London. December. I've come to the capital to visit friends and have what will be probably one of the last mini adventures of my rogue year. Staying with an old school friend in Surbiton the first two nights and one of my fellow Wales Coast Path walkers (more music and nature blogs from that trip available here), the rest of the time up in Ponders End. South West to North East. Opposite corners of the city. Not easy to navigate with train strikes on, but I made it, to be welcomed into a gorgeous little boat with a roaring fire and a carton of cider brought all the way from Kernow.
In the night, the 'slap slap' of webbed duck feet went over a few feet above my head. Geese honked along the canal. In the morning, we awoke to visible breath and bright winter sunshine belying the chill in the air outside. Frosty moss. Already gently steaming surfaces as the cold dew evaporated.
As I poked my head out of the stern door, an urban fox trotted along the tow path.
A little grebe dived baletically, coming up in a ripple a few inches away with a small silver fish in its beak. Fire lit and porridge on.
A hangover-curing walk was called for. Layered up. Borrowed hat. As we set off, the grey blue light of morning was punctuated by colour: a bright red and yellow headed morhen built its nest; a green parakeet screeched at a blue-streaked jay up in a tree; a coot bobbed for apples, pecking repeatedly at the dropped fruit as it floated in the dark water of the canal.
A TfL-blue ticket wallet lay in the grass. I picked it up, deciding it would be my mission that day to reunite it with its owner. Two fat rats nipped across the path ahead, through a fence. A man with a totally new Scottish accent that I've never come across before chatted to us about his fire.
Little insights into people's lives were visible on the occupied boats. A bike. Sacks of coal for little fires within. Gently smoking chimneys emerging from roofs covered in pallets and plant pots and chairs that I'm sure are sat on during the distant summer months. Occasionally an unoccupied boat would sit quietly between them, tools used for renovation visible through the windows, or plastic covers suggesting nobody has called it home for some time.
A cyclist rode slowly towards us, not accelerating past when we stepped aside. He was looking down at the path. His glasses looked familiar. I wondered. I checked the ticket wallet for a photo. After a quick 100m chase down the tow path, a grateful commuter was reunited with his work pass and tickets. What are the chances eh?
A heron perched on a pylon.
Back to the boat to warm up and record some tunes. Imagine approaching a boat by bike and hearing fiddle music from within, crescendo-ing and dimming as you pass. Jealous of people outside who get to have that experience today.
The travelling life on the water appeals. It's like a whole different world. Green and blue corridors through cities, friendly boat neighbours, wildlife aplenty. Folk session in a Greenwich pub later. Perfect.