Memories of a special day

The wedding cake The newly weds arrive on the Cliveden Reach

Sixteenth of July Two Thousand and Five

. Outside Cookham church with Granny Partridge and my bridesmaid Isobel. Wedding guests wait on the towpath for a lift over to the island. The parties continued for several days. The newly married couple take the plunge, supported by a few friends...

Early morning commute from Cliveden

Messing about in boats

"There's nothing half so much worth doing," says Ratty to Moley in The Wind in the Willows, "as simply messing about in boats." Amen to that, rat. Because it might be 100 years since Kenneth Grahame published his children's tale about shifting seasons by the Thames, but England's most famous river is still charming visitors, as it has seduced writers such as Grahame for centuries. In Jerome K Jerome's famous travelogue, Three Men in a Boat, three upper-class layabouts row a skiff upriver from Kingston to Oxford, and between depictions of watery mishaps and disputations on modern Victorian life, Jerome finds time for lush descriptions of this dreamiest English spot. Cliveden, Jerome says, is where to go for "deep peace". Cliveden is famously known as the location for the 'Profumo Affair' - scandalous relations between Christine Keeler and the politician John Profumo in the 60's. Now a sumptuous hotel you can stay in Nancy Astor's 'country retreat' for around £300 per night - what a bargain! Although the house and gardens are imposing and impressive and make an interesting visit (you don't have to sleep over, you can go for the day and just pay the National Trust car parking attendant £7.50 for a family ticket) I prefer the extensive woodlands, the boathouse and the three small islands that you can just about make out far below the statue at the end of the formal gardens.

'Our' island is the first island you find nestling at the foothills of the Chilterns between Boulter's and Cookham locks if you approach by boat, as we did on Golden Mean in the October of 2003. It was our first trip up river having moved onto the boat the previous Summer. As we left the lock cut behind and the river opened out into the wider stretch known as the Cliveden Reach, the Autumnal colours of the trees that grow up the high chalk cliffs on the Cliveden side were spectacularly reflected in the evening sunlight, which skims across the backs of the horses in the fields by White Place Farm and warms dog walkers and cyclists on the tow path. This is in fact the West bank of the river as the Thames collides with the edge of the Chilterns and it's Easterly passage is diverted South. The sunset is last to fade at the very top of the Cliveden bank, where the trees remain bathed in light long after the island's nautical revelers are in shadow, putting on an extra jumper or extinguishing the BBQ and turning in for the night.

Having spent some weeks on the reach, a wedding reception and two baptisms we have still to find a mooring that we like better. We have history here, like so many other boaters (not to mention Jerome K. Jerome and Kenneth Grahame). We have tramped the woodland in search of logs and roasted sausages on an open fire (that's artistic licence for disposable BBQ since open fires are not permitted by the National Trust). We have returned from a day at work to find our dinghy has broken free from that particular tree root and we are stranded on the wrong side of the river, only to recover the dinghy the next day from the downstream side of the lock. We have swum in the river, as have many of our friends and families following our wedding at Cookham church where we departed to a medley of nautical themes on the organ which culminated in 'Messing about on the river'. We have gone aground around the back of the island, aptly named 'Slow Grove' and had to winch ourselves off by tying a rope onto a tree using the dinghy. Our first dinghy died on Slow Grove after I put my foot through the floor. We have commuted from Cliveden and seen cygnets appear through the early morning mist as we row across, not wanting to leave the electric outboard in the dinghy. We have begun to wonder if the dapper hired hands who captain the slipper launches out of the Cliveden boathouse have incorporated Golden Mean into their daily spiel, as they glide silently up and down the reach with their over dressed punters supping champagne in the bow.

At our wedding reception we were blessed with blue skies and a glorious sun all day. At Port's baptism we had one heavy shower which drenched the latecomers as they were rowed across from the towpath. Third time lucky, Starboard's baptism was pretty much a wash out in terms of the weather, but fortunately we were all able to shelter inside Golden Mean - with the exception of Great Uncle Stuart who dined in the hire boat which was moored alongside. Our decision to go ahead with the island baptisms was based on our conviction that the island is our spiritual home and has a truly magical quality whatever the weather. (And it could be argued that a storm is more memorable than a sunny day!) Just bring your wellies.

I discovered recently that other boating families feel just as passionate about the Cliveden Reach. We are not the only family to have claimed the island as 'ours'. To know that others besides Ratty and Moley have picnicked on the grass, rowed the reach, watched the sun go down beyond the Wild Woods, just makes it all the more special. There's nothing better than messing about on the river.

