My brother arrived at 10.30 this morning and carted off my home in his big red van. Spare bed and side tables and lamps carted down the stairs, doors taken off of hinges and chairs and couches threaded through and out. We also took advantage of the commodious transport by relocating a number of mature potted plants to a new abode where they will be looked after while I swan around the canals.
We realise that our cottage no longer feels like home, it doesn't engage us at all, in fact it is merely an encumbrance that we are eager to shed.
We are quite enamoured by life aboard Caxton, even in the depths of winter it is simply wonderful living what seems to be a parallel life; there is the 'real world' over there and here are we in our watery ditch chugging through the land in a completely different world. I am begining to appreciate why and how the working community of boat people in years gone by were so close knit and isolated from those 'on land'.