14th August - Hidden Surprises

It was Dad's turn today to go to the boat after picking up African Ron who came with his fierce set of spanners to inspect our girl from top to bottom, his nimble fingers searching her engine and advising us what the grease lever was. Apparently lots of boats have them and it was totally normal. Good job you don't have to give a couple of turns to one before you start and finish your car journey, or you'd be in the service station two hours spending a fortune on doughnuts whilst waiting for the engine to cool down.

Thankfully African Ron discovered a few hidden surprises including some scorched live wires which were touching the engine (we were lucky the boat didn't burst into flames) and some water under the floor of the boat which has built up out of condensation etc over the years and left a small pool a few goldfish would be delighted with. We've been told we need an aqua vac, the sofa moved to the other side of the boat to tilt it a bit and several elephants to stand on the gunnels for us. Apparently the elephants are to help with tilting the boat and getting the water to drain to the hatch where the water Hoover will go to suck it away.

African Ron was delighted when Mum popped up with a beer and a brolly for him, to keep him both wet and dry at the same time. Marvellous what beer can do.

After placing back the labyrinth of panels to cover up our girl's modesty (her private engine bits) Dad took African Ron home and Mum went to get some rather fetching tester pots for the interior paint. Amusingly they have ridiculous names (as all paint does) including 'acorn', 'kitchen green' and 'pea green'. There's certainly nothing green in my kitchen except vegetables and the odd bit of Stilton. We're going to try them out by painting teeny squares on the walls on Saturday and stare at them for half a day to work out which one would best suit our tastes. Knowing Dad, he'll pick British racing green whilst Mum and I stare at each other in horror.

We're hoping for a maiden voyage on our girl to Sells Green and back on Saturday, with a brief stop at the pub for some lunch and some careful steering back into the marina to moor up once more.

I can't wait to stay on her next year when our work is complete and, whilst lying in bed, we hear the owls in the night beside the towpath and the birdsong early in the morning coming through the mushroom vents - it's truly magical.

12th August - Don't ask me

We've been visiting the boat in small doses over the past few days and yet, she feels like a drug. I have a hard time not thinking about her, and when I do, I drift off into a world of my own, and people look at me, slightly concerned, nudging me to see if I'm still there. Some of the best excuses to come from my mouth so far have been: 'oh, sorry, I got distracted as I'm so hungry', or 'wow, is that a chocolate gateau?' Or the best one, 'sorry, I was thinking about a roast dinner after that logo I designed recently for a catering van, it looks good enough to eat.' Always blame it on food - it's a common obsession and people don't think you've completely lost it. Well, not yet, anyway. (Most people think I already have, so it doesn't make much difference).

Today we went for a surprise birthday party for one of my customers whose business is barely a couple of feet from the marina where the boat is kept, and for the first time, we actually told someone we had bought a boat. It was a bizarre feeling, and we were still only getting used to the idea at the time, but by the evening it felt real again.

We went to our girl after a stressful day dealing with work problems. The marina in comparison was rewardingly quiet and gentle, the water rippling in the breeze and ducks bobbing on the miniature waves. 

I sat for a while on the shed floor, watching Dad nimbly wiring a shoreline cable plug together, whilst I stared in awe. I have no idea how to wire anything and failed at soldering circuit boards at school, hence my concentration wandered and I went rummaging through the shelves and inspecting the contents of a yellow basket left for us with a dozen other plugs scattered inside (don't ask me how to wire them).

Soon enough, we had a working shoreline cable and rejoiced in the fact we have a choice of two exterior sockets, as technically we have two mooring spaces, being a fat boat. Sockets 161 and 162 are ours to select at random - life is all about variety. I have been curious to know what would happen if we were to switch with one of our neighbours and whether they would notice if we use their electric for a while to do a spot of hoovering, or put the toaster on at the same time as the kettle. The trouble is, I have a conscience and it doesn't let me do things like that. It doesn't want me to be on Santa's naughty list either.

We checked the boat over once more and Dad sat in the recently cleaned leather armchair with a 'poof!' We reflected on how pleasant people are on the canal compared to living on land. Everyone seems happy and smiley on the canal - even couples walk together in full sight of everyone without peering round corners to check if anyone is watching in public. It seems to me, everyone on the canal is on the same level, or, excuse the pun, 'in the same boat'. It doesn't matter who you are, whether you have money or not - it's your personality and your skills that matter. People take you for how you appear in that moment, and our experience of the canal shows you can be in any predicament and people will help you (our narrowboat flooded once from a burst shower pipe and the kind boaters moored in front of us came to a rescue with an aqua vac to save us hours of bucket bailing in the freezing cold). If only land people were the same. My experiences of them are often very poor ones. Thankfully, I'm no longer one of them.

10th August - Sticks like Sh*t

We went to a friend's surprise 65th birthday party today, a long way from the canal. Our mind, however, was still reeling with excitement of our new girl. It was a job to contain ourselves when someone asked if the canal was near us. Then came the question: 'do you have a barge?'

I almost combusted with the indecision of whether or not I, or any of us should tell them. Instead of a wise and eloquent phrase such as 'oh, yes indeed we do, a 55ft by 12ft one, it just recently came into our possession.', a feeble, 'ermmm, yes, um, sort of...' Escaped my lips. The tricky subject was quickly changed as dinner arrived in the form of a hog roast and our attentions turned to keeping the marquee tied down whilst balancing a plate of food - no mean feat in 40mph gusts of wind kindly given to us by the remnants of hurricane Bertha.