The Captain

To read more on Cliveden:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/main.jhtml?xml=/travel/exclusions/Supplements/essentialengland/nosplit/thames.xml

Smiley girl

Starboard keeping snug with Daddy

No.1 with Port (Ship's Boy)

Do blind people look like Labradors?

It has been widely observed that dogs and their owners often have similarities. On a recent walk we noticed a whiskery orange coloured terrier trotting beside it’s equally whiskery and red haired owner. I asked the Captain if I looked like Magic - which was really fishing for compliments as Magic is a very handsome dog - but I was duly disappointed. Fitting in is definitely a desire that humans aim to achieve. Observe the group dynamics at a football match. It would be ill-advised to be supporting Celtic in the Rangers part of the stadium. This is an extreme example but this desire extends right down to what might be considered trivia. A young man being questioned in court was asked if he had been drinking that night. He replied that he had been eating fish - and so would have been drinking white wine! Such is the desire to be socially acceptable. As a disabled person being different could leave me out in the cold if Darwinian evolution was allowed to take place in the human world. Fortunately for me this is not the case. This is largely due to the highly vocal and organised disabled lobby groups. When an ill informed footballer publicly announced that disability was a punishment metered out on account of one's deceased relatives there was uproar, and rightly so. When I turn up at a restaurant with Magic I’m normally met with people bending over backwards to help. If I encounter resistance I’ve been provided with a card which details the proprietor to telephone the Guide Dogs Association, no doubt to be informed about the Disability Discrimination Act and how it relates to guide dogs. In the Chinese Paralympics, a basketball player joked that the Chinese were over helpful. He said that on arrival at the hotel he was swamped by helpers. There was one assistant for each spoke of his wheelchair, one to hold his dreadlocks, and another to tie his shoelaces. This sort of unsolicited “help” is seen in the West as patronising. On London Underground the staff are carefully trained to ask if someone needs assistance and not to appear rejected if that help is not required. What is being built up here is a social etiquette surrounding disability. These efforts are not seen as 'chippy' or defensive. The disabled are simply demanding to be treated in a respectful, considerate and non patronising way. Thanks to their progress I’ve never been asked about the negative side of my children having a blind father or whether it might be a better idea not to have children at all in case they inherit the same eye condition. There are certain attitudes and questions that are naturally offensive to people that live on boats. When someone who has never lived on a boat describes our life as ridiculous, unsustainable or in some way detrimental to our children, they should expect a response. We have decided that to jump down someone’s throat for asking an ill-informed question is inappropriate and not our style. However, a non personally directed blog can tackle these issues in a way we feel can educate the ill-informed, confront prejudices and support other live aboard families . No. 1

Education in the field

'David Attenborough' and his best friend do Science - examining slugs in the marina after a rainstorm. On Port's birthday we visited a local ploughing competition and the boys learned how to plough straight furrow - well, almost!

Space - the final frontier!

The Captain's last blog entry 'Beauty in the eye of the beholder' might leave you wondering; where are the critics? Well, you won't find them commenting on the blog . They voiced their views verbally, describing at least one part of one article as negative. Another person described the whole blog as 'bitter' which seems to me like a bit of an overreaction, but it did provide me food for thought and the result is this article. I've little doubt that the heat was created in reaction to the space issues raised in the 'Five little ducks go swimming one day' article. So allow me to shine some light on the final frontier: SPACE! Every parent that I have met so far generally holds the belief that when children come along then lack of space becomes a problem. Nearly all the mums in our NCT group were either extending or buying bigger houses as the arrival of their first baby drew nearer. I don't think that it is controversial to suggest that this belief is widely held and pretty ingrained in Western culture. It is therefore unsurprising that a mother who holds the exact opposite view will receive, at the very least, a few raised eyebrows. Holding onto this belief becomes more important the more one thinks about it. Think of the money we would have saved and the sacrifices that we need not have endured if this was true. The safest course of action is to reject the notion as crackpot. The logical next step is to suggest that the Captain would adopt a different view if she had the means. Take it from me, the Captain is no crackpot and she does have the means. Her truth is eloquently described in her article and is a legitimate point of view based on five years of experience. It's not for everyone as we are all unique, but to suggest that bigger is the only direction to go when it comes to children is not necessarily so. No. 1

Our spiritual home

Golden Mean is moored on a small National Trust island near Cookham for the baptism of our daughter in August 2008.

Some last minute adjustments to the rigging

Whilst this was going on we were moored outside a pub on the Thames, overflowing with drinkers who were all very interested in this spectacle!

