On board: Justine, the previous owner, with her daughter and two dogs, showing us around with genuine warmth. Kieran, The First Group’s Director of Partnerships — and unofficial photographer for the day. James, First People Housing client and project lead. Mark, Director of Operations and Service for The First Group. Wendy, CEO and Founder of The First Group.
There’s something slightly surreal about standing on a London towpath, signing over a century-old Dutch barge while a pirate flag waves cheerfully overhead. Jonge Jan, built in 1906, has seen more of the world than most of us ever will — and on this bright October morning, she officially joined our slightly chaotic family under The Hideout Collective banner.
The sky was doing that crisp autumn thing — blue but unpredictable — and the air smelt of river, coffee, and possibility. The moment was equal parts excitement and mild panic; the kind of handover where you nod confidently while thinking, “Right then… what now?”
Wendy stood grinning, one hand in mine, both of us already half in love with the idea and the madness of it all. Around us, the city hummed — glass offices to one side, graffiti to the other, and this stubborn old barge sitting between them, a symbol of slower days and new beginnings.
The deck was scattered with clues of the life she’d lived before: ropes, fenders, solar panels, the odd tangle of wires, a porthole that seemed to wink conspiratorially. Inside, it was a jumble of wood, tools, and good intentions. The sort of space that makes you want to roll your sleeves up and start imagining.
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Aboard, the handover was friendly and slightly eccentric, as these things often are. There were instructions involving pumps, fuses, and mysterious switches, and several sentences that began with, “You just have to give it a bit of…” — never a phrase that fills one with immediate reassurance.
Then came the real treat — Justine took her out for one last sail. We slipped along the canal toward Islington Tunnel, the city rising around us, a gentle hum of traffic and water mixing in the background. The Jonge Jan handled beautifully. The engine started first time — a deep, confident growl that spoke of reliability — and she moved with a steady grace that made everyone fall a little more in love.
We turned before the tunnel, eased back up towards the next lock, went through smoothly, turned again, and came home the same way. Justine’s dogs trotted happily on deck, Kieran capturing moments with his camera, James watching keenly, already thinking about what came next.
By the time we moored again at King’s Cross, Jonge Jan sat quietly, as if content that her next chapter had found her. The brass caught the evening sun; the water lapped gently against the hull.
The photos caught it perfectly: laughter on the towpath, the flag in the wind, us standing with that mix of pride and disbelief that always accompanies a leap of faith. The barge sitting proud beside her neighbours, dark hull against the green canal water, ready to be loved back to life.
By the end of the day, the sun had dropped lower, catching the glass of the new buildings and the brass of Jonge Jan’s fittings. She looked… content. As if she knew she’d been chosen again.
That evening, as we left her moored and quiet, I remember thinking: She’s going to make a brilliant mess of our plans — and we’re going to love her for it.
