As soon as it started snowing, the lovely little messages started tinkling into our inboxes: 'Are you guys warm enough?'; 'How are you coping?'; 'Do you want to come and stay at ours?' etc. All our kind-hearted friends seemed to fear that they would find us frozen in our little boat bed. But we have been warm - really truly honestly warm. Warmer than we ever were in our flint cottage when we had to mentally prep before venturing into the bedroom and R spent October through to May sleeping 'with a sheep' (not literally - although what he gets up to on those long walks who can say? - but I did wear excessive layers, scarves and a hat to bed).

Because the boat is such a small space it doesn't take long to warm through. R found an old thermometer at a car boot and mounted it very attractively on some smooth driftwood so we can check our temp regularly. It's become our new obsession! 'What's the temp?!' we squawk delightedly at each other. 'Yikes, it's pushing 22 degrees!!'

How are we keeping so toasty you may ask... Admittedly, we succumbed to the magic of electric heaters when the first cold snap descended. R insulated the skylights with camping mats which has worked amazingly well (although it is a little darker). Then, over the course of the last week, R has fitted our trusty mini wood burner, which kept us so snug when we spent nights out in our bell tent. It has proved quite a mammoth task and we both felt nervous about cutting a hole in the boat but it is CRAZY HOT!!! A dinkier woodburner you never did see - this little chap measures in at about 50cm high - but he can heat a room in half an hour. We are snug as two bugs in a particularly thick rug. I will get some pics up as soon as I can.

Last night, when I was making the bed, I discovered that the underside of the foam mattresses were soaking wet. No, not R and I wetting the bed but some kind of leak that is coming in the portholes in the bedroom and being soaked up by our sponge-like bed. I felt horrified that we'd been unknowingly sleeping on it but then relieved that I'd disovered it and could tackle it. R spent the afternoon drying it all out and I think we've discovered the source of the problem though we're still not sure if it's also condensation (the foam mattresses are on a plank of painted wood so no air circulation - R is considering drilling holes in aforesaid wood) so hopefully it shouldn't happen again. I feel like I am coping better with everyday stresses like this better though. There were days initially when I couldn't cope with all the stuff that went wrong and the problems like leaks and broken pumps etc. and I yearned for a clean dry house with central heating and ceilings I wouldn't bump my head on. I still do sometimes -shamefully- look at the double-glazed, thickly-carpeted, heated, wipe-clean-surfaced houses friends and clients live in and think 'oh god, how ridiculously, deliciously EASY..' and I have to stop myself from launching fully dressed into their big clean bathtubs. But not always...the pleasures of this life we've made remind me why we forsook living in a hermetically sealed box of our own - namely this peaceful evening with the wood burner crackling, candles burning, R reading and the boat moving imperceptibly, reminding us of our quiet good fortune.

Beards

Ugh, nursing a terrible Sailor Jerry rum-induced hangover today...and edging towards feeling normal in the latter part of the day. I was making dinner on the boat last night in the galley kitchen with the doors open. I like the interaction with people passing by on the jetty. Our favourite boat neighbour dropped by and as we were chatting he cracked open a bottle of red wine...a few moments later we were joined by another boat neighbour and hey, next thing we know it's 1am on a Tuesday morning and we're drunkenly swapping life stories.

Happy times. Made possible by the fact that R is officially unemployed!!!! Well, sort of, he did start a new job this week but it's only 11 hours a week so the rest of the week he is FREEEEEEE! This has been a source of enormous pleasure for both of us, the realisation of a long-held dream to work less and live more. Lie-ins, lunches together and evenings stretched out without stress have all been major highlights. Initially I was a little worried how we were going to be in each others space all day (when I'm working from home) and there were a few argumentative hiccups as we adjusted to this new way of being together in a very small space.

But they were good learnings and pretty soon we were back to our usual state of excitable irreverent silliness that means there's rarely a dull moment. We sat on a very windy beach and watched the sea birds dancing in the sky and bobbing on the sea and that was pretty lovely. Lots of sitting about and chatting. Just more time in general and no stress about cancelled trains/alarms/ironed shirts/early nights etc. R has grown a suitably boisterous beard to suit his new lifestyle - ha! I found it a bit too crazy at first but am getting used to him wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a big beard and tinkering about on deck. We now have solar lighting - whoop whoop! - fixed up by my happily half-dressed hirsute husband.

