Hi again folks!

I'm almost embarrassed to write anything here, since I'm sure most people think I've dropped off the planet. I'm going to try to be better at updating, I promise.

Thr trouble with being a retired person is that you end up taking on more than you ever did when you worked full time, but it's all in bits and pieces here and there. People think my life is idyllic and peaceful, which it is, mostly, but in order to maintain that idyll, I have to keep on top of everything, which hasn't exactly been happening lately.

BUT nine months after her house fire, yesterday my M-I-L finally moved into her new little cottage. I've spent the last few weeks chasing workmen, hanging curtains and trying to fathom out what M-I-L *really* wants - example conversation while making up her new bed:

Me (admiring lovely new duvet cover and sheets): Doesn't it look pretty? All you need now is a nice valance round the bottom to cover the base.

M-I-L: Oh I'm not going to bother with one of those. It's fine the way it is.

Me:Are you sure? It would finish it off.

M-I-LYes, quite sure - they're too much bother. It's a pity I didn't get a mattress cover though. I think I should.

Me: I'll get you one in town later and we can put it on before you go to bed.

Later, when I return from town with a mattress cover.

M-I-L: That's not what I wanted.

Me: Yes it is, you asked for a mattress cover.

M-I-LNo I didn't. I wanted one of those valance trims to cover the base. A nice white one to match the duvet.

Argh!!!

One of my friends has a personality test on her blog and since I've been spending time re-learning about the Myers-Briggs tests and enneagrams etc in the course of my study, I gave it a try. Despite a very few questions, it actually got my type right and apparently it's rare too (although not as rare as yours, N. I think all the types can be classed as rare since there are sixteen to choose from!
This is me:

Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)

Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive. Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

Tuesday mornings are my usual time for chatting on IM with my friend from Missouri. We've known each other for about five years now and become real pals over the ether, sharing the good times and bad, variously cheering, encouraging and commiserating with one another. Today I'm worried for my friend after reports of appalling weather in Missouri here. She works fifteen miles away from her home, which is pretty isolated. Even if she did make it home, the power cuts would make things more than difficult. Her house is as old as mine - more than 150 years - and seems to be hanging on by a thread to life. If, as I'm hoping, she's decided to stay in town with one of her nieces, then I know she'll be worrying about her animals at home. These things always make me feel so helpless, especially when I know someone who might be suffering. Hang in there, Loretta!

On a happier note, I've been hearing people talking about a new American import on Channel 4, Ugly Betty. It was even recommended by our rector on this blog, so I decided I had to see for myself. By the wonder of the wwweb I was able to watch the first episode (albeit subtitled in French, which actually made picking up the US dialogue slightly easier!) and then through the similar wonders of Freeview I was also able to see episode 2, this time with breaks for adverts but no subtitles, alas.

Was I impressed? Hmm. It's a comedy, right, so the characters have to be exaggerated, predictable and a bit stereotypical. As with most situation comedies, the viewer needs to be one step ahead - to see the disasters that await the character before they happen and then laugh smugly when the character reacts in the prescribed way. That's how situation comedy works. The viewer feels superior to the hapless buffoon. It's a good formula and I admit it's present in my favourite comedies - the Vicar of Dibley, My Family etc. Ugly Betty is no different, which is a pity - it would have been nice to see something a little out of the ordinary.

So is Ugly Betty going to turn into Beautiful Betty during the course of the show? I must say I don't like the title - it makes me uncomfortable. Poor Betty isn't really ugly at all - she's a pretty actress with added glasses, braces (on seemingly perfect teeth) and outmoded clothes. Everyone else in the show is beautiful, with the exception of Betty's boyfriend - a girl with the disadvantages of glasses and braces etc has to be content with a chinless loser, naturally. Of course she has brains, which fits nicely with the stereotype. I'm going to watch some more to see if, by any stroke of good fortune, the writers bother to develop the characters. If Betty is as bright as she's made out to be, she'll get her Scottish pal to give her a makeover, ditch the braces - her teeth are fixed! - and invest in some contact lenses or more becoming specs. But will she then shed her integrity along with her Seventies clothes? I doubt if either will happen.

Living together

Sitting here surrounded by snoring dogs - my own two and my granddog, Hamish, who is staying over - I can't help thinking how much easier it is to get along with dogs than people. Dogs are simple creatures with simple, basic needs that can be easily - if not always conveniently, given the current weather - satisfied. Then they settle down at your feet and adore you. Deal.

