In the war against barnacles …

… it’s been decided to coppercoat the sail drive legs. The internet is absolutely awash with diverse advice and opinion on doing this, much handwringing on the merits and downsides and a lot else besides. The benefits of Coppercoating being protection against barnacle infestation; the danger being corrosion caused by an electrolytic/galvanic reaction between the copper of the coat and the aluminium of the leg itself. For what it’s worth, the manufacturers of Coppercoat say there is nothing to fear providing the Coppercoat is applied after first using an appropriate epoxy primer.  Given that after hoiking Butterfly out of the water, we discovered a fair smattering of barnacles on both sail drive legs, Gideon was keen to apply the Coppercoat solution. To be honest, Dick and I are somewhat nervous about it. In fact, for myself, I have a feeling this is going to backfire later and we’ll come to wish we hadn’t, but I cheerfully admit to having precious little knowledge about such things (other than what I’ve boned up on the internet) and am relying purely on gut instinct. We’ll see who’s right in due course.

But applying epoxy primers and layers of Coppercoat and allowing for drying times has meant extending Butterfly’s stay on the hard. The soonest she’s likely to return to the water is now Wednesday, could be Thursday. Going down to see her today felt rather like visiting a dear relation in hospital. One who’s coming out of intensive care and making good progress. Although as patients go, she’s in sore need of a bed bath and a helluva lot of tlc in the way of cleaning up and tidying – but that’s to be expected. Let’s just hope and pray by the time she’s returned to the water, she’ll have made a full recovery and be primed and ready for some more sea trials. The hull repair certainly looks pretty robust.

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I really don’t want to write this, but I’m afraid it’s sad news on the dove chick front. This weekend we found the sailbag empty. Precisely why and what and how is possibly best not known. Don’t want to get maudlin, so will schtum it at that.

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To round off on a slightly happier note – today’s my birthday. Four and fifty years and counting backwards from hereon in.  Here’s the e-card I had from my very talented, very special little bro (Mike’s a mere babe of nine and forty so always ‘little’ to me, his older sis).

My goodness but I wish I had his talent with a pen and brush – something he has inherited from our beloved and esteemed papa. And hey, I guess if the wind won’t blow and the iron sails won’t fire, the above solution might be what’s needed …  given my brawn and swimming skills, heaven help us both!

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Lastly, must say how much we enjoyed the past two weeks with Pier and Sylvia and Lammert and Sue. It really was such fun and now they’ve gone back we shall miss them. So here’s looking forward to another meet-up, sometime in the not too distant future.

There’s a hole in my bucke…

… er, boat, dear Liza, dear Liza; There’s a hole in my … Wrong! Not any more there isn’t. Engine and sail drive now removed. Prop (both stbd and port) whipped back to factory for cleaning up; fitting of new anodes; old engine bed drilled out and discarded; hull opening cleaned up and first layers of basalt fibre epoxied in and over. Given that this wretched leak has persisted despite two repair attempts to date, this time the cure is going to be a complete belt and braces job. I already have a set of photos of the work-in-progress but will wait until the job’s complete and then upload the whole sequence: shots showing the Before, During and After. We’re now looking at Monday (or even Tuesday?) before our beloved bucket – I mean, Butterfly – will be leakproof and ready to face the water again. And although we can’t be 100% certain, we think we may have identified the source of the leakat last: a tiny, tiny area directly below the engine bed wall – where the sail drive was rammed into the hull on that fateful maiden truck voyage to the waterside. We’d so hoped the damage had been successfully rectified when Butterfly was first put on the hard, but sadly not so. Now that the old bed has been removed, it makes it easier to ensure the area of the hull that was originally damaged (plus a very generous margin for safety’s sake) can be repaired and strengthened to within an inch of its life – both from outside and inside the engine compartment. (You have no idea how nervous it makes me saying that, in case I’m tempting fate – but everyone really is determined this repair will be successful and the leak banished once and for bloody all.) And ever so amen to that.

