From unexpected pests to constant repairs, living on the water is not as idyllic as it seems

Living on a houseboat, especially in central London, is often romanticised, but the reality can be far from idyllic. While the notion of life on the canal seems enchanting, the challenges that come with it are rarely discussed.

For example, I had no idea that rats scream in the night. This unpleasant surprise was just one of many that awaited me when I impulsively bought a boat, without fully considering the implications of living on the water.

The decision to purchase a houseboat came on a drunken night out in Peckham, where my friend and I, after a few drinks, became convinced that canal life would be the perfect adventure. After a few more drinks, we impulsively searched for boats on Gumtree, finding a 70ft vessel for sale. Despite the boat’s impractical engine and the questionable condition of the boat, we proceeded with the purchase. Within a week, we were living on it, thrilled at the thought of saving on rent.

The initial months were great. There’s something undeniably charming about waking up on the canal in summer and sipping a cup of tea by the water. Plus, at £400 a month, the cost was significantly cheaper than my previous £800 rent for a room in Dulwich. However, the novelty wore off quickly as we transitioned into the colder months.

Living on a metal boat in winter is not for the faint-hearted. The coal-burning stove, while intended to provide warmth, had an extreme effect – either it was off and we froze, or it was on and we sweltered. As winter dragged on, the boat became unbearably cold. The solution to this was a repair on the chimney, which turned out to be a more complicated and expensive process than anticipated, especially when we had to cover the hole with a bin bag.

When the Beast from the East hit, temperatures plummeted, and I found myself bundled in multiple layers of clothing, including a duvet, to survive. But that was just the beginning of the challenges. By spring, we faced another issue: coots nesting on the tyres of the boat, preventing us from moving. This meant our water supply dwindled, and we had to cart heavy water bottles across marshland. Even worse, the toilet tank was filling up, and we had to transport it to the nearest station using a broken wheelbarrow.

The rats, however, were by far the worst part of living on the boat. With nowhere to move the boat due to the nesting birds, the rats became more curious, making their way inside through a small gap in the boat’s battery box. I was horrified to discover how large they were – bigger than my forearm – and how loud they could be at night. Despite laying traps, it took time for the rats to be caught, and I found myself terrified of them, even when off the boat. The situation led to sleepless nights and a near breakdown.

But it wasn’t just the rats or the weather that made life difficult. The canal community, often portrayed as laid-back and friendly, was far from it. With many boaters fiercely protective of their mooring spaces, finding a place to dock became a constant challenge. People would police how fast we moved, even though we weren’t speeding.

After a few years, the charm of canal living had worn off, and we decided it was time to leave. While there were moments of joy – like summer days on the boat with friends – the daily struggles of maintenance, pests, and the harsh conditions ultimately led to the decision to move on. For me, the dream of living on the canal was short-lived, and I’ve since moved on to a more conventional lifestyle.