I had a dream last night whereby I arrived at a place called Yate, which is near to Bristol, although it has a character all its own and shouldn't be misundertook in any way. I was at the top of a hill at a busy crossroads and so it seemed quite natural to go into the antique dealership across the road. Here I examined and bought a dining chair for £202, even though the salesman couldn't find where he had written down the price.
Only after purchase did I worry about how I was going to get it the 140 miles home on my bicycle. It was a splendid example of late Edwardian home culture however, so quite worth it.
Upon waking, I analysed this dream for what it might portend and concluded that its true meaning was that I should go solo sailing. Logical enough I thought. So without further ado, I rounded up Cook, Lambert and the dog and set off for the slipway, which lies seven miles away and is conveniently close to where Sweet Jane is moored on a trot with a Dufour 36 astern, and a Benetteau 42 ahead. The little dinghy sagged with the weight of my solo crew, including myself. Lambert was charged with the custody of the dog and achieved a stellar job, managing to keep the dog inboard and attached to his forearm throughout the short rib journey to the mooring from the slipway.
Always at the slip can be found wastrel children with runny noses and not much else of inspire in their lives, and these oiks just love to intimidate boaters with such japes as jumping into the river right next to the tenders of yachtsmen and women. I suppose their purpose might to them bring hilarity, yet to the better classes who own yachts, such frivolity is frowned upon.
We never do have a problem in this regard and this I attribute to Cook alone. Quite some time ago, following another dream that promised me a fine days sail, we set out as usual, and were met with the stoney recalcitrance of the poor children, who would be better served moving to Brazil and becoming lost. Their antics began at once with such odd tricks as running alongside of us gabbling unintelligably in the curious tongue of the peasant, the intent being to at least touch a real boat, if not fully blag a ride upon such thing. This day Cook was not in her most best of humours having had to prepare meals and wash things up and such, so the oik children had chosen not just the wrong people to irk, but also one of the most deadly.
Following a comment that bordered upon ribaldry, but which fortunately we could not decipher, Cook clearly decided to act summarily based only upon her instinct left as vestige from former days spent at a WW2 prisoner of war camp in the center of Nottingham. She was chef there and because of this, no punishments ever needed to be meted out. Anyway, her instinct told her that if she did not act now, then some of these intellectually undernourished children would in later life become worse than ne'er do wells. She had the look of a large rock resting during the climb of a steep slope. The children had no chance really and maybe later, when they had recovered, they could retell in hushed tones of the fate that befell them this day. In fact, it is my belief that parents still to this day use Cook and what happened to strike fear into the hearts and in particular, minds, of any child daring to misbehave.
So it was that other than a flurry of dust and barely glimpsed dirty heels running for their lives, we had no trouble from the waterside urchins. The dog as ever, was torn between his affection of Lambert, which was manifested by snarls, growls and a deal of white rolled eyes and bared fangs, and his desire to leap overboard and swim to the yacht. Lambert on the other hand, was just torn. We made to port rail and I climbed aboard and went directly to the locker which contained the polish, handing it over to Lambert that he might erase the black shoe prints which always accompanied his fevered scramble aboard.
Looking up at the mast vane, I was reminded of my dream and concluded that it had also meant a Sou' westerly wind, about Force 5 in gusts, but more a level 3 to 4 in the main. This held true for the day and allowed efficient exfiltration from the trot and into the main channel, where I joined a flotilla of small craft intent on making the sea. Having loaded and fired my black widow with ball bearings of various sizes at many of the nearby yachtsmen, I was soon at the head of the line and rightly so. Whilst Cook repaired to the galley to begin preparing a tidy lunch, I had Lambert tail me on the main halyard while I hauled, watching for creases in the sail as she soared aloft. Unusually there appeared to be some small resistance today and so I redoubled my efforts to overcome this resistance and was gratified to see my efforts were not in vain, although I did notice the sail somehow just did not seem set right.
All became clear when I noticed the dogs rear legs running in air (gamely I might add) just below the boom, and on the other side of the sail. Ducking under the boom I looked up to see him caught by the front paws, and some of his head, in the 2nd reef halyard. He didnt look what I would term comfortable, but I judged him comfortable enough to belay until I had been below and retrieved my camera for a picture. I allowed Lambert the task of disentangling the beast rather than lowering the sail, since now we were gaining immense benefit from the wind and to drop the main would have meant losing way. Lambert too did not look comfortable reaching high and grappling with the dog entangled in all sorts of nautical ropery. I am glad to report that the dog was finally freed and energetically showed his affection for Lambert by chasing the screaming man around the foredeck for a good fifteen minutes before he tired and was able to corner him by the pulpit and savage his shins playfully.
Although Lamberts opinion differed from mine, I still maintain it was jolly good entertainment while I ate both mine and his lunch, due to him being already occupied. Such FUN!
Lizzie xx