All hands on deck the first time we lifted the gaff

Under sail on the Thames

Beauty in the eye of the beholder

I took this picture during one the first evenings we spent on Golden Mean, at the time when our dining room was permanently al fresco and the Concorde fly by a daily ritual. Like many others I found the very essence of this unique aircraft inspiring and uplifting and I miss her presence. Yet I have heard others complain that the noise was irritating and the concept vulgar. The advent of our blog has also brought to light some disparity of opinion about the motivation behind our musings. Some find it hard to understand why we choose to express ourselves in this way and find the style raw and our purpose unclear. Others have told us that they have been moved, educated and inspired by the insights into our lives. Margaret Thatcher once said that no-one does anything worthwhile in this life, for which they are not criticised. As I hear the reactions of friends, family and strangers to our blog my own feelings fluctuate. I cannot, as much as I would like to, profess to be unaffected by the opinions of others. There have been moments of doubt and uncertainty about how much or little of our thoughts and experiences to share. There is an element of vulnerability about sharing one's own feelings and experiences with anyone who chooses to log on and perhaps this makes those closer to us feel uncomfortable? This may be why some bloggers choose to keep their anonymity. Fortunately the overriding emotion when I publish an article is not one of doubt but of clarity and conviction about who we are and the life we are living. I have always found the written word a powerful means of expression. With fiction one can be creative but with an autobiographical text it's a slalom between between being truthful and yet entertaining. We are each finding our own voices, and developing individual styles which are inevitably open to criticism by the reader. My father, who was a watercolour artist, was once asked in an interview if he had to walk for miles before he found an empty piece of beach to paint; his seascapes typically miles of nothing with the odd bait digger or dog walker against a moody sky. He replied that this was not necessary, painting the way he did, because if there were tourists there he simply 'didn't put them in'. His paintings were impressions of the world that he saw, or wanted to see. He did not paint on location but customers were always eager for him to confirm; "That's Morston quay/Blakeney point/Cley Mill, isn't it?" His reply; "If that's where you want it to be, then it is." The view of Concorde as seen from Golden Mean is one that will probably not be seen again. One of the things I most enjoy about living on a boat is the freedom to change our view when we so desire. I mean this in the literal sense as well as the metaphorical. Although the inside is the same, the outlook is completely different when we moor in a different place and even if you don't look out of the portholes you can get a sense that you're somewhere else. The light changes. And it is the light in which we view something which colours our judgement about it. Provided we speak our own truth with integrity and sensitivity we have nothing to fear from others' opinions. I invite you to describe the colours as you see them. The Captain

Five little ducks went swimming one day

If I convinced you in an earlier article that living aboard does not necessitate huddling together under one duvet with chattering teeth during the Winter months (each to his own, of course) I must continue with my campaign and assuage any doubts you may harbour regarding our children's safety. I have my own doubts about how 'safe' it is to feature them on the internet though, so I shall hereby refer to them as Port and Starboard.

When I announced to my NCT group that I was expecting a second baby, someone said "Where are you going to put it?!" A friend of a friend asked, "I hope you have plenty of climbing space?" This always makes me chuckle when I see Port climbing up the saloon wall behind the sofa hanging onto the sturdy curtain rail to wave at friends arriving and departing, his smiley face framed by the porthole. He can see all the way to the end of the pontoon through that porthole. There's nothing like a moat and drawbridge between one and one's visitors.

The two main concerns that our friends and acquaintances are quick to express are the obvious lack of space and their fears for our children's safety. I must admit I find the second concern slightly insulting. Do they really think that our brains are so pickled with rum that we aren't aware of the risks of living on or near water? I would argue that we are more aware of the environmental hazards around us than the average parent when they open their front door onto the road or send their children out to play in a garden full of natural disasters waiting to happen. So I point out the obvious - that our son (Port), nearly 2, and daughter (Starboard), nearly 3 months, are not allowed on deck on their own. That's all there is to it. The deck is not a playground and our children don't see it as such. Of course they need and receive help getting on and off the boat and as they grow up I suspect it will be their eager land lubbering friends who will need to be reminded of the strict boundaries and the important role of the life jacket. It's all about awareness. Ours and theirs.

Once inside the boat, Golden Mean is in fact very 'child friendly'. She is a sailing barge and you don't want precious trinkets falling off shelves onto your head when you put in a last minute jibe. You also don't want the cooker or the wood burning stove to slide across the room and pin you against the gas locker, so they are fixed to the floor as well. Your under-the-kitchen-sink cupboards containing the hazardous substances used to rid your kettle of scale and your drains of mouldy remains have those little fiddly locks built in, which require a level of fine motor skills that Port is far from acquiring. Even I struggle after a glass or too of wine. Vittles, glasses, crockery (it's Wedgewood 'Flying Cloud' with tall ships that magically sail across your plate when you've eaten up all your supper) and even CDs and books all have their own batten able hatches to hide behind. Even the most persistent toddler would have difficulty accessing them. Our beds are enclosed on three sides so you can only fall out of one. Nobody has, yet.