And our resident dove and chick? Having seen not a flutter from the mother, and the baby being tucked too far inside the stackpack to see by any other means, today I just had to find out if all was well by taking a peek inside, gently peeling open the velcro. We had torrential rain and strong winds on Tuesday night, after Butterfly’s arrival on the hard, and my fear was I’d find the chick festering in a puddle inside the bag with leg rot or worse – or perhaps it would have been flushed out. But inside the roll of mainsail, snug and dry and definitely more aware than last I saw it, the baby dove seems to have weathered the storm so far. Still no sign of its mother today, but with all the noise – of drills and hammering and raised voices – she’s probably keeping her distance till the staff go home. That her baby is still alive and alert, I think is a hopeful sign that all is well. I do so hope so. And hey, if this little fluffball can survive, then it’s going to be interesting – a race to see which is ready for a successfully launch first – Butterfly for her maiden voyage, or our chick for its maiden flight!

Butterfly has landed …

… and is now sitting on the hard once more while the FastCat guys set about replacing the portside engine bed to hopefully (oh, how loaded with longing is that word!) cure the persistent but small leak found in the engine compartment. It’s not a quick job, and she’ll be out of the water for about 3 days. But it is a golden opportunity to carry out other work too – nothing major – at the same time. So we’ll soon have new prop anodes which can be fitted without removing the prop – a job which can therefore be done in the water – a big bonus.  The old anodes have some corrosion, but are nothing like as bad as before – thanks to several remedial/ preventative measures that were taken when Butterfly was last placed on the hard. But we really like the idea of the new no-hassle anodes far too much to turn them down.

Plus it’s a chance to polish out a mysterious lengthy scratch that has recently appeared on the outside of the portside escape hatch window.

The lifelines that run along the underside of the hulls are being extended to the front of the bows for added security. The underbelly of both hulls will be cleaned (of Durban marina slime and small colonies of barnacles which cluster around the props but which have shunned the copper coating, as intended). And any other tidying up tweaks done as needed.

Getting the boat out of the water is something I must learn to adjust to! Dick’s far more laid back about it – but even so, there were still a few anxious moments as the boat was manoeuvred in the air to position her on the hard, and a gust caught her abeam. But apart from Butterfly , my other concern has been our little feathered family. It has become clear mama dove is here to stay – at least until her surviving chick can fly. For instance, we took Butterfly out on Saturday for a thoroughly enjoyable last sail with Pier and Sylvia (hi, you guys!), first removing the chick and its nest to Sunday Star, and when we returned, as on other occasions, there was mama dove waiting to greet us. No sooner had we moored and restored the chick to its nursery in the sailbag, then its mother fluttered onto the boom and tucked herself inside the bag beside her offspring. Monday arrived and meeting with Lammert and Sue and Gideon aboard Butterfly for yet another sail (it’s been a fun week in so many ways), Sue and I again made a temporary creche for the baby chick aboard another boat, before setting off, and again, mama dove was waiting for our return – and again, she and her chick snuggled into the protection of Butterfly’s sailbag.

But what to do with chick and anxious mother with Butterfly being removed to Trawlers Wharf and left on the hard for three or four days? How to ensure mama dove – who usually flies off as we cross the marina – will find Butterfly’s new temporary resting place? And if we leave the chick behind in a safe nook at the marina, it’s clear its mother does not look for it there – but only in Butterfly’s stackpack. The chick cannot last three days or more without its mother. Sue (who is as soft about wildlife as I) agreed that perhaps the only hope lay in transporting the chick in the sailbag across to the hard for the duration of Butterfly’s repairs, and we’ll just have to hope its mother will have the good sense to stay with it …

And hey, you know what … she did – Hooray! Goodness knows what alarm she must have felt with the boom rocking as the boat made its way across the port – and then the ordeal of the deafening noise from the crane’s hydraulics, the swaying and rocking as the boat was lifted, turned and gently deposited on the hard; the many voices and vibrations as staff set about fixing the boat.  But stick with it she did, bless her. Now all we can do is pray she’ll brave it out and carry on feeding and tending her infant while Butterfly is on the hard, staying with her chick for the return journey at the end of the week to the berth in the marina. For myself, I’d happily take up residence on Butterfly to ensure ma and baby don’t get disturbed while work continues, but I think such a plan is likely to meet with some opposition – from several quarters! Anyhoo, so far, at least, so good. We’ll keep you posted.

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As mentioned above, we enjoyed a last sail with Pier and Sylvia on Saturday, before they returned to Italy. We were spoiled with fair winds and gentle seas and sunshine the whole afternoon. Such a nice way to round off the week with them.  Just hope our paths cross again – and not before too long.

