Can you be done …

… for blog negligence? If so, then I must plead “Guilty, m’lud!” The funny thing is, the longer I leave an update, the harder it is to get back in the saddle. As the days go by, so the little events that would make a nice newsy snack, quickly float too far into the past to feel relevant any longer – that’s if I remember them at all.  And then there’s all the stuff that happens that you can’t blog. Stuff that really should be aired out of principle, stuff that shouldn’t for different principles, and stuff that, for all sorts of diplomatic reasons and pragmatic ones, has to stay under wraps. It’s a frustrating business at times, this blogging lark, but more about that particular can of worms in a later post.

On the other hand, since much of life comprises not of major dramas but of this little event followed by that little event – few signifying anything of great import to the rest of the world – well, perhaps it’s a good thing I have, of late, let so many ‘little events’ float away in a slipstream of yesterdays.

But hey, here we are.  Saddled up and spurs a-ready to kick this ol’ mule of a blog back into action once more.

Ok-a-a-a-a-a-y,  now, where to begin? Ah yes, I know …

Since leaving you last, we’ve made a couple of return trips to one of our favourite haunts, Sandy Island, off Carriacou.  As you pootle in passing the distinctive outline of the Two Sisters rocks (seen left), there is little to herald the abiding charm of this tiny bank of white sand and coral chips and pelicans. It’s only after you’ve dropped the hook (not easy due to poor holding, some shallow depths and scattered reefs), that you sense you’re somewhere rather magical. Slip on a snorkel mask and a pair of fins and that magic will become more apparent with every lazy kick. The sea there is teeming with life. I’m gushing here, but it really is a mesmerizing fishfest  guaranteed to keep you amused (well it keeps us amused) for a goodly hour or more, till eventually fingers wrinkle and – unheard of in these tropical climes – the blood begins to cool just a little too much for comfort.

The first of our two visits this time, and the sea was broiling with frenzied activity – shoals upon shoals of tiny fish herded by shoals of larger fish and the odd scaly, leaping despot of even greater girth. The pelicans were taking their fill too – a flock of twenty and more had flown in to fill their crops and bellies with gusto. Watching pelicans diving (and the altogether more stealthy Boobies), is endlessly fascinating. The Boobies (aarrgghh that wretched, ill-thought out moniker!) hit the water like a missile – streamlined, rocket propelled, wings flattened to their bullet-like bodies, hardly a splash to mark their entrance.The pelicans, on the other hand, fling themselves out of the sky, hitting the water in a crumpled heap, rarely submerging beyond head and shoulders (do birds have shoulders?), in a surprisingly efficient but comically inelegant muss of activity. How wing and neck aren’t smashed on impact is a complete mystery. Anyway, here’s a successful after shot … Gulp!

The second visit to Sandy Island we made last week, and the feeding frenzy had passed. We assume the bottom of the food chain had been mostly decimated or grown or flown – well, swum, then, to safer shores. If the small fry were much reduced, not so the larger fish. A rainbow of colour and endlessly different shapes and marking, the delights of the coral reefs and the stunning varieties of underwater life remained undimmed. I haven’t yet learned to name most of the fish found there in such rich abundance – it’s a big undertaking. Nor have I attempted to photograph them – yet.  But I will, they are a photo opportunity and then some.

While there, we were joined by Mark (on s/v Irie) – who some months ago supplied us with our wifi adapter, the excellent Wirie. Thanks to that clever little gizmo we could, had we wanted, had internet access even at Sandy Island, but distances mean the connection is rather fluky and an occasional Wifi sabbatical is probably a healthy thing, so we didn’t bother.

The only downside to Sandy Island is not a lack of strong wifi, but the fact it is very popular. Now the charter season is upon us, there is a never-ending stream of boats pulling in, and with the difficult holding, the good bits tend to get a little crowded. That said, many charters only stop for an hour or so to snorkel and move off well before evening, so leaving the remaining boats (like Butterfly and Irie) to enjoy a little more space and plenty of peace. Consequently the early mornings and nights are the most magical.

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Now what else? Oh yes, Dick completed his PADI diving course (well done that man), and I – er, didn’t. There’s an excellent dive outfit here in Grenada based at Prickly, called ScubaTech. The guys that run it are not only good, but just damn nice folk to boot.  But after a morning in full sub-aqua diving gear in the Calabash Hotel swimming pool, I emerged fairly enthused, but deaf. The afternoon’s dive in open water only made matters worse and blow, yawn, jaw-wiggle or snort – one ear just refused to equalize. If this happens, the increasing knife-like pain in the unco-operative lughole as you attempt to descend further is no party, so I left Dick to finish the lesson with Jeremiah and swapped all that tonnage of tank and BCD (Buoyancy Control Device – an inflatable jacket to you and me) and its Medusa like piping, for a simple mask and tube and joined the snorkeling party instead.

Neil, friend and qualified diving instructor, tells me he had the same ear equalization problem when he first tried to scuba dive, but that subsequent attempts were a walk in the park. So who knows, I’ll try again, perhaps. On the other hand, both of us (meaning Dick and I not Neil and I) would rather learn to free dive if we can master it. None of that expensive, weighty clobber and none of the fartarse footling with equipment and safety checks to get ready. Just take a deep breath, chill out to slow the metabolism – and down ya go!

One last word on diving and snorkeling. If you come to Grenada, be sure to book a trip to Flamingo Bay on the lower west coast. There you will find Sculpture Park – an underwater folly. The ‘park’ consists of a seemingly randomly scattered collection of life-size  statues – men, women and children – that were cast on land and then lowered down on to the seabed – which is where you’ll find them now. A little dilapidated some, but most are in excellent shape considering their environment. There’s a man on a bicycle gently topping forwards, another sitting at a table; a circle of children holding hands (faces now eerily sprouting weeds); a collection of plump bellied, buxom-bottied sunbathers, some face up, some face down – all wearing little more than a veil of weed or a brooch of barnacles – and probably some more I’ve overlooked. All of the statues are perfectly visible from the surface if snorkeling, and all are guaranteed to bring a smile. In fact, although nothing more than a delightfully useless witty nonsense – the statues are well worth the trip. And once you’ve had your fill of salt-pickled sculpture, you can flipper over to the nearby reef and spend time among a slightly livelier bunch of characters – of the piscine variety.

By the way, if you can’t figure out how to get to Flaming Bay and Sculpture Park under your own steam, just cross their palms with silver and Scubatech will ferry you there in their diveboat.

