Social Pressures

Or should that be duties? Not too sure really but what I think I’m trying to say is that we occasionally do things that we wouldn’t always want to do left to our own devices but have to do because of the expectations of the society in which we live. You know the sort of thing I mean – going to the Cocktail Party as a host, not because you think you’ll enjoy it but because you have to (those of you who’ve been in the military will know just what I mean.)

One of the great delights of Marina Port Vell is the fact that the above doesn’t seem to apply to anything. If there’s something going on and you want to go, fill your boots. If you don’t want to go, then relax back on the boat with a good book or a film on DVD. The Bohemian atmosphere is great, with folk joining in to the extent with which they’re happy, equally content at times to spectate from their decks.

There is something of a social routine here, with a two major events bringing people together on a regular basis. The first is a strictly ladies-only gathering for coffee and networking (OK gossip) that takes place at the ungodly hour of 10am on a Tuesday morning. For Julia this means getting up for about 8am, so as to allow enough time to shower, chose what to wear, change again because the weather is warmer than she thought it was, have breakfast and finally leave the boat in a fluster because it was later than she realised and Josie from next door is shouting for her to get a move on…..

Marina Port Vell Ladies Coffee morning

All this time, I’m in a bit of a dilemma. Do I shrug my shoulders, get up at 8am, get in the way of the deranged woman my wife has suddenly become whilst I try and have a bit of breakfast in peace or do I remain in my bunk until the whirlwind has left for her social event? If I get up, then I run the risk of becoming embroiled in decisions as to what to wear as well as being unable to enjoy a quiet breakfast. On the other hand, if I stay in bed, then the chances are that I’ll attract criticism from the boss about my idleness and lack of drive and inability to help her get out of the boat on time. You begin to see my problem? And here I was, thinking that social pressures had more or less disappeared from my life only to start telling you a story that shows that they’re still there, albeit at the micro level.

The coffee mornings are not the only Tuesday event. The other one is our Spanish classes, held on Tuesday evening in the local community centre. First a word about the centre, which apparently is a standard fitting for all Spanish neighbourhoods. It’s a purpose built centre, reasonably modern and well maintained with classrooms, performance areas and the like, all provided by the city council in this instance – such a contrast to UK where if that sort of place exists at all it‘s usually a broken down place that limps along on totally inadequate funding. There seem to be all sorts of classes and events that go on in the place and it’s something of a hub for the area. The staff are welcoming and take a pride in their work, taking the weekly influx of a bunch of foreigners in their stride.

The marina pays for the classroom we use and for the teacher, a girl from the Canaries called Miriam. Her efforts to get us all speaking Spanish are heroic and, to date, focused on getting us up on our hind legs telling the class who we are and what our family does – in, at the moment, fairly fractured Spanish. Whilst the objective is to learn Spanish, there’s a good deal of chatter and arranging of other events that goes on in the margins of the class.

Other events in the social calendar are more ad hoc. We had a busy few days this week. On Friday, we went to the Caja Madrid concert with Josie our next door neighbour. The concert really was beauty and the beast; a stunning young female vocalist signing Italian songs to the accompaniment of guitar music played by the ugliest man I’ve seen in quite some time. He added to his facial artibutes by constantly grimacing or grinning as he played. Great music but boy, was she sweet and was he just plain ugly! Anyhow, Josie walked us back through the old town and then we settled down to a few drinks on her boat, Windsong. Windsong is about 10 feet longer than Rampage, is ketch rigged (two masts) and has a very high bow. She’s moored bow in, so boarding her involves climbing first a little step ladder and then another ladder over the pulpit. This is a minor challenge stone cold sober. After being reintroduced to genever (Dutch gin) at the end of the evening, negotiating the ladder was daunting & fitting climax to the night.

