Hunter Davies on why we need adventure and love whatever our age

Throughout my long-legged life, I’ve done lots of daft things, but I may have just done the maddest of all: deciding to buy a barge at 88.

My children have long thought that my end will come while jaywalking across Highgate Road. Now they are convinced I will cop it by falling off my perch, I mean barge, into Bembridge Harbour on the Isle of Wight.

Miranda is just as excited as me, but then she is a yachtie, having sailed the Atlantic with her late husband in a trimaran they made themselves, back in the Seventies.

I am buying it on impulse. I had no intention of selling the holiday home I’ve had on the Isle of Wight for four years, a Grade II listed cottage, but it doesn’t have a sea view.

We were driving along the embankment at Bembridge, beside the harbour, looking out at the Solent, when we saw two house boats for sale. Lovely sea views, but when we walked up and down the road, the traffic was appalling.

The agent also had one for sale around the corner on Bembridge Harbour, hidden away on a marina where lots of smart-looking yachts are moored. An ancient Dutch Barge, dating back to 1899. From the moment we stepped inside, we both fell in love. It was so light and spacious with lovely wooden floors.

In life, you’re always looking for signs that things are meant to be, even when they are illogical and meaningless.

I thought I recognised the accents of the couple who owned it. Hold on, can it be true, oh my God, they’re from Carlisle.

Carlisle is my hometown – one that doesn’t have an accent anyone not from Carlisle can spot. It also happens to be about the furthest away town in England from the Isle of Wight. So, next morning, I jumped straight up and rang the agent and made a bid for the boat.

I planned to use some of my National Savings certificates, which my late wife and I had saved during our 55 years of marriage.

I have now paid the deposit and had some T-shirts printed in Cowes for me and my mate Miranda. On the front it says, ‘The Dutch Barge’; on the back, ‘Crew’.

Miranda says we are going to meet a whole new and fascinating community. Yachties and bargees are a certain type, all characters.

The barge has a working engine, so in the spring I plan to hire a pilot and have a spin round the harbour and out into the Solent.

I will have a party with 100 friends and a jazz band on the main deck. Oh, what fun.

That is, of course, if we don’t fall out, or I don’t fall in. There is a very narrow metal outside staircase up to the old wheelhouse, which has a pull-out double bed where I plan to sunbathe or have my afternoon rest. But will I get up there OK? My walking is already doddery.

Perhaps I will put in a stairlift – I always read the adverts for them. That will be unusual: a barge with a stairlift.

Alas, rotten old National Savings are now messing me around. They have changed the rules, added lots of security checks, and I can’t get my money out instantly, as I used to do.

Oh no, it was going to be the perfect Christmas present to myself. Now I don’t know if I will be able to complete the purchase.

Oh God, I hope so. We all want adventure and romance in our lives – at any age.