwales while moving, or trip-trapping on the roof, little feet like a mountain goat among the life saving rings, avoiding stepping on the solar panel. But since I’ve been reading Ramlin Rose I think of all the ways people got killed and injured on the Cut in the past, especially all of the tragic ways that boat children died.
As The Doctor steered us out past the weir at the end of the Stort I came out on to the back deck to have a look.
“Well, that’s it then.” I said, hands on hips, surveying the point where the two rivers meet.
“Yep.” Smiled the Doctor.
“The end of the Stort. I doubt we’ll ever go there again.”
“Probably not.”
“I suppose there’s lots more beautiful things to see out there. Everyone says the Oxford is good, and the Kennett and Avon is meant to be beautiful.”
Yesterday we returned from a week’s holiday in Plymouth and I was convinced that I wanted to live in a house, with plenty of storage space and full size hot baths whenever you fancy it. But today the sun is shining and I’m talking to The Doctor about all the canals we’ve still not yet seen.
Fieldes Weir lock is our first lock on the Lee. I put a cup of tea for The Doctor on the roof hatch above the back door while he stood on the towpath and pulled the boat in with a rope. It looks like the sunniest Autumn ever and breezy trees wave at our Rodney roof as we enter the lock. Whenever I’m winding the lock gate paddles up or down I feel like that animated bloke at the beginning of Camberwick Green. Through the window I can see my big girl who has just turned three years old, is sat up at the table concentrating hard on a colouring book.
From Dobb’s Weir lock I can see a lake and swans shining in the blue. Exhilarated at cruising through sunny locks I feel that boating is in my very being, in my bones. I wasn’t born to it, and I’m a terrible swimmer, (I’ve never been in, thank goodness) but I’ve been doing it ten years now and it’s a way of life. The Doctor is reluctant to leave the Cut. He doesn’t want to “give in”. That’s what Ramlin Rose
says too. “You never gives in. If yer gives in yer goes under.” Although, I think her life on the Cut was a little more harsh than mine. If you had a baby you breast fed with one hand and steered the boat with the other. The toddler you tied to the roof, and your priority was getting the boats ahead. We moor beside a patch of woodland where the tree trunks are bedecked with holly and ivy twisting around their trunks. For a relaxed Sunday afternoon, we give both kids ‘pink medicine’ (paracetamol) and go to a cosy canal side pub, crunching autumn leaves on the towpath as you go. Mother hand in hand with daughter, baby on father’s shoulders pointing at the birds in the sky.
“Birr!” she says. Bird!
It’s like going out with a couple of nutters. One repeatedly throws her food on the floor. The other one takes her boots off and walks stocking footed on the pub sofas. The baby tries to pull baubles off the Christmas display table, threatening an avalanche of candles and pine cones as she tugs the black velvet table cloth down towards her on the floor. We eat roast dinners before the medicine wears off and head back on board for bedtime.
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
The Kitchen is the size of a Travelcot
17/10/10
Since Eastbourne the girls have not slept well. This means that The Doctor and I have not slept well. Luckily the floor space in our kitchen is exactly the size of a travel cot. On a typical night Baby Sister will wake, kneel up in her sleeping bag, grab hold of the cot rails that divide the double bed, with both of her tiny fists, and begin to cry. Big Sister wakes up and calls out,
“Mummy, can you get her?”
I use a miners head-lamp to ensure that I don’t step on a rogue slug in the corridor while walking to the bedroom cabin. The bedroom is dimly lit by a pink plastic flower-shaped light. I climb up onto the bunk and stand between the girls, next to the improvised cot-side barrier. I’m slightly bent over as the standing space is less than five feet.
“Mummy, take her out!” whines Big Sister.
“I’m getting her!” I snap groggily. “ You can see I’m in here!”
I lean over and pick up the grizzling baby under the armpits. I sit her up on the bed next to her disgruntled sister, while I climb down to the floor. Then I carry her through to the other end of the boat where we have pre-emptively erected the travel cot.
After a cuddle and a drink of water she is abandoned in the cot to wail with baby loneliness. Us parents gently offer words of comfort from our futon bed on the other side of the kitchen work-top. The first night we did this she cried for an hour and a half, but it’s getting better. The second night we did this, I was more tired so I accidentally bumped the baby’s head on the lamp hanging from the ceiling as I awkwardly lifted her out of bed, and then stepped on Big Sister. The third night, we tried a nappy change, drink of water, drink of milk, relaxing music and finally a piece of bread: Instant happiness. She chomps happily on the bread and makes the baby sign language for “more”!
