Afterlife

Apparently in ancient Egypt when they packed up mummies for the journey to the next life, they used to paint the heavens on the underneath of the coffin lid so the occupier could navigate his way to the Gods. And so equipped with these aspirations it must have come as a quite shock to wind up in Bloomsbury, at the British Museum, on display. and even worse, next to the "Australian art exhibit" from circa 1973. But thats what happened to one mummy called Nesperennub, whom I would imagine was probably called "Nubs" for short.
And I was thinking about this as I wound up in a place I didn't want to be either earlier this evening. Specifically that was Hayling Bar, upside down, mast smashing on the bottom, my trusty Velocitek speed puck missing and a ripped tramp giving birth to a soon to be set free bladder. And that happened largely because I tried to race a trimaran who was on his way to Cowes for the RTI race which starts at an unearthly hour tomorrow.
Worse still my hand, courtesy of falling off my scary as shit but totally mesmerising fixed wheel road bike, is broken and if you will forgive me, hurts like fuck, and is now swollen in the same way Nub's hand probably isn't.
And so now I'm Velocitekless (new word), with my hand holding a tub of Häagen-Dazs that I would rather eat, and a windy forecast tomorrow. However things aren't all bad, because in the other hand I have a rather nice glass of Argentinean Malbec and this is replacing the Ibruprofen that latterly I've decided I've had too much of.

And so given the above I wasn't feeling best placed to give the nicest guy I've never met Arjan de Lange advice on travelling downwind at Travamunde, an event he's already at and one which I haven't even entered yet. Still I will and I will have a bloody good time.

But tomorrow is another day, and its not too long until the Zhik UK National Championships and then the Nordea Moth European Championships are upon us so some more time in the boat and please, the right way up this time...


S