Living on a Boat, Part 6

At least there were no spiders. At least I could try and get some sleep.

How wrong can you be?

Each night I'd settle down, still questioning my sanity, but ready for a restorative snooze. And each night, for the first two weeks, I'd be woken at midnight, 2 am, 4 am and 6 am by A Noise. Now, the times I've given for the Noise are approximate, but it happened between two and four times a night. But let's not get ahead of ourselves - there were other things that happened before bedtime.

Opposite my boat was - and still are - pleasure boats; the ones that take people out for boozy nights on the River. I'd hear the engines start up about 8 and about half an hour later, hear the sounds of Tina Turner's 'Simply the Best' or some other crowd-pleaser fading down the Thames, underscored by cheers, out-of-tune singing and whistles. This was a bit of comfort for me; my boat is moored in the middle of the River and you can feel a bit cut off from the rest of the world, if you're not careful. The sounds of people enjoying themselves reminded me that all was not lost and there are good times to be had.

The other thing that helped me through my darker hours was Russell Brand's Radio 2 show. Love him or loathe him, the man is an infernal optimist and it's quite infectious. My Friday night treat was to sit and listen to him with a big bar of chocolate and try and lose myself in his madness. It was quite a blow when he got taken off.

But there were things happening I didn't understand and, being one of nature's cowards, things I don't understand tend to scare me. The first was that the boat would suddenly lurch at about 11 pm, slamming into the piles with some force. I didn't mentally connect the dots joining this motion and the arrival of a pleasure ship about 15 minutes later. I didn't know about 'bow-waves' - why should I? So, until I worked it out, as far as I was concerned, the boat was sinking every night at 11 o'clock.

The other thing was the sound of breaking glass at midnight. Lots of it. I'd already heard whispers of 'River Pirates', so I'd eye-up my entrance-hatch, wondering just how I could make it more secure. More dots I didn't join and these turned out to be the empties from the pleasure boat being disposed of.

But, the Noise... It sounded to me like ropes being stretched to breaking point; that sort of 'D - d - d - d -' sound you get just before there's an almighty snap and your boat goes shooting off downstream. Given that my boat was secured by ropes with knots that I'd tied and therefore didn't trust, this meant that I'd shoot out of bed, grab a torch and stand on the rear deck, checking the lines. Twice, three times a night. And I won't mention the fact that I don't wear pyjamas in bed. Or anything else, for that matter.

Two weeks of this went by, with me getting more and more paranoid, probably due to exhaustion. One night, I think about 3 am, I was doing my usual naked check, when I happened to shine the light along the side of the boat. There, in a lovely little line, was a row of ducks. Nibbling the weed off my hull. Making a 'd-d-d-d-d-d-' noise. Not my ropes snapping. Not at all.

Still, it was another one to cross off the list and it was June now and Spring was on its way.

 Anyone remember the flash-floods of 2007..?

I do.

To be continued...