Josie and her boarding ladder

The following night, we had been invited along to “Brigantes”, another ketch berthed a bit further up the pontoon, for a few drinks. The plan was to go on to a local restaurant for tapas later but things changed, as Sue and Peter had recently been with other friends to a local Japanese-style place, with a conveyor belt system and suggested that we might like to try the place. We happily fell in with this plan and spent the next 2½ hours stuffing ourselves on a stunning array of food ranging from sushi to lychees by way of lobster, crab and oysters. The place operates on a 13€ per person basis, so there was no motivation to finish too quickly and we had a great time, staggering home late in the evening.

The following day was the next pontoon party (apparently they happen about once a month – don’t know by what mechanism – perhaps it’s something to do with the coffee morning people?). Once again, it was held on the pontoon next to our berth, with Josie, our Dutch neighbour, acting as ring master, and producing tables for the food. The gathering started at 4pm and this time as many as 40 or 50 people turned up, each bearing drinks for their own consumption and munchies to share. The resultant array of food was magnificent and naturally one feels beholden to sample all these wonderful delicacies which people have taken such time & trouble to produce. (Incidently our own contribution – well mine actually as the mate had nothing to do with it other than eating large quantities of it (strange for someone who won’t eat mustard or honey normally)- local sausages baked in the oven in a honey/mustard glaze – proved extremely popular & disappeared fast, I’m delighted to say!)

Most people staggered off to their boats at about 7.30 or so for a gentle lie-down. We however were joined by Linda and Steve from “Tantrum” for a few more drinks after it got too cold to hang about outside any longer (yes it does get chilly in the evenings now).  One thing led to another and we wound up having a fair bit to drink before Linda, having single-handedly consumed a bottle of wine & helping herself to three bananas in swift succession, suddenly decided it was time to go for burgers. We bowed out of the burger bar exped and retired to bed at that point. We understand that she felt a bit rough the next day.

All in all, we’ve been taking things fairly gently since. Not exactly hung over but certainly glad not to have to do anything in too much of a rush. Work on the Murder/Mystery for Christmas progresses.  I’ll post another update once I’ve got enough materiel to make it worthwhile, maybe another week or so.  By the way, it’s been very pleasing to have so many people let us know how much they like the blog – we’ll try to continue in the me vein over the winter months.  Please do feel free to post comments on the site – its fun to see how people react to the day to day life of boaty folk.

Mike’s Visit

And then there were two….

As the week draws to a close, we can reflect on a busy week with Mike. As I said in my last post, where does the time go? That was a bit of a rhetorical question but it does hold good for the past week.

First, we’ve adopted a smart folding aluminium paserelle called Boris who was being discarded for a small sum by his previous owners further up the pontoon. For the non boaties amongst you, a paserelle is an upmarket version of a gang plank for getting on and off the boat. Previous visitors to Rampage have made hurtful remarks on the leap of faith required to get on and off, especially when we were berthed bow to the pontoon. Boris has solved this problem with a degree to style and comfort, bridging the gap between the stern and the quayside. As you can see from the photo, he makes a splendid addition to the outfit of Rampage.

Boris the passerelle, making life easier for the mobility impaired...

Partially completed roof of the Sagrada Familia

On Sunday evening last week my brother Mike came out to stay for a few days. As has become the norm, we met him at the airport to avoid his having to cope with the Barcelona Metro system on his own. We had a reasonably early evening before we tackled the Sagrada Familia on Monday. We had learned from Polly and Tommy’s visit not to get there mid morning, arriving about midday, when the queue was only about 5 minutes to get into the place. We had an amazing visit there; it was the first time I’d been round inside the site, although J had been there with the Ruins. The whole project is huge in its scope and the detail of Gaudi’s vision is stunning. Without getting too over the top, the outside of the place is extraordinary, especially when you bear in mind that the majority of the plan was made in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. However, the outside is simply a prelude for the interior, which will eventually be a forest of columns rising and splitting into branches to support the roof. It put me in mind of the trees of Lothlorien from the Lord of the Rings, with which it shares a timeframe, as Tolkien was writing at much the same time as Gaudi was working. It was fascinating too, to be able to watch the craftsmen and sculptors at work.