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And what else? Ah yes, Oceans Dream, that’s what! Just as Neil and Tracy left us to head back to Blighty’s cold and wind-swept shores, so Jackie and Adrian arrived on their Admiral 40 to keep us company, here in Prickly Bay. We’ve been in email contact with   J & A for some time, and so it was great to meet at last (O boy did we have a lot to talk about!)  Although we knew they were finally escaping Trinidad after being on the hard there since February (read their excellent blog to find out why) – and that they were now heading our way -  it still came as a lovely surprise, drawing the cabin curtains early one morning, to see Oceans Dream moored to starboard.  Soon, it will be our turn to disappear back to Blighty for a spell, but we’re hoping we might be able to meet up with Jackie and Adrian, Neil and Tracy – and no doubt some of the other Prickly Bay gang – in Bequia over the Christmas period.

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Lastly – it’s well gone midnight here, and I’m in need of matchsticks – it would be churlish not to mention that at last we have the warranty parts we’ve been a-wanting and a-needing. Thank you African Cats.

Not surprisingly, given that some parts we have needed rather urgently for some time (the saloon door bolts in particular, which had corroded with alarming vigor), Dick has been busy installing/replacing/fitting – whatever – many of them as fast as he can.

The boatyard repair work, however, is another matter for another day. Although one yard has been very timely in giving us quotes, the other has not. As week after week goes by without success – very, very not timely! However,  quote delays aside, they are reputed to do good work.

On the maintenance front, apart from the usual stuff, we also have to cure our galley fridge from turning itself off at night – a new and unwelcome habitNot entirely cracked the cause yet, but we’re on the right track. This unit has been a source of trouble one way and another rather too much for my liking, needing frequent nursing and creating a lot of mess. That we have two fridges aboard, and that the other (a large chest variety) cools things far better anyway, is a big bonus.

I must say we are just very grateful that at the time of going to press (oooh, my, how pretentiously grand that sounds) – we have nothing seriously amiss to give us sleepless nights. At least nothing we are aware of, says she cautiously. And hand on heart, that’s the truth – yes, a whole lot of niggles to iron out, you betcha, but with that shipment arriving,  less now than we had a fortnight ago. Even better, as things stand, there is nothing to stop us sailing safely and efficiently, which is indeed a blessing. Hoo-ever-so-rah!

Whatever her troubled start in life, all the signs are Butterfly is gonna do alright.

 

 

Back with yers …

… with another splash of dithy-witter.

Saturday was Halloween – if you were busy trick and treating and butchering pumpkins, then you won’t need me to state the obvious. But here in Grenada, all that ghouls and ghosty milarky came with a slight twist – a Hash. Nothing to do with fried cowpats of smashed potato, but everything to do with scrabbling around a wooded hillside, clawing through brambles and vine, looking for the next forlorn little heap of shredded paper. And all this ‘fun’ in temperatures to make a thoroughly fried hash of the brain. Hashes are regular features here in Grenada – rambling walks (or runs) through the local countryside, following a pre- laid trail (complete with false detours) aimed at the doggedly masochistic and terminally insane. We were eminently qualified to participate then.

This hash was reputed to be one of the easier variety (oh how they lied!), and the reward for such a silly endeavour was the promise of hot grub and cold beer at Le Phare Bleu holiday resort. Le Phare is gorgeous – a lovely comfortable establishment right by the shore on the southern coast of Grenada. It has the added attraction that the Doc Adams Blues Band (whose talents I’ve already waxed lyrical about) regularly provide some hot foot-stompin’ jazz there. Among the cruising crowd, there is a strong Doc Adams Groupie contingent – and the band’s gigs are regularly packed to heaving. But whether it was the lure of the good Doc’s and his strummer’s and drummer’s great music, or the thrashing and crashing about in the woods that held such appeal, or even the strange desire to be-smear oneself with fake blood and apply lashings of black liner and wear a wig  – that drew the punters in their hundreds, we’ll never know.  But in their hundreds they were there.

Men

Women

Children

… and Dogs!

The Hash began about 4.30 pm after a general signing in (so that those who lost the plot … I mean way, might later be found by search party.  Ha! Very comforting, that.  So off we went, some in galloping, loose-limbed style (mainly teenage students from the local university); some in grim determined plod (the woollen speckly socks and hiking boots brigade); some with trepidation (those with good sense and a dislike of pain); and some with a stout stick, a leisurely pace and plenty of humour (veterans, obviously). These last, well seasoned in the perils and pleasures of hashing are deemed to be ‘Hounds’. Hash ‘Virgins’ are those like Dick and I who had yet to be initiated into this strange “mad dogs and Englishmen” pursuit.  By the end of things, I wasn’t entirely convinced losing one’s virginity to achieve hound status was quite all it was cracked up to be. In fact sense insisted it might have been better to have found a shady spot, kept my legs firmly crossed and sat it out with a cold soda.

But hey, there’s no fool like an old fool, and it must be said that between scrapes and slithers there was a perverse sort of pleasure to be gained from yomping through bracken and briar, skating around on treacherous scree, grabbing root, branch, stalk – the guy in front – anything in a bid to keep arse off forest floor, lacerated by thorns and decorated with mud and leaves as the hordes ahead and those behind demonically bellowed insistent commands of  “ON! ON!” (On, on? I couldn’t have gone back if I’d bloody tried – there was at least a hundred or several folk pressing close behind).

In fact had it not been for the heat and the slipperiness underfoot (crocs are NOT a hash-friendly shoe choice), I think I just might get the Hash habit big time if I recover after the last one sufficiently.  It’s certainly an intense way to get close to Mother Nature (although some might say uncomfortably close at times).

Anyway, in straggly, gallumphing style, we completed the course as daylight began to wane and there at the finishing line was the cool(-ish) sea and the bar of Phare Bleu to put a new urgency into weary feet and limbs.  Those that had taken a more leisurely approach or who had been waylaid by the false trails (oh such wags those trail organisers!)  continued to stumble back sometime later, their way lit by candles placed and lit along the path – a kind and thoughtful touch after the heartless treachery of being knowingly sent in the wrong direction.  But then, like I say, Hashing is a seriously screwy affair.

Screwy or not, it was strangely heart-warming to see all ages, of every shape and size, from silver tops to kids,  to babies and pet dogs, the fit and the unfit, all gathered together in thoroughly good-natured, dirty, dusty, dishevelled, sweaty harmony.