In the morning we pack up the futon and travel cot, and clear piles of paperwork, toys and a beanbag off the table and onto the girls’ bed. Then the table is ready for breakfast. We can’t make breakfast until the travel cot is dismantled and packed away. And so on, and so on.
Since Eastbourne the girls have not slept well. This means that The Doctor and I have not slept well. Luckily the floor space in our kitchen is exactly the size of a travel cot. On a typical night Baby Sister will wake, kneel up in her sleeping bag, grab hold of the cot rails that divide the double bed, with both of her tiny fists, and begin to cry. Big Sister wakes up and calls out,
“Mummy, can you get her?”
I use a miners head-lamp to ensure that I don’t step on a rogue slug in the corridor while walking to the bedroom cabin. The bedroom is dimly lit by a pink plastic flower-shaped light. I climb up onto the bunk and stand between the girls, next to the improvised cot-side barrier. I’m slightly bent over as the standing space is less than five feet.
“Mummy, take her out!” whines Big Sister.
“I’m getting her!” I snap groggily. “ You can see I’m in here!”
I lean over and pick up the grizzling baby under the armpits. I sit her up on the bed next to her disgruntled sister, while I climb down to the floor. Then I carry her through to the other end of the boat where we have pre-emptively erected the travel cot.
After a cuddle and a drink of water she is abandoned in the cot to wail with baby loneliness. Us parents gently offer words of comfort from our futon bed on the other side of the kitchen work-top. The first night we did this she cried for an hour and a half, but it’s getting better. The second night we did this, I was more tired so I accidentally bumped the baby’s head on the lamp hanging from the ceiling as I awkwardly lifted her out of bed, and then stepped on Big Sister. The third night, we tried a nappy change, drink of water, drink of milk, relaxing music and finally a piece of bread: Instant happiness. She chomps happily on the bread and makes the baby sign language for “more”!
In the morning we pack up the futon and travel cot, and clear piles of paperwork, toys and a beanbag off the table and onto the girls’ bed. Then the table is ready for breakfast. We can’t make breakfast until the travel cot is dismantled and packed away. And so on, and so on.
“I am just bored here.”
15th October
BW haven’t phoned me about the mooring.
Sometimes, young children change the subject so quickly that you have no idea what is coming next. Over beans on toast at lunch time Big Sister announced,
“Actually Mummy, I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to be here?”
“Now, I want to move our boat back to London because I am just bored here.”
“Well, we will do soon darling. I want to go there too.”
“So, we can tell Daddy that when he comes home from work.”
“Well, Daddy already knows. Next week we are going on holiday to Plymouth to see Gran and Granddad and then the week after that we are going to move our boat back to London.”
“But I just want to go there.”
“Yes, I want to go there too. I miss my friends in London.” She looks downhearted and pensive.
“But,” she pauses, “when we go back to London I will miss all my friends here.” I am surprised.
“What friends have you got here?”
“Um. Like, the man and the lady at the lock, and the man on that boat, and the dogs. What is that man on the boat’s real name?”
“Well, we don’t know. We don’t know him very well do we? We just know his first name.”
“But I will miss the man and the lady at the lock.”
“Yes, I will miss them too.”
BW haven’t phoned me about the mooring.
Sometimes, young children change the subject so quickly that you have no idea what is coming next. Over beans on toast at lunch time Big Sister announced,
“Actually Mummy, I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to be here?”
“Now, I want to move our boat back to London because I am just bored here.”
“Well, we will do soon darling. I want to go there too.”
“So, we can tell Daddy that when he comes home from work.”
“Well, Daddy already knows. Next week we are going on holiday to Plymouth to see Gran and Granddad and then the week after that we are going to move our boat back to London.”
“But I just want to go there.”
“Yes, I want to go there too. I miss my friends in London.” She looks downhearted and pensive.
“But,” she pauses, “when we go back to London I will miss all my friends here.” I am surprised.
“What friends have you got here?”
“Um. Like, the man and the lady at the lock, and the man on that boat, and the dogs. What is that man on the boat’s real name?”
“Well, we don’t know. We don’t know him very well do we? We just know his first name.”
“But I will miss the man and the lady at the lock.”
“Yes, I will miss them too.”
Rambling
I plugged my phone in to charge but it’s not charging, even though the invertor is on. I find my miserable monologue has a new mantra. ‘This would never happen in a house.’ Being a stay at home mum is becoming more recognised as hard work, but the little hiccups of boating life added to sleep deprivation are prime elements for another equation.
(sleep deprivation) + (limitations of a narrowboat home) – (most mod cons) – (friends, family, human company) = the return of the miserable monologue.
The Doctor is back at work and the girls miss him. Sometimes Big Sister cries “because I miss Daddy so much.” So I give her a little framed photo of the handsome Doctor to look at.