One of the few windows to date to have been completed with stained glass

Detail of the magnificent roof

I’ve included a couple of photos but frankly they don’t do the place justice. If you’re interested in the place, either come and visit it whilst we’re still here or go to the website at http://www.sagradafamilia.cat/sf-eng/index.php where you can find out all sorts of info about the place as well as pictures, which, whilst they’re better than mine, still don’t do it justice. Oh come on, surely you can find time to come and have a look round the place?

After that overdose of architectural wonder, we had lunch in a nearby Turkish café before hitting the Ramblas. Well, you can’t come to Barcelona and not visit the flesh pots can you? We avoided the ruinous prices on the Ramblas and made our way back to the boat to drink and eat at more sensible prices….

On Tuesday, we took up the offer of free tickets to the Barcelona Boat Show from the Marina and took ourselves off to the exhibition centre on the courtesy bus. Just as well, since it turned out to be about ½ an hour away on the other side of the city. It was strangely dead; we’re used to the London Boat show where you can hardly move for people all trying to grab a bargain before you spot it. There were the trade stands there, showing off their new boats, engines, electronics and the like but there were precious few stands from the retail side of the business and those that were there were still, by and large, charging silly prices. And what of Joe Public? Well, he was missing. The place was empty and most of the people that were there seemed to be staff from other stands wandering round eyeing up the opposition. Naturally we found a couple of items to buy that we couldn’t possibly live without! We didn’t get time to visit the water side bits which are here in Port Vell but we’re thinking of going tomorrow – there’s this lovely little boat that’s taken my fancy only about €1,000,000…

We abandoned Mike for a couple of hours on Tuesday evening to go to our Spanish class but he seemed happy to relax with a beer or two.

On Wednesday, we took Rampage out of the marina, just to give her a feel for the sea again. Unlike our friends Ruth and Brian, who are aiming to continue cruising throughout the winter, we’ve gone firm here in Barcelona and have resorted to day sailing on an occasional basis to keep our hands in and to let Rampage know she‘s loved and wanted. Sadly we couldn’t have picked a worse day to go for a sail, as there was absolutely no wind to be had at all, so after plugging about on the motor for a couple of hours we came back into to the marina and set off to explore some more of the old city with Mike.

Looking down to the monastery at Montserrat from near the summit

There’s a monastery dedicated to Our Lady at a place called Montserrat, a gritstone ridge about an hour’s train ride from the city. The monastery is on a ledge about ½ way up the ridge and has been a place of pilgrimage for Catholics for centuries.  Itis reached either by cable car or rack and pinion railway. In addition, there are funicular railways to take you to the top of the ridge and down to the grotto where the statue of the Black Virgin is said to have been found in 880 A.D.   We opted for the cable car for the ascent and set off from the city for the day by train at the very early hour of 9:30am. 

The ascent to the monastery by cable car

A splendid day was had by all, visiting the basilica of the monastery, the ridge top where we sat and ate our picnic lunch whilst admiring spectacular views both across to the Pyrenees and down to the coast and finally the chapel enclosing the grotto of the Virgin. The latter was reached via a path cut into the side of the cliff, along which were maybe as many as twelve or fifteen prayer stations depicting the life of Christ and Our Lady designed by various sculptors and architects including the aforementioned Gaudi. There was plenty to see and lots of walking so we were all pretty weary by the time we returned to Barcelona that evening, to collect a rental car for the next day, in order to visit the delta of the Ebro river, a couple of hours’ drive to the south of Barcelona.

The chapel built on the cliff-side at the site of the grotto where the statue of the Black Madonna is said to have been found by shepherds

We managed to haul ourselves out of bed and set off before 9am yesterday – almost unheard of for us since arriving in Port Vell.  The delta is a famous wetland, rich in birdlife that we thought Mike would enjoy as he is a wildlife photographer.  The trip down to the delta was fine if uninspiring and we found our way via a series of unmarked little roads to the sea shore. Clearly, this was the wrong bit of the delta, as there wasn’t much life there apart from the odd fisherman trying his luck for the enormous catfish for which the river Ebro is famous. Quick pause for a bit of head scratching before we set off southwards towards the southern bit of the delta, where there were large lagoons marked on the map.