And how great it’s been meeting with Sue and Lammert too. The sail yesterday with them was good – not much sun, but again, fair winds and a gentle sea. Fascinating hearing about some of their experiences in Africa, since both have lived here many years.  Last night, Gideon treated us all – Elske, Sue, Lammert, Dick and I to a slap-up meal and a little wine tasting at Aubergine’s.  Much fun; much to talk about – so no surprises we were almost the last to leave. We all met again for lunch today, and although Gideon and Elske have other arrangements – tonight  S, L, D, and I are joining Mike and Lynn for our usual curry evening at the Swine and Tankard at Bothas Hill.  A good hot curry might just be what’s needed too – something to add a little zest to offset the abysmal weather which has cried its eyes out all afternoon.

So for now, shall love you and leave you to enjoy whatever the heavens bestow in your own neck-o’-the-global-woods; here in the Valley of 1000 Hills, we’re a little short of heaven, but high enough to be immersed in cloud – dense, warm, copiously weeping cloud at that. So-ggy!

Wotta lotta weather …

… and then some. Heck, today was a masterclass in mad meteorology. The morning, all blazing sun, fierce blue sky and dancing breeze; by midday,  lumpen skies and slow thick air; an hour later, falling light, rising wind, and huge roiling clouds as if the day of judgment was drawing nigh. By 1.30 pm, as Dick and I set off for the factory and a meeting with Gideon, the day of judgment wasn’t drawing nigh – it was upon us! The clouds literally began falling out of the sky – as if their load was so great it brought them to their knees. We’ve never seen anything quite like it. Down and down they tumbled, rolling, twisting, unravelling, dumping deluge upon deluge of thick warm rain that blown by the escalating wind fell this way and that way in sweeping disarray on the ground below. Snug and dry in the car, wipers going double speed, we groped our way along the drowned roads, as day became night and geysers of excess rainwater spouted out of the storm drains. At one point, we watched fascinated as yet another unravelling cloud, spiralled down to earth in a matter of seconds,  its lower lip spinning in an anti-clockwise whirl – like a mini-tornado in the making. Before long, hailstones began thundering on the roof, the windscreen, bouncing off the road. By the way – the photo above is one taken just before the hailstorm hit. Remember this is about 1.45 p.m. – not a.m.

Having crawled our way to the factory, we find it too had become a victim of the heavens. The floor was awash where rain had forced its way in – nothing wrong with the factory, either – but a deluge on such a grand and violent scale as today’s was, is too much for gutter and drain to bear away. Khosi, our maid, has told of us of the sudden rainstorms we must expect with the coming of the African summer, but nothing prepared us for the reality of one. Pah! to good old English drear -  the weather here in S.A. is far more exciting stuff! And yes, the rising heat and humidity may leave you looking like a sweat-beaded crumpled wreck, but the truth is I enjoy the physical benefits these conditions bring. For the body becomes more supple, more languid, more at ease with strenuous exercise when heat and humidity levels are high. Something I used to notice when I was a dancer. As far as movement is concerned, I’ve always found wet heat is far kinder than dry heat. The heart and lungs work better too. Not that everyone agrees -  I know plenty of folk who would argue vigorously that heat and humidity are a recipe for lethargy. But people are like plants – although they share a certain commonality in design,  each has its own preferred climate and growing conditions.

Where was I? Oh yes, after we’d finished our discussions with Gideon, the light levels outside had fallen so low that inside the factory, without the lights on, we were able to see the effect of the glow-in-the-dark luminous paint (on the hulls, but not the deck) of Gideon’s new boat, Green Motion. Holy Moly and Wow! It’s an absolute conversation stopper! The idea behind it, of course, is immensely practical – to ensure the boat is good and visible at night and so help prevent collisions. During the day, the colour is a gentle, quiet creamy yellow, but the moment the sun goes down, it magically morphs into a sort of Dayglo lime-green that must surely be visible for miles. Should mention, also, that the paint comes in other Dayglo colours too – the blue is definitely rather stunning. For ourselves, we’ve decided not to use the paint for a couple of reasons – one, on aesthetic grounds (remembering these things are always subjective); another because we feel there may be (on admittedly rare) occasions when we positively don’t want to be visible at night, but hats off to Gideon for coming up with such a sensationally effective idea. In fact, while shy of painting the whole two hulls of Butterfly this way, seeing the effect this afternoon, I think the paint could be used for visibility purposes in a way that is more, well, flexible – one that allows a boat to be seen or not to be seen – as the situation demands. Haven’t precisely worked out how, yet – but the germ of an idea is definitely growing …

