Living on Coot (part three)

We have had some wonderful times on Coot. Mooring up in the middle of nowhere, so close to nature and no other humans to be seen for miles. In the late Spring it was lovely to watch new mothers with their offspring, lambs, chicks, cygnets, ducklings, goslings. In summer, flocks of swallows feeding above the water, and geese flying over in such numbers, what a noise they make! I adopted a moorhen, Ditzy. Every day she swam to our boat to collect bits of bread to take back to her chicks. I watched these chicks grow up, and now they swim to the boat themselves. Astra adopted a duckling, Petsy. She too is now grown, and indistinguishable from the many ducks that visit us.





We haven't done as much cruising as originally planned, but plans are made to be changed. We moored up next to our friends' boat for a few days, probably my favourite experience aboard Coot. A handful of boats all moored one behind the other, four of them with children on board.

The children played from the moment they were up until bedtime, disappearing off into the fields on their bikes, exploring a ruined church, pushing each other on a makeshift hammock, swimming in a river, watching a Studio Ghibli film together when they were worn out. In the evenings a fire was lit and we all sat around it sharing stories, philosophies, wine and on one occasion a super hot chilli sauce. It was a blissful few days.

Day cruises have been fun too, cruising to show a friend or relative the joys of ever changing scenery, the families of water fowl living at the edges of the canal, crossing over aqueducts and cruising through the city centre. And now as the nights are drawing in, and the temperature is starting to drop, the smell of woodsmoke fills the marina and we light our fire too, and toast marshmallows and, in all honesty, feel slightly relieved that we will not know what it is like when the temperature drops below freezing. When that happens, we will be on a beach, no doubt complaining about the heat!

Living on Coot (part two)

Nobody drowned, we didn't sink, although we did get caught on the side of a lock once. What a treasured memory that will be one day. Watching the boat go down in the lock as Astra played happily on the bow, Andy shouting and gesticulating wildly at me and me standing there thinking, 'what's he on about?'. Only to notice the boat was hanging, right before the weight of it tipped it sideways and it fell. No real harm done, just a bit of cleaning up inside, but very scary. I read the advice about these situations again, and this time I remembered them. I'm good like that.

We had a head on collision, with someone who was obviously a beginner - we had been on the boat for a good few weeks at this point, clearly experts. Well, we had at least picked up that looking where you're going is helpful, as is *not* steaming around a bend on the wrong side of the canal. Hmph, beginnners eh? Left a nasty dent on the front of our boat, but he gave us a wry smile as he passed so that made it all okay.




And there was the Blisworth Tunnel. 2.5 miles of pitch dark, only marginally wider than the width of two narrowboats. Andy's night vision, we discovered, is not great. Mine is slightly better, so I was able to watch as we zigzagged down the tunnnel, bashing into one side then careering over to bash into the other. Eventually Andy straightened us up and we scraped along the side for the next 2 miles. Hey, at least we were going in a straight line!

We took the boat to a marina so we could have some furniture built. We were only supposed to stay for a few weeks, but then the Sydney job came up and we needed a place to leave the boat....
It is quite a community, 50 boats lined up in a row. Some folk are of the, 'I moved onto a boat so I don't have to mix with people' variety, but most are friendly, smiling, sociable. Astra spends hours outside each day, cycling or scootering up and down, taking her toys off to play with them in her den. It's a safe and relaxing place to live. Quiet, peaceful, with wide open skies and fields and distant church spires.

Living on Coot (part one)

What a brief adventure it has turned out to be. No sooner had I finished unpacking, than Andy got himself a job in Australia. Nooo, I cried, I LOVE this boating life. I want to live like this forever!! But....okay. A job is a job is a job, and you know what, why not. It will be sunny, every day. And everybody tells me it's 'a great opportunity'. Nobody has an answer when I ask them what it's actually an opportunity for, but that's okay, the idea is growing on me. And then Astra starts a month long obsession with Huntsman spiders (they are very big) and other Australian delights, and I wonder if Australia for an arachnaphobe might be even crazier than boat life for a hoarder. Hmm.

Our few short months on the boat have been wonderful. It has been difficult at times, but I recommmend boating as a way of life. It's a way of living in England that means you are slightly removed from the bureaucracy and the societal pressures that living in a street can bring. Don't get me wrong, there are societal pressures on boats too, such as, don't have your engine running after 8pm (thank you fellow boater for hammering on our boat one night to enlighten us about that rule)....but they are a tad more *real* than the pressures of living in a house. Well, this is how it has felt to me.