My younger son and the contents of his house have come to stay for an indefinite period and we're both finding it hard to readjust to living together. It's been a while. Last time he was here for any length of time he was getting over the break-up of his marriage and needed cherishing. No problem - that's what mothers do. But now I'm having trouble shaking off the parent/child relationship and acknowledging him as an adult/equal. Rob suggests I think of him as a guest and treat him accordingly, but I've never entertained a guest who stays in bed all day and prowls around at night and who eats at such strange times. I worry that I have no control over him, and yet why should I?

Who is this young man who is at once so familiar and yet is a stranger? I have no parental model to fall back on. My relationship with my mother remained much the same until she died a few years ago. We were never apart for long so if any changes came about they were subtle. We didn't have to make any sudden adjustments. Our relationship remained in the parent/child dynamic. With my father, it reversed after my mother died and I became the 'parent'. That happened gradually, I suppose, although neither of us was aware of the change as it happened - it just did. Obviously neither I nor Paul are ready for that role reversal, and so we must work on viewing each other as equals.

Five things you didn't know about me

Hmm - thanks Mrs Blethers! I suppose you've shamed me into blogging again. So if anyone's out there, here are five things you probably don't know about me:

1. I repeated a year of primary school. This was, I believe, because I was considered too young and immature to go to secondary school at the age of ten. Somehow, between moving from Bristol to Leeds at age five I lost a year. I repeated primary five with a terrifying teacher called Miss Wilson, who suddenly became my friend second time round and ceased from writing scathing comments on my miserable, blot-ridden efforts at writing and even allowed me to play Puck in the end of term production of Midsummer Night's Dream (edited highlights) by dint of my being able to turn a cartwheel.

2. I have won three prizes in my life. One was a runner's-up cup in the school sports. One was a 'Bedside Guardian' for a Christmas story in that paper; the story was 'The Gospel According to St Mousethew' and was an account of the Nativity from the POV of a mouse. The last was a big red and cream vacuum flask from Maxwell House Coffee, and I had no recollection of entering the competition when it arrived. Hmm - nothing really changes . . .

3. I have three kidneys. This was discovered during hospital investigations for recurring infections. Apparently there is neither advantage nor disadvantage in having an extra one, which is rather disappointing. I wonder if I have any other spare parts.

4. I was in Czechoslovakia in 1968 immediately preceeding the Prague Spring. The Russians invaded while I was there with my brother. We brought a Czech boy back to Glasgow with us - he was my brother's pen-friend - and he stayed with us for eight months, during which time his father defected to Switzerland.

5. I was once mother to a woodpigeon called George. My grandad brought him home from the woods for me when he was a squab and had fallen out of the nest. He wasn't fledged and had a voracious appetite for porridge, which I fed him by forcing it down his throat with a pencil. Despite this apparently cruel treatment he thrived and grew into a fine woodpigeon. Trouble was, he didn't know he was a pigeon and meant to fly. He followed me about all over the place, waddling like a duck. Eventually I persuaded him to fly by pushing him off a wall a few times. After that, he remained with us until the spring when he disappeared - presumably to find a wife and have an egg. Actually, I have no idea if he was George or Georgina.

There. You really wanted to know all that, didn't you?

In another life . . .

. . . I was a Primary teacher at Calderwood Lodge. Yesterday my pal Ingrid joined the ranks of the officially retired and we gave her a right good send-off. It was splendid to see all the old guard once more, even though few of us are still at Calderwood. It seems to have been taken over by young things in jeans. Trouble is, it seems no time since I was a young thing in jeans. I'm still wearing the jeans . . .

Listening to the gossip I realised how far away from it all I've become; not just school but the whole Jewish yearly round. To my shame I even forgot all about the High Holidays that have just been - it's all fallen off my radar. I need to keep in touch with my Jewish friends more. I was also reminded how much I love Jewish catering - the food at the party was to die for. And yet in another way it was almost as if the intervening four years had never been. Everyone looks just the same and we laughed and joked and reminisced and commiserated the way we always did. I don't want to step back into the past, but it's nice, sometimes, to poke a toe in again.

Talking of toes: I've bought some horribly expensive stuff to zap the wart/verruca/extrusion on my big toe. This is all because I'm too chicken to go to a chiropodist (I have tickly feet - okay?) and the usual wart/verruca/extrusion remedies all contain salicylic acid, which is really aspirin by any other name and gives me a pain in the pinny. Said horribly expensive stuff comes with dire warnings of skin turning black and toes dropping off! Eeek!!