“Parenting at home can be very socially isolating. It is easy to find that the only grown-up you talk to is your partner. Widening your support network is essential to help both of you deal with the stress and boredom of the everyday, and also just to refresh yourself with some different company now and again. There are, of course, some very useful websites through which you can meet local mums and/or just vent your frustrations (Mumsnet Talk being, obviously the best!)”
Toddlers – The Mumsnet Guide
How come I don’t even have time for Mumsnet? My lovely baby is 11 months old now. Shouldn’t I be coping better?
I saw one of the Busy Bees mums go by on the towpath with her pushchair today. My beady eyes spied her across the cut. I know her – I know her name! She’s not a friend. Only barely an acquaintance. But I briefly connected with another mother if only for an instant. No she didn’t see me, she doesn’t know my boat. She doesn’t know I’m here. But for a fraction of a second I thought, ‘We are not alone.’
As Rory McLeod would say, “I can’t survive on the kindness of these lovely strangers here.”
Rory Mcleod is an ex-circus clown and fire eater. “A one man soulband, poet and storyteller, singing his own unique upbeat dance stories. A modern travelling troubadour using tap shoes, acappella, harmonica, guitar, trombone, spoons, finger cymbals, bandorea, djembe and various percussion instruments!”
He wished to find a rambling woman to accompany him on his travels. I was lucky enough to find my rambling man. I wonder if Rory and his woman kept travelling after they had their ramblin’ kids?
“So don’t let me go darlin’
I love you now don’t make me stay
Come with me darlin’ when I have to go, when I have to tear myself away
And be my rambling woman
I’ll be your rambling man
And together we will go
Holding each others hand
And I’ll accompany you my darling
Whenever you have to roam
You’ll be my countryside darlin’
And I’ll be your home.
Won’t you come with me when I go?”
Working boat wives were not so isolated. When the men went to canal-side pubs, they’d be moored alongside other families, and while the women minded the children on board they could catch up with their temporary neighbours moored next door. They were part of a community.
“’Spite of all you hears about ‘drunken boatwomen’ most of ‘em was content of ‘n evenin to loose their chaps orf to the pub while they stayed tied to their kiddies and the cabin. It was a chance for Mum to catch oop on her chores ready for mornin and catch oop with news of the Cut with the women moored alongside.”
Ramlin Rose
, Sheila Stewart p.33
(sleep deprivation) + (limitations of a narrowboat home) – (most mod cons) – (friends, family, human company) = the return of the miserable monologue.
The Doctor is back at work and the girls miss him. Sometimes Big Sister cries “because I miss Daddy so much.” So I give her a little framed photo of the handsome Doctor to look at.
“Parenting at home can be very socially isolating. It is easy to find that the only grown-up you talk to is your partner. Widening your support network is essential to help both of you deal with the stress and boredom of the everyday, and also just to refresh yourself with some different company now and again. There are, of course, some very useful websites through which you can meet local mums and/or just vent your frustrations (Mumsnet Talk being, obviously the best!)”
Toddlers – The Mumsnet Guide
How come I don’t even have time for Mumsnet? My lovely baby is 11 months old now. Shouldn’t I be coping better?
I saw one of the Busy Bees mums go by on the towpath with her pushchair today. My beady eyes spied her across the cut. I know her – I know her name! She’s not a friend. Only barely an acquaintance. But I briefly connected with another mother if only for an instant. No she didn’t see me, she doesn’t know my boat. She doesn’t know I’m here. But for a fraction of a second I thought, ‘We are not alone.’
As Rory McLeod would say, “I can’t survive on the kindness of these lovely strangers here.”
Rory Mcleod is an ex-circus clown and fire eater. “A one man soulband, poet and storyteller, singing his own unique upbeat dance stories. A modern travelling troubadour using tap shoes, acappella, harmonica, guitar, trombone, spoons, finger cymbals, bandorea, djembe and various percussion instruments!”
He wished to find a rambling woman to accompany him on his travels. I was lucky enough to find my rambling man. I wonder if Rory and his woman kept travelling after they had their ramblin’ kids?
“So don’t let me go darlin’
I love you now don’t make me stay
Come with me darlin’ when I have to go, when I have to tear myself away
And be my rambling woman
I’ll be your rambling man
And together we will go
Holding each others hand
And I’ll accompany you my darling
Whenever you have to roam
You’ll be my countryside darlin’
And I’ll be your home.
Won’t you come with me when I go?”
Working boat wives were not so isolated. When the men went to canal-side pubs, they’d be moored alongside other families, and while the women minded the children on board they could catch up with their temporary neighbours moored next door. They were part of a community.
