One of the mixed blessings of being of a certain age is that one’s bladder does not necessarily work to the same clock as one’s brain would wish it did. This enables one to be up before the sparrows, contemplating life in the still of the pre-dawn light. One must reluctantly admit that whatever the reasons for its observance, it is a beautiful time of day, a time that’s perfect for making clear decisions about which direction should take in the day ahead, before once again assuming a more sensible state of being in one’s berth for perhaps a few more hours peaceful repose.
Today’s decision was quite an easy one to make.
With some mixed feelings admittedly, we decided not to wait for Le Tour to find us. We decided not long after that to work just one more day, to get the sun cover for the front windscreen finished, then we will happily provision the ship and quietly march away up the hill.
So we sat indoors alternatively punching clips into fabric or listening to the little Singer stitching away, purring like a newly renovated Perkins, and got it done in time for another late night with our errant Dutch friends.
We retired with instructions to my bladder to be more civil about its waking time in the morning.
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