This is the first of the eight boat stories. There will be more to come, including more engine excitement.

After much searching, I found the boat that I wished to call home. Dawn, for it was she, was moored in Staffordshire. My father and I both booked precious time off work and, after testing the suspension and kicking the tyres, we set off for the week-long journey. Destination: Oxford.

We planned a journey that took us along the Shropshire Union Canal, Grand Union and Oxford canals. There were probably others (it gets a bit complicated round Birmingham). On our journey we passed through tunnels, diversions, and lots of locks.

I am overwhelmed by all this. On Monday our new home was craned in. Words to follow, but for now pictures will have to do.

People do boat-build blogs. Breathlessly they document the progress of their build, keeping everyone up-to-date with up-to-the-minute information about how it’s all going. I am breathless about my new boat. I want to document the progress of the build and keep everyone up-to-date. I have a blog. It’s a very exciting event in life and I want to share it with my friends and family. But it’s also something I’ve never done before, not remotely, and, whilst I’ve been in good hands, there are so many horror stories out there that I didn’t want to tempt fate.

Flood water waist deep. Bit of a challenge getting out. Thames towpath below Oxford flooded knee-deep in places, just breaching at Donnington bridge. Someone in the University College boathouse shouted that I should be careful of sharks.

Last night I dealt with the heat the only way I know how.

Abingdon road still under a bit of water, but it’s now receding. I ran out of gas, which means no tea and no hot water. So I went on a gas mission.

 

Today, Tuesday. Deepest yet; getting out of my boat I was plunged waist-deep.  The river is bringing it to the residents of Abingdon Road. A lunchtime stroll.

Street deserted of cars. Very quiet.

A short lunchtime stroll on Monday after a weekend of flooding. The water is still rising and becoming worryingly strong in places (both in the river and across footpaths thigh-deep).

Give me a cup of tea and a dressing gown and I’m made. Who cares if it’s flooding up to my thighs.

I came home last night and was just about able to make it in wellington boots on tip-toe. Come 1am my landing stage was covered. Up at 7am to check things over and have a stroll. It came up almost to my waist in places. I wouldn’t drink this stuff.