Hello and thanks so much for popping by our Substack. It’s been a little while, and I can’t quite believe we’ve already slipped into December. The darker months always bring their own little jobs with them, but there’s still something lovely about the way this season encourages slower evenings and gentler days.
If you’ve stumbled in here for the first time, we’d love it if you subscribed. This week’s note sits alongside our new YouTube video, sharing the simple joys of autumn days on our narrowboat. We hope you enjoy it — and thanks, as always, for reading.
Jack x
If necessity is the mother of invention, then perhaps someone can help me solve this seasonal puzzle: how do you nip back into the boat without leaving a delicate trail of crumbly mud behind you? It’s a conundrum I’ve been battling these past few weeks. We’ve reached that point in the year where boat life becomes a constant cycle of sweeping, wiping, and tutting. Ash and dust kicked out from the stove, soggy towpaths underfoot — it all adds up. And then there’s Tilly, our small dog, who has a complete aversion to having her paws wiped and can be surprisingly nippy if she spots a clear path to the sofa after her morning stroll. The throw is now a leopard print patchwork of pawprints.
Autumn has settled in properly now. And while the simple solution would be to de-boot between every quick dash outside, when you’re only popping in and out with a few logs for the fire, a tiptoe walk technique feels more efficient — a clumsy little ballet that I always hope will spare the dustpan from its daily duties. It never does. And so the sweeping and tutting continues.
Our latest Youtube update - Embracing the simple joys of autumn inside our floating home
Whilst the drift into autumn and early winter comes with its challenges, I’m often grateful when this point in the year arrives. It feels needed after the intensity of summer — those galloping days of July and August, even early September, where there’s always such pressure to squeeze every last drop from the fleeting sunshine. The darker afternoons steady things. I get this urge to just… settle.
Life inside the boat changes. We obviously spend more time indoors, our routines focusing on simple, grounding tasks like tending the fire and lighting a few candles. If it’s raining there’s nothing quite like the comfort of listening to it drum on the boat’s roof whilst you’re cosy inside. Living off-grid is a bit of a juggle and adds its own layer to the season — shorter days mean the solar barely charges, and after weeks of grey we’ve had to lean on the generator to keep things going. It’s something we’ve tried to avoid for as long as possible, but life with a puddle-obsessed toddler means the washing machine has been working overtime.
Still, I like how this time of year focuses the mind on resources. Even when we do need to top up the batteries, we’re careful. Candlelight in the evenings gives the boat a lovely warmth, and the induction hob and little electric oven slip into their quiet winter hibernation. Everything pivots back to the woodburner — the absolute heart of the boat. It’s a whopper of a stove, but for good reason. Not only does it heat the place, it’s how we cook for most of the colder months. The top is like an aga, with two big hobs and a roasting oven, perfect for slow stews, roasts, and soups that suit this time of year.
We’ve recently had our first proper cold snap of the season and it’s been a delight. There’s nothing like waking up to sunshine on a freezing November morning, frost draped over everything, making even the cobwebs around the tiller look like giant snowflakes. The cold, sharp air mixed with sweet woodsmoke and that slightly damp, earthy smell of winter. It’s not a perfume that’s ever going to rival Chanel, but I quite like it.
Because it’s still the early stretch of winter, the novelty of these slower routines hasn’t worn off. By January though, I’ll be longing for the turn towards spring like everyone else, but right now the comfort of settling in feels just right.
Gabby and I have a habit of heading to Cornwall in the darker months. I’m not entirely sure why — perhaps it’s the thrill of standing on a wild beach when the weather is really making itself known. Wind, sideways rain, that salty air that wakes you up. Tilly goes berserk on the sand, we wrap up warm, and there’s something oddly inspiring about the solitude and mild dreariness of it all.
If you’re a fellow Kernowphile, you’ll know the Hidden Hut perched above Porthcurnick beach. A tiny food shack with the best view in the world. A few winters ago, after a particularly soggy scramble along the coast, we piled onto their picnic benches — Isn’t there something charmingly British about eating outside even if the weather is foul? I ordered a seafood stew, which was excellent, but the real winner was Gabby’s choice: a simple celeriac soup that just tasted spectacular. It had a crumble of Stilton on the top and a handful of truffle-soaked croutons. Outrageously good and made more satisfying by being eaten in the persistent Cornish mizzle.
So now, the moment celeriac appears in season, I try to recreate my own version — partly to mark the shift into the chillier months and partly to take us back to that damp day overlooking the bay. It’s a joy to make once the stove is lit. I usually start and blitz it in the morning, then just let it sit on the warm stove so it’s ready as a warming bowl once the errands are done. I’ll be honest, I still think the Hidden Hut’s version is better, but I like to think mine still hits the right spot on soggy days.
I like adding a few chunks of apple into the base along with a dash of cider — ingredients that feel right for this time of year and pair beautifully with the topping of stilton, toasted walnuts, and a drizzle of truffle oil. After all, the real secret to glamming up a soup lies in the toppings.
At this point in the season, I crave earthy, grounding meals — hearty root veg, gentle creamy broths — and this soup always delivers. I hope you enjoy its comfort.
Serves 4 happily | Takes about an hour
Ingredients
A good knob of butter
1 onion, finely chopped
1 celeriac, peeled and diced
2 eating apples, peeled, cored and diced
1 tsp fennel seeds
2–3 sprigs fresh thyme
1 small handful walnuts, toasted
500ml good-quality dry or medium-dry cider (the kind that makes your cheeks a little rosy)
500ml vegetable stock
200ml double cream or whole milk if you prefer it a little less rich
White pepper + sea salt
To serve:
Extra toasted walnuts
Crumbled Stilton (or other blue cheese)
Extra thyme
Drizzle of truffle oil or walnut oil
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