It's a more down to earth way of living. It isn't self sufficiency, or living as a hunter gatherer, but it is a lot closer than I have experienced before. Except for those childhood holidays in our ramshackle caravan in a cow field, where the toilet was a tin can and the lights were fuelled by gas. And you washed from a bowl of icy cold water. On a boat you need to deal with your own toilet waste, haul your own gas canisters, light your fire when it gets cold, get your own water. You have to go somewhere to collect your mail, you have to dispose of your own rubbish. You have to use the launderette to get your clothes clean. And you have to pay attention in a way I never did in a house.

In our first month aboard, everything broke down. It became our morning greeeting, 'wonder what will go wrong today?'. The water ran brown, the water pump failed. The *other* water pump failed. The fixed water pump wouldn't stop pumping. The boiler stopped working. The toilet leaked. The toilet clogged up. The windows leaked when we were out. The engine bilge filled with water. The power ran out. The power ran out again. And again. The kitchen sink leaked. There were other things too. I was keeping notes, but I got bored. 'Something goes wrong every day', I thought, I can just say that. But after a month, the boat ran out of things to go wrong, it had all been fixed/replaced/got used to. And we had more or less stopped banging our heads, stubbing our toes and feeling seasick in the shower.

Week one aboard Coot

Wednesday evening. So, I still have to go back to the house to scrub the oil from the drive, and to spar with the landlord about our deposit, and to collect the fish tank....but hey, tonight we sleep on the boat. We weren't joking about this boat thing. I know I said we'd be gone by Saturday, but we're boaters now. What's the hurry? Relax! Well, I would if I wasn't so teeth clenchingly cold. We have 6 heating systems on the boat, and not one of them feels like welcoming us tonight. Brrr.


Thursday. Aha, so THAT'S how you light the pilot light. There is a pilot light! Who'd have thought it. I think I love you. I will buy you a box of chocolates before we leave here. No, don't worry, we won't use the engine until you have fixed the exhaust. Who needs electricity anyway! City folks, maybe. Errrm, it's a bit dark, and my computer doesn't work....and it's cold....huh? Yes, the pilot light is alight, now what?....aah, we have run out of gas. Great. Brrr.


Friday. Okay, we have an alight pilot light, we have gas, we have heat. We have an exhaust, and electricity, we have everything we need. And we have worms. That's a new one for me, requires a spot of googling. Wash everything, every day. Clean towels, every day. Hmm.



Saturday. Is launderette day. Some things never change. Oh, I forgot the worming tablets. They're new. I'm not very encouraged by the pharmacist's glum face, 'well, you can try them, eh?'. We all take a dose, everything is clean, fingers crossed. In the night I dream that the boat is rolling over onto it's side, but luckily it's just Astra's airbed deflating. Well, not so lucky for her but I reckon she could sleep on a rope if push came to shove. She snores happily. And then I throw up.


Sunday. I become very well acquainted with our bathroom. It's not so bad, you know. It has a new toilet, and it's clean, very clean. Tonight Andy's airbed goes flat. I feel slightly guilty that mine is the only one managing to stay inflated throughout the night. I imagine Andy and Astra secretly hatching plans to steal it from me when I'm not looking.



Monday.The engineers complete the last job on the boat. Hooray, we are free to set sail whenever we like! And, more importantly, we don't have to be up and dressed and presentable by 8am in the morning. We are masters of our own time.

Tuesday. What's that smell? Oh boy. The toilet tank is leaking. Perhaps it's full? What a pleasant job for today, drive round to the pump out station and, well, pump out the tank. 'You just hold it here and turn this lever to open it, it's very easy, you can't go wrong....ohh, I'm sorry, that shouldn't have happened...'. Nice. But afterwards, aah, the boat is out of the marina. No going back, we are finally on the canal.

Packing

We're packing. Downsizing. Decluttering. There may be only 3 of us, but we live in a 4 bedroom house, and we have filled every single room. With stuff. Wonderful stuff, all of it. I LOVE my stuff. I have all the books I have ever read, right back to The Magic Faraway Tree. I have every single record I ever bought. I have boxes of Astra's artwork, every single piece of it. I have bags of clothes that will fit me again one day. Well, okay, maybe not, but they are so lovely, look at them. I was that thin once! If I give them away I really am throwing in the towel, right?

