One of the many quirks of boating is that every location you moor at carries its own special charm and bestows unique privileges. For example, last week I had the joy of a horrible neighbour. This week, having not passed an elsan point for some time, I am overjoyed to discover that it is only a 10 minute walk further up the canal to a full set of boaty facilities. Hence, I started my Monday morning by tipping away 40 litres of my own excrement (these are the activities that keep you grounded). The walk involved either carrying my wheelbarrow up some stairs onto a road or crossing over a lock. This is a country-ish road and the crossing is at a bridge over the canal. With bridges being hard work to construct (probably), it was only built with the width of one car. This means that traffic needs to take it in turns to pass through and the cars pile up either side. I have regularly sprinted across carrying my bicycle and have learned that the drivers are not the kind of people who will wait 30 seconds whilst a young man wheelbarrows across two cassettes of his own piss and shit as well as a small bag of general waste. Crossing over the lock it was. This took several journeys, carrying over the cassettes and wheelbarrow one by one.

I am currently moored in Marsworth on an almighty bend in-between the sixth and seventh lock. Starting this staircase of locks is something of a commitment, in that it is not possible to moor anywhere from locks one to six. On my own, passing six locks would take up to three hours. This is because I would need to cruise to the lock landing (just before the lock), temporarily moor up, open the lock gates (and potentially even fill the lock too), glide the boat in, hop off, empty the lock, open the gates, tow the boat out (I have discovered that this is more efficient than hopping back on the boat again, only to hop off seconds later), close the gates behind me and hop back on to complete the short journey to the next lock. On Sunday, my friends Zac and David visited and we crafted a routine in which one of them would manage the lock I was in, closing it behind me and all, with me staying on the boat, keeping her away from the dreaded cill, whilst the other would setup the next lock, ready for me to cruise straight in. All six locks took one hour in total. It was a triumph.

The curvature of the current pound creates the illusion of being sat at the perimeter of a large lake with an island at the centre. The presence of ducks rather adds to this fantasy. I sleep with the canal side blind open because I like being woken up to natural light. It is the only thing that will make me wake up before 8am on purpose – the sun. Even in the height of Summer, if the weather is grey and the sun is hiding, I will find no incentive to leave bed and seize the day. In this spot, I can witness the sunrise right from my pillow. This morning, it is delightful enough that I shake my booty out of bed at 6:30am to prepare a coffee that I can enjoy whilst observing nature being quite nice. The sun reflects beautifully on the still water and what you’re basically facing is a sort of buy one get one free offer on sunrises, making the 6:30am awakening and general grogginess substantially more worthwhile. There is a foggy mist dancing in the wind over the water, with the sunlight gleaming through. Some people believe that scientists can’t appreciate the beauty of the world. I dispute this. As a scientist, I am really enjoying this sight despite knowing how evaporation works (yes, I am aware that this is only GCSE science). The light bounces off the metal shells of the arcing moored boats enhancing the orange glow. I notice that my entire bedroom has a warmth to it now and I realise that this would be perfect lighting for a selfie, but I still have eye boogers and wish to be better than that (I take one anyway and don’t post it anywhere).

This is an excellent morning for a Linda McCartney sausage bap, which is fortunate because my fridge/freezer is currently off at night so they need eating. This is to conserve energy – ay, and there’s the rub. My current spot is beautiful. There is a bench opposite my desk window which I sit at during the day and read (a book, not the inscription on the bench – that’s a very short read) and if I dare drag myself five meters further forward, I land myself at one of Tring’s reservoirs and lying on a grassy mound with the water and rocks below me, the sun shining and the birds… birding, I convince myself that I am at the beach. Aside: this is also an excellent spot to stargaze. The drawback is the big tree over the bench. I do like this tree, but it does cast a rather massive shit stain of a shadow upon my solar panels. I am running my engine for one hour per day to make up for this lack of energy and charge my batteries. It is also important to be conservative (lower case C is essential here). One deceives oneself that turning lights on and off upon entering and leaving rooms is going to make a meaningful difference to one’s power consumption, but this is bullshit. The hungry hippo of my 12V battery system is by far the fridge/freezer, accounting for comfortably 80% of my energy usage. In the Winter, most boaters turn off their fridge altogether and use it as a cupboard. This is fine for vegetables, but you are best leaving your Linda McCartney sausages and Alpro (translation: meat/milk) outside in a cooler box. In the Summer, this is unheard of, but my solar array needs upgrading and I am under a tree so the obvious solution is to eat all of my perishables and follow this cold weather routine.

It is the time of year in which I start tutoring again. I typically finish for the Summer in late June, when the days are at their longest. Consequently, I can finish lessons at 8pm and still have time to go on a sunset run before it is dark. My surprise each and every September is starting lessons at 5pm, in what feels like broad daylight, and then slowly finding myself submerged in darkness come the end of the third lesson at 8pm. This must be quite creepy for the last student – a silhouetted figure of an algebraic master wisecracking about the UCAS process. The final triumph of this current mooring is that the sun sets beautifully outside my desk window where I finish each day. This softens the blow of the 10 hour working week that I now face (unholy, I know, but I need to eat). I would rather be outside watching the sun sink directly into the reservoir, as if the body of water is slowly swallowing it, but instead, I must teach A level students what proof by induction is.

I write this at the start of what I am hoping will continue to be a sunny day, but if it fails to be, at least I have had this moment. Whatever happens next, the day was worth getting up for.

Update: the day ended with diarrhoea – likely a consequence of eating poorly refrigerated food.