Hundreds of flamingos on the Ebro Delta

Here we struck gold – or rather, pink! At a roadside halt, a footbridge led over a ditch to a hide and there we found a large flock of flamingos – maybe as many as a thousand, all doing that thing where they tuck their heads underneath their wings, apart from a few on ‘sentry duty’ who were keeping an eye open for trouble. We took pictures from the hide, from the road and from the bank alongside the ditch. Whilst we were doing this, a marsh harrier flew over the lagoon, causing alarm amongst the smaller birds, herons flew about the place and Mike couldn’t keep pace with it all. Eventually we tore ourselves away from the flamingos to make our way home, spotting en route lots of wild ducks, herons and, to Mike’s delight, cattle egrets in large numbers. A great gang of them were gathered nonchalantly at a fish trap leading away from one of the lagoons. Mike took any number of pictures and I think we can call that trip a success! We had supper out locally in Barceloneta last night before putting Mike on his plane home at midday today. It’s been great having him here, we’ve both enjoyed his easy company and the excuse to get out and about.

A closer shot of the flamingos

J and I are now taking a deep breath before embarking on the neglected housework (or should that be boat work?) tomorrow. We have an accumulated pile of washing to do, the decks could do with a bit of a scrub and Mike very kindly brought out the service kits for the sea toilets, so I suppose I should get round to carrying out the service which both heads could do with…… May turn out to be a solitary occupation as I suspect the First Mate will suddenly find something urgent to do elsewhere! After that, I suppose, we shall just have to knuckle down to some Spanish homework before our next class.

Where has all the time gone?

Local market square - many tempting bakeries to be found round here....

Another week and a half has gone by and, frankly, I’m not too sure where it went. I can remember as I approached the end of my Army career people asking me what I intended to do after I left. My response was typically ‘as little as possible’ or words to that effect. Having now achieved the initial objective of actually leaving the Army and departing the cold, damp shores of Britain, I can say that doing as little as possible seems to take up most of my time. The only trouble is, that there seems to be an awful lot of things to do which constitute ‘as little as possible’.

There’s visitors. Now don’t misunderstand me in any way. I love having people to stay on Rampage. Indeed, it is essential that people do come and visit us, as it is only by doing so that they realise just how much fun we’re having and therefore go away immensely jealous of us….. When we do have visitors, there’s suddenly an imperative to do things that might quite well have been put off until next week, or next month or perhaps not bothered with at all.

About 24 hours before a visitor is due, Julia goes into what the kids used to call ‘Mad Rabbit Mode’, where everything has to be done 20 minutes ago and it’s all a bit frantic. Once upon a time, it was at that point in time that I would make a strategic withdrawal into the shed (to fix something important) or the study (work on the dissertation). Regrettably, neither of these options is open to me now; no shed and no study (no dissertation either come to think of it). I am therefore trapped into scrubbing decks, straightening sail covers, polishing brass and all the other bit of cleaning that make a boat ship shape.

View down the pontoon - Rampage is just off the end of the ramp on the left.

Once the visitors arrive, we are then the hosts. This means different things for different visitors. Thankfully for me, my role during the Ruins visit was largely restricted to cooking and ensuring that there was enough alcohol available – a combination barman and chef I suppose. For Polly and Tommy’s visit, the functions also included that of tour guide to the better areas of town as well as nurse maid to a severely intoxicated wife and daughter. (If you want more details, please see J’s account of the visit.)

Rampage on her berth - Josie's boat to the left, a large motor boat to the right, the Catalonian Museum behind..

Whatever the required role, time seems to fly past. Before it seems that people have settled in and mastered the subtle art of using the sea toilet, they’re packing up and making their way off to the airport to fly back to gloomy old England.

