The log continues. We’re taking her out for the fifth time, still with an boat tuning mindset, still wanting to catch a fish. The weather this day is fine, though Saharan dust has obliterated direct sunlight. The feel is for rain the fact is, its just dust. Wind is forecast for fifteen knots, which is fine. Had it been less we would have stayed home. Crew comprises four, Rachel, Michael, Marc and me Bertrand.
We make two trips out with the dinghy. First is for Rachel and Marc to unbox the deck. The second is reserved for Michael his rods and the community cooler box. Marc has been invaluable in matters boom and above. Proving height and strength matters. Rachel, god bless her charming English self, tidied lines and underdeck, sustaining her complaint that housework never really stops. After getting the dinghy secured to the mooring and arranging a line for easy retrieval on return, we slipped the mooring. Sedate business so far.
Michael calls out the first offering of beer. Hear the chorus of refusal. Seriously, what manner of man would pollute the purity of the moment? The sea is starting to slip by, the wind is gentle but fair and the noise of shorebound souls is being rapidly replaced by, well boat things. Beer? Nyet, Nah! Never!
End this post with the boring truth of a good life. Or what makes a good life