Petrella: Plymouth to Fowey & back

Dad and I got to the the boat Friday evening, my having left work a little early. The trip down wasn't the smoothest, sat in traffic on the motorway for about an hour, but that's the risk you take when you keep your boat two and a half hours down the motorway. Sometimes two and a half turns into a Friday night three and a half.

On arrival, we delayed loading onto the boat and instead walked into the Barbican to find supper. Dad's mobility is definitely improving. He still needed his stick, but seemed to manage the walk there and back easily.

Our favourite Italian, Trattoria Capri, seemed a little crowded with some sort of party, so we moved on to our other favourite The Village, who told us they could squeeze us in if we came back in half an hour. So we retired to the nearby Dolphin Inn to wait it out with a pint of IPA each, before returning to the Village a while later for a supper of grilled prawns.

Saturday 21st June 2025: Plymouth to Fowey
(22.6 nautical miles, 3 hours 24 minutes underway)

LW Plymouth 0827 1.6m
HW Plymouth 1439 4.7m (HW Fowey 1427)
Tide fair west till 1130

Forecast E 5kts (gusting 14 later & backing NW) 

0900 Dept QAB

0920 Main up, motor-sailing, v. light wind

0930 Cawsands to starboard
198° 6.7kn SOG (5.7 through the water) 2.8nm
Overcast but lifting, light showers, sea slight

1030 278° 7.0kn (5.5) 9.6nm; Seaton slightly forward of starboard
Crossing Whitsand Bay, sky clearing, wind 3.6kts NW

1130 276° 6.8kn (5.8) 17.4nm; Polperro to starboard
wind 5kts N, motor-sailing under main, occasional rumble of thunder & spots of rain

1224 Picked up blue visitor's buoy, Fowey
last hour saw an absolute deluge of rain. But sun is now shining
22.6nm

Leaving the berth went without hitch. The neighbouring berth was empty and, along with such light conditions, you'd therefore think you could take as read, but the last time I tried to take her out in almost the same circumstances, I miscalculated and had a couple of folks running in panic to fend us off whilst I pirouetted though a 720° in the fairway. We didn't touch anything, but it was a little embarrassing.

So I took things conservatively. Held her gently ahead on the mid-ship's spring whilst Dad slipped the bowline, then slipped my spring and gave her a firm nudge astern to get water flowing over the rudder, before re-engaging gently astern and swinging to port in favour of the prop-walk to take her out down the fairway in reverse. 

As always, there wasn't enough width in the fairway to do even that in one, so as our stern approached the row of boats on the opposite pontoon, I gave her a burst ahead to arrest the sternway, then a bit more forward, a bit more astern, before we were finally lined up to reverse out towards open water.

The whole process still leaves my heart in my mouth.

Out into the Sound, with nothing more than a couple of knots of apparent wind dead on the nose, I hoisted the mainsail for the sake of form, but otherwise resigned ourselves to playing motorboats for the duration of the rest of the passage.

The new HonWave tender was lashed to the foredeck, fitting just ahead of the babystay, but still giving Dad enough room to work on the bow. It's not ideal, and I want to find some method to hang her off the transom, but it works for now. Because of the aluminium floor, inflating and deflating the thing is a bit of a trial, and really needs a flat surface to work on. So the plan is to keep it inflated, hung astern when on passage, and strapped to the foredeck whilst not in use.

I did, however, manage to inflate the thing on the foredeck, so at least I know that it is an option if I ever find myself needing to without the benefit of sitting alongside a pontoon.

Passing a large cruise ship "Crystal Serenity" at anchor in the Sound, we left through the western entrance, the morning lovely and the air still warm from the lingering heatwave the country had been enjoying during the week previous, albeit the air now had a heavy, slightly thundery feel to it.

The slight sea was glassy as we slipped past the lighthouse on the western end of the breakwater, Dad at the helm. There's always a feeling of liberation when we pass that light on our way out, even if it's accompanied by the low hum of the engine because there's no wind.

It's June; it's quite hard to believe this is the first time this year we've got Petrella out and away. I feel a little like I've been letting the side down. Of course, that side is entirely me. Dad has made it very clear time and again that, much as he loves the trips we make, he's just as happy to sit on the boat in the marina and enjoy her. 

I feel like we've done more than enough of that.