Dropping Pier and Sylvia back near their bed and breakfast (they too had met today with Gideon), we decided to plan another sail for the four of us on Butterfly tomorrow – weather permitting. During this week, we’ve become firm friends and have so enjoyed their company, it will be great to have one last sail together before they fly back to Rimini on Sunday.  Just keep fingers and toes crossed the wind and rain that have returned this evening, although nothing like as wild as this afternoon, die out before tomorrow morning. Am feeling a little guilty too – it will mean temporarily removing our dove chicks to their alternative creche, and worrying their poor mother once more – if today’s weather hasn’t already done for them (or some other misfortune befallen the poor little blighters). But chicks or no chicks, we really must sail Butterfly as often as we can to winkle out any last lurking snags as soon as possible. It’s high time we said goodbye to Durban once and for all.

And speaking of tomorrow – which is when Peter and Daniel fly home (safe journey amigos!) – so Lammert and Sue (buying hull no. 7) arrive and will be staying until 23rd. Both of us very much looking forward to meeting with them at last.

What a delightfully sociable fortnight this is proving to be … !

Of Butterfly and … Dove???

Yes, Butterfly has acquired a lodger – in fact three lodgers: a collared dove and her two chicks. Checking to see if the new reefing line had been installed (it hadn’t) – Dick climbed on the bimini, unzipped the sailbag, and nearly took a tumble when a very flustered dove flew out. And further inside the bag, precariously balanced on a scattering of sad little twigs and shrivelled leaves were two eggs. As we crowded round to examine our new guests, the poor mother bird watched anxiously from the spreaders of a nearby cat. That was Wednesday; today, preparing to go out sailing (with Gideon, Elske, Peter, Daniel, Pier and Sylvia), I know I must move the lonely little nest and its occupants to a safe place, or we will have scrambled egg  and a very distraught mom when we raise the main. But where’s safe in a busy marina? Friends of ours, Roz and James, have left their boat, Sunday Star, moored further down the pontoon and it won’t be going anywhere for another few weeks. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I can come up with.  Only peering into the end of the sailbag, I find not two eggs, but two very newly-hatched chicks who obviously need their mother’s love and care by the hour every hour. Moving them elsewhere will no doubt mean she won’t be able to find them and feed them. But needs must, and so our baby guests are carefully and gently relocated to a protective corner inside Sunday Star’s cockpit, accompanied by their tattered nest and protected in a scrunched, but open folded plastic bag to shield them from the wind and sun. Back on Butterfly, the anxious mother has returned and is sitting on the end of the boom, peering forlornly into Butterfly’s now chick-less sail bag.  There is nothing I can do to relieve her worry, until we return from our sail and restore her babies to their rightful place – all I can do is hope the chicks will survive a few hours without her assistance. It isn’t until we are half-way across the marina, the poor bird can bring herself to leave her vigil at the end of the boom and in a fluster of panic and misery, she flies off.

After last night’s thunderstorm, the morning is warm and wet, and sun and cloud battle it out for a while for supremacy of the sky. Luckily, it is the sun who emerges triumphant, and as we at last get clearance to leave the port and head for the open sea, it’s obvious to all we’re going to have a lovely day. The sea, however, is still rather lumpy after the recent storm’s winds, and heading out on a beat, most of us are feeling a little queasy.  The purpose of this outing is to give Pier and Sylvia, Peter and Daniel another test sail aboard a FastCat, but it is also a great opportunity for Dick and I to try out the 100sq metre genny. To do that, and faced with a (roughly) on-shore sou’westerly breeze, we have to go some distance out to sea first before we can bear away, gybe and run back on a very broad reach. And just as we did with Gideon last time we headed out  in this direction, we again find whales – a large pod to starboard, belting along at a fair old lick and putting on a wonderful show of blowing spray and slapping tails.

After they’d gone, we turned about, and raised the genny – much to the relief  of those trying to hold on to breakfast – and were soon enjoying a far more comfortable ride back to the entrance of the port again.  The company was far too congenial to head straight for the pontoon again, so we prolonged the fun by taking a gentle amble around the port and all her wharfs. This is something both Dick and I love doing because there is a simple, but very real pleasure in just oggling the huge variety of boats and ships and tugs and wrecks that jostle for mooring space in this busy, dirty, but strangely fascinating port.

