Late during the night, early morning really, there is some torrential train. When we wake up, the weather is still vile. Grey, windy and wet. If it weren’t for the heat, I would imagine I was in England, although the palm trees might be a giveaway!
At breakfast, I make a discovery. The French patisserie's sour dough bread is not good for bacon sandwiches. It is dry, even though it is straight out of the freezer. However, toasted with lashings of butter, it redeems itself, although the sandwich now becomes the proverbial heart attack on a plate.
We decide to wait a while to see if the weather changes. After a couple of hours, with the weather forecasting software predicting that we have seen the last of the heavy rain, we motor across to Cooper Island.
Photo: Manchionneel Bay, Cooper Island
Mike trundles Jeannius around the whole mooring field, picking the one ball which meets with his exacting criteria. I am clueless as to what this criteria actually is, but keep quiet as he dismisses one ball after another. When he eventually settles on one, I hook it only to discover that it has a very dodgy ring, so off we go in search of another one.
Once moored up, our guests get the kayak out and they are off for a scout around while I prepare lunch. After lunch Mike takes them to a the rocks to the far right of the island for them to do some snorkelling. They will swim back, as they are young and energetic. In the meantime, there is time for an afternoon nap for me.
I sleep a while and read a lot then realise that it is time for my afternoon cup of tea. I holler to Mike who arrives saying yes of course I can have my tea, but after we have moved the boat – again.
There are loads of mooring balls but a Moorings power cat, full of clueless sailors has chosen the one right next to us, and moored themselves incorrectly to it so that it is now swinging perilously close to us. We all (yes, including our well-trained guests) stand and glare at the 10 people on the boat, all of whom are now clambering into the dinghy but it makes no difference, they are oblivious to their incompetence. So we move.
Later on, when our guests are ashore at the beach restaurant having dinner, I watch incredulously, as the same Moorings “sailors” light up their barbeque. Flames leap into the air, probably from an overuse of lighter fluid, and we wait for their dinghy to catch fire as it is directly underneath - they have not bothered to pull it to one side. This does not happen and I consider them to be very lucky.
Haha, brilliant! Bloody Moorings! ;)
ReplyDeleteVictoria x