It’s time to move! Lizbef sets off finding a new location to moor and amidst the sunshine and beautiful scenery, photos from the past will lead her to question and doubt herself. Can she restore Malvern to her former glory? Or is she climbing a mountain with an impossible summit? Want to hear from the Waterways through post? Join “Letters from Lizbef” at https://www.patreon.com/LettersFromLizbef
Lizbef starts to learn a new skill! And has realised that she has NO IDEA what she’s doing! Luckily, that’s the joy of learning and having a green-thumbed mother to save the day. Add in cruising to a new location and Leela having the time of her life on holiday, the world feels right again.🌸
Liked “King of Tides”? Grab it here! Want to become a patron and get exclusive access to videos, blogs and unreleased book extracts? Hop on here to join! All our Love, Lizbef & Leela 🌸♥️🌸
What a relief this feels like.
It’s been three weeks since I left my “normal” job. Since then, I’ve put myself down for every shift at the museum that’s available and have been working until 2am most nights on the boat to throw myself back into the business.
It doesn’t feel like a hardship to work so late- not when your work is your passion.
Since I last spoke to you, I moved the boat to a new location. It’s a spot that Leela enjoys because there are huge fields behind the towpath she can whizz over, tail twirling around and around like a helicopter.
It’s been wonderful spending more time with her. When I was working in education over winter, I felt as though I was losing her in some way. I refuse to leave Leela alone for more than a couple of hours- if I’m really desperate, so she would stay with my folks mid week until I finished on a Friday to pick her up. And now, we’ve gone back to a lovely routine where I’m with her 24/7.
I don’t know what Leela thinks of this new arrangement- she’s probably mourning the loss of having a bed in each room, constant biscuits, cups of tea and steak at the weekends with her grandparents. Still, she’ll have her way this weekend, as she’s going with my parents on holiday to the seaside, so she can be spoilt to her heart’s content. Leela has had more holidays than me over the past 7 years. Meanwhile, I’m planning on spending my weekend with a rake in hand at my allotment.
It’s been quite exciting planning this allotment. I do admit however, that I may have bitten off more than I can chew.
“So, you can’t just buy a load of seeds and stick them in the ground?” I asked my mother.
She just smiled. “No, love.”
“Oh.”
“And then you’ve got to be careful which veggies you plant next to each other.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, some plants do better next to other plants and others don’t get on.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded, imagining some animated version of the Wars of the Roses with a tomato plant wrestling with a courgette.
“Just get your seeds, Elizabeth.”
Not to mention- there’s the hurdle of getting a greenhouse and a shed into action, which is slightly difficult considering my car is a tiny Peugeot (you know the ones- the one that you get your Nana so she can do her weekly shop at Tescos).
“I was thinking about getting some pallets and building it,” I told my dad as we sat with a pint before Sunday dinner. My brother in law, Ryan, sitting next to him looked dubious.
“That’s not going to be easy,” he told me. Which was a kind way of probably saying, “you are absolutely joking.”
“Why? Can’t I just get a load of pallets and whack them together? I’ve seen some really nice ones on Pinterest that people have done themselves.”
Ryan was silent- either musing other the brilliance of my idea, or coming to the conclusion that it was better to keep his mouth shut.
“Why don’t you just buy one?” my dad suggested. “You can get one online for £120.”
£120 is a lot of money right now for myself. Fresh out of my “grown up” job, I can’t take any income from a painting or a book sale for granted. £120 is a monthly food shop.
I’ve never been good at jigsaw puzzles. And I have never in my life put together any piece of Ikea furniture. I doubted my chances at succeeding with a delivered flat shed. Somehow a load of pallets, nails and a hammer felt like the cheapest and easiest solution.
But my indecision has wrapped me up in knots.
As you may as well know by now, my DIY skills are somewhat… lacking. I can pull things apart, load up bricks, dig ditches and get in hay bales. I am the human version of a pack mule- I’m a strong gal. But building something?