You get the picture, I don't want to labour the point.

So let's attack the space issue. This is a biggy, a topic for many a lively dinner party debate. I would challenge anyone who says that living in a big space with several floors is in any way practical, pleasurable or relaxing with two small children. For one thing the efficiency of the boat layout means you have everything to hand. I can cook whilst watching my children play. I can change Starboard's nappy in the bedroom without lifting a single stair gate, transversing floors to retrieve the forgotten Sudocrem and leaving the baby unattended whilst I go to another room and wash my hands.

Port and Starboard have a paddling pool. On a hot day it goes in the cockpit which is up a few steps from our living quarters. It's under canvas so shady when hot and I can keep an eye on them splashing from the kitchen or living room. This weekend Port went in the paddling pool during a huge rainstorm. I don't think he noticed. A friend once asked when we were going to our 'cottage in the country?' When we do fancy a change of scene there are no suitcases to pack, we just untie and take our efficient living space with us. If you have children I think you will appreciate the small luxuries that I describe. Simply keeping everybody clean, fed and entertained can become one huge practical nightmare if you aren't equipped for it.

Even if you swallowed all this, I know some of you might be thinking that's all very well but aren't you living on top of each other? I could (and might) write another article about living in a small space, but I will just summarise for now by saying that we simply enjoy eachother's company. We have all that we need to live comfortably, personally I would say luxuriously but that's a matter of opinion. When our families and friends come we spend quality time together; eating, talking, just being. And they keep coming. There is a special kind of interaction that I do believe is unique to the boat. Port and Starboard will be a part of a family dynamic in way that just wouldn't exist if they disappeared into a playroom all day to stare at a PS whatever. They won't be 'deprived' of TV and the Internet. But I'll be able to see what they're looking at whilst making the coffee.

I hope they will learn tolerance and understanding from sharing a small space with the people closest to them. When they grow up they'll be able to decide for themselves what kind of environment they want to live in, but I can say with all my heart that I don't think we could give them a more inspiring and magical beginning than growing up on Golden Mean.

The Captain

Not a marquee in sight

Golden Mean and the marriage are blessed during our island wedding reception.

Tell me the spec

Golden mean is a fifty foot, twin engined gaff rigged steel sailing boat. She is the perfect hybrid between sea going yacht and luxury inland waterways barge. Her mast can be lowered without any external assistance and the internally housed lee boards raised -allowing for free transit in water depths of just three feet. With the mast completely down the air draft is a sleek six foot six. These features make her as at home in a waist deep back water as she is surfing down the front of an Atlantic roller in a force eight gale. Her powerful 4.1 litre Ford sabre Diesel engines give her a top speed of 11 knots but can be run in opposite directions for slow and precise manoeuvrability in locks and marinas. Her chined hull lessens the spray into the cockpit at sea but her flat bottom offers maximum accommodation and fresh water capacity inside. She can be safely beached resting comfortably on her twin skegs and flat bottom without any concern of rolling over as the tide recedes. The interior is finished in ash with teak trim throughout. The double glazed portholes and large roof hatches provide a light and elegant feel so often lacking in other boat designs. Golden Mean's well equipped galley has a full size gas cooker, microwave, fridge and washing machine. Sleeping accommodation comprises of a triple cabin forward and a double on the port side. The saloon can be converted to provide two further comfortable beds and lastly the covered cockpit can accommodate two more, making a maximum total of nine. Her tender is also a versatile vessel made from a rugged plastic making it virtually indestructible. This is surrounded by a polyurethane rubber tube radically reducing the likelihood of capsize. She can be raised easily on davits when not in use or gaffed aboard to lessen overall length in marinas. She has a silent electric outboard motor but can also be rowed. Lastly she can be converted to a sailing dingy with a battened performance main sail. Technical information: Overall length: 50 feet Beam: 13 feet 4 inches Weight: 24 tonnes light 27 tonnes heavy Ballast: 4 tonnes of lead ingots Plate steel thickness: Hull 6mm Superstructure 4 mm Sleeping capacity: 5 plus 4 Water holding capacity: 3000 litres Fuel capacity: 1000 litres Water Draft: 9 feet reducing to 2 feet 10 inches Air draft: 60 feet reducing to 6 feet 6 inches. Rig: Gaff main and stay sail plus furling head sail from bow sprit. Also square sail. Sail area: 1150 square feet Winches: 2 hydraulic, 7 self tailing Andersen type and 4 basic type. Anchors; two plough anchors with 180 feet of heavy chain raised hydraulically with manual override. Engines 2X 4.1 Ford Sabre naturally aspirated diesel engines total power 140,000 watts at 2600 RPM via 2:1 reduction gearboxes to two 22 inch three bladed contra rotating bronze propellers. Top speed 11 knots Navigation equipment: GPS, depth sounder, Nav weather forecasting and VHF radio. Generator water cooled and cocooned 240 Volt AC 4.5 KW output, manufactured by Panda Fischer Inverter: 24 Volt to mains with a 1KW output Water and central heating by 5 KW Eberspacher Diesel water heater to radiators throughout with thermostatic radiator valves fitted on each. Hot water and heating can also be provided by 750 Watt immersion heater and a heat exchanger fitted to the Starboard engine. Lastly a 5 KW wood burning stove. Battery charging at 40 amps or 10 Amps for 24 volt batteries and 20 Amps for 12 volt battery. Steering is manual hydraulic with emergency manual override. Incoming 240 Volt shore power via isolation transformer at 16 Amps Written by No.1