Later that night, the worst of the grub sluiced off in the sea, we tucked into a different sort of grub – the edible variety  – and then danced the night away.  The mood was absolutely top dollar. Must have been the endorphins after all that effort earlier.  Nobody wanted the music to stop and, as one, the crowd on the dance floor hollered for more – and then some more still. Clearly enjoying themselves as much as the rest of us, the obliging Doc and his gang played on … and on … and on.

Hash Virgins? Wot us? Not any more, we aint’. Hounds to the marrow, us Merediths!

Heck, is that the date …

… alright, already? Sorry about the no-show. All sorts of excuses for not honouring that update promise in the last post – all of them valid; none of them interesting. But the main, and most boring excuse of them all, is that my laptop battery is on its deathbed.  Fifteen minutes is all the charge it will now hold. When we return to the UK I will be buying a replacement and blog updates will be far more frequent … well, that’s the plan. You’ve certainly been a faithful lot checking in regularly despite the lack of new material, so a big thank you.

Okay, amigos, on with business …

This is the view from the back of the boat.  The headland and entrance to – guess where – Prickly Bay, of course! But during this recent radio silence, we’ve also pootered back and forth along the south coast to St David’s again, enjoyed a few quiet nights at Whisper Cove and a few quiet days at Clarkes Court Bay Marina.  There were various errands to attend to that necessitated the trips, but even without such practical excuses, it’s just great to move around some.

At last, the hurricane season is drawing to a close – only a month to go before our insurance will allow us to venture north of Carriacou once more.  Since June, Grenada has been home to a lot of cruisers sitting out the hurricane season, and many firm friendships have been forged. The hubs of this great little community, here at Prickly, are always the Tiki Bar and de Big Fish, with cruisers alternating between the two according to whichever establishment is providing Happy Hour that night – or the best entertainment.

But now as the humidity levels get a little less silly and the sweatometer gauge drops,  boats are on the move again. Each day another trickle of cruisers strike out for the horizon before making a right at Prickly Point to make their way northwards up through the island chain. Each evening, another set of familiar faces (many of whom have become good friends) are now conspicuous by their absence from the Tiki or De Big Fish.  No doubt we’ll bump into them at some point later, since we plan to do pretty much the same soonishly and evenutally head north. The difference for us, is that we must return to Grenada come mid-January for warranty work repairs, when they can better accommodate us at Grenada Marine boatyard. Both main boatyards are chocka at present, though they are just beginning to empty as folk who have left their boats on the hard to go home, return to the Caribbean to resume their cruising. But we’ve been assured January will be the quietest time for the sort of work we need doing, so that’s the deal.

By the way, more detail about warranty work once we have a complete overview and all the financial aspects of warranty issues have been settled  – and paid.  But in the interim, it is clear that African Cats do not/will not agree with our surveyor on some of the repair/remedial work he considers elegible for warranty status.  In short, we will be footing a sizeable chunk of the bill to ensure Butterfly is made strong and safe and nicely finished. I dare say those of you who regularly follow this blog, are as unsurprised as we are.

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If you come to Grenada, you simply must take an island tour with Cutty.  We took our time getting round to this,  but good things are worth waiting for – and Cutty’s tour is definitely A Very Good Thing.

From 9.00 am till about 5.30 pm in air-conditioned comfort, you are transported on a winding leisurely tour of the best and the most interesting the island has to offer.  And I promise you, you will be in excellent company with a host who knows his homegrown onions and how.

Even between the various ports of call, Cutty  frequently stops the bus, saunters over to the roadside, and breaks off leaves and twigs and berries and grasses growing in rich and chaotic profusion everywhere,  for you to sniff and sample – always with a colourful description of what these are and how they grow and what they’re used for. The aromatic blast from freshly torn lemongrass, newly crushed pimentos is a world away from those tired and shrivelled offerings in supermarket jars.

Pit stops are included for swims under invigoratingly chilly waterfalls (heck, I sound like a Thomson brochure); an inspection of the local rum factory – a thoroughly Dickensian affair, both fascinating and slightly horrifying from a UK health and safety inspector’s point of view. Luckily, the strength of the brew must render the ‘rustic’ manufacturing conditions sterile. This is the way they have made rum for eons here no doubt and I for one hope the health and safety guys keep well away. It has a charm and history that is far more appealing than the soul-less spick and span modern breweries of today.

Er, grapefruit and rum, anyone????

Then there was a tour and talk given at a spice factory… quaintly authentic, with a gentle, bucolic setting and all-pervading, deliciously aromatic atmosphere. Outside were swathes of cocoa beans being ripened in the sun prior to processing (they smell anything but chocolatey!) – and more nutmeg than you could shake a stick at (it’s one of Grenada’s chief exports).

The first half of the tour meanders northwards through the parishes of St George, St John, St Mark and St Patrick where a stroll through a graveyard led to a fabulous view and a site of many deaths at Leapers Hill.  Click on the pic and you can read why it was so named.

… Although I must confess, I was far more taken with the humble and far less celebrated departure of a little girl just a stone’s throw from that plaque.

A little life cut so achingly short but one that few will ever know about.

However, the indisputed star of the show had to be this chap. A bold Mona monkey who kept our cameras clicking during a pit stop in the Etang Forest Reserve. Cutty had come armed with plenty of monkey fodder (bananas ) and this little fella wasn’t shy about taking his fill – though he regularly turned his back on us to actually eat them. To paraphrase a well known wotsit “Manners maketh the monkey”.

Here he is again, helped by some dramatic lighting courtesy of the sun’s positioning being nicely low. Just love the rich tapestry of colours in his fur.

The cost of the tour was, I think, about US $25 per person.  How often Cutty runs these tours, I’m not entirely sure, but every Thursday it seems to be a regular thing.

I’ve oodles more photos from the day, many which will never make this blog, but will post a few more up in the blog galley later when time and laptop battery allow. All in all it was a darned fine day and one I recommend you try if you’re Grenada bound.

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Okay, time to explain there’s a chess game – or three – going on, aboard Butterfly as I type this. Chris, John and Dick playing three games simultaneously, and judging by the groans and chuckles and cackles and sighs of despair, it’s obviously going well! The first pawn was shuffled around sometime about 4.00 pm, but it looks likely like they’ll be playing long into the night. Since Man, it must be said, does not live by check and mate alone,  I must vamoosh at this point to cobble together some sustenance for those battle-weary brains.

More (laptop and housebank batteries allowing) coming later …

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Footnote: sorry if those who subscribe to this blog with RSS feeds etc have received multiple editions of this post. I’m having the devil’s own at the moment, with WordPress messing up the layout of pics and text big time – that coupled with a sporadic wifi connection which is adding to the hassle factor.