Sometimes I get a perfect idea in my head, and because of seeking out perfection, I get terrified of making a mistake. And then time goes by, where I plan, and read and then fear begins to grow. And before I know it, a month has passed and all I have is a pitchfork to my name.
However, thanks to the forward thinking of my mother, I already have a bunch of tomatoes slowly being grown into existence in her greenhouse, and I have been told that I will be growing beetroot.
“But I don’t like beetroot,” I said in confusion, as she held up a packet of seeds.
“We’ll get these down- they’re easy enough to grow.”
“But, mum, I don’t like beetroot. You know I don’t like beetroot.”
“No, but me and your sister do, so…”
And that was that. In fact, I felt a stab of pride at the thought that my allotment could be useful for my family. Living on the boat, single and without children, sometimes I can feel as though I don’t offer enough. My home isn’t used for entertaining them, there are no dinners held here and most of my family end up leaving the boat dirtier than when they had first stepped in an hour previous.
I suppose getting an allotment was to prove something to myself. That I could learn these things, that I could provide for my family in a way that would be useful and meaningful. Fine, there’s no space to have Sunday dinners on board, and I don’t have an oven, but growing food? Yeah, that’s something I can do.
I had planned to plant things I could easily cook without an oven (installing one is one the to-do list, they’re just expensive) such as spring onions, tomatoes, French beans, more onions, salads, courgettes and anything else I could slice and dice and slice in a frying pan. But growing potatoes, carrots, parsnips and (yes, mum) beetroot to contribute towards my family makes me feel good.
I feel as though there is a beautiful honesty in growing your own veggies, and I’m looking forward to diving into this Dig for Victory experiment and seeing if I can replicate the methods of the 40’s- and most importantly- get into the mindset of being self-sufficient.
It’s an exciting prospect.
So, life on the boat is quite nice and very wholesome at the moment. I’m reading gardening books, painting commissions so I can pay for boat repairs, walking Leela and answering every one of her whims. I’m basically the Temu version of Beatrix Potter.
Over the past eight years of boating, there has been many highs and terrible lows.
I’m enjoying a peaceful high right now, so I’m enjoying every moment.
Sending you all of our love, and we’re excited to share with you the next part in our journey.
Elizabeth and Leela
X X X
We’re back, baby! And with a new print! Pre Order now here. Each print is going to Maggie’s improvement and hull restoration. There’s a lot we need to do. Leela and I are so happy to get back to it and sharing our love of history and boating with you. Big Love, Elizabeth and Leela x
Congratulations- you survived and made it to Spring! I cannot tell you the relief I am feeling with the sunshine on my face. Suddenly, everything feels a lot more positive. Painting feels easier, Leela is happier not being covered in mud after her walks, and I don’t have to put a fire on first thing in the morning.
Finally, it feels like I can enjoy boat life again.
And with that comes the ability to create real content. I have been busy filming and editing videos, the first to be released this Friday and I have been incredibly excited about its subject matter- World War Two on the canals.
With Maggie being built in 1928 and worked on by the people that would have been alive during the First World War, delving into the WW2 felt natural. Maggie was based in Birmingham during the bombings, where she suffered a wall collapse at Gas Street Basin. All of that, she survived.
As you may well know, I have been writing a book about the lost history of women of the waterways- one of my favourite segments is about the Idle Women of the canals. It felt quite poignant to me that my boat would also be “doing her bit”, still working as a haulage boat, (for Samual Barlow at that point) and it occurred to me, what would it be like to live and work on these canal boats during the war? And not just that- what would it be like for the people on land as they coped through rations and growing their own food?
Which led me to my next experiment.
Dig For Victory.
Initiated in 1939, the UK Government called the public to join “The Garden Front”, encouraging all to start growing their own food. It was a concern that with our ships being targeted by the enemy, that Hitler would attempt to starve us into surrender. Our ships were also needed to move our armed forces, weapons and supplies to fight in the war. With our pre-war stats of having 75% of our food imported, the Government knew that something would have to be done. We needed to be as self sufficient as possible.
