It was quite chilly and breezy here yesterday. I shivered as I pegged out the washing on the line. It’s usually about ten degrees cooler out at sea.

In a desire to let me share his life and interests, hubby suggested we went out for a sail in the bay. What was I thinking of, agreeing to hoist myself over awkward metal ladders in harbour walls, negotiate bouncy edges and cabin roofs of wobbly boats – no luxury spared here – to get to the third one out, and plonk bum down quickly on a plank seat thing, before I overbalanced well into the brink. There is no way to be genteel about this. No swivelling out and rising like a lanky elegant Venus to my adoring fans [not], absolutely, no chance.

Out we motored in this little open boat, me dressed in my most padded of jackets with fleece hood, of which I was glad. The thinsulate black gloves gave the finishing touches.

As the waves lapped around the boat, I was sprayed in a Southerly wind direction. Glory! Ahead, I saw two kayaks. What could be more open and exposed. One was bobbing about on the ‘spot’, its occupant busy fishing, reeling in successfully, lunch and tea.

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The wind turned Westerly, and so did the spray. Lapping waves turned to deepening swell. Making as large an arc as possible to cut the waves, we left the lone kayak fisher (I think it was a woman)to continue fishing, and arrived back into the harbour well sea-soaked and chilled.

Oh Lord! Another wobbly return journey climbing inelegantly over boats and up vertical ladders, to get to dry, solid land. “Is there nowhere else that’s easier, where you can tie up?” I asked. – “…Nowhere that’s by a ladder”. :**:



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