Monday 25th June '12

It's 20:00 hrs on Monday 25th and they are still in Audierne.....

And so are about 15 other yachts all waiting for a weather window so they can head south.  Here is the story from the weekend:

At 10:12 hrs on Saturday 23rd The Kipper wrote:

'Just seen the latest forecast, S Biscay SW8 soon.  Whilst it's difficult to sit here, probably the right decision, maybe...'

The Kipper and his merry crew-of-two stepped ashore that evening and caught up on some beer drinking and no doubt stretched those little legs.  By 19:43 hrs they were back onboard:

'We are sitting on the mooring bouncing around as the wind builds.  Had dinner and now having discussions about the meaning of life'

Not bad for quarter to eight in the evening - conversations like that are usually had after several large whiskies in the late hours of the evening and are generally followed by

"I dunno but I f*&$king love you brother/mate/man" (delete as appliacable)

By Sunday 24th at 09:04 hrs The Kipper wrote:

'Weather, W5-6 increasing 7 before dropping off.  Very low cloud, can't see the shore.  Hope all improves tomorrow so we can set off about 0600hrs. Please!!!!'

Is that the sad sound of desperation I can hear creeping into those text?   It was about now that The Scribe began to feel thankful to the God of Fate for keeping her shoreside - I mean France is all very well but it was supposed to be a sailing holiday. 

Monday 25th - 07:25 hrs

'Morning, just to keep you updated, was due to leave for Spain at 06:00 hrs, now have thick fog, can't see a 100 metres!  As soon as it clears we will be off.  Hope it's today, beginning to think the canals would be a good alternative!'

As The Scribe had not heard anything by 14:57 hrs she sent a little text to find out if they were well on their way.  She received the following reply:

'Only round the bend! Fog is playing with us, one minute 1/4 mile vis then 1-2 miles and back again just as quickly. Arrrrrrgggggggg.....'

He quickly followed with  'No fights yet either...'

Now.  The Scribe finds it somewhat difficult to believe that after this amount of time stuck in port when one is itching to get going in search of sunshine and the warmer waters of the south, that there hasn't been so much as a crossed word, a raised eyebrow or a sideways glance.  Clearly, The Kipper isn't being Kipperly enough and ruling the crew (now known as scabby dogs) with that rod of iron.  The Scribe pointed out that Rule 9 of the Kipperly code states:

The Kipper will at some point make the crew unhappy by being picky, irritating and creative when it comes to finding jobs for the crew in order to keep them pointlessly entertained. 

Idle hands and all that.  The Kipper promised that he would try to work on that and suggested that the water line needed a clean.  A jolly good start but The Scribe humbly suggested the bottlescrews might also need a clean and a toothbrush is the ideal implement for that little job.  The Scribe was a little taken aback by the speed in which he recovered because the next message said that he was G&T in hand while the scabby dogs were in the water presumably armed with the necessary cleaning products for the waterline...or maybe they just went for a swim with a bar of soap.  The Scribe now has visions....steady girls, not that kind of vision... of Petra being transformed into a pirate ship with Bobbie D sporting a parrot on his shoulder, Steve a rather fetching eyepatch and The Kipper strutting around in a big hat calling himself Captain Barbossa and looking longingly at a big green apple. Sentences will be littered with cries of 'Arrrr ship mates', 'scurvy dogs' and 'that'll be a pint of grog and make no mistake about it'. 

The Scribe sincerely hopes they get a break in the weather because she fears for their sanity if they remain there much longer.    At one point she thought she could hear the sound of the outboard springing into life as the crew-of-two made a break for it but The Kipper reported that there isn't any fuel in the tank.  And he actually wrote the words, 'That's scuppered them...'

The Scribe thought it best to advise him to check his food before eating it - it wouldn't be the first time a crew has put sleeping tablets in their Kipper's porridge.

By 16:01 hrs The Kipper had admitted defeat for the day:
'Given up for the day, another try tomorrow'. 

Poor dears, I sincerely hope the weather gives them a break soon. In the mean time Julie and The Scribe are making plans to meet up for lunch, coffee, chat etc and of course, we will be both be wearing our harbour-wall cloaks with perfect hair and make-up...

...And then The Scribe woke up!!!