Bloggishness returns

It's been so long since I blogged that Blogspot seems to have forgotten who I am! This may be a temporary return to bloggishness, but I do miss it and am hoping to get back into Blogland soon.

Family news: M-I-L is still with us and far from being any trouble, is making herself useful. My house has never been so dusted and the dogs are delighted to have company when I'm out, which seems to be frequently at present - maybe that's why we're getting along okay. Less happily, I'm seriously worried about my sister-in-law. Please pray for her if you're so inclined. It looks as if Paul's going to live in Nottingham. I wonder if that means I'll see more of him . . .

Friends next: It's great to see Mrs Blethers becoming a rising star in Blogland. I do like to bathe in others' reflected glory *g*. It looks as if Bishop Martin has also joined the Worshipful Company of Bloggers. A belated welcome, my Lord Bishop. And finally, Walter has finished the book that his visit to Scotland a year ago inspired. Gaun yersel' son!

Me: I need to get September/October out of the way before normal service can be resumed.

Black Bounty

A dog walker is rarely out without a poly bag or two. Just as well today, when I found myself lured by greedy visions of brambles baked into crumbles and made into jelly, and best of all, stewed with sugar and port and eaten with yogurt.

I was out walking at Ardentinny, a little off the beaten track so the dogs didn't disturb the folk on the beach, or worse, nick their sandwiches and barbecued bangers. I'd picked a few brambles there at the weekend, but today there were hundreds in all their shiny, polished glory, black and glossy and beautiful. Unfortunately bramblers have to compete with Nature in the form of bluebottles and wasps, so these days I always cook the brambles rather than eat them raw - although I have consumed so many in my life I must have eaten any number of wee beasties!

There's something so satisfying about getting a free meal that I don't mind the scratches or the occasional extra protein.

Broaching the Subject

The subject in question being Fidelio. We had a great sail yesterday - sun and a good wind from the north. We took Jess along but left Jonny sunning himself in the garden since he's not a keen sea-dog. Jess, however, is happy wherever I am so donned her wee doggy life-jacket happily and even consented to being tied to the boat when things became a bit exciting.

We beat all the way down past the point at Ardentinny and to the entrance to Loch Goil. It took nearly five hours, although they passed so quickly I found it hard to believe when I looked at my watch. Of course a delicious picnic helped - BLT and plenty of tea.

We were one and a quarter hours coming home! We flew! And broached three times - my first experience of this scary loss of control. Trouble was, the wind was both behind us AND coming from the side, channelling down the glens. Rob had the spinnaker up and was using it more like a fore-sail, twitching away at the strings to catch the wind just so, and I had the tiller - in both hands half the time as we scooted along tipped right over. At the first broach I had no idea what to do, since all the steering equipment must have been out of the water and no matter how hard I pulled, I had no control. Fidelio turned herself into the wind and everything flapped alarmingly. Lucky that Jess was tied in or we'd have had dog overboard as well!

I was more ready for the second broach, which was actually even worse because Rob lost his hold on the spinnaker line, but I just let Fidelio have her head this time and we recovered fine. After that the spinnaker came down - so rapidly and hard that it appeared through the chute from the other end. We broached again with just the sail, but then the wind stopped blowing from the side and things calmed down enough to put the spinnaker up again and whizz home leaving a teriffic wake behind us. What a pity the thing that tells the speed isn't working. I'd love to know how fast we were going. Certainly faster than other boats that were motoring!

I think I've just had the sailing equivalent of being bloodied!

Airport Alert

Chaos at the airports! Today some very good friends from the US were due to fly home early this morning. I feel awful for them - are they still hanging about at the airport? Would their plane have been one of the ones targetted? When they do eventually get on a plane, how terrifying will it be? They're not exactly in the first flush of youth or the best of health. I can't contact them, so I'll just have to sit here biting my nails and praying until I hear they're safely home.

Mellow fruitfulness

It's hardly autumn, although some of the trees up the rectory drive seem to think it is and are dropping yellow leaves, but my garden is producing all manner of delicious provender and that makes me very happy. Today I made a summer pudding with a selection of berries (raspberries, wild strawberries, blueberries and the first few precious redcurrants from my new bush) and two rhubarb crumbles. Yesterday we ate new potatoes (Nicola), peas (meteor) and tiny courgettes. I wanted carrots but that would really be cradle-snatching - I'll have to be patient another week at least. My gooseberry bushes are bowed under the weight of fruit and they'll be the next candidates for crumble, pie or maybe just stewed. The early raspberries are nearly done, but the later ones are just beginning. I've frozen the best ones and made jam with the poor relations.

