A Dose of Realism - Some Hard Truths About Living on a Narrowboat in London

The reason I am starting on a slightly negative topic rather than trying to sell you the idea of a narrowboat is because you have already sold yourself on a dream. The fact that you are reading this guide means the idea of living on a narrowboat is attractive to you. What I think may be missing is a dose of realism.

I am now going to describe a number of scenarios which occur regularly in my day to day life on the boat in London which I had absolutely no clue would be happening before I dived in blind. These are not glamorous. Some of them are boring and tedious. One of them is disgusting.

These scenarios are:

• Running out of water

• Emptying my shit every few days

• Freezing water on my duvet at 06:00

• Walking home along a dark canal at night

• Constant anxiety that my boat is sinking

Running Out of Water

Let’s start with a nice one. Break you in gently. Running out of water.

When you live on a boat you are not usually connected to a mains water supply unless you have a permanent mooring. You are also not usually near a water point. In order to get more water on the boat so that you can have the unbelievable luxury of running water (something the majority of people in the UK take for granted) you have to move the entire boat to the nearest water point. This is usually up a lock or down a lock. There is often a queue. If there is a queue, expect a three hour wait because narrowboat tanks are upwards of 300 litres. Boat Time.

Running out of water does not sound that bad right? Have you tried washing up using a bottle of drinking water that you paid for in the shop? This is not the same as using drinking water that you filled up in a tap. You watch the cash you paid for that water in the supermarket drain down the sink. 1.5 litre bottles do about one load of washing up.

If you have to fill up your water, expect it to take about three hours.

Emptying My Shit Every Few Days

There is a longer chapter about the type of toilets available to you as a boater. I currently use a Thetford Porta Potti while we prepare to install a compost toilet. The capacity of this toilet is fairly small. If you just used it to take a dump, you could easily do two weeks between empties. I don’t know about you but I don’t just poo.

With two of you on the boat, this toilet is getting full extremely quickly. I’m talking within four days.

Once that toilet is full, you have to pick it up, load it onto your trolley and wheel it along a busy canal towpath to the nearest Elsan Point. An Elsan point is a large silver funnel that you pour your slowly decomposing, four-day-old piss and shit into. The stench is strong.

This is by far the worst job to do on a narrowboat in my opinion. In some weird, perverse way I actually enjoy it. It feels like the price I have to pay to get the good bits. Eat your veggies so you can eat your steak.

There are not too many Elsan Points in London. If you want to empty the toilet without moving your boat you have to walk. Between 30 minutes and an hour usually. Carrying your own shit. The shame!

Once you get to the the Elsan Point, there is a very high liklihood that it is blocked. When an Elsan point is blocked, it is full to the absolute brim with other people’s poo. It gets blocked because these fucking idiots put wet wipes in their toilets. Wet wipes don’t break down and instead form clumps glued together with shit that get nice and tight in that pipe. Now you have to walk ANOTHER 30 minutes to an hour to the next one, then back again. The journey to empty your shit is now 3 hours long. This is every four days.

Thats the reality.

Freezing Water on my Duvet at 06:00

Winter on a narrowboat is interesting. Single glazed windows usually. The temperature within is the same as the temperature on the outside if you do not have a way of heating your boat.

I have a lovely fireplace in mine. It is unbelievably romantic to have the fire on and listen to the crackling wood in the evening.

That fire usually goes out at around 03:00 and you can be damn sure I’m not the type of person to get up and add more fuel.

What that means is that by 06:00 the inside of the boat is the same fucking temperature as the outside world. This is not the worst bit though. I’m a tough individual and I have done my fair share of camping. Cold I can handle.

The real horrible aspect about this is the condensation from your breath that clings to the top of the duvet. As you force yourself awake in the morning and reach your arm out of your duvet, the first thing you will feel is ice cold water clinging to the top of the covers.

It’s completely damp.

Cold. Wet. Clingy.

Every single day.

Walking Home Along a Dark Canal at Night

I was going to start this section with “Here’s one for the ladies” but actually this applies to everyone. Some parts of the canals in very central London are well lit. Especially around King’s Cross where they actually have security walking around. Most of the other places along the network are dark and empty at night.

What this means is that in order to get home at night, you have to walk through the most obvious place to get mugged.

When it is dark along the canal, every tree / bush is the perfect place to ambush someone. Not only that but there is very little chance of anyone else seeing what is happening.

You are vulnerable as you walk home.

What I have done in an attempt to make my girlfriend slightly safer is to purchase a torch so powerful you can feel the heat coming off it. This torch is JUST within the legal limits for brightness. If our scumbag mugger friend is used to the dark, a quick flash in the face with this will mean that they see the equivalent of the sun for the next five minutes.

The next best legal item to carry is an air horn.

Get bright, get loud.

Anything stronger than these two is illegal.

Living on a narrowboat means you put yourself in a risky situation just to get home at night.

Thats the reality.

Constant Anxiety that My Boat is Sinking

The final one I want to talk about is actually quite irrational.

Most boats are made of strong steel and if you have done the sensible thing and taken the boat to get a proper ultrasound survey on the hull then the chances of your boat sinking on its own is almost zero.

Yet I am constantly thinking it’s sinking.

I wake up at night and check for water in the cabin.

A slight lean to one side (called a list) has me frantically moving furniture, again checking for water.

My entire home and everything I own is floating on the water.

At any point in time, one of a hundred things could happen that means a good part of my net worth is at the bottom of the canal.

This does not happen with a house.

Thats the reality.

Conclusion

I am very glad you got this far.

Slightly scared?

No?!

Really?

Good.

Buying a narrowboat to live in was the best decision I ever made.