If you take a peek …

… at the blog gallery, you’ll see I’ve added a fresh batch of photos. Hope you enjoy.  (By the way, I hate having to spell this out, but I must make it clear that none of the blog photos are to be used for commercial or marketing purposes. If you are interested in a particular shot, please contact me at ButterflyandBarnacle at gmail.com).

Anyhoo, no time to write much else right now – but will cobble together a new update later.

Ciao for now, good peeps!

Flying the asymmetric …

… is something we haven’t done at all since arriving in the Caribbean.  So a few days ago, we decided to give it an airing.  There was just a little too much wind for the large spinny, so we opted for our favourite – the small 75 sq mtre. It’s a nicely cut sail, very obliging and flat bellied enough for a beam reach as well as a broad.  I’d love to show you a pretty shot of it – but was too busy helping Dick to get it set, so forgot to get the camera out. Too bad, it’s a handsome sight.

However, I did remember the camera after we’d belted out to sea some distance, and then, needing to turn back, tucked the asymmetric back into its bag and stowed it away.  But with no bright bag of stripes to fill the lens, I settled instead for shooting the view aft as we whipped along on in a lively breeze.  The excuse for the sailing was a trip round to Clarke’s Court Bay Marina to book Butterfly in later this year.  But if truth be known, the sailing itself was reason enough.  See that whoppa cloud – that sight is common enough around these parts – so much heat, so much moisture, and hence so much potential for trouble. It’s not unusual to see great mushrooming explosions of clouds billowing high into the stratosphere – huge great giants puffed fat on hot sea air. Although of late things have been more settled with a prolonged dry spell and skies full of sunshine and benign white fluffy monsters like that one. Yesterday, however that situation changed and today has been repeatedly squally and very, very wet on and off throughout.

Last two nights and this morning, we anchored off the Calivigny resort – a pretty complex in a lovely quiet spot – Butterfly fair danced and swirled on her chain as gust after gust careered across the water.  We had travelled there to talk to Mike from Palm Tree Marine who’ll be doing some work for us, once warranty spare parts finally arrive from African Cats.  Mike has a good reputation, well deserved. If you’re cruising in this neck o’ the woods,  in need of any repairs, services, new fittings relating to generators, motors, diesel engines etc – he’s your guy.  Nice to chat with a fellow Brit, too.

It was gorgeously peaceful there and – thanks to the wind whistling down the funneling valley – refreshingly cool at Calivigny.  The view off the back of the boat was serenity itself.  Sky and sea and nothing but the horizon between the two. I love that – give me the big wide open spaces and seclusion and I’m a very contented bunny. At night, we were spoiled with a glittering moonriver thrown down by a pale lemon moon.  Oh, and a deliciously cool night breeze to accompany all that eye-candy, too. Take a look at the shot coming up – the last thing we saw before calling it a day and putting up gentle zzzzzzs.

Would have gladly stayed longer at Calivigny  if we didn’t have to get back to Prickly Bay to buy some parts and start the next repair project. As it happened, once we had hoisted the anchor, yet another bullying squall came rocketing through, and we left Calivigny with the wind gusting 35 knots and the sea a lush and lively froth-pot. Heavy rain pounded the deck clean and cooled the temperature nicely, so not a grumble from us. In fact it reminded us of when we were closing on Brazil earlier this year – the ITCZ – squall territory if ever there was one.

Prickly Bay is somewhere we seem obliged to return to again and again. It isn’t my favourite spot, nor Dick’s, but it is very convenient for many things – not the least being it has a branch of Budget Marine chandlers right by the dinghy dock near de Big Fish bar and restaurant. Nicholas, who runs the store, is invariably helpful and will order most things in, if they haven’t got it in stock.  A short(ish) bus ride away from de Big Fish, and there’s Island Water World at St George’s, run by Jonathan, who also dj’s the morning Cruisers’ Net on the radio. IWW is also a fairly well-stocked chandlery and between the two – Budget Marine and IWW – most common boat spares and items can be sourced.

Prickly Bay is also a good, lively social scene. The two bar-cum-restaurants, de Big Fish and the Tiki Bar are, to some degree, in competition and the cruiser definitely benefits from this. Both venues have regular Happy Hours (usually 2 rather than singular), and both offer live music of a good – and sometimes great – calibre.  For instance, tonight we could have boogied on down at the de Big Fish with Stan and Cora and David  dishing out the jazz and blues in great foot-stomping style, or we could have joined friends, Neil and Tracy,  for a quiz night at the Tiki. With frequent rain showers stopping play, we in fact did neither – though staying in when there’s good entertainment on hand, is unusual for us.  We’ve made many good friends amongst the cruisers who are more or less resident at Prickly Bay – so that’s another attraction to keep us coming back. Dick’s chess partner, Chris (on Magus), is another PB reason for us to return. The two guys are well-matched and both enjoy their battle on the board, an hour or three of cerebral exercise lubricated by serial martinis for Chris. He’s the only chess player we know who swears blind he plays better after some alcofrolical imbibition.

Prickly Bay is also good for getting around and about. Always a bus to be had nearby – most calling in at de Big Fish to pick cruisers up from the dinghy dock. A convenience not to be sniffed at given the extreme heat of these late summer days making walking a fair distance, just too hot an exercise. These buses (in reality, people carriers rather than proper buses) run with unfailing regularity and with little waiting time between. So tomorrow, we’ll dinghy over to the dock, buy what we need from Budget Marine, bus to the local supermarket and stock up once more on some provisions – and later – pick up some diesel from Prickly Bay Marina – with the hurricane season still some weeks to go, we like to keep enough diesel on board for a quick emergency get-away if  necessary.

But the attractions and usefulness of PB are not enough to keep us. We like sailing far too much, and enjoy a frequent change of scene, to stay put there for long.  Besides, it’s so nice to intersperse the social buzz of PB with time out in quieter anchorages where boats numbers are far fewer and the skyline less cluttered with evidence of man.

Somewhere like this, for example. Where all we could see from our vantage point of Butterfly’s cockpit yesterday evening at Calivigny was that one distant sailing vessel. Those dark, gaunt sails silently gliding across the horizon the only reminder we were not alone.

With the cockpit table lowered to form a bed with the seating surrounding it (and made comfortable with lots of foam cushioning) – what could be more soothing and yet paradoxically  more inspiring than lying back and feasting on that almost surrealistic scene as the sun takes its leave and melts into the sea? (Ah, then, if you prefer the clamour of big cities and bright lights, you’ll be yawning in disagreement here. And if that ennui is genuine, then pay no attention to me floating on my Ommmmm cloud again!)

