Twelve millimetres

If it hadn't been so chilly this morning I may have sprung out of bed with a lively step, trying hard to remain confident that everything would turn out well today, but as it was I used the cold as an excuse to hide my apprehension until the temperature hit a sensible double figures.

We have a rule that the thermal underwear goes on when the temperature is in single figures, and it seemed silly to dress, then undress to dress again, so recumbent I remained until almost nine.

The sunshine brought with it a host of ideas on how to fill in the missing twelve millimetres in our transmission linkage, which my by now well digested theory had convinced me was the cause of our woes, and to be fair it also brought Bill.

After a few hours of tinkering, Bill had Mr Perkins ready to eat out of the palm of his hand, I had the transmission linkages tuned to within a whisker of perfection, and if the borrowed battery charger had been working we may well have been underway.

But we weren't.

So we wired in the new charger, had lunch, then afternoon tea, and marvelled at our cleverness and how for thirty years this poor boat had been running at less than half its potential, because no one had bothered to install a basic part correctly. Twelve millimetres of adjustment was all it took to put paid to a previous diagnosis that required a 5,000€ transmission replacement.

Elated after finally testing our handiwork, I decided to check on Mr P's well being before retiring for the night. He had been crying tears of green.

One last coolant leak to fix on the morrow and we will be away.

At least, that's the plan.