“’Spite of all you hears about ‘drunken boatwomen’ most of ‘em was content of ‘n evenin to loose their chaps orf to the pub while they stayed tied to their kiddies and the cabin. It was a chance for Mum to catch oop on her chores ready for mornin and catch oop with news of the Cut with the women moored alongside.”
Ramlin Rose
, Sheila Stewart p.33
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
Birthday
Sent: 13 October 2010 21:34
To: Mooring_Vacancies Enquiries
Subject: RE: Winter Moorings 2010
Hi BW Lady
I have been trying to use the new system to buy a winter mooring at Islington, London . On 4th October I spent much of the day watching the mooring website which suggested the launch time would be around 4.30pm. When I checked the site at 4.23pm all available space at Islington had been sold. On 5th October someone on the phone at BW told me the system would send me an email if any more space became available on the website. On 6th October a mooring officer at the London office confirmed that more space will become available at Islington and she would phone me when this is on the website. The site today has now changed from saying 3.17 metres available to 2.23 metres available at Islington. Can you tell me if all the mooring space at Islington has been sold?
Thanks
Boat Wife
I’m still waiting for BW to ring me about the mooring. Until they do I don’t know if my family will remain ‘of no fixed abode’ for the winter. The children have been waking on average twice a night this week and the sleep deprivation is beginning to take it’s toll. Day to day life seems more difficult. Positive thinking is elusive. The ghost of John Lennon drifts around the boat singing ‘I’m so tired, I don’t know what to do.’
My first born baby was three years old yesterday. Her astonished and innocent face awoke to a pile of presents and a boat full of balloons. The family day trip to a Hertfordshire wildlife park included jungle animals, bouncy castles, a woodland railway train ride, Thomas the Tank Engine, an adventure playground, candy floss for the first time and,
“Any ice-cream you want for the birthday girl,” says the man who lives with the Lady of the Lock. “You come inside and choose one.”
Then we went back home for three pink glittery candles on the birthday cake.
“I thought those candles looked really beautiful,” she said softly, her eyes full of wonder.
When the girls were in bed, us parents flopped into bed at 8.30pm exhausted, but noting an immense satisfaction at focussing so much time and energy on another person’s happiness.
To: Mooring_Vacancies Enquiries
Subject: RE: Winter Moorings 2010
Hi BW Lady
I have been trying to use the new system to buy a winter mooring at Islington, London . On 4th October I spent much of the day watching the mooring website which suggested the launch time would be around 4.30pm. When I checked the site at 4.23pm all available space at Islington had been sold. On 5th October someone on the phone at BW told me the system would send me an email if any more space became available on the website. On 6th October a mooring officer at the London office confirmed that more space will become available at Islington and she would phone me when this is on the website. The site today has now changed from saying 3.17 metres available to 2.23 metres available at Islington. Can you tell me if all the mooring space at Islington has been sold?
Thanks
Boat Wife
I’m still waiting for BW to ring me about the mooring. Until they do I don’t know if my family will remain ‘of no fixed abode’ for the winter. The children have been waking on average twice a night this week and the sleep deprivation is beginning to take it’s toll. Day to day life seems more difficult. Positive thinking is elusive. The ghost of John Lennon drifts around the boat singing ‘I’m so tired, I don’t know what to do.’
My first born baby was three years old yesterday. Her astonished and innocent face awoke to a pile of presents and a boat full of balloons. The family day trip to a Hertfordshire wildlife park included jungle animals, bouncy castles, a woodland railway train ride, Thomas the Tank Engine, an adventure playground, candy floss for the first time and,
“Any ice-cream you want for the birthday girl,” says the man who lives with the Lady of the Lock. “You come inside and choose one.”
Then we went back home for three pink glittery candles on the birthday cake.
“I thought those candles looked really beautiful,” she said softly, her eyes full of wonder.
When the girls were in bed, us parents flopped into bed at 8.30pm exhausted, but noting an immense satisfaction at focussing so much time and energy on another person’s happiness.
The Secret of The Lady of The Lock
10th October
On a sunny Sunday Big Sister and I stopped on our way back from the village to buy ice-cream from the Lady of the Lock and to pay her for the laundry load that she did yesterday.
“You’ve run out of Mini-Milks haven’t you?” I asked.
“We have,” she confirmed, looking apologetically at my little daughter.
“But I tell you what. You could have a Twister lolly. Would you like that?” She smiles at my daughter and then looks at me.
“You can have that for the price of a Mini-Milk.” She returns with the lolly and my daughter sits on a wooden park bench outside her front door and gets ice-cream all around her mouth.
