Legends from our own lunchtimes

Thursday, June 27, 2013

On our skates.

I suppose we should have left first thing.    We should have just got up, and celebrated the anti-climax that was Mr Perkins' apparent rejuvenation by simply getting underway, but for some reason we just didn't feel like moving.

We had after all spent the first month of our summer running headlong into miserable weather for the sole purpose of being exactly here. The idea was that we could spend a month doing other things while Mr P was being attended to in someone's workshop.  It should be no surprise that when that didn't work to plan, the men in black would arrive on the very last day of our window of work rather than the first.   Perhaps it was a little surprising that so little work was done to achieve so much.

Whatever the case, in some madly masochistic mindset, despite the on-water fuel barge waiting for us twenty kilometres downstream, we decided we'd continue with the somewhat labour intensive refuelling process we'd started a few days ago, and despite the rain we'd top up our gas supply as well.

Once fully provisioned, we we would turn a corner in our heads we thought, and then we would decide that we'd definitely move on.


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