To float or not to float?

As we parted company from the A320 a couple of miles South of Staines, we took our first glimpse of the willow flanked lake which was to become home. It felt as though even the Volvo estate we were travelling in breathed a sigh of relief at the escape from the hustle of the Monday morning commuter traffic and the bustle of over exuberant teenagers destined for a day’s stomach lurching at Thorpe Park. Our driver John Currer – the nautical equivalent to an estate agent – warned us; “It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.” Not a great sales pitch, but like most things associated with boats or boating, the pace is slower and the people more chilled out. John was referring to nearly thirty tonnes of painted steel and a considerable portion of a Canadian Douglas fir tree. Golden Mean was – and still is - moored on the hammer head; that is across the end of the T shaped pontoon. The view across the water from her cockpit, now our dining room, is rivalled by the view as you enter the marina where, if you look between two gleaming white cruisers out into the middle of the lake, you will see our mast standing proud. All the more so for the attention it received last Summer. If you tune in to the boating vibe straight away and stop and take in the scene for a moment, you might spot a female swan followed by six cygnets with dad bringing up the rear and checking stragglers. If it’s early May you will see swallows skimming the rooves of boats to dip and pick up insects s from the water’s surface or pied wagtails darting along the pontoon in search of spiders. You might notice that the seven starboard portholes decrease in size from the stern to the bow. A stroke of genius from the designers. If you visit one evening during advent you cannot fail to miss our Christmas lights which run up the two side shrouds and reach nearly to the top of the mast, creating a luminous triangle which reflects in the water. In all honesty the Currers can never have been convinced until the moment of purchase that we were seriously interested in buying Golden Mean. Having been for sale for nearly a year she was probably what lot of would be liveaboards weren’t looking for. Certainly not a young man who can’t see and his girlfriend. They were reluctant to even send us the details when I confessed we did not yet have a residential mooring to put her on. I have often been chastised by No.1 for nearly not reading out the advertisement in Waterways World magazine. My justification that GM was too small and too much a sailing barge to be a comfortable home. We were looking for something longer; a widebeam cruiser (like two narrowboats side by side), without all that ropes and rigging to complicate our life. Something with pot plants on the roof and caravan windows. Then of course there was the niggling worry that my husband might actually want us to SAIL her. We had seen such craft at an inland waterways boat show where the idea of living on a boat first took hold. At that stage I was quite simply encouraging my boyfriend with his surprising consent to ditch our respective flatshares and move in together. If he wanted to do this in a boat – who was I to argue? It sounded fun and the alternativeness of it appealed to me. We had both flirted with dinghy sailing and I had been dragged along on friend’s boats but I can’t say a real passion for boating had showed itself at this point in my life. As we supped our flasked coffee en route to the boat show in Lincolnshire I frankly wondered what the hell I was doing. The week before No.1 had suffered a major setback in his plan to lure me onto the river, as it were. We had visited a friend of his on a narrow boat on the Regent’s Canal in North London. The graffiti on the walls of the buildings on the other side of the canal and the badly maintained walkways that could hardly be described as pontoons did nothing to enhance my rapidly forming opinion that living on a boat was indeed cramped, damp and smelly. The idea that my darling No.1 would be tap tapping his way with his white stick over a few rickety planks during the twilight to this heap of floating junk left me cold. On top of that his friend’s boiler system had broken down, she was literally up to her armpits in grease and oil in her cold and rocky little boat and didn’t even invite us in for a cup of tea. You must be mad, No.1! Fortunately there was little chink in my armour and we got to the boat show and No.1 renewed my enthusiasm by showing me a wide, light, comfortable and brand spanking new widebeam barge, that didn’t rock when you got on it and offered more than respectable passing space in the corridor. Instantly my nesting instinct kicked in and I began to really understand the attraction of this floating home. The barge lacked nothing in terms of home comforts and was just about affordable. We had not yet found a widebeam barge for sale of around 60 feet in length when I nearly skimmed over the ad for Golden Mean. Fifty feet long and although the roof was flat enough for pot plants it was covered in sailing gear. As someone in a lock once shouted out, “You’ve got your firewood with you then!” Despite my reservations, my conscience got the better of me and I read out the ad. I remember we were sitting in St. James’s Park eating grapes and listening to Big Ben. I had been for a job interview in Trafalgar square and then traipsed to four different newsagents in uncomfortable shoes trying find a copy of Waterways World which allegedly held all the best advertisements for residential craft for sale. It’s no coincidence that the etymology of ‘Golden Mean’ is all to do with proportion, balance and compromise (as well as all sorts of complicated mathematical sequences). For us, she is the perfect compromise between comfortable living and practical boating. Big enough to house our now increased family of four and a dog and small enough for me to manoeuvre through locks and low bridges on the Thames. We didn’t look at any other boats because as soon as we saw Golden Mean we knew she most definitely was our cup of tea. When I was musing how to start this article I told No.1 the title and he asked me if I was writing about why we decided to live on a boat or why we have stayed on it. The latter should probably be portrayed in another article but in order to conclude this I will try to summarise briefly, which is difficult when there is so much to say. We have lived on board for five years and every time we walk down the pontoon it feels like we are setting off on holiday. I have heard other liveaboards say the same. Some people liken it to the close-to-nature feel of camping (if you like camping) but with boating you take all the comforts of home with you too. The cygnets, swallows and pied wagtails appear every year and sometimes the ducks come onto the boat to feed by hand. I love the sound of the geese at dusk and dawn. Whenever we want a different view we can up anchor and moor on an island, a towpath or in town. We had Christmas lunch for ten on board with all the trimmings. And we cruised down the river for it. I will never forget the looks of the post-lunch walkers on the towpath when they passed us at 3pm and we were all standing around the table in the cockpit for the queen’s speech. We have spent weeks on islands in the middle of the Thames including our wedding reception and our children’s baptisms. We regularly swim in the river and the boat is our diving board. On my birthday one November we headed to a local pub on the river a couple of miles upstream in the dark and freezing fog. There was ice on the walkway before we left. We picked up a friend and his aging mother via dinghy on the way and we had to anchor in the middle of the river waiting whilst our friend finished his bath. It was so dark and so foggy I couldn’t see the end of the lock. We had several family members and friends on board, the hearty were on the bow looking out and the rest downstairs with the wood burning stove roaring. When our children are old enough to crew we will take our home through the canals of France and into the Med and we consider this true freedom. Our everyday lives are extraordinary and memorable and this is why we stay on a boat.