Flowers were pulled up in every garden and replaced with potatoes, carrots, onions and anything else you could stick in the soil. Nothing was wasted or thrown away. Full dedication was required. Verges, public parks, and even Buckingham Palace’s gardens were revolutionised.
This was one of the reasons I decided to make the leap and get myself an allotment.
I have been boating for about eight years now. I have never had my own bricks or mortar- or my own garden, and I have no idea when I will get to that point in my life. The one thing I do yearn for is my own space where I can grow fruit and veg.
But surely you can plant some flower boxes on your roof, Elizabeth?
I don’t want a boat roof garden of a couple of boxes.
I want a proper garden where Leela can play whilst I rake and dig beneath the sun and eventually collapse into a chair where I can have a glass of cider with my mother. I mention my mother, because although she may not realise it- I need all of her green thumb knowledge. I want to have that experience for myself. I spent my childhood watching my Nan and mother take care of their gardens, fuss over their sheds and greenhouses. My sister and I would be on watering duties every sundown in Spring, help pull out the weeds, and then be put to work in the paddock by our Granddad.
Everything I associate with gardening is a happy memory of family.
The allotment where I am now, was started in 1919 to combat the Great Depression. Soldiers returning and unable to find work, needed to be able to bring in food another way. The green space thrived and served its community well.
During the Second World War, the allotment burst again with life, families and children working together to be able to put food on the table. We had to think outside of the box and make do with what we could grow on our own.
I like this idea of self sufficiency. And whereas I am not experienced in gardening, or planting of any sort, I want to delve into learning a new skill. I want to be able to bring food home and know that whatever happens or if money is short, I can go to the allotment and be fed through my own hard work. Sometimes I feel like I am drowning in technology and social media, the world so different from my childhood. I want to go back to a simpler time where I can work hard and return home to a cup of tea, some custard creams and watch Last of the Summer Wine with Leela.
I’ve started filming this plunge into history already, still showing what it’s like living on a boat, but giving a historical context into this new endeavour. I will also be looking into life on the canals during this turbulent time, how the Idle Women coped and what we can learn from them today.
On top of this, there will be slashes of Medieval History on the days that I’ll be working at the Battle of Bosworth Museum as a Battlefield Tour Guide (my costume is fabulous), and I’ll no doubt be sharing what paintings I am working on and selling.
In spirit of this history exploration, I am launching a letter-writing subscription. In a world where we are so inundated with emails, texts, social media messages, I feel as though we’ve lost something along the way. I’ve always loved handwriting letters, and I feel as though it is a dying art. I will be offering a subscription service to anyone who would like a bit more of the 1940s taste to be kept updated on what has been going on with our boat restoration project, and have a little something extra included inside- it could be a gift from the museum or something home made, but it will be something chosen with love from Leela and I, sent from the English Waterways.
Leela would like you to see our new Fine Art Print, which is now available on the shop- mostly because it is a painting of her on the boat. It is aptly named “Boat Dog” (Leela wanted something grand, but I wanted to stay straight to the point) and is available in sizes A4 and A5. Each one sold goes towards our home’s historical restoration of her hull and interior improvement plans. You can also grab the first art print of Malvern here.
I am so excited to share with you what is in stall this Spring. Medieval history, The Great War, the Second World War, Idle Women, Allotment growing, Dig for Victory, boat jobs, painting AND, of course- writing books. You can watch the episodes early and get access to private blogs and extracts from the fourth Maddox Black book I am still working on, by signing up to be a Patron here.
Sending you all of our love and thank you so much for being here with us.
It really means the world after all of this time,
Elizabeth and Leela x
Maggie (aka Malvern) has been on these canals since 1928! It comes as little surprise that now is the time to start preparing for her hull’s restoration and internal modernisation! How hard can it be, right? All our love, Lizbef and Leela x x x
It’s been a while.
For those who don’t know, I left my temporary mooring back in November. It was a chance for a fresh start, and my stay there was only supposed to be short term to do some repairs on Maggie.
Little was I to know that just a month later, those little repairs would turn into my biggest project yet.
Yes, I’m talking about Maggie aka Malvern’s complete overhaul and restoration.