Sunshine and community

The gorgeous and totally un-British weather has made the whole living-on-a-boat thing something of a dream. We feel like we're on holiday at the weekends when we lie on deck reading the paper or cycle along the seafront to eat fish and chips on the beach. Friday is R's last day as a City boy - so goodbye office, suits, commute and all that crap and hello hanging out with wifey! I took on an extra job to ease his passage into unemployment (despite our outgoings going down two thirds, he was still very anxious taking this big step) so, rather annoyingly, now seem to be working waaaay more than I used to as I'm running my own business alongside. But hey, the plan was to spend more time together, that's why we did this, so I know things will work out. I might leave the extra job soon although I like the cushdi side of it; washing my clothes, eating and using the computer there are all nice little perks!

One of the most pleasing things about our new life is how many interesting and lovely people we have met. Although we lived in a village before where everyone knew everyone and there was loads of love and support (we went back at the weekend and felt like the prodigal children returning!), there's something about when you close your front door that shuts you off from the world. On a boat, your life is much more visible and whilst privacy is very much respected (noone stares at your boat if you're in, for instance) walking up and down the jetty or sitting on deck initiates many conversations. We quickly made friends here and everyone has been incredibly supportive of us two novices, offering advice, tools, time and kindness in abundance. We have been taken out on others' boats and shown the ropes (haha!). I have had cups of tea and coffee with all our liveaboard neighbours and some of the richer yachties, as they're called, too.

The difference seems to be time. Everyone has much much more of it here; they have purposely chosen this lifestyle so that they do. Most liveaboards seem to work part-time and spend as much time as they can sailing, fishing, reading, lying on deck and chatting. It makes for such a lovely chilled environment. Any problem and someone is there and willing - and has the time - to help. For instance, when our car battery died, a neighbour charged it up on his boat all day, removing and replacing it for the completely hapless me. Last night, when one of the elderly residents felt ill, an ambulance was called and he was taken up to meet it by what he called 'my own harem of women'! Recently, a cat went missing and everyone was looking for it and talking about it. When it was found, the owner popped over to tell us. It feels so good to be a part of a community that genuinely cares. What's interesting is the range of different people here: there are the 'yachties' who come down at weekends and the liveaboards who, obviously, are here all the time. Ours feels like the best pontoon to be on (well, I would say that!) as everyone gets on regardless of age, wealth or life choices.

So, despite R splitting his head open on the low beams in the living area last week, we're really enjoying ourselves aboard and I feel that I am finally getting used to it and loving our new life. There were definitely days in the first month when I thought 'ah sod this, I want to go back to space and greenery and running water etc etc' but this week I feel really chipper about being a liveaboard.

Visitors

There's something about visitors to the boat that reveals so very much. Who our real friends are, as in the people who really 'get' us, and how our own insecurities are only a niggle or a scratch away. It's made me curious about how our own security or happiness can be rocked by the opinions of others. This is very mood-dependant, of course, but there are ups and downs to our new life.

My mum and dad, bless them, loved the boat when they visited. Any concerns they harboured from the initial conversations (my dad did express a few at the time!) were masterfully hidden and they got stuck in with gusto, bringing champagne and nibbles, showering our little home with enthusiastic praise. R's mum was also vocal, but her fear of anything that does not fit the status quo came raining down on our little place like hailstones.

One friend stepped on board and spent ten minutes saying 'oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,' and not in a delighted way, in a what-the-fuck-have-you-done way. But later she sent me a heartfelt email about how we had followed our hearts. Another friend was so excited he didn't know what do with himself... Two of our dearest friends sent us a message saying 'what a beautiful and typically you-two-ful thing to do - we're so proud of you.'

Two friends came down from London yesterday and they were both quiet as if they were afraid to open their mouths in case of what they might say. The boat is small, our living space is minimal. There are plenty of opportunities to hit your head VERY hard and, if you're in a hurry, scalp yourself (I did this a few times in the early weeks). And yet, it is cosy and filled with love. Yes, we sleep with our heads side by side on the pillow, yes, we bump into each other a bit. But we have always loved being near each other. We love hanging out together.

