Shall I tell you …

… about our lovely week, the one just gone, spent largely with P and K who, as pals go,  just happen to be quite the cat’s whiskers (or ass, as P would say – but that’s another story)?

Or should I warble on about our trip together, to St John’s, Antigua’s capital, and post a photo or several to illustrate it? Like this:

or this:

and this:And even:Nor forgetting: Or finally:

Or -  bugger the jollities – howzabout the triumphs and tribulations of this week’s boat jobs – fitting new galley taps (a huge improvement on the old), painting the anti-skid, mending the tramps, coaxing the Honda generator to start and the simple joy on finding the cause of its reluctance to fire, was only a dirty spark plug – would those entertain best?

Or perhaps a deliberation extolling the superiority of finish and sticking power of Epifane’s marine paints (despite many launderings, daily showers, copious washing up etc, I still have spots of boot-stripe yellow on my little finger, some 6 weeks and more after painting Butterfly back in Grenada.)

Or, as a flighty deviation from family-friendly blogging, would you like to hear about the naked couple seen dinghy-ing in flagrante delicto across Simpson Bay lagoon in St Martin, recently? (Yes, truly… !)

Or should I tell you what’s on my mind, right here and now, at this very, very moment, spontaneity-blogging at its most raw and immediate  – like what an infuriating trial it is typing this since our wifi connection is rapidly failing, and the keyboard of my trusty but rather battered laptop is slowly and steadily atrophying. A month ago, the space bar went cranky, spacing only when it felt like it; this week, the letter ‘r’ and the backspace key have come out in sympathy. So touch-typing, say,  Butterfly and Barnacle, comes out ButteflyandBanacle  before repeated, irritable jabbings of the space bar and ‘r’, render it sensible.  But wait a moment – yes! Am thrrrrrilled to rrreport the ‘r’ – as you can see – has been rudely restored as of half a minute ago, when I removed the offending grain of rice lurking below its tile. (Well, that’ll teach me not to type and eat supper at the same time.)  Though hell knows what ails the bloody space bar and backspace …  and hell ain’t bloody telling.

Or, shall I simply give you a few examples of just what it is -  despite the relentless boat-fixing, maintenance and usual live-aboard difficulties – that makes this boating lark so very addictive?  Yes, cometothinkofit  (aarrgghh that F*&%ing space bar!)  – that would actually have some value to it, I think.

So, right near the top of the list of why we do this, would be scenes like this – majestic, expansive, wall-to-wall skies: all yours for the viewing straight from your cockpit.  Little ol’ you afloat in all this big ol’ that!

Or the joy (and occasional trepidation)  of watching a squall roll in and roll by, pounding the sea, jittering halyards and working awnings into a frenzy; pulverising little boats caught in its swaggering, sweeping march.

And then there’s the addiction to scenery as picture perfect as this little corner off Jolly Harbour:  postcard lovelies as quaint as this found over and again here in the Caribbean, only a short dinghy-ride ashore for the discovery.

Or the quiet pleasure of watching brave little sails head for the horizon as the sun sinks at the end of the day:

And the ring-side view watching fierce little sails battling it out for the finishing line:

It’s being caught in the razzle of  sun spangling on waves:

And bouncing off newly-polished stainless:

And – since I’m r-r-r-r-rapidly r-r-r-r-unning out of wifi here (that ‘r’ still working, good!) -  and it is very, very late  – it’s also the quiet, shiversome thrill of saying goodnight to a vast canopy of  black velvet sky, scatter-jewelled with a zillion twinkling stars … and wondering just how you got so lucky.