May I just say, YUM!

P.S. The only disappointment is the apple tree which hardly ever bears any fruit and is barren again this year despite a good lot of blossom. Methinks I'll have to get it a little friend.

Sad but true

So my sister-in-law buys this candle and it's decorated with some fancy stuff which is labeled 'inflammable'. She lights the candle and after a while the decoration catches fire. So she writes to the makers of the candle: you said the decoration on your candle was inflammable and here it's gone up in flames!

Who'da thunkit?

A Life on the Ocean Wave - again

The trouble with taking pictures of your boat in action is that you're usually on it. At best you can get pictures of bits of sail or rigging and they usually have sploshes of water or are at odd angles. If you phone your friend as you sail past their house, by the time they find the camera and run out, you're probably a dot on the horizon. However, this seems to be the only way I'll get a photo of Fidelio in full sail. Meantime, here's one of her deck, taken from Blairmore pier on the Open Day a couple of weeks ago.

Well that was fun

Yesterday's jolly at the church hit the spot on so many levels I can't decide where to begin.

First the sun shone - a good omen, especially as the ever-present midges prefer damp weather and the church looks so pretty on a sunny day. The service was two hours long but for me it didn't seem so because I felt engaged all the way through. This was partly because I had to sit right at the front with the choir and so felt part of the proceedings and partly because I had three things to do - which I suppose was rather excessive, but there are so few folk to spread the jobs around.

It was so nice to see so many people from St Ninian's, which was my church when I lived in Glasgow (we've all got older and greyer and people kept telling me I look like my mother, which is a compliment I think because she was a great character) and I really enjoyed being surrounded by so many friends from all over.

But the very best thing about yesterday was the fellowship within our own congregation. For once church politics were forgotten, grouches laid aside and everyone pulled together to put on a splendid occasion. There was real warmth from the people who welcomed the new rector into our church. Everyone had taken part in some way to make the day happen and I felt we all shared a sense of possession, if that's the right word, of the whole. Our lovely bishop, with his warmth and sincerity and exuberance, made it feel like a family occasion which combined dignity with a pleasing degree of comfortable informality which is something I love about this diocese.

And speaking of informality - while I'm all for children in church, I do think a two hour service is a bit much for a baby and the one who attended yesterday was vociferous in its protest. Sometimes it was difficult even for me at the very front to hear above the racket. When you have children you have to make certain sacrifices in your life - sleep, for example - but it really is rather bad manners to inflict a bawling baby on a trapped audience who can't escape. I'd have thought a little walk in the Bishop's Glen to distract it or help it to sleep would have been better for all concerned. Just my opinion, of course, as a Grumpy Old Woman, but when the bishop, who in another life is an opera singer, has to raise his voice to be heard, what chance do the rest of us have?

Finally . . .

. . . managed to solve the insurance problem by changing my underwriter. I spoke to a much more intelligent and creative person on the help-line and hopefully all is now well and my friend can drive. *Phew* Life can get so complicated!

We're all gearing up here for the institution of our new rector on Tuesday *waves to KB*. My computer table is covered with notes reminding me of all the things I have to remember to ask people. Whatever did we do before the advent of the Yellow Sticky? We're expecting arout 100 folk, which will severely test the seating capacity at Holy T, not to mention the car-parking. I just hope they don't arrive too early, because our other problem has echoes of Clochemerle. The general opinion has been, up to now, that if the back of the graveyard and the trees have been good enough since c.1840, why would we want to spend good money on plumbing?

Anyway, my prediction is that when we all reconvene at the Catholic church's splendidly appointed hall for the bunfight after the service, there will be a dirty dive for the loos!

Ranty ranty rant!

Oh I so hate bureaucracy! Grr! Gnash!

All I want to do is help out a couple of friends who are over from America by lending them my car for a few weeks. It's an ancient little thing and if I wanted rid of it I'd probably have to pay someone to take it away, but it runs just fine. My friends aren't planning to drive the length and breadth of the country, just around and about where they're staying.