Why so drastic, Liz?
What was a previous intention of getting her hull blacked, swiftly turned into a discovery that she would need an entire hull overhaul. The past owner from 2019 revealed a survey from Maggie, a very comprehensive and thorough report that made suggests and gave a quote of what needed to be done to preserve her legacy for the future.
This 2019 quote gave a recommendation, which was estimated to cost between £10k-£15k.
I was glad when I was sitting down when I read the quote, but for some reason, I had been expecting far worse. I had been prepared for Malvern needing some work during my custodianship of her, and had been attempting to save on the side for an upcoming survey, some light welding work and blacking for the oncoming Summer.
And then the reading continued.
For the recommended “fix” to happen, it mean removing Maggie’s fitout, which is the interior.
This would mean that after the steelwork had been done, a complete refit of the interior would have to take place, which at a very tight budget would start at £15k and more than likely be much more at completion.
I can’t lie; the temptation to sell her and give up was high. I talked about it with my friends, my family and the empty shadows of the boat night after night until all I felt was a failure.
I tried calculating how many paintings I would have to create to raise the minimal £30k to get her work done. But I was already burnt out, exhausted and the toll of Winter had already begun to settle in my bones.
But with an existing commission list calling my attention, I tried to push my worries aside until I would have more time and energy to formulate a plan. I needed to work on what was presently in front of me. I needed to focus.
But time continued on and I had fallen into a dark hole of hopelessness. I barely dressed or left the boat, keeping myself to my desk and staring at a wall, willing for the energy to come to lift up a paintbrush.
I was doing sums on my calculator, trying to figure out how much money I would have to save each month just to get to the £30k target by the Summer, when I thought about the option of creating a Fine Art Print.
I had never painted Maggie before. Or even any of my previous boats.
A photograph of her sat in front of me, my favourite image of my first mooring spot in the May of 2022. It had felt like the most surreal and magical time first setting off on her. Of course, I was absolutely terrified at first, and so much went wrong, but as soon as I moored up, there was a sense of excitement for the future and where Maggie would take me with Leela.
I decided to paint that image there and then, pouring all of my heart and soul into that piece. I knew every single line of that boat as I drew my brush across the crisp white paper. Every nuance, shadow and sharp edge.
No one is going to love this boat as you love her, Elizabeth, I told myself. You have to try. You have to.
And so, I created a restoration effort to save Maggie.
To be a custodian of a historic boat means that you are given the privilege to ensure her history lives on. And I really truly do feel as though Maggie has a spirit of her own. She wants to be saved. She wants to be brought back to her former glory. And I am determined to ensure that her future on the canals is a long and happy one.
Maybe I’ve always been a sucker for the underdog. To overcome all odds. That’s how I feel now.
But I really am going to give this project the best go I possibly can.
Each month leading to June, I will be releasing a Fine Art print of Malvern and the Waterways through history. Each one of the 6 designs will have a limited edition run of 200 Fine Art signed prints, available in A4 and A5. In total, I will have need to sell 1100 prints to get to my target.
I don’t know if that’s even possible.
If I can sell 46 prints a week, every week to the month of June, I can preserve Malvern’s history and keep my home.
And I’m determined to work every single hour that I can to make that a reality. Maybe I’m a sadist, because although it is petrifying, I’m also excited for the challenge.
As well as doing these designs and prints, I’m creating other things for the shop as well, such as handpainted bookmarks and I’m still painting commissions.
If I pull this off, I think it will be one of the greatest achievements of my life.
I honestly don’t know if I’ll manage to sell 1100 Fine Art Prints. It may mean I’ll have to think outside of the box, visit craft fairs and try and get them stocked in small shops.
Of all the things I don’t know about this succeeding or not, I only know that I need to try my best.
And that is what I’ll do.
I need to finish this by saying thank you so much for your encouragement and love during this new restoration project. It’s that comfort that has kept me focused on what could go right rather than wrong and kept the dread at bay. I honestly didn’t see myself doing another refit. But here we are.
