More or less. One more weekend to go.
I'm off down south with Dad to join Petrella this evening. Weather is vicious on Sunday, but calm and quiet tomorrow, with the hope of a little sun.
So we may sail. Or we may not.
I have to admit, aside from the flesh wound to my index finger, my confidence took a bit of a battering from our last trip, when I made a complete hash of bringing her back into her berth and ended up perching her on the shoulder of our neighbour.
Small consolation that no real damage was done, even my finger healed in time for the next gig.
And the locals all consoled my by explaining that yes, the marina was particularly tight and an absolute peril (not the words they used) to come back to when the wind was in the west.
I still made a mess of it, and yes, that has me now double guessing myself.
There is nothing for it really, except to cast off and come back and cast off and come back and keep doing it until it's as natural to me as drinking water. She is my boat, she was my choice, and there's nobody else to take her helm.
Nor would I have it any other way.
So maybe we'll sail tomorrow. Maybe we won't. Something I've discovered, without somewhere in mind to go, it's all so terribly easy to find excuses why not to sail.
This is also the last weekend I have free between now and January to spend on the boat. I might be able to take a Monday or two off work in December if the opportunity presents, but the weather is going to close in soon. So between now and the end of the year, it's probably just the occasional Sunday day trip down to the boat and back.
Next year I am definitely going to be harder on myself when it comes to blocking space out of the diary and not booking gigs. it will have been 58 bookings this year, by the time we play New Years Eve. It hasn't let much time for sailing.
All this sounds vaguely bleak, but my mood isn't as black as it seems. Aside from gigs and work, it's been a fairly uneventful month. The twins are growing, five months old now and squealing, giggling and smiling at me when I walk into the room.
Lottie thrives. Though she was attacked in the park yesterday by a bull terrier type dog that was almost the same size as her. A misunderstanding over a ball. The other dog took her by surprise and pinned her to the ground but he had a pretty robust harness on, so I simply lifted him off by it and carried him spitting and snarling back to his quite distressed owner.
Our friends in the park, fellow dog walkers, looked on bemused, a little stunned by the shock of the whole thing. Lottie was ruffled, hackles raised and very vocal once she was back on her feet, but backed off and gave the other dog space when I told her to. She was slobbered, but escaped unhurt as I was close enough to grab the other guy before he properly latched on and things escalated. Everything resolved peacefully.
My fault for being incautious with a ball in proximity to a relatively unknown dog. Been a long time since I last had to intervene with squabbling dogs. It's certainly one way to get the adrenaline pumping. I really don't recommend it.
So, not counting whether or not I sail this weekend, that was the month's end. It began with the band playing a wedding gig. The bride was the daughter of friends and family; my brother-in-law's sister-in-law. I helped teach her and her brother to sail not so very long ago when they were both small, and gave their dad his first boat, an old Mk1 Gull that had been sitting in Dad's garden slowly turning green.
And, meanwhile, I have my own boat to sail. Once I can work the courage back up to take her off the dock.
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