After the Palm Sunday service I popped down to the boat for an afternoon cuppa and to find some unnecessary jobs to do in the sun, the hottest day of the year so far. A neighbour told me that GB had come adrift at the front/ bow / sharp end and he had pulled her back in and tied her up again. I blame the soft verges, broad beams, boats going too fast and the strong westerly wind. It certainly couldn’t be my fault at all. This time she is held fast with steel cables around the metal work of the bank.
Anyway, what a stroke of luck because just as I was working up a sweat pulling her straight against the wind, and hammering pegs in, who should I hear passing but the fuel boat. Not that I needed coal today, just one bag to top up what I had used when in self imposed quarantine last month, that’s another story. It was the diesel I needed and isn’t it wonderful to not only have it brought to the boat, but he actually puts it in for you. You don’t get that at the modern garage around here, or at least I don’t. But then I’m not a good looking blonde like my daughter who seems to manage to get forecourt staff to fill her car for her.