I’ve known my bank balance was getting in a sorry state for a couple of weeks now, and although I’ve been quite frugal with my spending, living in the middle of London just isn’t cheap.

My bank has a facility where they send a text message if my account falls below a threshold, and this morning the inevitable text message arrived, waking me from a peaceful sleep and introducing the new day with a fresh breakfast of dilemma.

£495.93

That’s it. That’s my bank balance as I write this. Not pretty is it. Thankfully, I’m owed some outstanding holiday pay by my former employer so I should have that topping up to a more comfortable £1500 by the end of the week. Still, it’s not an awful lot to behold in this Gordon Brown economy, I fear.

The rude awakening this morning then, served as a catalyst, a prod in the back towards making a decision. Do I stay in London until my mooring runs out in early June, hoping to find some income, or do I leave at the end of April, and travel around the coast  of Britain with a pitiful capital of about a thousand quid?

I think the latter is the only sane choice, but it’s a bloody nervy one. I want to do it, I really do, but I’m shit scared of what will happen if I run out of money.

I need to decide this week because I need to pay for my mooring renewal, and it’s then when I tell them three months, or two.

The thought of loading Kudu up with food and water, then turning left out of the lock and heading into the sunrise, down the Thames towards the east coast cruisers’ delights, is a warming idea. Exciting even!

I wonder if I can catch fish, and live of those.