I’m going to be upfront with all of the costs, the survey and will do a video about the thorough 2019 inspection and my search for a yard to do the job in the Summer. I have a counter on my Instagram page where I update daily on how many prints have sold so far. I promise you, that I will always do my best by Malvern/Maggie.
Let’s do it for the plot, shall we?
If you would like to buy a Malvern Fine Art Print, click the link below!
Malvern, aka “Maggie”, built in 1928 has survived The Great Depression, World War 2 and is now faced with her biggest challenge yet. a full restoration of her hull and interior to preserve her legacy and future. Not only that, Malvern is my home, and as her guardian, it is now up to me to…
All of our love, Elizabeth, Leela and Maggie x x x
I think it’s only fair to tell you where I’m at with writing my new history book and of course, Maddox Black, the salty sailor and demon hunter, herself. If you’d like to join as a Patron to read the new extracts, please head to https://www.patreon.com/earlewrites To buy the new art piece, send me an email at earlewrites@gmail.com To buy a Maddox Black book, head to https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B087JGWDWH?ref_=dbs_p_mng_rwt_ser_shvlr&storeType=ebooks
I awoke this morning with a little less panic in my chest. God knows I have no business in feeling that way, but so it goes. Maybe it’s because I’ve given myself a chance to breathe. Or maybe my brain has dissociated from the things that I should be worried about.
“I don’t know what to start with,” I told my friend recently, after spluttering my worries to him in his kitchen. I never enjoy sharing my stresses to my friends. I hate the idea that they will associate negative emotion with me. I want their experience of my company to be bright and enjoyable. I want us to laugh and have fun. Not try and sort out my mid 30s crisis. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What is the one job you really want to do that will make you feel better?”
I frowned in thought, flickering over the various to-dos in my mind. They loomed forwards in a dizzying list and I blinked to free myself of them. “I want to get my paintings done,” I said.
“Then that’s what you need to do. Paint for the rest of the week, and then at the end of it, see what has occurred.” And then I got what I needed- a hug.
And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. As soon as I wake up, I stick the kettle on and sit at my desk, paintbrush in hand. And you know what? I’ve been loving it. I’ve been loving seeing what unfolds beneath my paintbrush. After so many years of painting, I’m still learning new things and different techniques all of the time.
After finishing a commission, I rewarded myself with a training exercise to paint more realistically- an exercise that turned into an entire day welded to my chair. It was a portrait of one of my favourite characters that I have ever written.
Maddox Black.
She emerged from the paper as soon as my paintbrush touched indigo, her eyes staring at me in accusation.
Where have you been? She seemed to demand.
I knew what she meant. Her fourth instalment of her story was still being written and hadn’t been released. The last time I had mentioned her, she had just arrived at the Bone Isles with Wulfrik, the Hunter. She’s been impatiently waiting ever since.
She’s been on my mind a lot recently. I’ve been dying to plunge back into her story, but I’ve been reserving time for us both only when I’ve finished some work on the history book I’ve been writing.
“I can’t finish your book when I haven’t even finished the book that I’ve actually got a deal for,” I mumbled to her, slicing a flash of green in her eyes.
She knew I was lying. I had been dipping in and out of her story, adding what meat I could to her chapters, throwing in a major betrayal, attempted murder and leaving her half frozen to death in the snow. Even now as I’m typing, I’m dying to get back into her storyline. But first- I have other jobs to do.
And suddenly, it was 1:30am in the morning, her face full formed with a ship weathering a storm at the base of the picture. It was a forced movement to release my paintbrush, despite feeling wide awake. And I was still awake at past 2:30am, thinking of storylines, more illustrations and hungering for the day when I would have more time.
Painting Maddox had been a reward for being productive with my other commissions. I had just finished a father and daughter painting, and it had been my first realistic portrait in a long time. Nerves had made me twist my paintbrush over and over, unsure whether I could succeed in capturing what I wanted to capture. But somehow, but by bit, it revealed itself.
