We had a grand plan for this summer. First, check out the cruising in Vancouver. Second, join the Ocean Cruising Club 70th Anniversary celebrations in and around Long Island Sound. We'd then finish off with a cruise to Maine to gate crash more OCC festivities.

Vancouver went well from the wholly selfish perspective of getting out and about on a motorcycle, although, I have to confess, we didn't see much of the cruising grounds such where the weather forecasts.

New England went well, dropping in and out of Lo g Island's expensive yacht clubs. $135 per night for a mooring! Don't ask how much a gin and tonic cost.

When the time came to head north for Maine I thought I'd just check the engines.

I popped into the starboard engine, checked the oil. OK. Checked the coolant. OK. Checked the fan belt. All OK. Then, last up, check the oil in the Saildrive. Aaaarrgh. Would you flaming well believe it! The seals that I had paid "professionals" to replace in Grenada only in March and just a few hours on the engine were leaking. What should have been honey clear oil was a mush of emulsified oil and sea water. Aaaarrgh.

I was furious. I climbed out the engine room, shot into the cockpit to bend Anne's ear for no other reason than, as usual, she's the only one there.

"Would you believe it?" I yelled. "These idiots in Grenada have left the seals leaking". I was spinning around like a Tasmanian devil absolutely livid. However before I went any further I thought I'd better check the other engine. I opened up the hatch, climbed in. Unscrewed the dip stick and......aaaarrgh. It too was leaking. The oil looking more like yogurt than oil.

There went our trip to Maine as I'd have to absolutely minimise motoring.

Once I'd stopped spinning we formulated a new plan which was basically to find a flesh pot like Boston or Newport and, like the well-heeled of yesteryear, the Vanderbilts and the like, summer at the "cottage". Except our cottage was the boat.

And so, we whiled away quite a number of weeks watching the tourists, the classic twelve metres, schooners and luxury super yachts come and go. We walked for miles around Newport mansions a.k.a. cottages.

One day, for reasons I don't remember, I thought I'd check the engines again just to see if magically they had fixed themselves. And would you believe it? The port engine had!

Or, perhaps not. It seems that while I was spinning around like a dervish, cursing the engineers when I went to check the "other"engine, I'd actually checked the same engine twice!

Ooops!

Here's a bit of what we got up to - definitely Time Bandit holiday snaps as, once again, absolutely nothing of real interest has happened.