My houseboat hell – why living on the canal isn’t for everyone

Nicola Sturgeon may be enjoying basing herself on a luxury £150,000 narrowboat, but let me tell you about the realities of that life.

Did you know that rats scream in the night? Because this was something that I was completely unaware of before I lived on a houseboat in central London.

Admittedly I’d purchased the vessel without much thought to any of the implications of living on a boat, let alone what Ratty and pals got up to after sundown.

For context, I’ve always been one to let spontaneity get the better of me, but my foray into owning a houseboat was pretty rapid even by my own standards.

It began, like many of the best adventures, one summer evening in a pub in Peckham, where a friend and I were musing about how idyllic life on the canal could be.

As we drank more, we continued talking, and as we continued talking, we each took turns to persuade each other that it was a great idea.

After several more drinks, we went on Gumtree to begin looking at boats for sale, and found what can only be described as a large can with an outboard engine attached to it.

Anyone in their right minds would think that a 70ft vessel cannot be steered with an engine of a speed boat — and they’d be right. However, seven pints in, we weren’t in our right minds.

We messaged the seller and organised a viewing. Once we got to Enfield she gave us a "tour" of the boat, a straight procession through bedroom, living room, kitchen, bedroom and exit.

It could only be described as grim, an oxygen canister and stretcher in one room, ninja-style throwing stars in the living room, a sofa which was falling apart, and a loo — one of those camper van portable ones.

We left the boat, disgusted. Who in their right minds would want to live on a floating crack den?

It was too warm a day to not begin drinking again. We got to the pub and by the fifth pint we were both online looking at loans. Both had our £12,000 share of the price approved within minutes.