“Have you ever ended up in the canal?” Definitely one of the top five questions I get asked after announcing that I live on a narrowboat (usually after “how do you get post?” and “where does your poop go?”). Had you asked me this before Tuesday, I would have answered with “yes, twice”. Back in March, I slipped off a neighbouring boat when mooring up in Haggerston, with approximately one leg plunging into Regents Canal before saving myself with a hasty hold of the gunwale. This counts as half a time. One month ago, I voluntarily got into The Grand Union to salvage my dad’s drill that had fallen in. I did this with my feet. It was very impressive if I may say so myself. This counts as a time. Lastly, about a week or two ago, I was pumping up my bike tyre on the Aylesbury Arm and stepped back onto what I thought was towpath, but turned out to be very dense reeds. I slowly slipped down the mud slide and found myself with water up to my knees. It was not my day. This also counts as half a time, bringing the final tally up to a full two.

It’s Tuesday. The weather forecast claims it’s a modest 16°C, but it is delightfully sunny outside and I haven’t got much on, so I decide to go on a cycle ride. I am a gentleman of leisure – doing things purely because they provide me with pleasure. I’m in a new mooring spot, but I have cycled this route before when accompanying my friends/crew Jacob and Saskia back to the train station on Sunday. It is precarious, but pretty and once you’ve made it past the first 2km, it is an easy cycle. [Spoiler: I did not make it past the first 2km.]

So it’s 2ish. I’m pootling along. The sun is shining. It is notably muddy and the wheels of my road bike (yes, road bike – I brought this on myself) aren’t maintaining grip as well as they probably ought to. On the last section of towpath before hitting the canal junction, there’s a wooden strip running along its length – most likely to provide the bank with some form of integrity, but the earth either side of it has slowly worn away, leaving just a tripping hazard. I know to stay well clear of this ridge, though a two inch gap is all that is achievable with the overgrown bushes to my right. My front wheel loses its confidence. I’m not even going fast. The wheel skids and hits the wooden beam. The wheel thus halts and the small amount of momentum in the back of the bike carries it over the front in a beautiful somersault, with the bicycle finishing its gymnastic display by plunging into the canal. But enough about my bike. During this performance, I ride the flip and my trusty steed carries me high (at least it felt high) into the air, transferring over some angular momentum in the process. With my feet losing their contact with the pedals, I accept my fate. There is nothing beneath me but a basin of water and I feel my torso lowering at a rate greater than my feet. In fact, if anything, I am quite sure at this point that my feet are travelling upwards. The surface of the water quickly approaches and my life flashes before my eyes. It was really boring [Chicken Run reference]. I go in head first.

I am experiencing the literal baptism of a canal dweller. The water, to be fair, is the perfect depth. Deep enough to impact my fall, but shallow enough to stand up in. Being out in the countryside means that there are no shopping trolleys or Lime bikes to sabotage my landing. Just my own bike. I find myself slightly flustered – my first breath with my head above water is taking longer than expected due to the surprising cold that has engulfed my body. I hoist myself out of the water. With haste, I grab my sweater from my bag and wrap my phone inside it to dry it off. It is the nearest I have to a towel. I had intended to have something of an afternoon out. I was going to find a nice spot to sit and read in and then do some apple foraging. The upshot of the latter is that I have a plastic bag on standby which will no longer serve as an apple sack, but as a means of keeping my book dry (or at least stopping it from getting any more wet). 

A woman is walking down the towpath with her Dalmatian. She wouldn’t have seen the splash, but must have heard it. Faced with a dripping wet man and a bike still in the canal, it would be odd (but also quite British) to nod at each other and pretend that nothing has happened. I decide to make a joke about the situation and after checking that I am okay, she is on her way. I pull the bike from the canal and (slowly) cycle home. Continuing with my planned journey dripping wet would unquestionably make me an insane person. It is best that I take a shower… and here comes the almighty plot twist: I am in the process of painting my bathroom. I applied the final coat of paint right before setting off. Excellent. The shower will have to wait. Mmmm… can anyone smell cholera?

If my life was an underwhelming, averagely-scripted Hollywood movie, I would make some remark right now that I live my life by the philosophy of “what would mum do?” I don’t do this. But often, my actions either remind me of my similarity to her, or, if I’m having a bad day, those of my biological father. I often find myself getting very easily vexed by little things. This is quite a big thing. I’m cycling along dripping wet, my phone might be broken, my afternoon out is spoiled, but I am somewhat cackling to myself, because objectively this is hilarious. This is how mum would react if put in the situation and I can be a little proud of myself for that.

If I was deep (which I am), I’d drop a deep philosophical insight along the lines of, perhaps had I cycled any further today, I would have been struck by lightning (or more likely a van) and falling in the canal saved me from that event. If that was God or mum or a time traveller interfering with past events, they could have just had the decency to give me a tyre puncture. Instead, what I will do is provide a list of four things that could be interpreted as a success of this incident, without the need to hope that the alternative would have been me literally dying.

1. I have had to empty my wallet to let it dry. When I put my cards back in, I will invent a new system of organisation that will hopefully stop me from confusing my Oyster with my Tesco club card. I have held up the queue at Euston station in a state of confusion quite a few times now seemingly attempting to earn points for tube journeys.
2. My phone is soaking in rice. I cannot check notifications. I have to exist without looking at it which is weird. This is a gentle rewiring of the human brain that should literally never need to happen, but definitely does for basically everyone always.
3. On the topic of rice, I have finally used all the brown rice I owned soaking the phone. I was never going to eat it because it takes too long to cook and is basically terrible. It has finally found purpose.
4. The event triggered this blog post and if you’ve made it here to the end, then you must have enjoyed it (ironically or non-ironically) and should hit the follow button. [Mic drop and leaves stage].