Perhaps it’s the very name of the place that creates and expectation in one’s subconscious, or perhaps it’s the stone quay that resembles a harbour wall in some fairytale port that creates a strange inversion of ones normal geographic perception. Whatever the reason, it’s difficult to bring our subconscious to terms with the reality that we are not tucked up in some protected coastal inlet.
Apart from the distinct absence of seabirds or fish and chips, and an equally distinct lack of salty tang in the air there is little else to indicate that the nearest ocean is half a thousand kilometres away. We even have something of a “sea” breeze in the evening as the temperature differential between land and water takes effect.
Moored alone as we have been since yesterday, a few hundred metres from the nearest anything, one can cut the tranquility with a knife.
We suppose that the other boats thought they would share some of that when they tied nearby late in the afternoon, and while we didn’t for a moment resent their intrusion on our solitude, we hope that we didn’t impact too greatly on theirs.
After all, how could they have been aware when they arrived, that Ron and Robin would be joining us for the night?
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