First it didn't pass its MOT, but that had to be sorted anyway and now it is. Last week I phoned my insurance company to ask if it would be possible to have my friend put on the insurance temporarily. I mentioned that he was American and visiting and held a current US driver's license which has always been okay for a hire car and they said, sure, no problem, just phone us with the details when you're ready. Today I phoned with the details and all I got was a 'no'. This despite my friend's impeccable credentials, current clean US license etc etc. Apparently if you don't have a UK license, you can't be insured - even third party, fire and theft which is the minimum standard.

It's enough to make you want to hit someone (the smug b****** on the end of the phone would be a good start).

Pants!

Update

Things are looking up again on the home front. Mum-in-law has decided not to go back to her house, even when it's repaired, but look for somewhere near us and we may have found her a cottage. It's in the grounds of a 'hotel for the elderly', as these places are euphemistically called round here, but is entirely self contained. She would have as much independence as she wanted, but if the need arose, there would be back-up in the form of medical attention or meals or whatever from the main house. It sounds ideal, so fingers crossed.

We've rescued quite a lot of stuff from the fire - mostly china and glassware and a few pots and pans that can be cleaned up and papers and photos that were tucked away in drawers - smoke-damaged but definitely worth saving.

The boat is proving a splendid distraction. Yesterday saw Himself and me up early to catch a very low spring tide. We met at our village pier - he with the boat, I with a ladder on top of the car. We then proceeded to provide entertainment for the patrons of the pier café and several passers by as Himself climbed a lamp-post (a special pier lamp-post that has a signal light on top - I don't know what it's called) with the aid of the ladder, while I hauled in Fidelio's mast so that he could reach the very top and replace the wind-direction thingy. We only discovered this was broken after we'd enlisted the help of the crane at the marina to raise the mast and we've been trying to figure out how to get at the top of it without actually shimmying up. However, after this slick manoeuvre we proved ourselves complete amateurs by leaving a fender tied to the stepladder. When we realised it wasn't there and returned to the pier to pick it up, we came in a mite too fast and hit the pier with a mighty crunch (okay I hit it, being the driver). Luckily no damage ensued apart from a tiny dent in the pulpit which I wouldn't even have noticed was there had it not been pointed out to me *g*. They should issue boats with bumpers!

Up in Smoke

My mum-in-law's house went on fire on Wednesday night and within half an hour she lost everything - except the most precious thing of all, herself. She showed remarkable presence of mind for an old lady and dialled 999 as soon as she saw the smoke and then got herself out of the house. With two fire engines, police, ambulance, the gas and electricity boards and most of the neighbours in attendance, she then watched her whole life go up in flames.

Fortunately my husband's cousin stays round the corner and was able to take her in and look after her, and let us know what had happened. We were just on our way to bed when we got the phonecall - that heart-plummeting moment when the phone goes late at night - you just know it's bad news. Our first instinct was to drop everything and go to her, but living with ferries has its disadvantages and we soon realised it wasn't an option at that time of night and neither was driving up the peninsula since the car had about 5ml of diesel in the tank, so we had to stay put until first thing next morning.

How do you tell an old lady of 86 that she has nothing left but the clothes she stands up in? It just doesn't seem to have sunk in and I must say it's pretty hard for the family to take on board as well. At least Rob abd I knew what to expect having been through this before when our son's flat went up several Christmases ago. But it's hard to be prepared for the awful blackness and the smell, not to mention the contents of the house being in a sorry heap in the back garden.

The fire seems to have been started by the electricity meter (which mysteriously disappeared after Scottish Power came to disconnect the supply). The meter cupboard at the front door held coats and a couple of Hoovers. All that's left of them is a puddle of melted plastic. The forensic fire investigator is busy doing a reconstruction job to back up his assertion that the meter was to blame. That's pretty scary, considering all the fail-safe devices that are supposed to be in place there.

So we took her out and bought her some toiletries and some new clothes to be going on with, but at the age of 86, she has to start all over again. The insurance assessor has written everything off - the smoke damage was incredible - but we've managed to rescue her jewellery, her silver tea-set and her jelly pan (her most prized possession) and twenty pounds of assorted jams and marmalade might be salvagable although I think they're probably a little over-cooked.

I hope that if I live to be that age, I'm as sanguine and composed as Mum. I know it's only stuff, and I know she still hasn't grasped all the facts and implications, but wow - she's one tough old bird!

Show that you're some swimmer!

