Laissez Faire.

Yes, bad and naughty Seb. I’ve just had another can’t-be-arsed-blogging-few-months.
But trust me the biggest excuse for this is that we’ve been stupidly, insanely busy. Regular readers will be relieved to know that, as always, there’s far more to it than that.
The last blog entry I did was a deliberate and extremely oblique reference to the fact that I’d just had a significant industrial accident, and let’s just be clear it was my own fault. Quite interestingly I smacked myself in the face with a small angle grinder fitted with a cutting disc. It was like being kicked in the head by a fairly large horse, and it very definitely knocked me off my perch. A mere seven stitches across my upper lip and nose seemed like a lucky escape at the time. But I still have little sensation in the area beyond the cold, numb, been up all year doing cocaine sort of weirdness that once upon a time I was used to for entirely different and very wrong reasons. And the scar hasn’t even the grace to be cool either, I regret to report that it’s come up more Wonky Hitler than Heroic Swashbuckler. No you bunch of bloodlusting oddballs, I haven’t got any photographs, being alternately too shocked and then too ready to beat senseless the entirely undeserving and quite fit nurse who gave me the six local anaesthetic injections, the bitch.

Anyway, you don’t want to read this sort of thing, you want to know about progress aboard the vessel ‘Wendy Ann 2’ don’t you? Right then. Over the next few days I hope to tell you all about the following, at the very least:
An unexpected sofa.
And fridge.
First battery lighting and it’s effects.
Forward accommodation deckhead joy.
Why I love diesel, even though I shouldn’t.
Engine room ballasting and working floor at last.
What’s wrong with chemical toilets anyway?
My Da, and the meaning of the word ‘love’.
Moving that bloody propeller.
Guess the Flag.

So, tune in for words and pictures again soon folks.