After mooring Butterfly back in her berth, and having said our goodbyes to Gideon and Elske, Peter and Daniel – Pier and Sylvia, Dick and I stay behind chatting – but only after the two chicks have been retrieved from their temporary sanctuary on Sunday Star, where they appeared to have come to no harm, and returned to their nursery in Butterfly’s sailbag.  As I’d hoped, their mother is still nearby, fluttering from rig to rig. At last, as we sit, laughng and talking in the cockpit below, she flies on to the boom and after some hesitation, decides to check again inside the sailbag. And an hour or so later, that is where we left her, happily reunited with her chicks.

But our little feathered family’s troubles may not be over yet. For early tomorrow morning, Chris, the rigger is due to come and replace the reefing line  with a longer version. I’m sure the poor fellow must think me absolutely barking, but I phoned tonight and asked him to try and make sure he does whatever he must do without harming the chicks. And you know what? The gallant chap agreed without murmur!

Okay, it’s about time …

… this blog got under way again. When last we left you, we had arrived for a brief stay in Capetown, before flying home because our S.A. visas were about to expire and couldn’t be renewed. And my, how we enjoyed Capetown’s wonderfully cheery, bright and breezy ambience. Always bustling, always spruce and slick and confident of its own success, it bristles with an energy and life that is delightfully contagious. We absolutely fell in love with the place. Wandering around the waterfront at night, under clear skies and a dusting of stars, we were entertained by wonderfully lithe street dancers, rappers, singers and musicians; ate alfresco at restaurants with starched crisp linen and dapper waiters, and looking up, marvelled at the gulls, illuminated by the city street lights below, shimmering whitely against the inky sky.

During the day, we visited the marina, spoke to other boat owners, admired their boats, were introduced to delivery skippers, and in the process, made some new friends. Later we ambled along the coast stopping here and there to walk and photograph and enjoy the feel of temperate sun and wind and marvel at the snaking trails of cirrus, occasional puff-balls of cumulus scudding briskly by – never dense or slow enough to grey the sky.

You’ll see what I mean if you check out the shot above – taken from the top of Table Mountain. I have frame upon frame of similar Shangrila vistas – the real thing being almost too beautiful for the camera to capture. But this will give you an idea of the magic to be found there – and all for a paltry 145 Rand per person (just under a tenner) – the price of a short cable car ascent.

In fact, tearing ourselves away from this glorious city and its omnipresent towering overlord was made bearable only by the prospect of seeing our dearly beloveds back at home in the UK. To be perfectly truthful, the UK itself held no draw at all – useful only to stock up on some non-essentials like Polo mints and Lipton’s peach and lemon tea – addictions of mine – and, oh yes, to do a little internet ordering: something that’s not exactly wise to do over here in S.A., given the tendency for postal stuff to find its way into hands other than your own. (Amazon won’t even supply South African based customers any more due to the scale of the theft problem).

While in the UK, we also sold my car, it being cheaper to rent one for the short periods we may need one there, rather than insure and tax the one sitting on our drive. Real sorry to say goodbye to it, too – since it ( a Toyota Avensis 1.8) though hardly glamorous, has been a thoroughly reliable chariot for the past 10 years. Even more sorry that the scallywags that bought it, first tried to con us into reducing the price substantially to allow for it not running smoothly. But then no car runs smoothly if a prospective buyer, when the owner isn’t looking, removes the oxygen sensor! The sneaky little gits (there were three of them, the buyer and his two mates) didn’t get away with it, however, since we suspected (but couldn’t be sure) of what they’d done, and having got thoroughly weary of their insistent haggling over the bogus (ahem) ‘fault’, we locked the car up, wished them goodnight, and made to walk back to the house and close the door. That did it, out came the wad of greasy crispies (in full payment) and although we would have loved to have told them where to shove it, a quick (if slightly annoying) sale only hours after our advert first appeared in AutoTrader was just what we wanted. So we gave them the keys, pocketed the cash, and offered a silent prayer they’d get a flat on their way home for their pains.Soooo …Lesson learned: don’t leave your car unattended when a prospective buyer (and his car-dealer cronies) turn up on a dark night and ask you for an extra torch to look under the bonnet. While you run inside to fetch one, who knows what mischief they may brew. Be warned!

