Nicola Sturgeon may be enjoying life on a luxury £150,000 narrowboat, but a former liveaboard has shared the less glamorous side of canal living, including freezing winters, raw sewage and screaming rats.
Sean Martin, who lived on a houseboat in central London, said he purchased the vessel without much thought to the implications, and was completely unaware that rats scream in the night.
A spontaneous purchase
Martin's foray into houseboat ownership began one summer evening in a pub in Peckham, where a friend and he mused about how idyllic life on the canal could be. After several drinks, they went on Gumtree to look at boats for sale and found what he described as "a large can with an outboard engine attached to it."
Despite the fact that a 70ft vessel cannot be steered with a speed boat engine, they messaged the seller and organised a viewing in Enfield. The tour was grim, featuring an oxygen canister and stretcher in one room, ninja-style throwing stars in the living room, a sofa falling apart, and a portable camper van loo.
Despite being disgusted, they returned to the pub and by the fifth pint were both online looking at loans. Both had their £12,000 share of the price approved within minutes, and they were living on the boat within a week.
Winter struggles and the Beast From The East
At first it was great, with summer mornings on the water and savings on rent. Martin was paying £800 a month for a room in Dulwich but now paid £400 a month towards a loan, and after three years would essentially be living rent-free.
But as the heat dwindled, so did their enthusiasm. The coal burning fireplace in the metal vessel meant it was either freezing or boiling. By winter, they would sit in the living room for hours each night, face and lips dry as a bone, before retreating to their rooms to wake up completely freezing, watching their breath hit the cold air.
A safety inspector told them there were cracks in the chimney from the stove and that it needed fixing. The process involved removing a chunk of the roof, which they covered with a bin bag until the chimney was returned. Then the Beast From The East came, with temperatures reaching almost minus double figures, while the bin bag held strong under a deluge of snow. Martin slept in three jumpers, a sleeping bag and a duvet.
Wildlife and waste
With spring came breeding coots, which made a nest in the tires on the side of the boat. It is illegal to disturb a bird's nest, so they couldn't move the boat. First the water ran out, forcing them to lug five litre water bottles along the Walthamstow Marshes in a broken wheelbarrow. They made a rule: no showers until they moved.
There was also the task of emptying the toilet canister, often finding the first toilet station broken and having to soldier on to the next. The stationary boat also attracted rats, which have neophobia and steer clear of moving boats but get curious when you stay put. They found a convenient entry hole in the battery box, and Martin described the intruders as bigger than his forearm, not including the tail.
Traps were laid, but rats need time to get used to something before they'll go near it. For a week, Martin was woken by their screams, the thuds of them jumping off the counter, and the ripping apart of everything under the kitchen sink. He said it was the best diet he has ever been on, as he didn't eat for a good four days, and was pretty close to a breakdown.
Territorial neighbours
Martin said most of these things could have been sorted if they hadn't been twenty-something idiots, but what he couldn't have changed were the people. He said the cosy notion that boaters are free-loving communal people is a lie, with the number of people with 'no double mooring' signs in their windows being legion, making it extremely difficult to find a spot in London.
After a few years, they decided they had had enough. Martin said there were elements he loved, such as the summer months where you could have people over to drink on the roof, but for the rest of it, he said: "I think I've served my time."