But in truth it’s hard not to warble on. For there are many times, like last night (and so many, many nights) – when the view from Butterfly is straight off a postcard, it’s so tropically, exotically perfect.  I would certainly loathe to ever arrive at a point where we take these views for granted.  Certainly, these idylls of glorious natural beauty are still visually powerful enough to enthrall us both and it’s more than we can do to just wonder at our luck to be here and to be fortunate enough to bear witness.  In fact, sometimes, you find yourself wondering if the perfection isn’t almost too perfect to be real. And that’s when it hits you, the carpe diem thang – the wisdom of revelling in the ‘now’.  Because – and I’ll resist the urge to get maudlin – approaching your mid-fifties, you know you don’t have forever to feast on such marvels. So,  bugger it, by that logic, where’s the harm in uploading another lyrical sundowner – one taken towards the end of yesterday:

Are you blissed out alright, already?!

By the way, a little more prosaically, that AB tender – a 9.5ft aluminium lightweight version – is proving to be top-dollar. Combined with a 9.8 2 stroke Tohatsu it’s everything we could need. And comfortingly,  it rows easily too.  Spent a happy hour rowing on and off around Butterfly, the other day, so I could access her undersides and polish some of the hard-to-reach bright work.

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Want a laugh? Grenada is a gentle island. It is not a hot spot for crime and piracy and violence – thankfully. So when a crime is committed, it meets with a lot of attention and fuss. Some time back, a boat was burgled in St George’s Bay and the unlucky owners lost several electronic gadgets including laptops and phones. A big public brouhaha ensued – the crime being reported on the Cruisers’ Net and a lot of air time given to the subject. Boat theft is rare around here – and naturally folk are concerned enough to want it to remain that way. Well, hooray, they’ve finally caught the perpetrator – excellent news. Not so excellent, however, is the news the stolen property cannot be returned to the poor owner. Why? Because the daft dude who nicked it, had wrapped the various electronic items in – wait for it – clingfilm! prior to jumping back in the water and swimming with his loot to the shore.  His soggy snatchfest no good to him or anyone. Clingfilm! I kid you not … well, it tickled me, anyway.

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Not so funny was the T-boning accident that happened to some guys we know also cruising these waters. Another boat, about to raise anchor and move off, started their engine(s) and then went below to sort things out. The engine was in gear – and the inevitable happened. Boof! Straight into the broadsides of our pals.  But the T-boners insurance won’t pay out the full sum to the injured party, and nor will the injured party’s insurance pay for them to stay in rented accommodation while their boat is on the hard having repairs – despite the fact some of the work to be done is deemed by the boatyard to be hazardous to health, especially since they have three young kids aboard. So, through absolutely no fault of their own, the hapless family will be well out of pocket and will have to weather a shed load of hassle getting the boat fixed … but I guess that’s boating for you: great fun but a risky business at times.

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I recently mentioned we had bought a Wirie - a wifi adaptor to boost wifi reception and get a wider range of signals.  Well, it’s proving to be a success. Housed in a Pelican box (fully waterproof), we now have free wifi access almost all of the time. Sometimes, we need to anchor a little to the left or right of a geographical obstacle – like a hill! – to get a sturdy signal, but mostly it’s drop anchor, hoist the Wirie onto the stackpack and tape into upright position and Bob’s yer sister – we have a connection. How far the range is, I’m not sure, but for our purposes, it’s been good enough.

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Well, Tropical Storm Grace has hurtled well out of reach of Grenada and is apparently belting off NNE, heading towards Ireland and Scotland nearer our home shores instead.  So some wild weather – at least some wild winds – due on the west coast of the UK very soon.  So from a hot and humid Grenada to a cool and windy UK,  it’s time for me to wrap this post up before my ailing laptop battery dies – which – aarrgghh, the warning beep has just sounded – so it will do any minute now!

‘Night all!

Rather like the weather …

… it has been a week of mixed blessings.  Everything from the good, to the bad, to the ugly – and all the shades of grey between.  And while in cliché-spewing mode,  I might as well add, “and there’s more where that came from… “

But let’s kick off some cheery stuff first. After writing my last post on this blog, we did indeed have some excellent sailing weather, and after hoiking up the anchor, we pootered out to sea to make the most of it.  Flying along with full main and jib, Butterfly sliced through the waves and came to life once more. With gleeful, unabashed sentiment (and totally unsubstantiated by fact) I’ve often thought that boats that lie at anchor for long periods get restless.  What do they  call this?  – anthropomorphism, is it? (try saying that with your teeth in) – when you attribute human characteristics to inert objects or animals? A heck of a clunky word to say and spell.  But there ya go – I must be one of those -  a self-confessed, cock-eyed, anthropomorphist. For whether bobbing in a marina, swinging off the hook, or dancing on a buoy, boats strike me as being in a kind of dormant phase, quietly biding their time, just cooling their keel(s), waiting  … but set them free at sea again, unharnessed, fully engaged in play with wind and wave and you sense them come alive. Even as the first waves swoosh past the bows, the whole vessel springs  into life with a burst of latent energy – no longer merely a thing, but a co-ordinated entity with its own personality. At least that’s the way of healthy boats.

Happily, given some ideal sailing weather, Butterfly, too, came alive. With the wind  – a steady 15-20 knots on the beam – nicely taking the heat off a blazing sun, and with the seas sparkling fit to dazzle,  she couldn’t have been happier, nor could we. So much more fun and so much more comfortable to be slicing through the brisk Caribbean waves with Grenada growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Ahead,  an uninterrupted horizon of blue;  astern, a trail of foaming wake. Far, far nicer than sitting in the bay sweltering.  We spent the best part of the day sailing just for the sheer unalloyed pleasure of it. And then only as the sun began to sink – a rich blast of apricot pink in a lavender sky – did we pull in to St David’s Harbour for the night. One of my favourite bays, St David’s, totally unassuming, totally unspoilt, and totally peaceful.

