February 4

There I was, flat on my back at thirty thousand feet in a flat spin. All I could see on the dials was the manufacturer's name. Much to the chagrin of bloodthirsty lovers of coherent writing, recovered in time to tap out this bit of blarney.

November arrival in New Zealand saw me busier than a one-armed paper hanger. Beavers are slackers. OK, enjoyed an unseemly mount of fun as well, but keeping repair shops solvent remained primary occupation. Won't bore with myriad details except for engine losing interest as injector pump failed while technician was in bilge exercising malfunctioning transmission. All rejuvenated bits were reattached and ostensibly operative after unconscionable time and outlay of plastic Kiwi bucks. Also, deck hardware bedding along entire starboard side, during deep port tack, allowed seawater to lap around interior from V-berth to quarter-berth. Ripping out furniture to access backing plates has not been a lifelong dream, but less drastic ameliorative efforts will now commence following just ended return to US over holidays to tidy affairs for extended absence. Anybody jonesing for an eighteen year old Miata or an experimental aircraft Thorp T-18?

Despite widespread trepidation over recommencement of this verbal detritus, your fears are probably groundless as boat work and studious mitigation of disgraceful rum over-abundance in Opua and close environs will necessitate full extension of efforts over at least the next few weeks. Raucous cheers of relief at this point may be understandable, but are somewhat indelicate and should be avoided.

Jack