The Captain

Sails and spiders

Way back then when we were still finding secret compartments under the floor and enchantment at the back of the wardrobe, we discovered a leak. Being the experienced seadogs our neighbours at the marina are, and given that we share a tap located outside their saloon window, they had noted the frequency with which we communed with the hose and had privately asked one another;

"Are they filling the boat?"

(The hull as opposed to the water tanks).

As it happens we were. We spent an aggravated weekend trying to pull 1150 square feet of sodden canvas (our mainsail) out through a small gap under the floorboards in the saloon. This is not an activity that you will find listed on my 'Top 10 fun activities to do on a boat' posting.

The same neighbour later remarked that spiders are the sign of a dry boat. This being a sore point at the time. Pied wagtails eat spiders. You will understand why we were pleased to welcome this one as a regular visitor.

The Captain

Life with Magic

Having extolled the virtues of the white stick I promptly disposed of it and got a dog. The way I describe that move makes it sound quick and simple. Nothing could be further from the truth. In the time it took between filling out the first form and getting the dog we managed to produce two children. Getting a guide dog takes an extraordinarily long time but on the 6th of November 2007 we finally got to meet Magic, a black lab retriever cross aged 18 months. The first thing he did was sit on my lap - much to the horror of the trainer - and he has been a lap dog ever since. Having met him for the first time I promptly had to say goodbye whilst preparations were made for the two week residential training course where I would learn with three others how to use a guide dog. The slightly annoying perception is that us blind people hang on the handle and the dog finds his way to what ever destination we whisper in his ear at the start of the journey. The Brits love animals and they especially love the idea of a magic dog that can sort out travel arrangements and take in the tube map at a glance. I’ve even been asked how they teach a dog to read signs! If you are one of those that foster Disney type animal fantasies then stop reading now as they are about to be destroyed. The truth is that Magic wouldn’t get down the pontoon on his own before being distracted by goose poo and the ducklings. I wouldn’t get very far either but together we make an excellent team. Getting that partnership to work well is the aim of the training course and all trips ever after. It was a rollercoaster ride for everyone and there were a few tears shed along the way. For the families it’s a big change too. Getting the dog is similar to seeing the white stick in use for the first time with all the stigmas and connotations that go with it. Seeing a member of your family with a harnessed up guide dog can be quite a shock which undoubtedly takes time to adjust to. The fact that there is a cute dog on the end does help - a dynamic that the stick lacks - but there is no getting away from the realisation that one has started down the road of the “really blind.” Residual sight can be a problem when using a guide dog as there is a tendency to override the dog's responsibilities which basically consists of avoiding obstacles whilst working to the next kerb. The decisions about when to cross the road and where we are going remain down to me so no, the dog does not go when the green man flashes. I was once asked, do you trust Magic completely?” My answer was “No.” I do trust him but in a realistic way. He is still a dog and can be distracted at any time by a multitude of things and it’s knowing what to do with limited information that’s the real skill in using a dog. He may be taking an alternative route to avoid roadworks that have sprung up overnight or he might be swerving to grab that banana skin that someone has left on the pavement. Being able to tell the difference takes time but is certainly achievable. Avoiding obstacles is not to be made light of though and the dog does it so much better than a stick. A dog will weave through the crowds on Oxford street in a way that is unimaginable with a stick and far better than a human guide. Working from point to point across a wide open space such as a field or station concourse is made fluid and a pleasure rather than a frustrating battle. At home Magic is a wonderful dog to have around and has readily taken to life aboard, soaking up the sun in the cockpit or sitting right up at the bow as we travel up river with the wind blowing his ears out like two little wings. He was chosen as a dog that wouldn’t be distracted by the abundant bird life we enjoy here . We interrupted two swans mating right in the middle of our path and he hardly checked his speed. The swans on the other hand issued forth hisses like steam escaping from a boiler ready to explode and scrambled down the bank into the water. We recently noticed the same pair with six little cygnets. So, life goes on with magic for us and it seems so for the swans as well. T