There was one advantage I did discover today - sit downwind of someone else who is eating and receive seconds on your plate without needing to leave your seat. There is a downside to this, however, when it comes to the chocolate fudge cake pudding which sticks like shit to crockery and refuses to budge, even with 60mph blast. A jet wash is required for these sorts of occasions.

Earlier this morning we did stop over to check the boat after last night's heavy rains - so far she seems dry - the engine bay may yet need a pantyliner to control the small damp puddles produced by the pounding rain dribbling under her hatch. Still excited over the dramatic increase in space which we explored once more, we left wet patches of our own after realising we didn't have any doormats (you need two on a boat, one at each end). They're not only great for controlling feet-shaped puddles, but also other oddities which may try to sneak on board undetected on the underside of your shoe.

Curious, I had a brief rummage in the shed and found a large china mug with 'first class Dad' written on it (guess who that now belongs to) amongst other strange items, including a t-bar shaped key which I have absolutely no idea where it belongs. The other t-bar shaped key is for the pump out tank, but this one looks like it's important, mounted on its own special little bracket. I'm sure we'll find a use for it.

I still can't believe we have a boat with a proper sofa on. Wow.

9th August - We bought a fat boat

Today we bought a fat boat.

Yes, the great, tank-like bath tubs we used to sneer at on the canal. You know the ones, that cloggle up the canal, greedily keeping locks to themselves and owners smarmily sitting out on deck chairs on the enlarged bow.

We actually bought one. And we love it - well, her, to be polite and correct.

We exchanged on the bow today with one of her lovely owners, who with a smile (and a rather hard bump of his head on the doorway) shook hands and took his belongings and his smoking pipe away with him, a tear in his eye. He looked back one last time at her, and I remembered that look and feeling when we sold our narrowboat three years ago to become land huggers once more. Now we've got a fat boat - double the pleasure, and double the work, challenge accepted.

It all happened within a matter of days - Dad went to the marina to enquire about a mooring in case we decided to buy a boat, and there, lo and behold, was our fat boat, barely seconds in her mooring and about to go with the brokers.

Today we sat, still reeling slightly from the shock, sipping champagne whilst exploring our new best friend. Pulling back the sofa revealed two tennis balls plus, to my excitement, a miniature Narnia-like cupboard tucked deep behind it out of sight, with nothing more interesting than the gas valve for the cooker inside. Still, it was worth a try.

We can't get over the masses of space compared to our old narrowboat, who, bless her, was indeed a great deal skinnier and had trouble keeping still. To be honest, so did we, trying to dance around each other in a 1ft wide corridor. Cooking a breakfast used to be interesting to say the least.

Now, we waft around looking excitedly inside every cupboard and drawer, lifting up mattresses (don't ask), pressing switches and inspecting mushrooms. Not the magic ones, but the ones that live on the roof - the brass ones, of course.

The television is, after all, the most important feature, and after discovering we can in fact get ITV 1, we breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that as long as we are in the marina by 7pm, we will always get Emmerdale. Goodness knows what will happen if we go out on the towpath at that time of day, perhaps the world will end. Or the recording button will save us, whichever comes first.

Amazingly, we have something affectionately called 'the shed' at the back end of the boat, inside, so called because of the many shelves lined in peculiar cans and baskets of hammers, wire, a spirit level and other items that any man would be proud of to have in his cave. To top it all off, there's the fancy gauge for the solar panels (awesome) and the engine below, which I haven't been brave enough to look at yet, hence a visit is due shortly from our South African engineering friend, Ron, who is very fierce with a spanner. Goodness knows what will happen if he encounters our other South African friend, Iain, who can scare the pants off of anybody (except us, of course). They tell you to keep your friends close - they're handy, that's why. You only keep your enemies closer so you can keep an eye on them and make sure they're not stealing your shoreline electric when you have your back turned.

After exploring the bathroom and discovering that at very least we had half a toilet roll kindly left for us, I found something that made my face light up like a Christmas tree. A tank waste gauge. With a little red needle. And - you'll never guess - it actually TELLS you when your poo tank is full! You might wonder why I'm so excited, but all our narrowboat had was a little red light that lit up near the time. With absolutely no inkling what so ever (I like at least a week's notice) we would constantly gaze at the red light thinking, is it full now? Do we need to immediately pump out, or do we play the waiting game? Thankfully, we never got the chance to find out what happens when it's totally full and you flush.

Another pants-wetting moment - we have a bath, an actual BATH. We don't even have one of those at home and I can't remember the last time I saw one (except at a posh B and B, where it had legs on it). This one doesn't have legs, but it does resemble a bath, which is a great bonus.

I did get told off for pulling a bit of carpet off the wall. Yes, not the floor, the wall. To keep it warm in winter. You can't blame me, it's something called curiosity, and I was only testing the glue. And seeing if I could pull it off in the same manner as a wine bottle label (I'm dangerous at parties - wine swap, anyone?).

Dad got into trouble for pulling off the internal mushroom vent. Bits of things came down into Mum's wine glass - champagne does not require seasoning, especially with boat fluff.

A duck looked at us through the window with a 'are you mad?' expression, and I did wonder for a minute, then shook my head.

'No, it's the most exciting project we've ever taken on.' I glanced at the bowl of oranges left on the shelf below the telly, their bright glow the only splash of colour in the boat. 'And, perhaps, the strangest.'