Andy packs up the LPs, I hold up the cuddly animals one by one. Astra either grabs them and chatters to them, or condemns them. 'Boat', 'Storage', 'Charity Shop'. 'What? Really? You remember who gave this to you?'. Andy joins in. 'Which one? Red Horn? You're throwing out Red Horn? But what about when the Now-Food-Teddy goes to the Red Planet and.....'.
'Pffft', says Astra. 'I'll promote another cuddly animal. It will be fine. For goodness sake!'.

So. Astra is decluttering. Andy and I are running out of boxes.

The One

'Three new boats at Northampton', my friend texts me. She's also looking for a boat, but she has more time, and she's doing a wondrous job of helping us find our dreamboat. Not the one from the, 'she's going down!' dreams, of course. So, off we go again, Astra and I, for a spot of boat hopping.

Coot. Funny name for a boat, short, staccato. Gives me the sense that the owner couldn't really be bothered but happened to see a coot go by at that 'naming' moment. I like the exotic names, the ones that need explaining, or even translating. Names that conjure images of lazy days drifting along. Coot. It's just a bit basic really, isn't it? Never mind, maybe it will have a maroon sofa.

Well, it has some lovely roses and castles on the back doors. That's a good start. Inside, wood. Lots and lots of wood. There is no sun today, but the sun is lighting up the wood. We make our way through the boat.

Astra gets waylaid by the bed which has to be jumped on. It's one of her criteria, how jump-on-able the bed is. She is laughing, always a good sign. 'I LOVE this boat', she cries, and I am beginning to agree with her. Down to the next room. Wow. The biggest room I have seen so far on a boat. With a side entrance, more painted wooden doors. What we could do with this room....







Onward, to the kitchen, and then the front saloon complete with wood burning stove. By the time I'm at the bow of the boat, my mind is made up. This is it. This is the one. There is no maroon furniture. There is no furniture at all in fact, but this boat is beautiful. All 65 feet of it. (That's longer than our house, you know!).






    Coot. What a fantastic name for a boat!

When I fall in love....

It will be forever. Or a couple of weeks. I'm not capricious, but you weren't exactly upfront about what lay beneath the surface.

You don't choose the boat, the boat chooses you. Everyone tells me this. Okay, I'm dreaming of the boat. It's calling to me. In my dreams. Choosing me. This is quite nice, it makes a pleasant change from, 'abandon ship, she's going down'. The dreams I wake up from in a cold sweat, oh good lord what were we thinking of? The dreams where the surveyor turns to me with a sad face, 'I'm very sorry to tell you, but.....'. The dreams where I'm screaming, 'jump, jump you fools'.

So yes, there's this lovely dream, all is calm, and the boat says, 'Pick me, Pick me'. And I say, okay, sure, what's your name? Hey, come back, you didn't tell me your name. Oh god, we're sinking again, grab the, uhh, what, grab the what? I'll need to make a plan for that. 'Pick me, Pick me'...ok, you're going to disappear but I'm paying attention now. I see you have maroon seating. And....noooo, come back dammit, they've all got maroon seats. I need a name!

We start actually visiting boats. 57 foot in Worcestershire. No. Andy, who has not set foot on a narrowboat before, but knows that 60 foot is too long (that's the length of our house!), says, 'this is way too small'. Yorkshire, 70 foot, no. How can a boat be so long and yet feel so cramped? Northampton marina 1. Woah, get me off this boat. I'm sure it can sleep 17 but I can't breathe. Northampton marina 2, ah, maybe......

But then, there's the first boat I saw. It has a 5 ring hob, and a dinette. And spotlights on the ceiling. And nice cushions. It's LOVELY. I love it, and clearly it chose me. Why is it so cheap, I ask a friend. Um, it hasn't got an engine? I read the ad again. Ah. Now I may not be very mechanically minded, but even I can see the downside to this. Not to worry, we can put an engine on it! Okay, we're in business. Can I see the survey that was very handily done last year? Sure. Point 4.7 The boat had taken on water and the reason for this was not ascertained. It would be advisable to look into this before  re-launching the vessel. Advisable??

Northampton 2. Yes, let's go back to Northampton, there are LOADS of boats there, and lots of them have got maroon seats.