Better. Last night we had our (lovely) new neighbours over for food and bonding and I was enchanted to find out that they have dubbed us “The Pixies.”

I like our marina, when the boat is moored safely.

Thanks guys for your support regarding banger racing with narrowboats. Boo, yes we have insurance - don't be too shocked now - and Turtle is booked in on a helmsman's course. Dougal: I thought this post might strike a chord with our dear Admiral. But why are you masquerading as Pepper? Love you all very much.

Oh dear. I have not slept at all, dogged by recurring dreams of a drifting boat with no ropes to tie her up.

Not surprising really as Turtle and I took XJ on her maiden voyage across the basin last night and did not enjoy it at all. She constantly spun out of control and we very nearly crashed into: Another narrowboat, Liam and Ailsa’s new boat, the fuck-off dutch barge belonging to the marina warden, a large weir, and the Thames lock. In that order. People were coming out of their boats just to push our boat away.

Narrowboats are ridiculously designed and impossible to manouver. They drift shockingly large distances at the slightest breeze, they spin on a middle axis and they do not have brakes. None of this is good when trying to get a 52 footer diagonally across a basin after reversing out of a tight spot.

It was only by the love of God that we made it back to our mooring. The yoof in the flats above had an hour and a half’s entertainment, but my nerves are shot to pieces. It took me two glasses of wine and three roll ups before my legs would stop shaking.

Any ideas of taking her on the Thames have been quashed for the foreseeable. We must have been mad to think of it.

Last night my husband looked at me and said: “What the fuck am I doing eating raw mushrooms at 1am in the Jury’s Inn in Islington.” I said, “Darling, there’s only one decent response to this situation, let’s go to the bar.”

200 miles from home. Rail replacement service. Deposited in Paddington way later than planned. No keys to boat, no keys to Marina, no phone, therefore no numbers of friends with whom to stay or neighbours with spare keys.

Thank the Lord for credit cards, shitty hotels with all night bars, Star Trek - the Next Generation and amiable cabbies.

28 Weeks Later is an intense film. It is not a film you should go see when you are in the grips of nicotine withdrawal (day 1) and are already nursing an unhealthy expectation of the apocalypse.

Turtle and I didn’t speak more than 3 words to each other all through dinner after that film. We looked like one of those couples who have fuck all to say to each other and are thinking that right about now might be the time to start contemplating an affair.

Not us. We were just stunned silent by what we’d seen, reduced to toying with our soba noodles and watching the door for New Breeds.

Laying in bed last night in our cabin, Turtle & I got slightly concerned about the fact that our new location is very vulnerable to New Breeds. Thinking it through we realised:

1) We are surrounded by locks North and South of Brentford Island

2) You have to stand outside Narrowboats to drive them; the engine is fine (all controls enclosed within the engine room) it’s just that fucking rudder.

So although there are some aspects of our situation that have improved since leaving a house: self suffiency through large water and fuel tanks, impenetrable steel exterior & doors, it is clear that the English canal system and the boats that go with it were not designed with the inevitable in mind. Our best bet would be to anchor up in the middle of the Thames and watch familiar tourist landscapes collapse but we have not got an anchor.

So until we can afford a large naval vessel, we shall remain stockpiled and always aware. Being ahead of the game is key.

Newsflash: "Shoreditch Vampire spotted out of his territory in Angel."

My boss just saw Noel Fielding in the caff next door. Why?! Why not me?

She doesn't even watch the Boosh...I would have stood behind him in the queue and annoyingly quoted all Old Gregg's lines in a quiet monotone. He would have loved it.

Our House....In the middle of our street.

Hooray!!! Guess which one is ours...yep, the grey one with streaks of rust. Our very own floating, cruising, rusting love shack.

God has blessed us with wintry, rainy weather since we moved in on Saturday which only serves to underline how fucking cosy this boat is. We have a kettle that whistles in the kitchen and a globe lamp in the lounge. Bookshelves, boas, blinkies and on-demand hot water. Snuggle snuggle, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. This is truly my ideal home and is so worth the shit that came before.

Booo Hoooooo

Just posted the following on freecycle:

OFFERED: Mint 1975 Kenwood/Pioneer separates system

I am moving to a houseboat and therefore have to let go of my
beautiful but large stereo system. It is in fabulous condition and
comprises of: 5 CD changer, turntable, radio, double cassette deck &
amp, all either Kenwood or pioneer and in a custom built oak case. The
previous owner lovingly maintained it and it has the original manuals
for each separate as well as all the connecting cables. I am hoping
someone can give it a good home. Pickup either tonight or Thursday
evening from 5.30 please as we are moving Friday - you will need a car
as it is fairly heavy.

Immediately recieved a myriad of responses and I now have a funny feeling in my tummy. Found myself scrutinising people's emails as if that could tell me whether they would take care of it, wire it up properly and wipe the dust off now and then.

Very difficult to let go on this one, but the clothes were fucking easy. Take em down Brick Lane, set up a street stall, Hawk em to fashionistas until the police shut you down and distribute the leftovers between Kat and the charity bin.

The sound system, however, is going to kill me. This move is hard, it is.