Within an hour and a half, making 7 knots over the ground with a fair tide, we'd passed Rame Head and were crossing Whitsand Bay. The wind remained all but absent, but the sky seemed to be clearing.

Apart from passing a Westerly Griffon making her way slowly west, under headsail and main but, from the occasional splash of exhaust, clearly motor-sailing like us, a small cargo ship (or possibly a dredger) passed us coming the other way, inbound to Plymouth. We were otherwise alone.

The sea seemed quite barren of life; a solitary gannet soared past us, elegantly gliding just above the water, but otherwise very few birds, and sadly no sight of dolphins. It was to be the same the following day on our return. Perhaps it's just that time of year, or the heat of the previous week.

A while later, off Polperro, the sky darkened and we heard the occasional low, lazy roll of thunder, although there was no visible lightning or accompanying squall.

But did the rain come down. A sudden deluge of heavy drops bucketing from the sky. We quickly pulled the sprayhood up to cover the companionway, and Dad retreated below decks with his book, leaving me to stand watch. It lasted for about twenty minutes, before the sky cleared to blue, leaving the sun gloriously shining as we turned into the mouth the river and Fowey Harbour.

The harbour was quiet; the harbour master was quick to answer our call over the VHF, and gave us the choice of pontoon or swinging mooring. We opted for one of the blue visitor buoys close on the Polruan shore, approaching it gently into both incoming tide and gentle wind, and Dad all but picked it up in one with his magic boathook. 

Secure on the mooring, we winched the tender up off the foredeck and into the water, and fitted the outboard. As hoped, it proved very dry and very stable as we made our way to land over at Fowey town.

A pint in the Gallants sailing club to say hello to our friend Paula, sat out on the veranda watching the afternoon racing start; I could see our friends Andy and Suzy rigging their Fowey River to join the race. We then dropped into The Lugger to book a table for two for later, before grabbing a couple of Cornish pasties for lunch and heading back to the boat.

Distressingly, I had absolutely no mobile signal or network connection on my phone. This used to be pretty normal for Cornwall, but not for the last fifteen years or so. After lunch, I left Dad on the boat and went back ashore to climb to the top of the town in an attempt to find signal, but with no joy.

It was a pleasure walking around the town unsupervised for a couple of hours on my own, however. That happens so rarely, I sometime forget I actually enjoy my own company.

Supper was a pleasant affair, the pub, like the whole town, seemed quiet. I had a crab salad whilst Dad, still sated from the lunchtime pasty, contented himself with a baked potato and prawn salad. On the way back to the boat, by happy chance, we bumped into our friends Suzy and Andy in the street. They'd been keeping an eye out for us, but as the whole town was, apparently, without mobile or network signal, they'd had no way of getting in touch.

Suzy mentioned she'd kept a watch out for our black tender whilst they'd been out on the water; of course, we now have a new, very not black HonWave for transport.

Sunday 22nd June 2025: Fowey to Plymouth
(24.1 nautical miles, 4 hours 27 minutes underway)

LW Plymouth 0937 1.5m
HW Plymouth 1545 4.8m
Tide foul east till 1230

Forecast SW 9kts (gusting 21); up to 25kts by the afternoon

0555 Dept Fowey

0615 Sails up, engine off; wind 8.5kts SW
Clouded sky, slight swell
105° 4.0kn (2.2) 1.7nm; Polruan to port

0700 100° 6.3kn (4.8) 5.8nm; Polperro to port
wind 12-15kts SW, broad reach on starboard, full sail

0802 091° 6.4kn (5.7) 12.1nm; Seaton to port
wind 16-18kts SW

0955 Arrived Plymouth Sound via Eastern Entrance to avoid dredger entering through the west; sails down, engine on

1022 Alongside QAB
24.1nm

Perhaps predictably, after the glorious warmth and sunshine of the last week in the office, it was all forecast to fall apart for the weekend, with heavy weather due in late Sunday and set to stay rough until it all calms down again next Wednesday.

The forecast for Sunday suggested it could be blowing up to 25 knots by the afternoon, but calmer in the morning, so despite the foul tide, we decided we'd leave early in the morning to beat the weather back.

Slipping the mooring was a simple affair, and we motored through the mooring field and out towards the mouth of the harbour in calm conditions and the gentle morning light. I hoisted the main up whilst still in the shelter of the harbour. I considered leaving a reef in, despite the morning calm, knowing conditions were forecast to strengthen; there's little less comfortable than leaving it late to put a reef in because you're reaching downwind so haven't noticed quite how much the wind has built up behind you.

