FPH clients working on the barge this week: James, Thomas, Sean, Derry with Mark Woolman leading.
Two weeks on from takeover day, Jonge Jan feels noticeably different — not just tidier, but alive. The chaos of those first few days has softened into something steadier: a rhythm of small wins, slow progress, and the unmistakable sound of transformation.
We’ve come a long way since 3 October, when Jonge Jan first joined The Hideout Collective family — her decks full of stories and her engine purring through that first proud run along the Regent’s Canal. And even since 8 October, when the team first rolled up their sleeves to clear years of clutter and light that glorious first fire, she’s shifted again — lighter, stronger, a little more herself.
The floor, once a patchwork of tools, tiles, and good intentions, is beginning to open up. Light finds its way further into the cabin now, landing softly on newly cleared surfaces. The wood panelling has taken on a warmer glow — perhaps from the polish, or maybe just because she’s breathing again.
Every visit reveals something new: an old joint that still holds true, a porthole that suddenly catches the sun, a sound you start to recognise as friendly rather than worrying. The piles of gear, timber, and tools have moved from “where do we even start?” to “we’re getting there.”
There’s still plenty of the old spirit about her. She’s no showroom yacht, and thank goodness for that. Jonge Jan was built to work, not pose — and there’s a quiet dignity in the way she sits now, steady and sure, between the bustle of King’s Cross and the calm of the canal.
This week, the team made solid progress:
- The solar panels were tested but found to be past their best, so they’ve been removed — one more step toward restoring things properly.
- The deck floor came up to assess how best to return it to its original state — a task for next week, but one that already feels full of promise.
- And to protect her through the coming months, we added a new green cover, stretched snugly over her cabin. It suits her more than expected — a soft, deep green against the black hull. Maybe that’s her new look emerging: black and green, strength and calm, work and renewal.
The wood burner, black and proud in the heart of the cabin, feels like the centre of things now. The air carries the faint scent of smoke and polish, and there’s a growing sense of belonging — between the crew, the space, and the old boat herself.
We’ve found our footing too. The barge doesn’t intimidate anymore; she collaborates. We move around her with a kind of mutual understanding — she offers a creak, we offer a plan. There’s trust building there, the kind you earn with graft, laughter, and the occasional swear word.
Looking at her now, moored quietly in the heart of King’s Cross, surrounded by glass towers and graffiti, you can almost see her next chapter taking shape. The bones are good, the heart’s still strong, and the rest — well, that’s just time, care, and imagination.
There’s plenty of work ahead, sure. But she’s ours, and she’s beginning to remember who she is.
