Written on 5 February 2019
Being a badly paid singleton the chances of me getting my hands on a house were slim.
Still, I was sick of filling the coffers of some moist banker I had literally never met, and my Nan had just snuffed it and left me a sizable chunk, so I took the plunge (No pun intended) and got myself a houseboat.
Issues, such as my sea sickness, my inability to drive a boat and the fact that moisture made me wheezy could all suck it. I had myself a place to call home. A 2 bed converted tug boat with six year's moring privileges in Thames Ditton.
It had everything I needed. A decent kitchen, a bath and shower. Sure, I had to get my Wi-Fi from my mobile. Sure, if the gas ran out mid-shower there was very little I could do about it. Sure, the moisture played havoc with my lungs and my electronics to boot. It didn’t matter. This was mine.
On sunny days I would head down the Thames (My buddy Steve driving) and collect friends along the way. And we'd party into the night. When it was cold, I bundled up in my bedroom, leaving only to go to the toilet, and I'd read, or game, and no one was any the wiser.
And, oh my, what a conversation starter. That was my most prolific time as a singleton. The amount of guys I invited back was well into the 10’s. They would all say the same thing “It's nice to visit, but I'm not sure I couldn’t live on one all the time.”
And that's the reason I let it go. I started earning more money, and apparently others were keen to live the boat life. The price of my boat had doubled, so I sold up and bought a two up two down in Hounslow.
And I'm happy here, I honestly am. My boyfriend Greg has moved in, and I think I'm going to propose soon. I love my life. But every time I'm by the water I think about my boat, and the life that I had led for four years. The boat life. And how I wouldn't change a thing. Even if my lungs have never really recovered.