After our friends had gone, we both felt our convictions rocked a little. Though we're both certain we've never wanted a stressy, sweaty, angry, cramped London life, our choice to leave an expanse of lush greenery and a country cottage for a boat sometimes still makes us question ourselves. It feels so good when someone visits and looks us in the eyes and says 'I think it's amazing' or 'I love the way you two always do something completely different'. Sometimes friends speak to your soul, they connect with you in a way that honours both your similarities and your differences. Though they might not choose the life you have chosen, they see the beauty in your choices. They respect and love you for who you are. Like all the big challenges and changes in life, it is special to discover who is really listening to you, who really loves you for WHO YOU ARE. I feel so blessed to have my friends that I can share this adventure with.

My brother is coming down this afternoon (shame about the weather!) to visit the boat for the first time. I am lucky enough to call both my siblings my best friends; they support, love and listen to me and I am soooo excited to show my bro the boat! I know he will 'get' it and us.

It has felt like we're on holiday with this gorgeous weather - cycling along the seafront together, watching the tide come in and the seabirds circling, having fish and chips on the beach as the sun goes down....magical.

our wise animal friend travels into the Light

It's been a long time since I last posted but for very good reason. Our dearest beloved friend G the sausage dog passed into the Light at 8.40am on Sunday 13th June. We spent a week prior to that trying to make her life as peaceful and restful as it could be for a dog suffering from heart failure. I went to pick her up from our friend's house (or her 'other mum' as she was the original owner and we 'shared' the dog after she went travelling for several years) on Saturday 5th June and noticed that she was breathless and exhausted. Her other mum felt it would not be long and we nursed her through a long dark night, fearing the worst. After a visit to the vets in the morning, armed with heart drugs and a diagnosis we took her home with a 50/50 chance of survival.

I felt strange prolonging the inevitable - is it fair to fill our wise animals with drugs to prolong their lives if they are suffering? But the extra week it gave us filled our hearts with love and joy. We both took time off work to nurture and care for our little friend, spent time gazing at the clouds and lying in the grass asking the Goddess to protect and care for her. Friends visited and gave her reiki, she was surrounded by crystals donated by our neices who tenderly sang and cared for her, she nibbled on her favourite treats and slowly, slowly we came to realise it was the end of her time with us.

On the last night, she shared the bed with us (as she had done all week, we got minimal sleep!) and I stayed up with her and tried to help her on her Journey. I knew her time was coming, I did not want her to suffer but I also wanted to follow her lead. I pulled an Angel card earlier in the week - Listening - and in those final hours, when my heart filled with doubt and R thought we should call out a vet to put her down, I went on a journey to meet her Higher Self. There she was, on a woodland path, with a sparkle of circular light at the end, and in her endless generosity she was turning back to see that we were okay. I asked her if she needed help and from the look she gave me I knew I was in the presence of a wise, wise spirit and simply to trust with all my heart. We called her other mum in the morning to tell her that it would not be long and she wanted G to come to her beautiful peaceful seaside home to lie in the grass and feel the healing energies all around. She talked about getting a vet to help her 'over the bridge'. I whispered to G 'we're taking you home, my darling' and after R had got up to collect her things, she died. Beside me there on the bed, the light went out in her eyes. Wise wise soul, how blessed we were to be guardians of your sweet, bright spirit and to be recipients of your manifold gifts.

Through G, I came to understand the meaning of Unconditional Love, love given freely from the heart. She was always by our sides; gentle, centring, present. I witnessed awe at the mysteries of existence and came to realise how death is like birth...if we are able to step back and allow, if we let go of our need to control and completely surrender, then almighty Nature knows what to do. I know there will come a time when I am birthing alone, or just with R and my sister by my side, when I will call on the wisdom of those eyes, recall the beauty and truth of complete surrender. As the days become weeks without her here, I have come to know that we were gifted an enlightened spirit who gifted us great love, joy and wisdom.

On Saturday we are gathering with a group of G's favourite human companions to raise a glass, plant a tree, remember happy times and set off Chinese lanterns into the night sky....may she always know peace and light.

things I love and things I miss

Getting stuck in

The weekend was spent tending to our new home. I'm honestly surprised by how pleasure it gave me to get stuck in to the things that needed doing. When we discovered the heads (toilet for the uninitiated) had been leaking into the belly of the boat a week ago, I spent the whole time fretting on deck whilst R drained the mess. I was about as useless a crew-member as you can imagine and got pretty worried that this was a sign of things to come; me flapping like a unhinged dragonfly whilst R just got on with it. But after last week's rain revealed a multitude of tiny leaks, we knew the varnishing couldn't wait any longer. The boat was looking pretty tatty too after several years of general neglect. So, after a weekend of sanding and varnishing we have a new look home, and a little bit of RSI in the old elbow (whinge, grizzle). The varnish seems to have solved the little leak problems as the rain is lashing down now and no sign of water inside. Fingers crossed.