Good to see you

Since moving to London I have become aware of a commonly voiced viewpoint amongst Londoners viewing themselves as a pretty unfriendly and generally miserable lot (especially in the mornings on the tube). However my experience is somewhat different. What, you may ask could, possibly make me think of the commuting public as anything other than at best a tolerable inconvenience and at worst a hostile mob intent on making my life a misery? Four interlocking pieces of aluminium held together by a piece of elastic running through their senders and spray painted white. A symbol cane used by the visually impaired. That is the difference, and what a difference it is. I never cease to be amazed at the generosity and depth of feeling this stick seems to invoke. At the age of 21 I was diagnosed with Retinitous Pigmentosa; a degenerative eye disease. I was looking down a road outside my university hall of residence, at a girl in fact, when a red Ford Fiesta drove by. I was more interested in the female than the Ford and so kept my gaze fixed. As the car drove down the hill it seemed to disappear. At this point I would normally have shifted my vision and relocated the car and as such thought no more of it, however in this case the girl retained my attention. Less than a second later the car climbing the hill further on came back into view. I turned to my friend who was also looking at this fantastically beautiful girl, “Dave, did you see that car?” “What are you talking about?” he said, looking at me incredulously. The girl by this point was disappearing out of sight. “You saw the girl?” “Yes, of course I did.” I explained that as I was looking at her the car came by, went down the hill, sort of vanished and then came back into view up the other side. I then asked, “Does this ever happen to you?” I will never forget the moment as he turned to me and said, “That’s not normal; you should get that checked out.” As they say, the rest is history. I am sometimes asked, if there was a button that could be pressed in order to restore my sight, would I push it? The motivations for asking such a question I find interesting. Somewhere along the line doubt has been introduced. Perhaps it is an ungraspable carrot dangled in order to test my conviction and reassure them that that disability is doable, or not. It’s a win win situation for the physiologically normal questioner. When I answer this type of question in the negative, I experience a sense that I am performing some kind of public service. The anxieties experienced by people regarding disability seem akin to fears regarding our own mortality. It’s as if I have in some way partially died and as such am in a position to provide reassurance. Sometimes I’m not interested in entering into this intellectual web and simply wish to carry on with life as normal. And there we have it again, that word; normal. The simple truth is that there is no normal. Attempts to kid oneself that one has a right to certain expectations in life will invariably but ultimately lead to disappointment. Be it retention of the present or expectations of the future, both are subject to change -however uncomfortable this makes one feel - but the resulting realities are completely valid and totally legitimate. So long live abnormality, it’s a truly liberating insight, to have the confidence to accept oneself as we find ourselves and allow others to do the same. This sort of mutual respect is, I believe, based on genuine love and is an appropriate way to commune with others. This attitude is ultimately based on a conviction that I am no better than anyone else. This may be interpreted by the cynic as an optimistic yet unconvincing way of saying that I as a disabled person am no worse than anyone else. This sort of response is understandably very common. How many times I have heard my life being referred to as a tragedy, or simply overheard the heart felt comment, “…that’s just so sad.” I’m not suggesting that blindness is some kind of party that everyone should attend but I do challenge the assumption that it should be viewed entirely negatively. The white stick seems to be the ultimate ice breaker. Let me describe a real interaction. I choose this one as it is fairly typical whilst remaining entertaining. I was waiting for a tram (yes we do have trams these days), at Merton Park Tram