For reasons that seem difficult to understand, after our day of inactivity we slept as though we’d run a marathon, waking for the first time at a very civilised hour, ready to get stuck in to the remaining projects although well after the days activity in the port had begun.
The slow drizzle gave a clue that perhaps working with precision on the picnic table would be best left for another day, and it was already clear that Bill was otherwise occupied for the day, and since tomorrow was his day off, perhaps we could rendezvous on Friday. It seems we had a plan.
All was not lost though, there were a myriad of things to be done in the engine bay and bilges, so between showers and sometimes under them the day was spent up to the elbows in once would have been Mr Perkins grease. Every wire and cooling line was analysed, rerouted, anti-chafed and clipped to within an inch of its life, until when day was done, our Mr P sat resplendent in a well organised, shining throne, impotent without his cables and ball bearing gizwiches which still lay in pieces on the floor of the helm station.
This is all a part of cruising that never features in the dream.
The dream is complex though, and different for all of us, and not all are realisitc. A bloke who lives not far to the north of here dreamed once of building a thirty metre long model of a cruise liner with which he could ply the canals.
As if that would ever happen.
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