Crew: Sean, James and Mark …with Kerry, our Social Media Manager, documenting every glorious disaster.
Jonge Jan — proving that even in sideways snow, questionable steering, and mild panic, we learn together.
The day began as the photos so delicately reveal — biblically wet, aggressively cold, and sprinkled with what can only be described as spiteful snow.
Before anything else, the fire was lit and the kettle went straight onto the stovetop. Within minutes, we were clutching hot, sweet coffee like Victorian chimney sweeps rediscovering hope.
Inside the JJ, the cabin slowly transformed from “abandoned fridge” to “surprisingly cosy survival hut.” Once we could feel our fingers again, Kerry began interviewing Sean and James for The Hideout Collective socials — capturing both wisdom and weather-induced swearing.
Meanwhile, I was installing the new speedometer, finally giving us the ability to confirm that Jonge Jan reaches a terrifying, bone-shaking top speed of 4 mph.
The Day’s Plan: Turn the JJ Around Without Dying
Despite the snow, rain, wind and general cruelty of nature, the mission was simple:
Practice turning Jonge Jan around.
So we cast off and headed toward the Islington Tunnel and Battlebridge Basin.
And then — well — things got exciting very quickly.
James took his first go at steering away from the towpath. Within seconds, the JJ drifted straight toward a moored narrowboat faster than expected — and with some VERY rapid reversing, we avoided a collision by what must have been two inches and divine intervention.
James soaked, frozen, and pretending to know what he is doing while Sean stands in the stern like a Norse god who regrets coming outside.
It was at this point James learned:
Steering Jonge Jan is exactly like driving a car on ice…while also being made of metal…with no grip…on a river…in a storm.
Because even at 4 mph, a barge this size can produce sudden moments of pure adrenaline and mild prayer.
Turning Around at the Basin: A Tragedy in Three Acts
We reached our turning point — travelling all 50 metres — and began the manoeuvre.
To summarise:
It did not go well. In fact, it went so badly that even the ducks stopped to watch.
We attempted the turn again and again, but the delayed steering meant we were constantly a full second behind wherever the JJ decided she wanted to go.
The result?
We hit the concrete towpath. Then the metal edge. Then the concrete again.
One fender valiantly sacrificed itself in the process. The noise was like a cheese grater fighting a filing cabinet.
James retrieved the fender 20 minutes later, triumphantly holding it aloft like a lost child reunited with its family.
Blessedly, barely anyone was around to witness the carnage — the weather had scared off the public. Had the towpath been full, we would have looked like a broken supermarket trolley trying to park a bus, or a drunken cow attempting ballet. Take your pick.
Retreat, Warmth, and Questionable Dignity
Eventually — through stubbornness, teamwork, and desperation — we admitted defeat and returned to our mooring.
We tied her up securely, stepped inside, and thawed out with more coffee inside the warm cabin. For a moment, the three of us just stood there — steaming, dripping, silently traumatised — before bursting into the kind of laughter that only comes from near-death stupidity.
JJ sitting innocently at the mooring afterwards, pretending she had nothing to do with any of this.
Kerry got all of this on camera, by the way. Which means the world will soon see our finest nautical clownery in HD.
Next Week: The Big One
Next Friday we leave King’s Cross and head to Watford. Jonge Jan will get lifted from the water, checked, repaired, strengthened, and properly reborn.
Today may have been cold, chaotic, and a little embarrassing…but it was also proof of what this project is really about: learning, laughing, and doing the impossible — one badly executed turn at a time.