But now we find ourselves back in Durban – refreshed and happy to have had a fortnight without thinking about boats and their problemos and mighty glad for some wonderful time with kith and kin and a change of scenery. And while it’s been lovely re-uniting with friends here in South Africa, and making new ones – Silvia and Pier (FastCat customers for hull no. 8); Peter and Daniel (prospective customers, thinking about buying a FastCat) – all out here in Durban to see Butterfly and the factory and meet with Gideon – it’s not been so great discovering that:

(a) the Capi situation still hasn’t been resolved and the watermaker is still not functioning properly and the mastervolt battery indicator and Blue Sky unit still can’t agree on how full the bloody batteries are. Nor has the approval from SAMSA to give us full South African registration, been found as yet. But these are as nothing compared to ….

(b) that the recurring leak in the portside engine compartment, far from being cured, is – well, still bloody leaking. In fact, it’s worse now than it’s ever been. As usual, it was Dick and I who found it. But then it wasn’t very difficult – all we had to do was open up the engine hatch and there, lurking by the bilge was a generous puddle – more than I’ve ever seen there before. Oh, and it gets better: another puddle – a new development this – lurked inside the well (the area contained by the walls of the engine bed) below the engine itself. Why we were the only ones to discover this, we haven’t a clue. But checking the bilges is the first thing we do every time we board the boat – a good practice anyway – especially given Butterfly’s ‘leaky’ history. We’re told that staff checked for leaks in our absence and found none, the implication being that the water must have found its way in just before we arrived … we’ll leave you to make of that what you will.

To say this is the welcome back to Durban we least wanted is an understatement of gross proportions. But what it definitely isn’t - is a shock or surprise. Truth is we’ve come to expect this sort of thing. It’s just another hurdle to overcome and after everything that’s gone before, hey, what’s one more? The real shock and surprise will come when the day dawns that NOTHING leaks and EVERYTHING works!

So what’s to do now? Well, poor ol’ (she’s been in the water too long to call new, any more) Butterfly will again be lifted from the water and the engine removed, and a new engine bed installed, since Gideon and Steven feel this may be the cause of the problem. Perhaps a minute fracture caused when the crazy trucker smashed Butterfly’s prop into the roadside? Perhaps it’s something to do with the excessive vibration (that’s since been dampened) – the one I used to notice and have repeatedly mentioned – felt when standing on the deck and top step of the sugar scoop above the port cabin that houses the leaky engine compartment? Perhaps this, perhaps that … Hell, we (and African Cats) just don’t know. We’ve shone torches, checked connections, dried every last drop and sprinkled talcum powder around till the boat smells like a newly-bathed baby’s bottom, but no clue as to the source of the leak can we find as yet. But one thing is a given: find it we must – and find it we will.

And given that moaning about it won’t fix it, and that to his credit, Gideon is as determined to get the problem fixed as we are, we might as well look on the bright side: once the boat is out of the water again, we can do another check on the prop anodes and grounding plates and see how well they’ve fared since the electrolysis problem was (apparently) solved. Given the speed of corrosion before, discovered when Butterfly was first lifted for repairs, this second dry-docking, we hope, will either serve to put our minds at rest on that score at least, or highlight the need to come up with Plan B – and fast.

Oh, and on another positive note, the saloon doors have now been finished and look wonderful – inside and out. Hooray!

It’s funny, but y’know, when I started this blog it was with the expectation of writing a few opening posts about moving out to Durban to test-sail Butterfly, a few posts about moving aboard her and making her into a home, and from thereon in, this gentle little backwater of cyberspace would be reserved for regaling friends and family, and those interested with stories of exotic shores and quaint harbours and how we fared in foam and spray and fair winds and foul gales and mistakes we’ve made and tricks we’ve learned … And … And … here we are, our seventy-something post and we haven’t even been able to move aboard, far less leave Durban behind us yet. How sweet the day will be when we can do both those things, and how sweeter still after the storms we’ve had to weather to get there!

Anyhoo, it’s late now. A raging thunderstorm is underway and typing this in Lena’s bar (where the internet connection is best) thunder drowns the crickets, and drips of rain are falling through the roof in places and splattering on the keyboard – so time to quit.

Back with you very soonishly … and a safe night all.