We that remain (J and I) are then left to tackle the next challenge that living in Port Vell throws up. This week it’s been the first of our Spanish lessons. The marina has been running them for the past few years and they’ve clearly become something of an institution. We signed up for them once we’d got our berth sorted out and were told by our next door neighbour that she’d take us to the first one as we’d probably got lost trying to find the venue. Based on this, it’s clearly a minor miracle that any of the long term residents ever managed to navigate here in the first place, but there you go. The lesson turned out to be way oversubscribed – there were about 30 of us when the teacher would probably have preferred about half that number. We didn’t get much beyond the asking name, age and country of origin but it certainly passed 2 hours quite rapidly. Next week we are promised 2 sets – J has insisted that we sign up for the ‘advanced’ set on the basis of her Spanish CDs and my ‘facility’ for languages…

Breakfasts here are a time consuming affair as well. Firstly, you have to understand that the Spanish don’t really do cereals, so we mostly don’t bother with them. Nor is the bacon out here up to a lot and anyway, I wouldn’t be the slim, sylphlike figure that I now am if I were to eat a hearty English breakfast every morning. So the only sensible alternative is bread and jam with coffee and fruit juice.

That brings me on to the contemplation of Spanish bread; it has a major failing in that today’s bread is simply no use tomorrow, thus making it necessary to go shopping for the stuff on a daily basis and therein lies the problem. If one is strong willed, it’s a simple matter to walk in to just about any shop, pick up a single freshly baked baguette and walk swiftly back to the boat for an al fresco (in the open air, peasants) meal beneath the warming autumnal sun. If, however you should not hold true to your original aim of simply buying a single loaf, you may drift into the influence of one of the many bakeries in the area. These are places of worship to the bakers trade, where people slave from early in the morning producing riches beyond imagining to those of you stuck in the UK and surrounded by the Tesco/Sainsbury/Morrison’s in store ‘bakeries’.

The local small shops do operate on the same basis as the UK stores with dough delivered and finished in ovens on the premises. But the local ‘proper’ bakeries are just what it says on the tin; places with hot ovens surrounded by the people working hard to produce bread from the raw ingredients. The variety of loaves on offer is bewildering and threatening to the waistline. In addition, most bakers also make cakes of one breed or another and delicacies like croissants. You’re starting to see the problem, I trust. Whilst the catholic amongst you may get a minor kick out of denying temptation, the majority will understand just how much of a pain it is to stick to buying a single loaf and not indulging in anything else at the same time. I’ve found that the best way of dealing with the problem is only to take just enough money to buy the loaf and that’s it!

The reason that breakfast is a time consuming affair is that one has to get up, get dressed and then go out on the self denying trip to the bakers for the bread. Takes time, especially as we usually have a shower prior to leaving for the shops. Now, when you often don’t wake up until about 9am, get out of bed until say 930(ish) and it takes about 30 minutes to have a shower etc, you can see that it will be getting on for 1015 – 1030 before breakfast starts. Allowing for interruptions from other folks heading for the showers, returning from the shops and the like, it can be 1115 before breakfast is finished and we can start to think what we might like to do with the rest of the day. Hard life, I know, but someone has to live and it may as well be us.

Lest you think us idle, you should understand that we do have a fair bit to do keeping the boat up to scratch. Julia, for example, spent most of Friday in her cropped trousers and grotty tee shirt scrubbing the decks, getting rid of various foot prints and marks, whilst I sloped off to the chandlers’ to get some bits and bobs that we needed. Subsequently, I had a happy time making a new trim for the companionway hatch from a spar bit of hardwood we brought out from the UK as the old trim had decided to disintegrate on us over the summer. Very nice it looks too, although I think I probably need to take it off the hatch again and do a bit more shaping work on it before we protect it with some teak oil.

Rambla Marina looking across the marina - Rampage lost in the crowd!

One of the reasons we’re so delighted with Port Vell is that we’re very close to Barcelonetta, a tight little neighbourhood of narrow streets just to the north of the harbour. It’s where the fishermen used to live when they still operated from the harbour in any numbers. At it’s centre there’s a market which is open 6 days a week as well as a couple of reasonably sized supermarkets. In addition, there are innumerable little shops selling just about anything that you could ask for, including the aforementioned bakeries. Polly and Tommy were much taken by a drinks store which seemed to have examples of most intoxicants available to purchase at (so it seems to me) somewhat inflated prices.

