Vigo and beyond

As we approached the north west coast of Spain, and the approaches to Vigo, the wind and waves finally began to subside below storm level. And approaching Vigo docks and a marina, as if by magic, I felt instantly better, if baby-floppy.

K steered the boat alongside the slip, UA and Ace rigged the fenders adn the lines, and as we slowed, slowed and finally stopped and moored at 12.30 at night, I made cheese and pickl sandwiches. Honestly, the very least I could do, having made such an inglorious spectaacle of myself. The inside world of the boat was dank, the once pristine upholstery now salt-stained and permanently damp. The floor sections were up, revealing the hours of hard pumping. I was told much of the electronics had been down for some time when a battery faltered. Precise details I didn't care to ask about. I was only glad to be moored and only too willing to help clear up the disarray and to feed the rew properly after their days of snatching at sleep and sandwiches.

And that ws the end of that. The boat was currently going no further. The owner was flying out and US, Ace and I were flying home for New Year's Eve after all. We had an Italian meal in Spain, served by a German-speaking waitress, and a beer in a bar near the docks. Spain starts at 10 each night.

At the airport, we said goodbye to K, and later at Heathrow, goodby to each other. On the tube, a drunk got out a bottle of wine and a tin of beans, drinking from each alternately, sufficiently concerned with his health to have chosen Tesco's healthy option beans... He then lit a ciggie, talked to his unappreciative neighbours, then pissed in a corner. I should have spotted the omens. I was home.