Well, actually, there's plenty less comfortable, I exaggerate for the sake of illustration. But everything is relative.

I elected not to. The morning was still calm, and I wanted to make best speed ahead of the weather so we'd still have a relatively comfortable arrival back in Plymouth. 

Just out of the mouth of the harbour with about eight and a half knots of apparent wind on our starboard shoulder, I unfurled the headsail and stilled the engine under the rocky cliffs fronting the seaward side of Polruan. The sea was still slight, the occasional rolling swell lifting us as it pushed in from the southwest, the cloud-shrouded sky grey and broken above us. Petrella settled out on a broad reach setting east and making just over 4 knots over the ground under full sail.

It felt very, very good to be under sail again, and heading for a harbour, even if that harbour was home. I think sailing is all about the journey rather than the destination, but I also think you do need a destination so as to define the journey.

A single yacht, a lovely Malo 36, followed us out of the harbour and, setting sail, soon overhauled us, slowly edging into the distance.

The sun gradually climbed out of the east, setting a dramatic light in the glowering sky over distant Rame Head. By the time we were off Polperro, the wind had built to 12 knots, gusting to 15, but holding steady in direction, making for a comfortable broad reach. The sea was beginning to get a little bumpy, with the occasional white horses cresting the swell pushing into us and rolling us from astern.

I was struck by how much more comfortably Petrella handled these conditions and this point of sail, compared to Calstar. Although I've no regrets, there have been moments over the last couple of years when I've missed the old Westerly, particularly her much more manageable 8 meters of length. 

This was not one of them.

Petrella rode the seas beautifully. By the time we were across Whitsand and approaching Rame Head we were seeing 18 knots, occasionally 20, white horses standing in ranks windward and leeward of us, and the water around the headland getting a little boisterous with the foul (albeit neap) tide set against the wind.

Closing the western entrance to the Sound, we could see a 90m dredger closing in at a fair pace from astern, making for the same gap. The wind was now a steady 20 knots and the swell outside the entrance touching a couple of meters and occasionally breaking under us. Rather than get into any conflict with the dredger, I decided to stand on for the eastern entrance instead, and enter the Sound there.

An unnecessarily cautious decision, but short handed and aware of the tender lashed on our foredeck, I didn't see the point in complicating things for the sake of a couple of miles and, perhaps, twenty more minutes at sea.

I was careful with the gybe, conscious of the jib sheets getting caught under the tender, but it went smoothly, although I perhaps called it a little early, having to sail deep, almost risking by the lee, to clear the rocks at the eastern end of the breakwater.

Once inside the Sound the sea immediately smoothed and the western shoreline gave shelter from the worst excesses of the wind. We started the engine, turned into it and doused the sails, then set the lines and fenders and headed for the marina.

It was sheltered but blustery, with a querulous crosswind blowing down the fairway. We had a new neighbour, a powerboat, in the berth next to ours so I was careful turning in, but definite on the throttle to try and kick the bow around into the wind. It took a bit of manoeuvring fore and astern to get her lined up, and I overshot again, albeit by just a little and easily corrected.

Lined up, I motored her firmly into her berth then brought her to a stop, making absolutely certain the way had come off and the throttle was in neutral before I left the helm to snag the mid-ships spring.

I had it secured and Petrella gently motoring against it to hold her in against the pontoon finger before Dad had the bowline hooked through the forward cleat with his magic boathook.

Perhaps more luck than judgement, but that's really as good as it gets.

We secured her lines, then retired to the marina bar for a late breakfast.

The weather properly blew in that afternoon, with ranks of serried whitecaps marking across the Sound. A few yachts were out enjoying it, but I felt quite vindicated in choosing our early morning departure to avoid the worst of it.

I have a couple of weekends full of gigs ahead of me now. Despite promising myself I'd be a little more conservative with the bookings this year, the diary still counts 56 for the year in total. And the day-job has just delayed a week off I had planned for July into early August. 

