Once upon a time I decided to buy a narrowboat to live so that I could escape the rat-race and pootle around England’s canals. The process is a bit like buying a used car, but with more chance of falling into water. In the end it seemed more a case of offering myself to various boats until I met one that was prepared to adopt me.

Sales Pontoon (with Ducks)

Sales marinas and boat brokerages vary drastically in aspect. Some look like scrap-yards on the Indian sub-continent. Some, at the other end of the spectrum, resemble the offices of Messrs Harland & Wolff before that little upset with the Titanic. A minority, those in the middle of the spectrum, and one that I ended up buying from eventually, are quite nice places. It is entirely a lottery. One key indicator is to find a brokerage without a parrot in…