Grace and I have moved home together four times. The first was when we moved into our first home, newly wed. A tiny council flat. The next two were into successively larger houses to accommodate a growing family, and then two elderly, widowed mums. The fourth move was entirely different.

Moving onto Kantara was a process I wrote about in my first post here, ‘Making the Move’, but when we did that, we had no inkling of the other meaning of ‘moving home’. The almost magical experience of going somewhere and taking our home with us bowled me over. We’d been on week-long holidays on hire boats before Kantara, but that just wasn’t the same. These boats were no more home than a caravan or tent or hotel room. But when your home comes with you as you travel from place to place, that’s something special.

Going to Liverpool, spending the day sight-seeing, then returning home to Kantara in Salthouse Dock;

Going to Stratford-upon-Avon, exploring, watching a play in the RSC Theatre in the evening and walking across the park to our home in Bancroft Basin afterwards;

looking out of our bedroom window at the sunset across the River Trent at Gunthorpe Moorings;

parking our home opposite the ancient Newark Castle;

spending a few nights in Limehouse Basin next to the Thames,

and another few in Paddington Basin shortly afterwards;

Nottingham,

Warwick,

Banbury;

not to mention the hundreds of villages and small towns and remote countryside spots where we’ve spend the night on our way past. Now that’s moving home!

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