It also felt pretty special to be working on such an historic boat and lapping up the complements from passers-by on the jetty. Everyone is pleased here that we're giving the boat the attention she needs. I feel very fond of her and tending to the problems made me feel a bit like I was nursing an old gal back to life - am I getting carried away here?!


Living a greener life

One of my intentions for the last few years, when we were talking about down-sizing in some way or another, had been to live a simpler, greener life. We already lived in a small country cottage with a big veg plot and tried to shop as ethically as we could. I imagined our next step would be living in a yurt in the woods, meeting only our basic needs and really being conscious of our duty to nourish the Earth. Yet I was also a bit scared of that eventuality...I wasn't sure that I was ready to drop out completely and smell like a musty old badger, wearing frumpy hand-made costumes that wouldn't look out of place at the Weald and Downland museum (hey, check it out http://www.wealddown.co.uk/ - I love that place). Call me a consumerist but I still like to look (relatively) goodish. I wanted to be able to still be a part of 'normal' society whilst adopting an alternative approach...if this is half-hearted radicalism, then I'm guilty as charged. But somehow the idea of flitting between appeals, being impossible to pin down, neither one nor the other but enjoying the best of both. So the boat is like a half-way house in that sense. We still get to wash in the swanky toilet and shower block at the marina (and I don't have to clean the bathroom, whoop whoop!!!) and we opted to keep some nice, going out type clothes. But R gets to give up being a mindless commuter, trekking to an office to fritter away his hours staring at a computer so that we have enough cash to make ends meet. (I am self-employed so do what I love doing anyway and work far less hours.)

And yet, my greener lifestyle here is actually - irritatingly - more difficult. There are recycling bins nearby so that's great but nowhere for our compost to go. Eeek, it really gets me down to put compost waste in the bin. Some has been taken to my sister's chickens and her compost and I have done a couple of surreptitious journeys to the little patches of greenery at the nearby flats and fed the soil there under cover of darkness. Without running water (the water pump is broken and the tank has a leak) I found myself buying kitchen roll the other day, just to tackle the spills and messy table etc. The big fat kitty relieves himself in kitty litter rather than the garden so that adds to our weekly waste.

On the plus side, we use far far less water (how much did I used to inadvertently use just to rinse dishes, clean sinks etc.?). In fact, we currently just fill up a big bottle at the drinking water tap at the toilet block and use that during the week and fill a kettle from the hose on the jetty for washing up. I kind of have to let go of my old adage 'if it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down' now I use a communal toilet so probably flush the toilet more but maybe I'll talk to the marina about getting those water-saving devices fitted. We consume far less power. We have been relying on candlelight a lot in the evenings and used £13 worth of electricity in our first month here. Without a washing machine I'm really selective about what needs washing and just do one wash a week, if that. Can't dry on the line in the garden any more though and have to use the driers despite gorgeous weather which feels very strange. There's a little washing line on deck but it won't accomodate much. I'm still cycling most places and that's a lot easier as we're much more central now. Just got to let go of the little addiction that has built up for the nearby 24 hour supermarket - guilt guilt guilt. Found a little newsagents that sells lots of useful things at reasonable prices and even a few organic and natural products so will be switching trade to them. So, on reflection, whilst there's been changes to our green choices, we still are doing the best we can do and overall might be doing better than before???


Green spaces


One thing I am really struggling to get used to is the lack of green spaces. The marina is a bit of a concrete jungle and, with the elderly and increasingly slow sausage dog, it takes a long time to walk anywhere to feel bare earth under our feet. Our walks from the cottage every morning would involve magical woodland, rolling hills, acres of dew-kissed grass, mist-mystical fields and lots of warm living earth underfoot. Being in a man-made enclosure is therefore a whole new and difficult challenge. There is a park about 15 mins away and, succumbing to the eccentricity having an elderly dog seems to entail, I put the dog in a backpack and carried her up there, much to the delight of passing children. We'll get used to it I'm sure and there are so many pluses to our new life, it seems silly to focus on the negatives, but it's just one of those things the heart calls for. The sea, the wild and dramatic and beautiful sea is, after all, what we're now living on and I can walk to stand at her shores and marvel at the tides and rockpools and waves and moods of the water.

