I'm beginning to find my battle with water to be utterly amusing. I mean really, I should be steaming mad about it, but I think it's only a small show of what's yet to come. This evening after a dinner of rolls and mayonnaise tuna, I set about wondering what I could amuse myself with when the sun went down (I have no electricity). So there I was sitting in the dark eating my roll, and I had a cracking idea: Audio Books! I set about getting ready for bed, to lie down with Bertrand Russel's 'Religion and Science' crackling through my headphones. I was sure it would set the mood for the possibility of complex dreaming, and if not, maybe the enigma of two opposing systems of thought could be unleashed in the forward cabin of my Contessa 26. I moved into the forward cabin the night before, after finding a few small leaks dripping on my feet from the cockpit seats. Clearly the screws holding the teak down on the seats need a new lease of life, and are letting drips through. So I moved into the forward 'cabin' thinking it was dry and cosy up the front. When I say cabin, it sounds a little glamorous - It's more like one of those Japanese motels that are like decompression chambers. You couldn't sit up if you tried - You'd be lucky to get your head four inches off the pillow before meeting the 'ceiling'. It seemed like a good idea from a damp point of view, but alas, the other issue aside from space was that my feet were ever so slightly above my head, due to a minor incline towards the forepeak. I swear I could feel my heart pumping a tiny bit harder to circulate the blood. So here I am lying in a tiny bed with my feet higher than my head, practically breathing in the gel coat above me, thinking how wonderful all this boating business is. I miracuously slept through, and even quite enjoyed having the hatch just above my head, so as to to look at the rigging when I woke up.
But back to unravelling the mystery of Religion and Science - There I was (and I'm not embellishing this for literary reasons) climbing into bed on my second sojourn in the front cabin with Bertrand Russell playing over my headphones, only to find my sleeping bag completely and utterly wet through. As I had a torch in my mouth, I quickly moved around to see what the heck was going on, only to have it hit the ultra low roof, nearly knocking my teeth out and breaking the bulb. I had one leg in the wet sleeping bag, a broken torch in my mouth, and this rather poncy Cambridge voiceover babbling on about absolute and logical truths. I was just about to get angry, but then I couldn't help but laugh at the entire situation, because I really think its only the nano-tip of the iceberg. I mean really, by the time this escapade is over, nothing will ever suprise or annoy me, ever again.
Luckily for me though, I have a second sleeping bag from when I first came down to see Constellation, back in August. It's too thin for these British spring evenings, so the sailing pants I bought for the failed Sotogrande delivery have finally come in use - They were my pillow, but now they're keeping my legs warm, and maybe even dry if it rains again. Needless to say, I'm back to the bed where I started.
I've decided from now on, the only thing going in the front cabin ever again, will be my pet sea otter, Albert - I'll let him roam about up front, building dams.