Narrow Margins Read Online Free PDF

comprising a tiny sink, some shelves and an age-spotted mirror. The only way to get on to the bed was to take a flying leap from the doorway and hope that nothing collapsed beneath you.
    I wandered back to the sad little seating area and, picking up one of the pamphlets on narrow-boat holidays, I decided to find out exactly what a narrow-boat holiday entailed and plonked myself back onto the demoralised sofa. Opening the leaflet at a random page, I alternated between reading it and waving it about in the air, hoping to dispel the cloud of stinking dust that had puffed up as I sat down. I was pleased to confirm that a narrow-boat holiday wasn’t exactly for the thrill-seekers among the population, unless maybe you were over 105 years old and were fairly realistic about the type of thrills that you were seeking.
    Finding nothing remotely of interest in the pamphlet, I shoved it back onto the shelf with a sigh and looked up as Geoff and Sam came grinning and chattering down the boat toward me. Both were alive with excitement and discussing Sam’s new bedroom, how the rest of the boat would look and what they could do with it.
    â€˜Uh-oh,’ I muttered to myself, ‘this looks like trouble.’
    â€˜What have you been doing?’ Geoff bounced up to me with a huge grin and before I could start moaning about how awful it all was – how unhygienic, nasty and smelly – he rushed on with his thoughts.
    â€˜Isn’t this great? I’m pretty sure it’s bone dry and just think with all the cabins and extra walls that would have to be removed, I might never have to buy any wood at all, what a saving.’ He paused for breath and looked around. ‘Is this as far as you’ve got? What do you think?’
    What I wanted to say was ‘I think it’s horrible, it smells , I’d rather wee over the side than use that toilet, it looks as though it wants to eat you, it smells , and if I stand in the middle with outstretched arms I can touch both sides, where are we going to put everything, how are we going to live in this, it smells, it’s tacky and epitomises all that was bad about the seventies, how am I going to cook, I miss my house and I haven’t even moved out of it yet and I miss my garden even more, where are all my clothes going to go, there isn’t even enough storage space for my shoes and that includes that ridiculous excuse for a kitchen, AND IT SMELLS!!! ’
    My traitorous brain, however, committed mutiny on the spot and, obviously taking pity on my poor, hopeful husband re-wrote the script and forced me to say, ‘Erm ... it’s got potential?’
    It was obviously the right thing to say, as, with a huge smile, he grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me toward the pointy end (sorry, the bow), excitedly explaining as he went along, ‘We’ll have Sam’s room here and the galley (the what?) will have to be moved to here; this will be the saloon (the what?) but we should be able to have a fair-sized head around here (a fair-sized what?); of course she will have to be surveyed and hopefully they’ll accept an offer, but as long as all that goes to plan, I think we’ve found our home – what do you think?’
    I looked into his eager, excited face and told another huge lie. ‘If you’re sure you can make her lovely, sweetie, I’m with you all the way.’
    Arrrgh! Nooooooooooooo! I T SMELLS!

Chapter Four
Dumping Shoes is Grounds for Divorce, You Know
    T WO DAYS BEFORE OUR house completion, knowing that Happy Go Lucky had been on the market for some time, we put in a ridiculously low offer. Geoff lived in the hope that the offer would be accepted and I half hoped that it would be turned down. However, as moving day was rushing toward us, there wasn’t really that much time to gripe about it.
    As the packing ploughed on we had a few minor tiffs, especially the day that Amelia, who was still emphatically against the