But a little luck, wife and weather permitting, we should still have another weekend away with the boat in three weeks time.

all strung out

Or rather. guitars all restrung. Time to get changed then on the road. Gig in Bristol tonight, but have the rest of the weekend off. Heading down to Plymouth Sunday afternoon, relaunch Petrella 0800 Monday morning.

flaked sails and flapper wheels

Dad and I are heading down to the boat tomorrow for the day. It will be interesting to see what the guys have achieved from the list of things we've asked for, and I have the anodes to change (we had to order one of the two in as it wasn't in stock last Monday at the chandlery) and Dad wants to finish cleaning off the prop.

He made a start on it Monday, but the Dremel he was using proved itself not man enough for the job, so he's going to bring a bigger power-tool with him tomorrow and what I think he told me was a "flapper wheel", which sounds like fun.

We won't stay the night (technically, we're not actually allowed to when she's on the hard), but assuming all is going to schedule, we only need the one trip down this weekend so we can head home Saturday evening and I can go race around the cans with Amanda at the lake on Sunday.

A quite sensible requirement for having your boat lifted out and stored on the hard at QAB is that you take the headsail down and, except for the sprayhood, which can be lowered, any other cockpit canvas, which in our case includes the cockpit tent.

The latter was easy, of course, and we did it on arriving at the boat on Sunday evening before retiring to the pub for supper. I'd originally planned to take the headsail down at the same time, but, typically, Sunday evening had the wind gusting in at up to twenty knots from the southwest. Which, where we're berthed, brings it in over the aft port shoulder of Petrella. Awkward for manually handing the headsail of a 36' yacht, and potentially dangerous if doing so single-handed.

Conveniently, the wind was forecast to drop significantly and veer into the north at around 0100 and stay there until mid-morning. The neap tide meant our lift out wasn't due until 1200 on Monday, so there would be plenty of time in the morning to drop and store the headsail.

I found marina flat calm when I crawled out of my bunk at 0630 and climbed topsides. There was the barest whisper of a breeze drifting in over the bow of the boat; perfect conditions. The sail was stiff in its track on the forestay, but with a bit of brute-force persuasion to assist the natural inclinations of gravity, it was easy enough to drop the sail to the deck.

Tidying up such a sea of canvas so that it goes back up again painlessly was a different matter altogether though. Dad's mobility is slowly improving, benefit of regular gym sessions and, apparently, water aerobics, but he's still not at the point where he could really help with flaking the sail. Last year, I tried, then accepted what seemed like my inevitable defeat and bundled the sail into a trolly and took it off to the local sailmakers to be laundered. It came back beautifully folded.

This year I resolved to do better. I stretched it out along the top of Petrella, and after initially leaving the tack attached to the furler in an attempt to keep some tension in the foot, released it, and (here's the key) instead used one of Dad's tool boxes as a handy weight to hold each fold in place at the bow as I flaked the sail along its luff then worked down the foot of it to stretch out the folds.

After which, starting from the clew, I folded the flaked sail up along its length, and then temporarily rolled the folded package up to make it easy to move it below to the forecabin where I released the sail-tie to let the flaked and folded sail lie flat on the bunk until it's time to bend it back onto the forestay again.

I know it's a trivial thing, and it's a given that a sailor should be able to flake and fold his own sails. But I found myself inordinately proud of my efforts.

Hard times

Beached, Petrella is back on the hard for her annual TLC. Think I need to break the cycle of losing two weeks of the summer, bite the bullet and arrange to drag her out again for next January; it'll only have been six months in the water, but if I scrub off her bottom and change the anodes, that'll move her annual maintenance period back into deep winter, when we hardly ever get to sail anyway.

That said, the weather for the next week looks pretty grim, particularly for next weekend, which is shaping up to be wet and wild. And is, of course, the weekend I've booked off from the band to spend working on the boat.

Though we've got help. We booked some time with a local company, Fast Tack, for them to do most of the work for me. The copper coat just needs a light burnish, there are a few patches of anti-foul that the copper coat doesn't cover that need renewing, and the domestic water pump has failed and needs replacing.

In addition, they're going to install shroud gates on port and starboard, to make it easier for Dad, Nik and Lottie to get on and off. This will involve Kevin (one half of the afore mentioned Fast Tack) bracing the couple of stanchions nearest the shrouds on each side to strengthen them and adding quick release clips to the guard rails.

I've long been contemplating adding davits to the stern for the tender. Our new tender, a 2.5m Honwave, has an aluminium floor and is quite heavy at 45kg. The weight isn't really the problem, and I've got a good battery powered pump to inflate and deflate it, but fitting the floor is an absolute bind if you don't have a flat surface, like a pontoon, to work on. There aren't that many flat surfaces aboard Petrella.

