When people find out that I live on a narrowboat, their eyes light up. They say things like “Gosh, I’d love to do that,” and “That’s so bohemian of you!,” and “It must be so peaceful”. It is peaceful, sometimes, but it’s easy to forget that when you’re struggling to push open a heavy lock gate in the pouring rain with a screaming baby strapped to your chest. Still, I love the way I live: I love being close to the water, and feeling more connected to nature and in sync with the changing seasons than I did living on land.
That isn’t to say boat life was always the plan. I used to imagine I’d end up in some rambling old farmhouse, with Farrow & Ball wallpaper, period features and an open fire. I still get pangs when I visit friends’ seemingly enormous and lavishly equipped houses – upstairs and downstairs! A freezer! Hot taps! But for my husband, Nigel, and I, with our ill-paid, bookish jobs (I’m a writer, he’s a librarian. OK fine, my ill-paid job) along with, you know, The Economy, buying a house just isn’t feasible, especially where we live in Oxford. But owning his own home has always been important to Nige, who grew up in council housing, so we began to explore alternative options. Once we let go of the impossible goal of a house and focused instead on what we could afford, everything changed.