Local church - the angel is a particularly combative looking chap.

The proximity of Barcelonetta means that shopping is not too much of a pain, as it’s only about 5 minutes walk away from the boat, so getting in the weekend shopping isn’t too much of an effort. We’ve just come back from doing the shopping as I write; beer, Sprite, water and OJ seem to have featured strongly this weekend, so the trolley was well laden as was the backpack.

We’re now sitting taking our ease after our exertions in the market, where we bought provisions for the next few days, as most shops shut on Sunday. The weather is continuing to be fine and sunny, although the temperature is somewhat lower now than it was when the Ruins were here. Hardly surprising, I suppose as it is the end of the first week in November.

I think that’s probably enough for the moment, although I could ramble on for some time if I felt so inclined. The object of this blog was to give you a feel for what we’re up to and encourage you to come a visit us if you can. Our next visitor is my brother Mike, who arrives tomorrow evening, so our next entry will probably be telling tales of what we got up to with him.

Polly’s and Tommy’s Visit

Their flight was delayed by about an hour so it getting on for midnight when the taxi dropped us off at the marina and we then sat chatting into the wee small hours. After a leisurely breakfast we wandered round the local market and chose things for lunch and supper. Later we took the metro to roughly the middle of the Ramblas in order to visit La Boqueria, the big market where Polly was much intrigued to discover “orgasmic” paella for sale!

Tommy & Polly with giant-size drinks on Las Ramblas

We then started to wander back down the Ramblas towards the harbour and decided to stop for a drink. As it turned out the drinks jolly nearly stopped us, well Polly and me at any rate. The men both had a beer but we decided to go for Sangrias which were absolutely enormous, took us some considerable time to consume and left us both feeling more than a little light-headed. They did however, help to soften the blow when we eventually called for the bill and found ourselves faced with a request for just on €32. Bearing in mind the £/€ exchange rate is now just on 1 for 1, we staggered off feeling punch drunk from both the booze and the bill! People had warned me not to eat on the Ramblas – I now know this applies to having a drink as well.

We cut back through the old town and found ourselves in the cathedral cloisters which were rather lovely and which the Ruins and I had failed to spot. From there we went into the main cathedral which Polly and Tommy both seemed to find quite impressive. We had a leisurely stroll back through the little narrow streets to the marina where Pol & I made the mistake of opening another bottle of wine. Duncan cooked a splendid curry but by the time it arrived, I regret, neither of us was really fit to appreciate it.

The formidable hill up to Parc Guell

Next day, (Thursday) we took the metro to Sagrada Familia and walked all round admiring the various facades. We did not, however, go in this time as the queue was considerable and besides we wanted to carry on to Parc Guell. Having been to both places last week with the Ruins, I knew that it would be too much to try and see the interior of the cathedral and the museum as well, fascinating though they are. Instead we got back on the metro and tackled the awesome hill up to the park.

It was a beautiful, sunny day and we had a lovely potter round the park but by 2.30ish we had had enough and Polly and Tommy were starting to talk about getting back to the beach. Once back at the marina they set off armed with a beach towel etc but returned an hour or so later saying the weather had cooled too much to go for a swim so they’d settled for a tapas instead!

We toyed with the idea of going for a bike ride but took so long to sort ourselves out that we decided it was getting a bit dark to cycle without any lights. Instead Polly, Tommy & I strolled down to the beach to admire the amazing sandcastle/constructions and to have cocktails at a little beach front bar. We returned an hour or so later to a very aggrieved Skipper saying he’d have come with us if he’d realised we were not off on bikes. Ah well, these misunderstandings happen in all households, I daresay. Anyway we all set off for a meal at a local restaurant that had been recommended to me. It is apparently run by four young guys who are just passionate about cooking. They have normal jobs through the week but open the restaurant in the evenings, though not at weekends. The food was delicious, particular the mixed tapas starter and the desserts and it was all most beautifully presented.