“How do you like it on the mooring there?” she said, leaning on the baby stair-gate in her doorway, that prevents her dogs from running onto the lock-side.
“Oh, I’m really enjoying having a mooring,” I grinned. “Actually, I was going to ask you. Do you mind? I mean, next week, we’re going to Devon for a week. My parents and my husband’s parents live there, so it’s all the grandparents there you know. Will it be alright to leave the boat there? And you could keep an eye on it for us, you know.”
“Of course, yes. Not a problem.”
So we chatted a bit more and I said,
“You’ve got two sons haven’t you?”
“No, four” she smiled, and described each one to me.
“We never got married though, never got around to it.”
So, the husband of the Lady of the Lock is not the husband of the Lady of the Lock. Is it too late to invent a new pseudonym for him?
I do like having a mooring. I like being a short walk from the village. I like living next door to people who sell gas, diesel and ice-creams. I like having an address – we’re having a new futon mattress delivered here next week! I like nodding at my boaty neighbours when I pass them on the towpath. I like going to the same toddler group every week. I like to fantasise about strimming down all of those waist-high nettles and having a garden for the children to play in. But I think The Doctor misses the stunning views of The Mead. He thinks that a mooring is the worst of both worlds; no storage space or mod-cons and you travel a lot less. I’m beginning to feel it would be the best of both worlds. An address near a nursery, neighbours that know my children, and no need to travel to get water, gas, rubbish disposal or the toilet pumped out.
Occasionally I Google ‘narrowboat wife’ and similar to see if I can find other narrowboat blogging mums. Today I was pleasantly surprised to find myself listed as a new blog on George's Canal Boating website. I am excited to have a tiny bit of internet fame! But I’ve still only found one other blogging, narrowboating mum.
George's: Canal Boating website is an introduction for those unfamiliar with the pleasures of canal and waterway cruising, as well as a resource for experienced boaters. There are over 2000 links to canal and waterways related web sites. “Please... they are "narrowboats", not "barges".
"Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing-- absolutely nothing--
half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats."
-- Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
On a sunny Sunday Big Sister and I stopped on our way back from the village to buy ice-cream from the Lady of the Lock and to pay her for the laundry load that she did yesterday.
“You’ve run out of Mini-Milks haven’t you?” I asked.
“We have,” she confirmed, looking apologetically at my little daughter.
“But I tell you what. You could have a Twister lolly. Would you like that?” She smiles at my daughter and then looks at me.
“You can have that for the price of a Mini-Milk.” She returns with the lolly and my daughter sits on a wooden park bench outside her front door and gets ice-cream all around her mouth.
“How do you like it on the mooring there?” she said, leaning on the baby stair-gate in her doorway, that prevents her dogs from running onto the lock-side.
“Oh, I’m really enjoying having a mooring,” I grinned. “Actually, I was going to ask you. Do you mind? I mean, next week, we’re going to Devon for a week. My parents and my husband’s parents live there, so it’s all the grandparents there you know. Will it be alright to leave the boat there? And you could keep an eye on it for us, you know.”
“Of course, yes. Not a problem.”
So we chatted a bit more and I said,
“You’ve got two sons haven’t you?”
“No, four” she smiled, and described each one to me.
“We never got married though, never got around to it.”
So, the husband of the Lady of the Lock is not the husband of the Lady of the Lock. Is it too late to invent a new pseudonym for him?
I do like having a mooring. I like being a short walk from the village. I like living next door to people who sell gas, diesel and ice-creams. I like having an address – we’re having a new futon mattress delivered here next week! I like nodding at my boaty neighbours when I pass them on the towpath. I like going to the same toddler group every week. I like to fantasise about strimming down all of those waist-high nettles and having a garden for the children to play in. But I think The Doctor misses the stunning views of The Mead. He thinks that a mooring is the worst of both worlds; no storage space or mod-cons and you travel a lot less. I’m beginning to feel it would be the best of both worlds. An address near a nursery, neighbours that know my children, and no need to travel to get water, gas, rubbish disposal or the toilet pumped out.
Occasionally I Google ‘narrowboat wife’ and similar to see if I can find other narrowboat blogging mums. Today I was pleasantly surprised to find myself listed as a new blog on George's Canal Boating website. I am excited to have a tiny bit of internet fame! But I’ve still only found one other blogging, narrowboating mum.
George's: Canal Boating website is an introduction for those unfamiliar with the pleasures of canal and waterway cruising, as well as a resource for experienced boaters. There are over 2000 links to canal and waterways related web sites. “Please... they are "narrowboats", not "barges".
"Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing-- absolutely nothing--
half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats."
-- Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)