Saturday

Saturdays on the boat are special.

More of my shipmates are home. There's no work to wake up before dawn to go to. The river comes alive. I can see my home in the daylight.

Outside and in, the boat looks like something the Wombles built when they were on vacation from Wimbledon Common.

Win waving from the deck of the ROR

The ROR, and our two sister ships, were all former working boats that previously hauled coal or other sundries. Just hulls when the admiral bought them, the remainder of the structure has been constructed by the by hand. Like a womble, the admiral has repurposed a lot of architectural salvage to create our home.

Saturday is also the day I come into to contact with the general public. We're moored in a beautiful spot, and on a bright, clear day, the path is full of pedestrians and cyclists, dog walkers and children.

Most of them have nothing nice to say about our boats.

Laden with my washing, not yet showered, wearing my muddy sneakers and knit cap, I climbed off the boat and met an elderly gentleman on the path.

"So, is it all illegal immigrants that live there, then?"

I started back at him.

"No... we're mostly poor young people"

"Ahhh. Poor young people."

He crossed his arms behind his back and continued his stroll.

This filled me with a strange type of anger. I realise this is a well-to-do area, and that the folk that live around here must think the worst when they see our boats. For me, this boat had been a place of immense healing. I love my boat family more every day.

We are a physicist, two uni students, a textile restorer, a security guard.

We're boat management - those who live and work on these boats, doing hard, dirty work every day.

We're a software developer and a care worker and an early childhood development expert.

We're a procurement whiz/jack of all trades for a car sharing club.

I am more angry at myself than at the old man. I didn't do my tribe justice when I went with 'mostly young and poor'.

I continue on to the laundromat. In my minimalist fashion, I enjoy not having a washing machine at home. It makes me think more about my clothes. I don't just wash things 'just because'. One wash a week is enough.

Sitting in front of the dryer is warm

If I am lucky, the physicist comes with me and we wash clothes together. We have join custody over a box of washing powder. We load the machines and head to the cafe for something greasy and some coffee.

I will usually disagree with the bill before we leave. Last time they charged me 30p more than they should have for my coffee.

It's the principle.

Lucky number 28

We usually stay at the laundromat while our clothes dry. It's warm, and you have to check the machines constantly. Things dry in a strange order. You take things out as they dry, hoping that will speed along the damp items that remain.You get down to your last few coins and hope it will do the job.

If not, it's off to the corner shop to buy a bottle of soda to break a bill for change.

Washing done, we wander back to the boat.

Everyone does their own thing until the generator (hereafter referred to as the 'genny') comes on at 18:30. When the lights come on, we cheer. We entertain each other. We watch nature programmes on BBC4 and bitch about our frustrations. We cook.

Once, we decided to drink boutique vodka and gin while watching a Disney movie marathon.

Aladdin takes on a whole new meaning whilst merry

We tore through the Little Mermaid, Mulan, and Aladdin before we ran out of steam, shouting out the lyrics to songs we didn't know we still remembered. The general and slightly inebriated consensus was that we are excellent singers and that Saturday karaokee needs to be a thing.

Saturday ends with stowing things in our cabins, checking the fire, and dampening the flue, before climbing into bed. We drift off to the sound of rain, waterfowl, and the river rolling along.