Legends from our own lunchtimes

Saturday, September 25, 2010


We woke rather late this morning, or to be more accurate, rose rather late having been awake for a time, the temperature appearing to be far more conducive to comfort within than without the bedclothes. To be fair we retired rather late though, and having taken advantage yesterday afternoon of Chris and Helen's kind offer of a loan of their car, arrived loaded with groceries and even more tools and bolts and washers and a head full of plans for today, it was only reasonable that we should feed them and be entertained well into the night while the rain did it's best to test my handiwork in the fore cabin, and to saturate the aft.

When I first spoke with Jacques about the moisture in the floor of the after-berth, the one we call "ours", we poked the floor in the soft spots and rubbed our chins and stared silently, together deep in thought.  

It was he who broke the silence:" I think it's not too bad", he said, "sometimes when it's bad we find champignons under the floor".

That was weeks ago, months perhaps, and with so many other pressing engagements mostly involving food, the thought of chopping out a few square feet of flooring just didn't come into the equation until about now. We've had the lino rolled up in a vain attempt to dry it for a week now, it was time to cure the source of the water and investigate the soft spots, perhaps carry out some surgery ready for the chaps to come in and do their thing.

Small repairs on boats have a way of turning themselves into large repairs, it's something to do with the law of the sea, and from the moment I lifted the first corner of disintegrating plywood and found the champignons, I began to suspect that this would be one of those days. After several hours, the entire floor of our cabin, the wall framing and some of the lining found it's way to the skip, and we now have a clean dry cabin that doesn't smell of mushroom compost.   After several more hours, all of the penetrating bolts had been removed and reseated in proper sealant,  and the skin on five or six of my knuckles had probably already started to heal.  

The lack of floor is admittedly a little inconvenient, but once we've worked out how to get a sheet of plywood back from the hardware store forty kilometres away balanced on a pair of bicycles, the repair work should be a doddle.


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