I now have the internet, and supposedly a new pump that won’t be noisy. The pump is lovely and quiet so far—it kicks in when the taps are on but is silent when not. The Internet was very flaky at first but a router firmware update seems to have sorted that out. If you’re in the Oxford Canal area, see if you can spot my network:

Days at sea: 38

Rations: Red pepper soup.

Stowed: A telly, but don’t get excited there’s no ariel or freeview. I might get round to hooking up the computer to play DVDs at some point.

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.

Last night I got down and got filthy, with the assistance of nice Josh on his knees. After a while it got hot.

Yes, although I’ve had the boat for just over a month it hadn’t really been cold enough to light the stove, and it certainly hadn’t been cold enough in Crete where the landlord was and he insisted that he needed to show me how it worked.

I can light a fire as well as the next person who can sort of light a fire, but I was a bit confused as to how this burner fuelled the radiators along the starboard side. Something to do with heating the water was all I got told, but I did learn that there’s a complex relationship between waggling the grate thing and turning the knob at the front that lets in amounts of air. And that it’s simply impossible to take a photo of a fire.

Still, it’s given me a new morning routine: making sure the coal scuttle is full, as hauling coal in the dark is not a fun thing to do.

It made the place pretty toasty warm if truth be told.

Days at sea: 23

Rations: Stone’s Ginger Wine (it was on offer at the Tescos)

Stowed: Coal.