We’d have got more sailing in if we could this week, but like the weather of late, clouds and squalls in the form of a broken tooth gathered to stop play for a while. Just before leaving South Africa I had a final check up with an excellent dentist there before embarking on the Atlantic crossing. He fixed a tooth for me that has given continual trouble on and off, repairing it with a temporary filling that would need crowning eventually. No time for him to do the crown before we left Capetown. Well two weeks ago or thereabouts, the filling and tooth parted company giving rise to an abscess,  and consulting with a local dentist here in Grenada, it was obvious an extraction was the only answer.  I’m not a wuss when it comes to doctors and dentists and men in white coats wielding pliers and such, but I was somewhat ginger about the quality of dental services here in this delightful island.  Grenada may be good for a wide variety of excellent mangoes, but excellent molar technicians? We asked around and some new friends of ours who have lived on the island for some years  recommended someone who had cared for their pearlies in reliable fashion. Happily and reassuringly, their smiles seemed to endorse their recommendation.

Well the tooth is now out (and thankfully, for vanity’s sake, the gap out of sight) but I can’t say it was a pleasant experience. Dr Vibart Yaw, a thoroughly engaging, delightful fellow (and dig his wonderful name! I chortled when I first saw that) -  removed the offending molar, what was left of it, in speedy, efficient fashion, but as he pulled and twisted, I developed sudden powers of levitation and and was fast on route to examining his ceiling at close quarters.  Mercifully, he was mighty quick and though a little more anaesthetic would have been a blessing (like triple the strength of whatever those syringes contained), all seems to have gone okay. After a few days looking like a hamster sucking a golfball and thanks to the high-tech remedy of salt water rinses, symmetry is gradually being restored.  Only a hamster sucking a pea now. The pain is gradually receding too. Woo-hoo.

In fact one of the concerns about cruising has been that of finding suitable medical and dental care if necessary.  A tooth extraction is still small fry in terms of health problems, but having a successful extraction has taken some of that concern away.  My erstwhile visions of unsterilised needles and grimey dressings an insult to those practitioners here who are just as adept as those back home in the UK and – in some cases  – more adept.  Of no interest to you, unless you are also cruising the Windward Isles, I understand there is also an excellent dentist on St Lucia. No name or details yet, but will find those out and report back.  Should also mention that pulling that tooth here had one distinct advantage – it has saved us a packet: the total charge for two consultations, a packet of antibiotics and painkillers and the extraction itself?  EC $130 – or roughly £33.  Needless to say, however, it’s a bargain I’m happy not to repeat.

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Still with the good news – had another fabulous night out at de Big Fish last Saturday, with Stan and Cora being joined by a fella on lead guitar (excellent musician, though don’t know his name) and Martin on alto-sax this time. Just one of those nights when nobody wanted to go home – certainly not the band themselves – and so the guys played on and on … and on.  Everybody up dancing; a full house in full swing. What makes one evening a riot like this, I’ve no idea, best not to analyse, better to just be grateful.  And tonight there’s yet more music with a young Grenadian lassy  singing – again at de Big Fish. She, too, is the bees hum. On Saturday, she dived in with Stan and Cora, belting out a song or two and wowing everybody in the process.  All I know is her name is Jenny.  Pics to come later if the light allows.

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And now for the – well, not bad exactly, but perhaps the not-so-good news:  at the time of writing this, still no word from African Cats on the whereabouts of the spares we need to fix some of the warranty issues. Nor an answer to those queries we’ve raised regarding their warranty decisions.  We have, however, received a response on a separate issue from their Service department, so at least some form of communication has occurred.

Elsewhere, the storm continues to brew over our predicament and African Cats track record to date. I wondered whether or not to refer to this – out of diplomacy, if nothing else – but there is no point in ignoring or denying it since many of you reading this also follow the forums where the latest ruckus has occurred.  In a perfect, fair world, everyone – boatbuilder and boat-buyer alike – would be free to give their full and candid version of events,  and let those who might be interested in such matters – eg, potential catamaran customers – make their own minds up as to the true state of play. After all, buying a boat is a huge investment, especially if you’ve been trying to build that cruising kitty over many years. For many folk, anxious to embark on a sailing adventure of their own, choosing the right boat and boatbuilder are the most important decisions they will make. Other customers’ experiences are an invaluable assistance in making that decision.

But – and forgive me for stating the obvious here – this is not a perfect world, nor is it fair.  So for reasons most regular readers of this blog are aware of, we must plough on, by necessity keeping much under wraps, focusing as much as possible on just trying to get the boat warranty issues finalised in principle, before arranging for the repairs to be completed.  So another day comes to a close, and we are still no nearer to starting the main warranty repairs.

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This is one very long post.  But just before I buggeroffski,  perhaps a final caveat might be in order:

If you are thinking of buying a new boat – be it monohull, multihull, powerboat or sailing vessel, do think long and hard about just how long you are going to be involved with your boatbuilder.  It might sound slightly daft, but buying a new boat is like entering a kind of marriage. After the initial wooing phase, the hearts and flowers and bright shiny engagement ring stage, accompanied by attentive emails and declarations of mutual admiration and adoration, you will find yourself at the alter soon enough, saying “I do”. But beware, don’t allow yourself to get bedazzled by the flowers and trinkets and pretty words and,  instead,  think hard and long before you get to that alter, because once that ring is on the finger, the realities of boatowner/ boatbuilder married life will kick in.  And unlike modern marriage today,  if the mojo between you and your boatbuilder fades, or simply doesn’t work out, there is no quick easy divorce. For better or worse, you are now bound to each other for a considerable time to come …

As is obvious to all, our marriage with African Cats – and I’m sure Mr Goudsmit will agree with me on this at least – has had more than its fair share of storms and showers. The sunshine days before “I do” could bear a second summer!

This cruising life …

…  it seems to me, is rather a rum one.  I mean, here is a shot of Prickly Bay taken on one of our recent walks. Somewhere in the middle of that little lot – lies Butterfly.  And after I’d taken the photo, looking down at her that day, it suddenly struck me how odd it was that home is now this little nomadic floating island.

By odd, I mean, if you’d asked me (or Dick) twenty years ago, where we would be living in twenty years time, we might have hazarded a guess at a country, or more broadly, a continent – somewhere we’d like to wind up eventually. But never for a moment would we have said we’d be living aboard a catamaran.  Living on the land was a given then; living on a boat? Never! It simply wouldn’t have occurred to us back then.

