I had visitors, and lots of them, over the weekend. The part-time shipmate is away and I think people knew me well enough to know that I’d be lonely. First old mate Adam arrived on Saturday: he’s a bit of experience with narrowboats as his parents owned one some years back. I’m expecting booze, practical advice and good company.

I also got physical comedy as he fell through the door, down the surprisingly large step onto the floor. I also got freezing cold, as I’d forgotten to remind him to bring a sleeping bag and ended up giving up my duvet and trusting thermals and my coat. A successful visit, and he wasn’t that disgusted by the toilet either.

Cutting through my hangover on the Sunday morning came a phone call from my mum: should she come to visit? Of course she should, she hadn’t been to see the boat and I know that she was a little worried about the water-borne state of my living accommodation.

I’m not sure it put her mind at rest too much, she wanted to make sure it was clean—and I think it was as much as it can be—and warm (it was, Adam had done good fire-building on Saturday night and it was still okay). She was rather worried by the gang plank, which is just that—a plank, balanced from ship to shore. I assured her that I was having no problems; and then nearly slipped down it this morning.

I think I was flushed with the success of discovering ‘the knack’ with the front door key—if you press it down a little, it locks easily.

Days at sea: 27

Rations: Apples, cottage pie.

Stowed: A sort of hanging LED light thing, so I can sit up the dark end of the boat to write and save my back on the stool. And i newspaper, which was the cheapest alternative to the firelighters I couldn’t find in Tesco.