Homeward Bound

We made another incorrect decision yesterday. Well, I say we, but it was George’s decision not to sail in the morning. The wind looked reasonable (if a little gusty), and I was keen to go out, but George was concerned for his own safety and in the end, opted not to go. We went up to watch the start of the race and it all looked perfectly manageable; nobody was struggling. We were heartily sick when we realized this, as this had been our last opportunity to sail because today we have to pack up and leave.

I can’t say I’m sorry to be coming home. This place is ruinously expensive for a start, and if you’re not sailing, there’s very little else to do. Then there are the evenings when, after eating out in one of the dozens of over-priced eateries, we invariably wash up at the yacht club with the rest of the gang (there are hundreds of us here, specifically for this week-long event). There’s a limit to the number of occasions when you can chew the fat over that day’s racing without insane boredom setting in. It gets rather wearing to listen to tales of how Sailor A gybed two hundred yards earlier than Sailor B, thereby gaining some miniscule advantage that caused Sailor A to win the race; or how Sailor C flew his kite on the Townside rather than on the Mill Bay side of the estuary which gave him such a lift that there was no way Sailor D was going to catch him. Yawn yawn, I say.

So, today I am homeward bound and at last will get some phone coverage. It’s been frustrating, yet strangely liberating, to be out of telephone contact for a whole week. It is a universal truth that a man in possession of a mobile phone will forever be in search of a good signal but alas, dear reader, I couldn’t find one. I don’t need to remind you that all of us are too dependent on our little hand-held communication devices, and if a lesson has been learned this week, it’s that I didn’t die without mine. I still live and breathe.

I did have a little drama of my own this morning. I went out onto our balcony to discover that a massive seagull had become trapped between the table and the clear glass screen that serves as the barrier on the far side. The poor thing was bashing itself against the glass and seemed to be weakening pitiably, unable to achieve the sufficient wingspan required for despatch. I thought that I’d have to pick it up to release it from its torment but instead, I simply moved the table and scared the damn thing into flight. However, it only made it a few feet to the gabled roof and sat there, gathering itself and staring at me indignantly. The irony is that in view of the fact that he and his one million compatriots in this town have been keeping me awake half the night, every night, I should really have strangled him. Anyone who knows me, however, will know that I am a man of compassion and mindfulness and therefore, such an act would have been impossible.

A couple of days longer without my mobile phone though, and the story might have ended differently.

See you soon.