Each day starts with a renewed attack on the work list, and each day that attack is blunted by visitors. Rich, John S, Sebastian, the owner of Comet, Bob, James, Rob, Ben, Sandy, Phil…the names go on. These interruptions, “the many snares of popularity,” are not the least unpleasant, and some even mature into dinners at the club.
A mere twelve days ago, I was enjoying the habit of eating my meals cold from a can; now I am served fresh haddock, salmon and lamb accompanied by beer colder than the ocean. One would think such a transition might be difficult or at least awkward. It is not.
All that to one side, work is progressing. Mo has been hauled, de-barnacled, painted, and is back in the water; the blown headsail has been repaired and is again flying from her headstay; engine fluids and filters have been changed; the gravity diesel heater carburetor has been repaired. We’ve taken on fuel and water, 100 gallons of each. I’ve had ten hot showers and have done four loads of laundry.