The weight was an intentional choice. I'm hoping the additional stability it'll offer will make life much easier to ferry Dad and Nik and, potentially, Lotty between ship and shore.

However, talking with Kevin and Martin (Fast Tack in its entirety) this Sunday just gone, we've got misgivings regarding the complications involved in fitting davits to the stern of Petrella. All the obvious complications of suspending 50kg of rubber and aluminium off the stern of a 46 year old boat and hoping things won't break.

Kevin suggested a possible alternative might be weaver davits, which essentially flip the tender up to hang vertically on it's side across the stern of the boat. Conventionally, that can involve needing to fit hardware to the transom, but with the strength of our aft cleats and the position of their fairleads, he thinks we might be able to set up a system that achieves the same with webbing straps. We'll take a close look at the possibility once Petrella is back on the water.

Pulling her out of the water went smoothly. Maneuvering her in the tight confines of the marina still puts my heart in my throat. It essentially takes a three point turn using the prop wash to assist to get her out of her berth and into the fairway before then motoring astern out into clear water. Once out of the fairway, however, it was a two minute motor around to the back of the marina to reach the slip, after which the banksmen in the marina's yard took over the handling and my part was done.

Happily, the copper coat, now eleven years old, is holding up well. The year's growth on it didn't amount to much more than a layer of slime, easily hosed off with the jet-wash. A light burnish and it should be a good for another year.

We relaunch Monday 16th. Then I'm really, really hoping chance and the weather play ball for a long overdue shake-down cruise to Fowey and back the following weekend.

the futility of complaint

This is just typical, and this more an irritated metaphorical roll of the eyes than a complaint. The weather was perfect last weekend. Remains perfect now and pretty much remains so until this weekend coming, when I'm finally gig-free and able to get down to the boat. I'd hoped to make a trip out to Fowey and back with Dad and Nikki.

At which point we have gusts of up to 30 knots coming through by Sunday and 2m waves. Petrella could cope with that, I'm sure. I'm not sure Dad and Nik would want to, however.

Still a few days ahead, so maybe it'll mitigate as the weekend closes in. Could, possibly, sail to Fowey on the Saturday, shelter there through the worst of it Sunday, then back to Plymouth Monday. But it doesn't take much to change before that all gets potentially very messy.

Perhaps I'm being too cautious? I'm very conscious that, despite getting down to the boat every couple of weeks or so, we've not actually managed to get her out of her berth since September last year, which feels like an awful waste.

This does sound like I'm complaining. Which, of course, is futile. The only person that can fix this situation is me.

Of happy news and other things

So the weekend went to plan, with just one happy little surprise thrown in.

Had Friday evening off, and sat out in my garden in the sunshine to restring my guitar and annoy my neighbours. You might think the sound of a guitar gently strumming coming from your neighbours' garden on an early summer's evening might be a pleasant thing. I guess the trouble is, as with anything that needs practice, practice involves repetition. 

So I try not to indulge too often, and am conscious to keep the repetition to a minimum. And nobody has yet complained. But it's too nice not to sit out in the sun on a sunny evening, and the house gets just a little too noisy at times. In nothing but a good way and I have no complaints. But being able to find a quiet corner in the garden in the sun with my guitar is a pleasant escape. I am not, by nature, a gregarious soul, so I like my own space occasionally.

The clip above is a version of Hotel California from Friday night. Still a bit rough around the edges, but got the words in, more or less, the right order. Always been fond of the song, never worked out a version to play with the band, but it remains an ambition and therefore a work in progress.

Saturday night's gig was excellent fun. Lots of faces in a packed house, some new, many we've known now for years, in some cases, decades, so count as good friends. It was a late one, home for about 0200, in bed for about 0330. 

Then back up for 0830 Sunday morning to get to the Club to meet Amanda and rig the Albacore a little before 1000. Didn't get time for my morning cup of tea, so dropped in at Nik's shop to say good morning (she'd been up to open at 0700) and grab bottle of Lipton iced tea and a bag of crips on the way out (the breakfast of champions! - that is, by the way, an ironic exclamation mark) plus a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle for lunch later. 

Don't say I don't know how to treat myself. Yep, more irony.

