Happy days are here again.....
16 March 2013
Well, it seems that my attempted foray into a wryly humorous analysis of the absurdity of the human condition did not meet with unqualified success. Many of our loyal fan-base now appear seriously concerned about my mental well-being and fear that I have taken up residence in the Slough of Despond. Comments have ranged from the terse, but admirably succinct 'Dismal' through 'Over-heavy on the home-spun philosophy' to the somewhat pointed communication that merely gave the contact details of the Dignitas clinic in Switzerland.
Funny that. I thought I was just taking the piss.
Especially out of philosophy, both home-spun and otherwise
Full marks, though, to Mr. Kevin Saint of Walthamstow E4 who recognised the sub-Swiftian intent and replied in kind. He wins a weekend on the stump with Boris Johnson.
No, in the bustling social whirl that is overwintering, Mr & Mrs Yottie have no time for luxuries such as philosophy, melancholy, analytical thought or even drawing breath. Indeed, such is the dramatic contrast between the cruising season and overwintering that it causes yotties to exhibit a pronounced seasonal dimorphism and, moreover, one that is diametrically opposed to that to which they were accustomed before they began the cruising life. In those bygone days you put on weight in the winter and lost it in the summer.
For the cruising yottie, the summer is just too hot to do anything. Most of the day is spent lolling around like a dead fish in whatever shade isn't already occupied by the cat. If you're not lying around enervated by the heat then you're confined to the boat for days on end while you ride out a blow at anchor. As a result, over the course of the season the cruising yottie develops a physique reminiscent of a cross between a shar pei and Roy Hattersley as painted by Lucien Freud.
The winter, however, wreaks a very different metamorphosis. Exercise rates increase by a factor of ten or more and we are transformed into lithe, muscular heptathletes. For a start, the facilities block is halfway to the marina entrance, so it's a three hundred metre round trip every time you want a shower or a dump. That soon adds up.
Which leads me, somewhat circuitously, to the dubious point of today's update. What is it about the cruising life that means that we will happily spend six months of the year putting up with having to trog 300 metres through the wind and rain every time we want a shower or a dump, but by the same token wouldn't even consider looking at a hotel room if it didn't have en suite facilities?