Post #1624316

A strange, formless morning — warm but overcast, an occasional light shower, no wind. We woke late after being forced from our bunks at 3.00am by a small, wooden, German Folkboat bumping alongside and a high powered spotlight flooding our portlights. As I clambered on deck (painfully, with bruised ribs, knees and arm), its husband-and-wife crew were attempting to uncleat an anchor line from my after-deck and transfer it to their boat. They tried to argue that Wrack was tethered to the wrong line ("Nah, mate, it really isn't.") Fortunately, an Australian-accented "fuck off" is well understood in most languages and carries just the right weight of menace. So they did.