But here we are.  However unthinkable once upon a time, home today is a 44ft catmaran called Butterfly.  Yet even though we’ve been living aboard her since December 2008 – some nine months now – there is still a vague, unspecified, indefinable sense of this liveaboard life being temporary.  A passing phase.  To thoroughly mix imagery -  living “off piste” as it were. That said, the idea of going back to live on the land and in a home with solid foundations that stay put within their own defined little plot isn’t appealing in the slightest. Already we’re conditioned to the freedom of movement a boat brings.  And it’s definitely spoilt A us: growing a little tired of the same scenery every day? Fancy a week somewhere else, maybe a month, or just a night?  No problem: raise the hook and bugger off somewhere more appealing. Fancy a different continent, a different sea? Well, a little more preparation of course, but given the right weather window, that too is all up for grabs. And the beauty of it is your home and everything you need to live comfortably comes along with you – it has to – your home is your transport.  Already, giving up that freedom to roam on whim (weather and water permitting of course) would be very, very hard now.

So why the sense of life aboard being temporary? The truth is, I think, it takes a while to settle in to cruising.  Talking to other liveaboards, some have told us it took a year before their boat felt like home and life afloat felt “normal.” Others have said two years; others longer still.  And that’s not so surprising when you consider how many lifestyle changes must be made when you become a full time cruiser.

For a start, everyday living takes a little more effort, and a lot more physical energy than landlubbing.  This is not too surprising, for a boat is an obstacle course, built on many levels, on a rolling uneven surface. So much time spent climbing over this and stepping over that; ducking under that and reaching over this. Even just accessing stuff can be a regular workout! With a boat’s limited storage capacity and all your worldly goods and tools necessary for everyday living stored aboard, cupboards regularly need to be raided and reassembled to get at stuff and then everything put back in its rightful slot. Water has to be made, collected, fetched or bought in – so is rarely squandered. Electricity is rationed, tasks involving electrical gadgets being worked in to the day’s schedule according to the state of the heavens: for example – hallelujah, it’s sunny and windy, so a rush to make bread, charge laptops, etc.  Conversely, no wind and no sun, it’s crispbreads and clean the bilges/hull/heads time. Food shopping becomes an expedition done in many stages – dink (inflatable tender/rowing boat) across to the land, walk till the bus picks you up, bus to the supermarket, buy only as much as you can carry, and then reverse the process – bus, walk, dink. And then the maintenance – which is, of course, never-ending. Maintain, maintain, maintain – and repair, repair, repair. And don’t get me started on valves and pumps and the state of batteries  – how quickly these come to dominate your life!  Yet little by little you get conditioned until all this becomes normal. After all, everybody else around you is engaged in the same maintenance/repair battle, so why should you be any different?  Or to paraphrase one wise wag: “The definition of cruising is fixing your boat in the sun.”

And fixing it we are … s-l-o-w-l-y. For there is no other way.  As regular readers will know by now, getting the warranty issues agreed with African Cats has been a long drawn-out process – one that now appears to have stalled altogether. For having disputed some of their decisions on the surveyor’s warranty report, it seems we’ve shot our bolt, and our last emails sent 9 days ago – one questioning some aspects of their warranty decisions, and one requesting information about the dispatch of warranty spares already agreed upon but not yet received – have both been met with silence. Perhaps I’m being premature in being negative – perhaps Gideon and the service department are away on holiday; perhaps they are just far too busy sorting out their other customer’s problems which are many; perhaps they’re too preoccupied with the launch of Green e-Motion; perhaps Gideon’s new Fastcat 605 is topping the agenda to the exclusion of everything else. Or perhaps our emails have disappeared into the ether. Perhaps. Perhaps, I’m simply being far too impatient here, and we will get a reply sometime later this week. Or perhaps we will never hear from them again.

Who knows?

One thing’s for sure … whoever does know, sure ain’t tellin’!

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And now for something cheery.

These, m’dears, are very poor quality shots of Stan and Cora. Before you ask Stan and Cora who? – I’m ashamed to say, I haven’t a clue! What I do know is this delightful pair are the bringers of much joy to their audiences’auditory senses and to Mrs Meredith’s pedal extremities. Luckily for us, they play regularly at de Big Fish here at Prickly Bay – music that sets this ol’ gal’s ticker beating happily in time to some stonking good rhythms and wonderful jazz and blues favourites. Stan has a voice to die for – a rare blend of comes-from-the boots-gravel musicality (courtesy of a lifetime devoted to tobacco, I suspect), and Cora can swing that sax as mean and low as any man. They, too, are liveaboards, and have the rare distinction of having taken their saxophone and keyboard aboard an ancient 1928 wooden lifeboat made in the Isle of Wight (I believe) around Cape Horn – as part of a circumnavigation that must rank as one of the longest circuits ever undertaken – twenty-six years! We spent a happy hour or two talking with Stan one night at the Tiki Bar, and he has tales of far flung ports and friendship with the King of Tonga that should be in a book available to sailors the world over!  It’s been an unexpected bonus of living in Grenada, this abundance of excellent musicians and great music – and that’s not a word of flannel, just fact. It’s certainly been a long, long time since I spent so many evenings dancing to such irresistible live music. Stan and Cora, Janice, Doc Adams Blues Band – bring ‘em on, each and every one!

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And almost lastly, just to finish this post off with – we shall be on the move again tomorrow, so not sure when the internet will next be available. But a few weeks back, we succumbed to the charms of the Wirie – an internet booster or wifi adapter as they’re frequently billed. This device, sold to us by the inventors (a great couple who live aboard an FP catamaran called Irie – hence the Wirie) who were cruising awhile back in Prickly Bay, has certainly been an improvement on the Hawking which we have dismally failed to coax into any significant usefulness at all – Ever.  Hopefully, our Wirie will continue to keep us connected wherever we land up; it certainly manages to “see” many more wifi options than anything we’ve had before, though reception comes and goes, of course, according to how the boat is swinging at the time.  Anyhow, over this next week or so, the plan is to squeeze in some nice long sailing stints (purely for the pleasure of it) and then to drop anchor – at one or several of the bays around the south coast of Grenada. With nothing serious brewing on the tropical storm front at the moment – well, nothing that should threaten us in the next few days – where we wind up will be left to the wind and wave and whim.

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And very lastly – a couple of pretty pics. This first taken on one of our walks here at Lance Aux Epines along the coastal route.  What is it about water breaking on rocks that’s so appealing? – especially when you’re dry and safe, of course! The one below, well that’s our neighbour, here in Prickly Bay, at the time of writing. Every evening as the sun goes down, that gorgeous boat is backlit with blushing baby-pink clouds and an evening light that makes the camera whistle. Me too -  though don’t tell a soul. ;0)

Chin-chin for now kids  … and have a good week.

Sorry, folks …

… for the extended radio silence.  Just busy with a lot of “this that and t’othering.”

