The boat was advertised as being in a ‘quiet city centre location’. And it is, despite the canals here being a little bit of a short cut from the end of town by the train station to trendy Jericho. Or at least it has been so far. On a Friday and Saturday night I can hear the rumble of a disco somewhere, it’s not loud enough to keep me awake nor for me to hear what records are being played and to be made sleepless by the taste displayed by the DJ.

This last weekend, however, was the first since I’ve been on board where Oxford was playing host to freshers. Not new students going up to the proper Uni, but those attending the ‘other place’—and my work—Oxford Brookes. A much more conventional student experience I would expect and what I think lead to the behaviour we witnessed aurally.

“Craig got his cock out!” called the young voice.

Giggling but no response.

“Craig, got. His cock. out.” confirmation.

Despite it waking us at around 3am on a Sunday morning, I held my tongue and didn’t enquire more. I also slept through a droning and ernest conversation about the meaning of life that the part-time shipmate told be that she’d been listening to in the hour before.

I await the return of the Bullingdon Club to see what they get up to in the wee small hours.

Days at sea: 17

Rations: Jam on toast

Stowed: The King, pictured above, late of my wrote-off car and a present (some ten years ago) from the part-time shipmate.