Dad is recovering well, and seems very happy with his new bionic knee. He actually made it back out to his first gig again last Saturday. It should've been a balmy evening sat in a farmer's field, watching the band play on the back of a truck.
Of course, we're still in the midst of an English spring, and after a few weeks of sunshine and hot weather, on Saturday night the rain set in thick and hard just as we arrived to set up, and didn't relent until the gig ended, when the rain then cut off as if on cue.
We had to rely on a friendly local to tow the band's trailer out of the field with his pickup, then go back to tow the drummer's car out.
It was otherwise fun, although a bit nippy; my breath was steaming in the air as I sung. Dad was fine, we installed him on a camping chair in the bar tent where he comfortably spent the night out of the rain watching the band play.
I've now got to clean the mud off my kit in time for tomorrow night's gig.
Dad and I hope to get down to Petrella for the end of the month; it's a bank holiday weekend, so if the weather is kind and his knee suitably healed, we hope to make Fowey or Falmouth or both. It will be our first cruise of the year. In fact, between my health (which is now, happily, fully recovered) and his, it'll be our first since our last trip out to Salcombe last August.
So the first sail of this year is shockingly late. I quietly wonder if perhaps I should give up on the south coast and perhaps look for a boat that's a little smaller and easier to manage single-handed, and closer to home.
But I'll park that thought for now. Petrella and I are far from done. It's just been a frustrating eight or nine months.