First up, must just say, hand on humble heart – we have been more than a little touched at the recent flurries of concerned emails from many of you, wondering why the no show over this last fortnight or so. The blog’s viewing figures, too, have gone through the roof of late – am guessing as regular readers check in not once, but perhaps a couple of times a day to find still no news.  Or, we’ve inadvertently tapped a whole new segment of boat-fanciers. Or perhaps the harsh reality is nobody gives a figaroo, but a computer or several somewhere have suddenly developed this strange B&B fixation glitsch … whatever,  even our About section which has been around a long time -  plenty enough to gather a few cobwebs and a lot of dust – has received record hits this past week.  The blog stats give the blogee (me) oodles of figures for all sorts of things – all very fascinating if you’re into that kind of thing – but what they don’t tell you is why viewing figures suddenly soar. Ah sweet mysteries of cyber life!

Anyway, time, therefore, to update this site and just geddonwithit!

First those warranty issues: again, many of you have written privately, curious as to how things are panning out and by the tone of your emails, it’s clear you have taken our cause to heart.  For those who don’t already know – and I promise I’ll get answers to all who’ve written – well, they’re still (!) panning. By that, I mean discussions continue and we’re still trying to establish what aspects of the surveyor’s report African Cats will agree to fix under warranty, and those they won’t.  It’s  a laborious, boring process – but one that must be gone through.  As mentioned earlier, the surveyor was instructed to draw up a report based only on those issues he thought it reasonable should be covered by warranty – which is what he did.

As for the boat itself, well, she’s bobbing peacefully enough, back in Prickly Bay once more.  The usual repairs and maintenance stuff goes on a-pace, as do the never-ending cleaning chores. Here in the Caribbean especially during these ridiculously hot and humid hurricane months, blink once and you find a few spores of mold blossoming quietly away here and there. Blink twice and you have a rabid colony of the stuff  intent on world domination – well, vessel domination. Blink three times and not only is everything sprinkled with galloping  black rashes, but unlovely mildewy smells taint clothes and cabinets  and the only remedy is industrial-strength, hard-core fumigation.  Hey, but do we  panic? Do we despair? Nah, we curse, of course, but thanks to Peggy Hall, the guru (in fact, often referred to as the Headmistress!) of keeping a boat smelling sweet, we fight back – viciously! In fact, thanks to Ms Hall, I’m fast becoming a vinegar queen. Vinegar, bicarb of soda and Zoflora (disinfectant) queen to be precise. In fact there isn’t a lot on the boat that hasn’t been intensively V-B-Z’d at some stage and several times over. Her book, Get Rid of Boat Odors, is oft considered the bible of such things.  You’ll find her suggestions for curing stinky sailing probs quoted all over the internet.  But I’m already such a convert, I think I’ll order a copy of the real thing from Amazon to pick up when we go back to the UK in December.

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Weatherwise – we’ve been extremely lucky so far. Hurricanes and tropical storms come and go, all having given – or giving – Grenada a comfortably wide berth at the moment. Long may it continue.  Some wonderful rain squalls yesterday and today after a very long dry spell  – which saw the boats here all swinging wildly in the sudden wind shifts, leading to much mucking for yours truly trying to rig a water catcher from a shower curtain. A couple of design glitches meant I got well and truly drenched  fartarsing around with the bally thing (it worked incredibly well for a while, then the bloody wind went berserk and there was more rain flying off the thing than into the bucket below). Even so,  it was a lot of fun, the water tanks got a generous topping up, and for the first time in months, I was comfortably cool. Heck, you don’t know how good cool is till you’ve spent the hurricane season on a boat in the Caribbean.  Anyway, soggy, but undeterred,  RainCatcher Mark II is my project for the rest of this week … but patent pending may be another shower curtain away!

More later … and soon!

Did you know …

… that some erstwhile study (I’ve long since forgotten which)  proved conclusively that folk who spend more of their life looking up are happier, more optimistic and generally healthier? Why? Because, so the theory goes, in filling their peepers with vistas of the ever-changing sky, they see the bigger picture – the grander scheme of things. They don’t, like their pessimistic cousins, fill their noodles with the ordinary nitty-gritty unlovelinesses of the day found at eyelevel and below much of the time. Of course, these same fortunate, giddy optimists probably experience considerably more pain than those whose feet are a little more leaden  – I mean, tripping along with your nose in the air might be good for the spirit, but it’s also a sure fire way of going A over E and denting your dignity a tad. But hey, what’s a little pain now and then if you’re a happier bunny who habitually trips the light fantastic down the sunny side of the street?

And for all the silly pseudo psycho-babble implications of such a sweeping generalisation,  it must be said there’s a smidgeon of truth to be found in this tenet – albeit a rather tentative one. For at the very least,  looking up on certain occasions will fill your eyes with spectacles as grand as the photo at the opening of this post – if you’re lucky in your timing. And how not to feel blessed and rather chuffed to be struttin’ your stuff, when you feast on heavens as magnificent as this. Well, those flaming apricot skies are yours for the taking here at St David’s Bay – albeit tantalisingly fleetingly. For in the time it took me to register how photo-worthy the heavens were tonight, and run below to fetch and load my camera, the dying sun was already taking his  dramatic leave and within three minutes of firing the shutter, the magic was all but over.  By the way, for the record, there is no photoshop manipulation here either, other than the framing – within it, pure pixels each and every one.

So, with nothing ventured, nothing gained – perhaps it’s time to try it, why don’t  you? Leave the stilettos and open-toes at home, schlap on those steel-capped boots and take a trip on the celestial wild side – eyes up, nose up, heart up – embrace the skyline and the magnificent heavens above. And who knows? From hereon in, you might find yourself embarking on a glad-all-over gambol into a  brighter, jollier future – one blessed with lower blood pressure and rosier cheeks to boot. Well, that or a trip to the local A&E … either way, let me know how you get on!

Back to boaty business and warranties next post …

Just for a change …

… thought I’d inflict a little versification upon you.  Having just arrived at St David’s Bay this afternoon, and after slaving over a soapy bucket or two cleaning Prickly Bay crud off the chain (again), before it got too high – we both flopped on the tramps for a well-earned feet-up moment – or twenty.  Don’t know about you, but lying out on the tramps, sky-gazing is a real treat – all that celestial feasting being rich manna for the soul.

Unfortunately (for you)  today, this wonderful inactivity inspired me to pen a line or two in reverie … so if you’re averse to a verse (sorry) then look away now; and if you’re not averse, then ode dear (sorry, sorry) click on the pic and muse away.

There, don’t say I didn’t warn you …