Extract from Sunday, 20th June, 1982:
The day was fine and the sun shone for part of the time. (Actually, it shone all the time, but sometimes clouds came between us and it.)
Extract from Sunday, 25th July, 1982:
Returned to Y e Olde White Harte, where George showed all and sundry my photographs taken with my new camera.
Extract from Sunday, 22nd August, 1982:
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum! George wanted me to help him tow his boat to Norfolk. LH was not available, for reasons I am unable to comprehend, but M 2 graciously accompanied us.
We set off at seven o'clock, towing George's trailer which had been completely rebuilt following its disintegration due to a superfluity of oxygen.
We arrived at G's cottage in North Creake in good time, with instructions to undertake such quests as:
a) removing the bedroom curtains (why? ~ no doubt LH can explain)
b) hunting a prize marrow, running it to earth, and killing it as humanely as possible
c) selecting aesthetically pleasing pieces of ivy.
We then retrieved his boat and hauled it to Burnham Overy Staithe, which was full of yachtsmen. With some difficulty we launched the boat, climbed aboard (not to mention the dogs) and set sail for Scolt Head. George evaded the other craft with the skill of a bad actor avoiding rotten eggs. The sea was choppy, and we got rather wet.
We arrived at Scolt Head without too much trouble, when Vicky proceeded to drink half the sea, which gave her instant and violent diarrhoea. While G went for a run we watched boat after boat getting into trouble and having to be rescued. I found a bottle with a message in it, which said, "Received yours of 23rd April, 1965. Please state by reply precisely which island it is you are marooned on . . . ."
We set sail for the return voyage a little better organised than previously, praying for a calm sea and a preposterous voyage. Again we got very wet, and I had to bail the boat out with the cup from M 2's coffee flask. At some stages we appeared to be making no way at all, against a strong head wind and an ebb tide racing round the point. However, George's little engine proved lion-hearted and we eventually hove-to back at the staithe.