That’s the thing with watercolours. It demands patience and constant layering, building up in the lightest colours to then apply dark. It always looks worse before it looks better. And as soon as the image starts to trickle through, excitement catches you and it becomes so wholly addictive that you forget to eat. My diet has mostly consisted of tea and coffee these past few days. And I can say, I love this piece so much. The confidence I got from that painting, was what encouraged me to take that knowledge and apply it to something else.
It’s been good to focus on my painting whilst I bat the other worries at bay. They crawl closer sometimes, itching on my consciousness, listing all of the things I need to do until I freeze in place, unable to prioritise, unable to do anything at all.
There is so much I need to do.
And because of that, I find it really difficult to start.
I have a call with my publisher tomorrow to talk about the History of the Waterways book. We’ve had to push the deadline back, because not only has the research been increasingly difficult, but I’ve been juggling so much to keep everything going. Each discovery and fact takes a full day to uncover. I spent six hours the other day just to have a medieval woman’s name confirmed that took part in the restoration of one canal. There was no other context. No other information. Just the confirmation of her name.
Still, I suppose writing books and painting commissions has been a good distraction from the other things that have been on my mind. Maybe it’s because it’s so therapeutic. Or maybe it’s because it pays my bills, so each painting is a relief-inducing gift.
I still don’t know what I’m going to do in terms of moving onwards on Maggie or staying put at this mooring. I’m waiting for the answer to become more clear. Sometimes I feel as though I’ve been existing week to week, waiting for that answer to show itself. But I’m taking my friend’s advice and sinking into my watercolours and hoping for the best.
Luckily, painting offers me a chance to push all of those worries aside and focus at the blank piece of paper in front of me. The way is always clear for me then. A collection of colours, movement and depth. The time between each layer to dry. The flourishes of gold, the discreet lines of white, black and brown. I know what to do. I know where I stand. And I am in control. Most of the time.
And by the time I have finished, not only have I created something special for someone else, but the achievement of doing something that I’m good at and what I love doing floods through my body.
I know that I want to do this forever. There have been times when I have become tired of painting. There have been times when the idea of picking up a paintbrush has made me want to throw myself out into the canal.
But then whenever I think of my perfect day, it always consists of painting in the day and writing in the night. No matter where I am in the world, whether on boat or land. So that must mean for something. If I didn’t have these skills, I have no idea what I would be doing or who I would be. I certainly wouldn’t be Elizabeth Earle. And I certainly wouldn’t be happy.
So maybe I need to fight harder for that.
I don’t know where to start.
The past few months, I feel as though I have retreated from being so visible, taken a step back into the fog and became lost in my painting and storylines. My energy levels have been directed into writing this book and painting my little heart out. I have to admit, at times, it has been exhausting. Each month brings a flurry of emotions. The first week, I am exhausted from paying my bills. I am concussed by it, finding so little left over to do any of the improvements I have been promising to do on Maggie. And then, when the second week comes, I am full of energy. I can’t stop painting, I can’t stop writing. I am full of optimism and hope. And then, the third week comes, and I am aware that I have a limited amount of time to meet my financial targets to pay the upcoming bills. I retreat into the shadows of the boat. I don’t dress. I don’t leave except to walk Leela. I work. And work. And work.
But it’s been a difficult year for everyone. Income has halved and my costs have skyrocketed. Since when did cheese become so expensive?? Despite knowing I am not the only one, it brings as much comfort as a person telling me about their broken leg whilst I’m cradling a broken arm. It’s the same for so many people as we attempt to get through yet another month, putting one foot in front of the other in the hopes that next month it’ll be different. Next year, it’ll be better.
The windows and skylights of Maggie are leaking. I am rationing coal. I am keeping an eye on every slice of bread I have left. I found a large box of cornflakes for 75p the other day and I felt as though I had hit the jackpot. With a sprinkle of sugar, I could call that pudding after my meal of canned soup.
Reading books about the experiences of WW1 soldiers in the trenches have become a comfort. A reminder that I don’t have trenchfoot or watching my friends drown in a latrine.
It sounds dramatic. But really- like my Granddad said, “It’s not ok, but it’s ok.”