We replaced the Albacore's main halyard which slowed preparations down a little, so were last off the beach and barely made the start-line on the other side of the lake with seconds to spare.

Wind was light, at around 6 knots from north of north east, but very variable in direction and some surprisingly blustery gusts occasionally blowing through to keep everybody on their toes. The sky was very thermic, with little puffs of cumulus blossoming and fading above in the otherwise blue heavens. The sun was warm, but the wind still had a bit of a chill, as it almost always does when there's any east in it.

We sailed the two morning races together, with indifferent results despite two very good starts. Win some, lose some I guess. It was still a lovely morning to be out on the water.

I remained at the club for the afternoon, taking my turn manning the safety boat for the pursuit race. It was an uneventful duty, the wind stayed fluky, but dropped off even further, leaving the boats racing occasionally motionless on the flat water.

I'd originally been scheduled to run the safety boat for Saturday afternoon, but had done a last minute swap with somebody else when Nikki reminded me that we'd agreed to go out to lunch with Ben and Hannah. Ben's the eldest of my two boys, and lives with his wife in Bristol. They're teachers, so we don't see nearly enough of them during term time. 

It seemed a little odd for Ben to arrange a family get together, but he'd explained he'd missed seeing his grandad (my father-in-law) on his birthday because of work, so this was just a chance to remedy that. So Saturday afternoon saw Nik and I sitting down to lunch at Hickory's Smokehouse with Ben and Hannah, along with our daughter Tash and the twins Harry and Charlie, my in-laws Lil and Harry, and, of course, my Dad. Only my youngest, Sam, was missing, as he couldn't rearrange his shift at work. Such are the hardships of working in retail.

It was a lovely lunch, lovely company, and not long into it Ben and Hannah revealed the true reason for the gathering. It seems Nikki and I are going to be grandparents again, with the new baby, Ben and Hannah's first, expected for the beginning of November.

It almost feels redundant to say it, but I'm going to type it anyway, we're all completely delighted.

Hotdogs

The mid-week evening racing season is now well underway at the lake, and this Wednesday just gone, it's very much beginning to feel like summer.

Amanda and I have more or less switched back to racing the Albacore together on those Sundays we're both around, and racing our own Lasers mid-week, with the caveat that if there's more wind that Amanda is happy dealing with single-handed, we can always get the Albacore out instead.

It was a good turnout this week, with twenty-nine boats out on the start-line, including nine Lasers in our own fleet. Amanda finished a very credible 6th place out of the nine, and I managed to take 1st, albeit after a fair bit of work having to make amends for a disastrous start (about 15 seconds late crossing the line, which is a lifetime as far as these things are concerned) and half a race trying to pass and then shake off one of the Club's most talented youngsters in his Radial.

The 8 knots or so of wind we enjoyed was enough to keep us moving throughout, with the occasional gust to tease us. It was exceptionally shifty, as it always is when it's from the east. For most of this year so far we seem to have been stuck with easterlies, as opposed to the usual prevailing south-westerlies we usually enjoy on this side of the country.

At least now summer's drawing close, the easterlies have lost their biting chill; Wednesday evening was a vary balmy, very welcome 20°c, and the warmth has so far continued through the rest of the week.

A typically busy weekend ahead. I should have time for my usual hour of karate Saturday morning, then out for lunch at a restaurant with the family; ten of us in total, including my dad and my mother and father in law, only my youngest can't make it because he'll be at work.

Then I head down to Bristol for Saturday night's gig. One of my favourite venues, The Railway Tavern, is should be great fun, but will be a late night. A midnight finish should see me home a little before 2am, and in bed an hour later.

A few hours sleep, then out to meet Amanda at the lake for 10am Sunday, to rig the Albacore for the morning's racing. The wind should still be annoyingly in the north east and similar to what we had on Wednesday evening, but at least it should still be warm and sunny.

Which is a good thing, as I switch from sail to powerboat in the afternoon, and take my turn running the safety boat cover in the Club's RIB for the Sunday afternoon race. Running the safety boat in a howling gale with boats toppling over like skittles is always fun, but if I can't have that, give me moored to the buoy in the middle of the lake, lazily basking in the warm sun and watching the sail boats gently drift about without mishap is my preferred second option.

On the domestic front, the little wrigglers are thriving, and beginning to get very chatty. The following clip was a conversation with Charlie, earlier this week.