Mrs Blethers and I have taken up swimming in the early morning in a vain attempt to ward off the effects of gravity and the march of time on our aged bods. It so happens I have to be in the vicinity of the baths at around 7.30 am these days and since she lives a hop and a skip away, we decided to take the plunge, so to speak (although actual plungeing is strictly verboten and has been ever since I can remember at our baths. There used to be a springboard but you weren't allowed to spring from it).

We both used to be pretty good swimmers in the past, but while she still has a fine style, I swim like an old lady with my head above the water these days. I really must try out some goggles. I just have this problem of feeling blind without my specs or contacts and adding goggles would be like insult to injury. I once tried swimming with contacts in - actually I forgot to take them out - but they swelled up to about the size of saucers and floated away. Driving home was interesting.

BUT - I feel all virtuous and exercised! Getting home to the dogs raring to go for a walk was a bit of a bummer, but I told myself it would be doing me even more good and off we went up the hill. As it turned out, virtue had its reward because I saw a cuckoo clear as anything (it looks a bit like a dissolute kestrel with droopy wings) sitting atop a pine tree. It obliged me by flying across the golf course cucking and ooing so I was able to pinpoint it.

Another life on the ocean wave (I suspect I'm going to become boring on this)

It's so long since I posted here that Blogger asked me for my user name and password, neither of which I could remember. :/

At last yesterday, Rob and I got out for a sail in Fidelio. We'd been waiting all weekend, but the weather was too poor. On Sunday the wind was really strong and gusty and even the seasoned sailors didn't go out, but yesterday there was actually some sun and the wind, although flukey, was manageable. During Fidelio's transportation from Loch Earn the wee arrow-thingy at the top of the mast got broken by an inconveniently placed tree and now is no use whatsoever in telling us which way the wind's coming from so we had to rely on the old fashioned way. This was fine, except it behaved in a most capricious manner, changing direction in an instant and going from flat calm to 'OMG we're going to capsize' in a way that certainly gave us some practice!

And talking of practice, I'll need to practise hopping nimbly onto the pontoon from her when we attempt to park - or whatever boats do - in our berth. Yesterday was a distinctly inelegant homecoming and we just managed to avoid ramming our next-door neighbour as I made it onto the pontoon but failed to put the rope round the cleat and pull backwards in time to stop Fidelio bumping her nose on the walkway. Fortuantely no damage ensued although I daresay our reputation in the eyes of the salty old guys who seem to live in their boats and view us and our bumbling around with amusement has been further lowered.

Oh and my sermon went okay on Sunday, as far as I know. I decided to do a little PR on behalf of the Worship Group, since it seems we are to blame for all the ills in the church according to some members of the congregation. I think they're under the impression that we take over every few Sundays out of choice, thus banishing the priest and forcing him/her to Rothesay in order to fulfil his/her sacerdotal obligations. Or maybe they think it's an ego thing. Whatever, it could hardly be further from the truth. But at leat one of the 'antis' came up to me afterwards and said, "If your raison d'etre is to keep the church open and available every Sunday then I'm all for it."

I'll take that as a positive then.

A Life on the Ocean Wave . . .

My life has suddenly become incredibly full and busy this month, although mostly in a good way. It's exam month and my services are required at the school several times a week - maths today and I don't even get a lunch-break! But the exciting thing is, Rob and I have suddenly become boat owners thanks to the incredible generosity of a dear friend who finds she no longer has room for a boat in her life. So we are now the lucky owners of Fidelio, a 21 ft sailing boat - small but perfectly formed as they say.

Since we live on the shore it would seem sensible to put down a mooring outside the front door, but our particular bit of shore has rocks the size of double-decker buses under the water and the currents are dodgy too, so we've opted to berth her in the local marina where you just walk along a wooden pontoon and step aboard - infinitely preferable to getting your bum soaked in a rubber dinghy before you even set off IMO. I'm not sure how impressed the dogs will be with our new acquisition. They've been on her before and spent nearly all the time sitting on top of me. However, they weren't frightened of the sail, as a previous dog of ours was and I'm hoping we can persuade them to curl up below and snooze eventually.

I tried the extrovert test and I seem to be more extrovert than I thought! It must be the jollity of May.

Your Extroversion Profile:

Activity Level: High

Cheerfulness: High

Friendliness: High

Assertiveness: Medium

Sociability: Medium

Excitement Seeking: Very Low

How Extroverted Are You?