I have manipulated my emotions into confusing stress and panic into adrenaline and excitement. “It’s just a storyline,” I tell myself. “It’s just a character going through hard times- like every book that you’ve read. There’s always a plot twist in Chapter Four. You just haven’t got there yet.”
When I’m buttering my toast for dinner, I’m a traveller at an inn with only enough coin for the measly meal before me. But I’m ravenous, and it’s the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.
When I’m coal rationing, I’m a Victorian pauper, carefully placing three lumps of coal on the fire and then loading it with free wood to keep the heat ribboning throughout the boat.
“It’s just a story.”
There is a deep fear within me in being cold. It is something every boater is aware of when the frost first starts to settle. The fear of getting frozen into the canal with not enough water to last you. Becoming too sick to go out and get firewood. Seeing your breath curl and float from your mouth in a ghostly vapour of heat as you lie curled in your bed, dreading to throw the covers off and start the day.
People have feared the Winter for centuries. And I am no different. There is some comfort in that. Feeling yourself sink into the mindset of people gone by. The need to be warm. The need to seek firewood.
But there are some aspects to this life that even I can’t spin into a fairytale.
Coming to this mooring gave me the respite I needed. Last year was not only filled with hardship, but intense fear after various messages from strangers promised that they would find me. From a taxi driver keeping his doors locked and insisting that he would come and visit me for a few days to messages from a drunk saying he could see my boat and that we should be together.
Messages from a man claiming I should live at the bottom of his garden and why wouldn’t I reply to him? Why had I blocked him? Why couldn’t his family visit me?
To a forum dedicated to tearing down my character from my education, my accent and even my coat, with proclamations that if I got attacked- it would be my own fault.
I am afraid to step back into that life. Stuck and frozen into the canal in Winter. I am afraid to walk back to my boat in the dark. I am afraid to become that person I was a year ago, too afraid to leave when darkness hit. Flinching whenever someone walked past. My mind rising in suspicion every time someone watched me moor up, noting that I was alone.
I was afraid to lift my head up when walking along the towpath in the day, afraid that I would be recognised. Afraid that I would be attacked.
I arrived at this mooring at the beginning of March. I could not comprehend the amount of repair that my mind and body needed after that experience. And all of a sudden, 7 months have passed. In safety.
And however I have attempted to romanticise the tougher aspects of my life as a coping mechanism, I am at a very real point where I cannot afford to be here any longer. I am stuck. I cannot pay to repair Maggie. I cannot spin a storyline where my home is being damaged. It’s fine if it happens to me- I can go hungry. I can go cold. But when I see the dripping of water from the small skylights and know that there is a real danger of the interior of the boat becoming water-damaged- that is different.
So, I either stay here, with the safety of the mooring, electricity, neighbours, somewhere to park my car, unlimited water and coal on-site- at the cost of being stressed every month, barely having spare pennies to rub together and being unable to pay for any improvements. I can hope for things to change. I can hope for things to improve, that somehow if I continue working hard, then fortune will eventually come.
Or I leave in the most challenging point of the year to take off that financial strain and face the cold and the darkness of living alone on the Cut once more.
Do I have the mental fortitude to do it? So soon, when my plan was to leave in the Spring of next year? Can I face the Winter with leaking windows, a broken inverter and damaged batteries? Can I spin that into a storyline? Can I cope with that? Can I manage to overcome those hurdles and come out the other side still optimistic?
I have been stuck for a while.
The only options, I thought I had was to work harder. Find an extra job. Work all hours that I could.
And now I’m at a point where I am exhausted. I am so tired.
Is it possible to be exhausted but still be happy? Because don’t get me wrong, I go to sleep happy and I wake happy. There are obvious things that would make my life more enjoyable. But I know that this bubbling in my chest, this shortness of breath and pounding of my heart is for a reason and it’s not indigestion.
I love my life. I love what I do. Where I live.
But I know that I am coming to a decision that needs to be made very soon. Stick it out until Spring. Or go off into the cold.
Or be faced with selling the boat completely. And leaving the Midlands. And starting afresh somewhere else.
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
The story hasn’t become clear yet.