The original plan for Friday had been to take the boat out & up along the coast a little way. However it was so warm and sunny that Polly & Tommy thought they would prefer to relax in the sun and maybe go to the beach. Tommy was reading an un-put-down-able book so Pol & I took the bikes and went for a bit of a ride. I took her to the park leading up to the Arc de Triomf where we found a beautiful pavillion with fountains and a friendly lady kindly photographed us for the blog.

We returned to a latish lunch with the men aboard Rampage and then P & T went off for a ride together, parking their bikes in one of the central squares and having a good wander round the old town.

Off for a meal out!

By 6.45pm we were assembled at the marina gate to join a group of others all going to the Tango night sponsored by and held at Caixa Madrid, (the Madrid bank.) No not the fizzy drink but Spanish music which was really rather fun. We didn‘t understand much of the lyrics but the vocalist was very brooding and dramatic and you had the impression he must have been singing all about jealous lovers, betrayal and dastardly deeds. One of the guitar players was really very good indeed. As I write this, I have just returned from buying tickets for this coming Friday’s concert – a jazz night. At only €2.50 a ticket it’s worth the risk that occasionally an evening may not be up to much. We came out at about 9ish and then wandered down the top end of the Ramblas which was full of people strolling up and down and watched some of the street performers including several groups of gymnasts and some guys doing some very athletic-looking break dancing. Eventually we wound up in the square where P & T had parked their bikes earlier in the day (Placa Reial) and stopped for a beer and some particularly tasty tapas. We finished the evening in a little bar drinking cocktails and brandy before strolling back to the boat. There is a wide paved pedestrian walkway along the side of the harbour and just as we were crossing it a couple of people on roller blades came whizzing along. There is nothing particularly amazing about that as lots of people get about on roller blades here so we were not surprised when one or two more appeared but then we suddenly realised we needed to get out of the way as an army of about 100 bladers came zooming towards us, many in fancy dress. We have no idea what it was all about but it was very amusing and rounded off the evening splendidly. Unfortunately it was just too dark to get a good photo for you all.

On Saturday we had a pleasant, gentle morning as P & T were due to catch a bus for the airport at 1.15pm. I was watching in amusement as a very pleasant Scottish guy, whose boat is further up E Dock, attempted to use a skateboard. He wobbled for a few moments before falling backwards as the skateboard shot out from under him, hit a bollard, went over the side & sank like a stone in about 10 metres of water. Poor Neil was mortified as he had only been borrowing the board from a Spanish friend. I felt so sorry for him that I offered to get out our scuba gear and look for it after we’d seen Polly and Tommy off. He was very grateful and offered to drive us to the bus station which was great. We stayed to see them off & then walked back through the park. Once back on Rampage we dug out our dive gear – quite a business and the wet suits were well buried in a locker under our bed – and we then dropped down under the dock. The water was warm but it was almost impossible to see anything and the bottom, when we reached it, was revolting, soft goo which clouded the visibility still further when disturbed. I fairly quickly decided we were achieving nothing and had little chance of finding the skateboard, so after missing Duncan for a minute or so, headed back to the surface. There I discovered that had had come across the board, almost by chance and had recovered it, much to Neil’s delight. It turned out that it belonged not actually to his friend but to a friend of his friend so everyone was extremely relieved that it had been retrieved.

Later as I showered I paused to consider just what might have been in the water & felt somewhat nauseous, glad that the thought had not struck me while I was still in the water. We will not be doing any more underwater recovery work in marinas. Besides the marina authorities can get a bit funny about such activities. Still alls well that ends well and neither of us seems any the worse ‘though we do both now have rather nasty sore thoats but I blame Maggie for those!

Me and my big girl

We have taken things very gently yesterday and today. We did go off for a bike ride all along the beach, (you can cycle for miles here up the coast,) trying to find the English language cinema that is apparently somewhere up near Port Olympic and a big new shopping mall. Having failed to find either we returned to Rampage & the Sunday papers.

NB Credit for the photos in this edition of the blog goes to Polly.