Being the crew's general ruminations and reflections upon adventures and everyday occurences encountered by the intrepid protagonist between Madeira a
Yacht Ariel
Henry Adams
Sun 4 Nov 2007 17:37
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(Position - 28:07.6N, 15:25.58W)
Greetings,
As the sharper among you may be able to tell from
the general register of this piece, I feel my writing style has been greatly
influenced by my recent reading, namely that wonderful work, The Pickwick
Papers. I apologise not at all for any minor inconveniences this change in
regeister may bring you as they are as nothing to the benefits this change will
confer upon the level of your language.
Anyway, the crew feels slightly guilty for the
recent lack of entries made, which has two explanations: firstly, the evil
skipper (he as has been mentioned before) has been hogging the use of the
computer and secondly, the general apathy and laziness of the crew while at sea.
It therefore falls to my lot to explain all that has befallen your hero since
the car-borne adventure around the wine island of Madeira. We left last Monday
for the Ilhas Desertas, which although only 15 or so miles distant from Madeira,
very much live up to their name, barring, of course, the two charmingly helpful
island keepers, whose main responsibilities seem to be to wear very short shorts
and round up baby goats (don't ask - a very long and peculiar story, which
I doubt my readership would deign to credit). Said island keepers were also very
helpful when it came to producing paperwork with which we could sign away our
lives - specifically, that if we fell from the cliffs while climbing the steep
mountain path, it was our own fault and nothing to do with the guardians of the
rocks. I was warned against the wearing of my deck shoes, but they being the
most grippy shoes I had and your hero making merry in the face of adversity
I persisted. The aforementioned climb was very, very very steep as I trust
attached photos will attest. The aim of this climb, though ostensibly because
'it was there' was really for the evil skipper to take photos of a harbour (woo
hoo), for the benefit of his secret girlfriend, Anne Hammick, editor of the
Atlantic Islands Pilot guide. The evil skipper seems to see it as his duty to do
anything Anne bids (and much she doesn't) in the hope of earning just a
modicum of favour. This, apparently, includes the scaling of 500m sheer cliffs.
The crew was not amused and felt cheap at having been used as an
unwitting helper in the evil skipper's apalling love trysts. Anyway, we
left the scene of this degrading and apalling abuse of the crew's trust at 5am
in the morning and headed for the Ilhas Selvagems.
After the (I have to admit it, after being forced
to admire their beauty from on high) impressive Desertas, the Selvagems were a
bit of a disappointment, especially after the build up they had been given by
the lovers, evil skipper and Anne in conjunction. It was rather like discovering
that your beautiful Regency bureau (Desertas) has been replaced with an Ikea
coffee table - both in scale and beauty, the Ilhas Selvagems were a bit of a
downgrade. Consequently, the crew didn't even bother to get off the boat here,
but contented himself with providing two more fantastic pasta-based meals
(especially amazing considering the single wish of every piece of fresh fruit
and veg on the boat to rot) and watching Hot Fuzz.
You find your budding hero now ensconced in a bar
next to his marina in Las Palmas. This is not unrelated to the very
reasonably-priced berthing which was found to be reasonable for a reason (i.e.
the facilities were less than) and the decision has been made to join the local
yacht club on a temporary basis to maximize the use of their great facilities
(including pool and sauna) and cheap beer (one euro seventy five a pint). I bid
you adieu then, the only further information being thus far omitted being that
my pinkness has abated and I am now (after some peeling) going brown -
hurrah.
Lots love
Foshy
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