Life aboard begins

I don't really eat sausages, I'm a vegetarian of 20 odd years. But I live with one, in the form of a middle-sized dachshund (her mum was standard, her dad a miniature, apparently a deeply illegal form of breeding according to the anxious woman I met in the garden centre last week) aged 13 and a half. She has taken to life on the boat with her usual nonchalance. As long as there is food available and a sunny spot to sleep in, this gal's A.O.K. Which says a lot more for her than it does for her two owners who veer from exhilaration to complete what-the-hell-have-we-done? anxiety.

The boat herself is 90 years old and not without a few signs of ageing. She's a beautiful 'gentleman's cruising yacht' (not sure where I fit in this description, but am happy to don a moustache and deck shoes if needs be); all mahogany and brass portholes. But there are leaks and holes and sinister problems with rotting wood. We leapt into buying her like a pair of overzealous lemmings. The previous owner advertised her on Gumtree for the princely sum of all our savings. R came home clutching the advert. 'We finally get a chance to live our dreams, we'll move onto a boat!' he exclaimed delightedly to his slightly more dubious and home-comfort-orientated wife. There had been a lot of talk about going off-grid, living more simply. Perhaps we'd buy a plot of land, build a house? Perhaps we'd buy a van and drive across Europe? Perhaps we'd just talk about it all until we had haemorrhoids and a mortgage and grandchildren with dreams?

In a fit of stupidity it's too complex to go into, we bought the boat and then got the survey. The surveyor came crashing in with a scythe to our Field of Dreams. Wake up kids! Smell the coffee! This boat's got more problems than a pair of hapless individuals with no prior boat knowledge or experience can cope with. He valued her at a third of what we'd paid and poked a couple of holes into her side with a hammer for good measure. But dreamers are good at dreaming, it's what we do best. So R and I moved onto our floating home armed with the goodwill of our marina community and began life aboard.

So far...a week into our adventure we discovered a week's worth of, ahem, urine festering under the floorboards of our bed'room' (really just a bed in the prow of the boat, no room to speak of). It turned out the pump wasn't working on our toilet or 'head' as they're called aboard (see, I'm learning all the time!). There had been one hell of a smell in the bedroom and my detective nose was hard at work from Day 1. So it was good to discover the root of the problem and get to work on fixing it. The recent rain revealed a number of sneaky leaks. Apparently freshwater is a wooden boat's worst enemy so we'll be up on deck varnishing this weekend.

But our new life has turned up a whole host of wonderful things, not least a boating community eager to advise and help us. Turns out our little home is quite the historical wonder and everyone wants to lend a hand restoring her to her former glory. One of our (slightly crazy) new neighbours was so keen to get stuck in at the weekend he insisted we start the engines. They hadn't been run for nearly 3 years but started first time, coughing out thick black diesel smoke and making enough noise to drown out all but the keenest of conversationalists. Along with the noise came the most dramatic of vibrations, sending the last of our few possessions skittering and smashing across the floor. Gone are the engagement present champagne flutes - smash! Gone is the new mobile phone just 2 days old to a watery death in the bilge tanks. We were left with a scene of havoc and destruction and the wise words from our (really pretty crazy) new neighbour, 'glasses are no good on boats'. We're learning all the time.

In preparation for our life aboard, we had to dramatically down-size our possessions, getting rid of pretty much everything bar 5 large boxes of books ('not the books, don't make me get rid of the books!') which are quietly gathering dust and mouse-droppings in my mother-in-law's loft. How liberating this exercise was! And crazily difficult...as the charity pile grew and the take-to-the-boat pile shrunk, I found myself yearning to hold on to that old handbag, cardigan, tealight holder etc. etc. We put our possessions outside the house and watched as they were feverishly gathered up by passers-by. New homes for our old stuff.

As we began this adventure, I'd turn again and again to Henry David Thoreau's quote:

'Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe become simpler.'

It helps me to remember why we made this choice to turn our backs on a mortgage or sinfully expensive rent, slavishly working 9-5 to make ends meet, paying council tax and water rates and heinous electricity bills....yes, problems and all, life is a lot simpler now.