Molemann, the Slovakian, and our Lover.

Bank holiday weekend was brilliant if heavy hard work. The plan was to bust all the last areas marked for needlegun attention in this phase. So all details inside both the forward accommodation and engine room, and all the bulwarks and superstructure, bollards, winch etc outside. This leaves the bosun’s store, trim tank and deck itself for another hire in a few months.
Bad news- we didn’t quite make it. I’m going back there tonight to try and finish everything off before returning the hired guns and compressor.
Good news- Molemann, Lover Nick and the inimitable Jan all came to help out and make this goal possible. So we had a ball, got loads done and Wendy Ann rang to the sound of a variety of noisy instruments for three days, then everyone fell asleep on the way home. I think she might’ve worn them out.
Since then the only communication I’ve received from the Mole has been text messages containing a lot of very rude words.
Molemann, aka mr la-di-da, Matt Gunning-Legg is a dear old friend from the days of cycling the city, and gained his name after a particularly heavy party at my old house. He’d been mixing up some Very Strong Drink (mint leaves, palm sugar, ice, RUM) and lost the power of speech by about 3am. Something about his grey hair, drink crazed expression and wild gesticulations of his shovelly hands made the name seem obvious, somehow, I think it was a good party anyway.
I’ve harboured a secret wish to get him on board for ages now, but figured that it’d not be his style, in fact he’s often joked that the only help he’ll provide will be polishing brass (ie. when she’s finished.) Luckily he was wrong and I managed to persuade him to try out the heavy industry instead. He was pretty good at it, particularly the needles, but the best thing was definitely his wry humour. He’s a fucking funny guy, and an absolute joy to have on board. Even when completely knackered, he’s generally able to come up with something that has us rolling about, this almost makes him a good foil to…
Lover Nick, I can’t even remember why he’s the lover, except at the time we all knew a lot of different Nick’s, most of whom gained prefixes to help us differentiate them. Lover is professionally dour, which is sometimes just as entertaining. We used to organise fancy dress bike races together, which was a gas. He’s been on about making a return trip to Wendy (see grinder rewinder) and luckily this one was it, having these two together is just like the old days, except instead of bikes and bitching about controllers it’s bloody great big ship and bitching about what fools they must be to follow me around.
Jan was his usual tough leathery self and extremely hardworking, he’s still making it happen. Losing his footing and falling into the forward bilges must’ve hurt though (I’ve done it a couple of times myself), so we strapped his shoulder up for the last day ‘cos Jan has an old injury which means he dislocates his shoulder really easily, even though Jan declares with the usual stoicism ‘no really- I’m fine’. You could probably chop him in half and that’d be his response, what is it with eastern Europeans?

But I just worry, it’s one thing for me to go bashing the hell out of myself every weekend, but these guys are my friends, they really do not need to do this. The boat is my own torturous obsession, apart from B there’s no-one else who’s obliged to join in. And I know it takes me most of the week to recover, that I’m permanently tired, I just feel that it’s not really fair that my mates are too. I hate the thought of accidentally taking my valuable relationships with any or all of these guys for granted. So I’m extremely grateful, full of thanks, and humbled beyond words by what they’re all prepared to go through for the sake of friendship. Boys, I take my hat off to you. Again.