stop. As I walked onto the platform I noticed a woman on her own. It was just starting to get dark on an Autumnal evening in November. I continued to walk towards her aware that she would have by this time have noticed the stick and be telling herself that this bloke walking towards her is not a threat and in fact may be in need of assistance. I sat down next to her. I breathed in, sat back and prepared myself for a wait. How long I did not know and as I wasn’t in a rush I didn’t much care. She touched my arm as if to maximise her chances of making contact with this unknown quantity, “The next tram is in four minutes,” she said nervously. “Thanks,” I said appreciatively, turning to her and giving her a smile. “How’s your day been?” And then we were off. She had had a fairly awful day. She seemed fairly confused about the way life was panning out for her. She seemed to be questioning the validity of her limited interaction with the world and whether she should feel bad not being particularly interested in geo politics or anything else outside of her immediate life. My response was characteristically affirmative explaining that a disinterest in politics did not mean that she was of less value than anyone else and that concern regarding her family and immediate environment was indeed commendable. The tram then arrived and this conversation continued for the next four stops. As we pulled in she said “This is where I normally get off.” As the doors opened she turned to go but hesitated. She turned back, approached me again and gave me a big kiss, then skipped off into the darkening gloom. 1st Officer

Is it cold in the Winter?

Frequently asked questions. The title for another posting, perhaps? Anyone that's made a life choice outside of the norm will have mentally compiled answers to questions ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. Very rarely do we get an original question. Our answers are tempered by our temper. If we are in a good mental space we try to be polite. Sometimes our family tell us we are chippy, but they probably don't see so much of the polite. Privately, we discuss possible - and convincing - answers to these questions but I suspect these well formulated answers are more likely to appear on this blog than pop out of my mouth when I'm being barraged.

I was once asked, "Is it windy in your boat?" that was an extreme. The poser of the question was Irish, I've never been to Ireland and she has never been on our boat. Perhaps Ireland is particularly windy? Since we live on a sailing barge it's quite useful if there is wind OUTSIDE the boat. It can also be pleasant to have a cool breeze wafting through the saloon on a hot Summer's day. Easily achieved by opening one of our roof hatches (sky-lights, you land lubbers). Or the door.

The most popular question we get asked, is "Is it cold in the Winter?". I wish I had the courage to ask if your house is cold in the Winter, but as I said I generally try to be polite. Despite global warming's best attempts at warming up our island, after five years living on a sailing barge in the UK I think I would have weighed anchor and set myself adrift from the live aboard scene by now if we didn't have central heating.

A bit like when I was pregnant people kept saying "Do you know what you're having?". Since we did but we weren't telling (as my Mum put it) we were perhaps a little defensive but I think I only once let slip "a baby".

I do have some sympathy for the askers of these frequent questions though. We had a boat on our pontoon a few years ago that we called 'the pirate ship'. It was an ancient sailing barge that had had it's steel hull re-covered by another hull a few years ago because it was in such bad repair. Inside was cramped, damp, smelly and lacking in any home comforts. The woodwork was mouldy and dark. You couldn't go to the loo without first entering and exiting the foreward cabin and you certainly couldn't pass in the corridor even if you were on intimate terms.

Happily, our ship is none of these things but I forgive you asking the sublime and even the ridiculous questions. I hope this blog will go some way to inspire and inform you of the unquestionable delights (and disasters) of a family of five (including the dog) living on board.

We also have a woodburning stove. It can sometimes be too hot in the Winter.

The Captain