Fading Memories

We woke in the dark this morning, dark and gloom and rain but not too cold. I can't think of a time I've been so happy to wake in those conditions.  A week of plugging little gaps in things makes one curious to see whether the time has been well spent.

With all the serious water entry points repaired, the trivial ones take on an importance out of all proportion to life and all that it involves. Previously they were but a drop an hour or half a droplet per day and mostly we didn't know they even existed because of all the other water.  Now we hunt them down at every opportunity. An hour or so of rain gave us five more of the little blighters this morning and another few hours to fix them.

The dawn also brought news of the house we rent from the Government. Actually it brought pictures of it in colour and glossy headlines about "millionaire's row" and how much the government has wasted buying houses in our street. I wanted to write letters to the editor, asking how much would be wasted not buying the balance, ($200million extra for the road the Main Roads Report said), and who will worry about those who are left, but I wondered if, living as we do on our boat, in France, they'd get the wrong impression.

With emotions in check but slightly dishevelled, I disappeared into the bilge to scrub things. Each time my legs cramped or I banged my head or scraped a shoulder against a protruding bolt the thoughts of further correspondence diminished further.

By afternoon stock of cleaning compounds running as low as the amount of skin left on my knuckles the end of work was in sight and there all thought of government incompetence had dissolved.

Chris and Helen thought we should while away the evening eating chocolate cake and drinking beverages of our choice in front of the fire on their barge, it was cosier there they said, and who were we to argue.