Wednesday, 21 May 2025

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.

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