Nice Josh my landlord, or rather my unseen landlady’s partner, has just been round to show me how to disconnect the water pump. Last night my part-time shipmate and I were kept awake not by the part-time dog for once but regular chugs and hisses. Under the bed is a huge water tank, which means a few things:

• you can have a lot of water on board, balancing the white goods which are all one side (starboard, right—right?), which is good for baths, showers and not leaving the hose connected to the tap
• the bed is really high, far higher than one can jump without stepping up. I’m rather worried about falling out if drunk or restless, I’m rather worried about getting in, although I seem to have managed it the few times I’ve tried
• it has a pump underneath it, which in theory should only pump when the taps are on.

But that’s not what happened on my first night on board. What happened is that the new experience and other things that may have kept me sleepless were added to by a punctuation of pumping. I’m not entirely sure I slept, so vivid were the dreams I had when and if I was.

The part-time dog was a little confused by the height of the bed—unable to either climb on and cuddle or lick stray body parts that peek out of the covers. She was very good though, her first time on water and no barking or whining. I was worried, that the boat was one of the types of rented accommodation that didn’t have a problem with the ‘small and well behaved’ (I tell those letting property, when she’s technically erring on the side of neither) woofer was one of its big drawing points. If she’d have hated it that would have all been for naught. It still remains to be seen if she takes to it for a whole day on her own. One can only hope that watching the towpath is interesting enough.

Tonight, I’m alone. Radio 4 burbling about the speaker of the house somewhere in the dark at the centre of the boat. I’m sitting in the pointy bit at the front, lit by the light of the laptop screen only.

I’m not connected to the internet, fearful of running up a huge bill on my dongle and yet to sort out a ‘land’-line. One of the joys of boat living so far has been the difficulty in explaining the situation to those in officialdom. The address—I have one, postcode and all—doesn’t appear properly in website records. I hope the Council Tax goes through okay, but more I hope that I can get the web connected. To be without that (as I am without a TV, stereo, full time company) will be hard.

I’m not sure I’d contemplated that bit of the complications of living on the water: I was ready—if not waiting—for oddness with toilets and other amenities, but not sort of not existing. Tomorrow’s to-do list includes trying to get the Council to believe I exist for purposes of car-parking permits. I don’t have one, but the part-time shipmate does and I very much want her to be able to visit me as much as possible.
Days at sea: 2

Rations: Leftover Chinese, whichever red wine was on offer at Sainsbury’s.

Stowed: Some new pants and socks as a lot seem to have gone missing in the move.