Day 7 (more..)
Cara of the South - Westward Ho!
Gary O'Grady
Sun 1 Dec 2024 16:11
When the world was made, I wish more colours had been used. Reds and gold, pastels and greens.
Everything is blue.
Look up. Blue.
Look over the side of the boat. Blue.
Until nightfall, when everything goes black. Very black.
Yet black and blue is rather appropriate for this environment. I am writing this at an angle of about 25 degrees, and the mouse is trying to escape constantly. Worse, much worse than the angle is the sea swell, which picks Cara up like a toy and spins her to the side as well as up and down. Without warning.
Humans measure distance in miles or kilometres. Sailors measure distance in nautical miles. I measure sea passages in bruises.
England to the Canary Islands was a 42-bruise voyage. Portugal to the Canaries, a mere 21-bruise trip. The Atlantic crossing is antcipated to be a 63-bruiser.
The problem is that I seem to be reaching that quota faster than that. Current estimates put this as being an astonishing 126-bruise passage.
When I go below, Cara hits me on the head on entering and leaving the dungeon. Sometimes I hit my head whilst I am sitting doing nothing. The door to the Throne room slams on my fingers several times a day, and the hatch cover, as you leave the Great Hall to go on deck, has an imprint of my head on it.
On deck, things are far worse. Gary, the Skipper (let's call him Skippy from now on) has a tendency to make me do any mast-related activity like hoisting or reefing a sail, whilst he remains in the cockpit, smoking his imaginary pipe, barking instructions and surveying his surroundings. On the way there and back, cleats and winches jump out at me, ropes whip my face and basically I seem to make direct contact with any hard or sharp object en route. And let's face it, there are no soft things on a boat.
Sunburn adds to the joy.
I'm ok. The things that hurt are only my neck and knees, my ankles and elbows. And my back, obviously. And my head, thanks to the dungeon. My wrists. Oh, my wrists! And my fingers and toes, which are receiving particularly frequent punishment.
Skippy seems unconcerned. I think he's up to mischief. Three times, he has given me a coffee with milk when I asked for black coffee with sugar. Three times! He's obviously got bored with making coffee and is making hints.
I shall go to the Narnia locker this evening and relax in the spa area, maybe have a sauna.
Because the most severe pain of all is in my ears. And that is from Skippy's jokes.