One is not filled with hope and joy when one checks the weather forecast before retiring to be greeted by this description:
“The morning will be raining with temperatures reaching eleven degrees and winds at forty kilometres per hour. The afternoon will be not good.”
We could of course have taken the opportunity in the morning before the weather turned “not good” to run across the road and taken refuge in the bar with its wonderful crocodile shaped shutter cutouts, but more than our sorrows would surely have been drowned on the way.
Instead we frittered away the day with our little heater chugging away, playing dominoes and drinking coffee and laughing and reading between snoozes, along the way discovering that the life of a wastrel does have certain attractions, unless of course one is living in our fore cabin where things were starting by now to become quite damp in places.
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