"Why are you making so much noise?"
"I'm trying to get a barrel of beer upstairs"...
"Have you won one?"
"No, I've drunk one.."
Was how Sunday started.
But Saturday was awsome sailing, an empty harbour with too many boats that put an emphysis on boat handing. Like a hedgehog trying to cross the M25 I darted this way and that, keeping out of everyones way. The moon was leaving again and it confused the sea, making its spirits wobbled as the hurt became too great. It made liquid cliffs and holes to fall into and and through this wildest tantrum I told it I still loved it. The boat was magical, offering me a glimpse of true control in a Jonathan Seagull kind of way.
Anway on Sunday I had to get into the boat, It was the only way to stay alive after the party the night before, and out in the bay, caught in the middle of a fight between the north and south breezes, I trained with Mike Lennon. I was please with my speed, and going downwind for the first time really I was able to get to block to block on the main sheet, hiked hard, so fast....