Delivering Northabout to Bristol
Hi, I’ve finally got Dad off the phone for long enough to get the laptop off him, so here’s instalment two. You know how I said yesterday was a long tiring day? Yeah, well, its got nothing on today. After I finished writing to you, best beloved. I managed to get to bed at midnight, just in time for a full nights sleep before I got up again, at four thirty. We immediately got underway to just round the corner to a nice little town called Portishead at six. We commenced the daily sorting out of the boat and then stopped at nine, for breakfast. After that we continued work until four pm. We then lleft the harbour and motored down to Bristol by six. Details will follow. The early morning was fairly smooth. We had no real hiccups on the way to Portishead. When we arrived I realised that in order to carry out repairs we needed a knife that we could heat up to cut a cauterise plastic ropes. So, innocent young lad that I am. I wandered down to the nearby chandlery and asked whether they had any small cheap knives. The bloke behind the counter picked one up and then had a second thought. “how old are you?”, he asked. “Fourteen.” I said. “No. I can’t sell you one.” Oops. I’d completely forgotten about the whole, young people with knives, problem. What was more, was that this bloke had clearly assumed that I was trying my luck there because there was someone I really hated at school. This was a problem. So I went back to the boat and got Clive. Clive is a man who owns a hot air balloon company, which is how he met David. But far more importantly, he knew the guy at the chandlery. So he accompanied me back the shop. We walked in and immediately exclaimed, very loudly “Steve! How’s he supposed to stab people if he hasn’t got a knife!?” Steve, to his credit, replied, “Ah, he’s with you. OK then.” So we bought the knife, and it’s quite a pretty one, and lived happily ever after. Once we got to Bristol, we said goodbye to Clive and Colin, who aren’t on the trip. And to Annie, John and Dave, who live close enough not to need to stay on the boat. Dad and I are the only ones onboard at the moment until Sunday. Just before we went to have dinner Frances showed up. Now Frances, is a small energetic photographer, with a large energetic dog. She is also in charge of Northabout’s web site. She had just turned up to show us a tracking thing she’d put on the PolarOcean website. This means that any of you dear folks at home can see where we are whenever you feel like it. So, for the next four months you will know where I live and I would be grateful if you didn’t arrange to have a horses head placed in my bunk. She also asked If we could arrange as many disasters as possible and record them for posterity. You have much to look forward to Ladies and Gentlemen, much to look forward to. After that just as Dad and I were leaving a family turned up who had seen me on the news and had wanted to say hello. As it turned out the daughter is a crew member on a boat thats about to cross the atlantic as part of a charity that allows disabled people to go sailing. After I got back from dinner I ran into them and offered to show them round the boat. So that happened. After that a had a good wait for Dad to get back. Actually, could those who have twitter, facebook, or instagram please let us know whether in these I should refer to Dad as: Dad, Father Dearest, or Big Nose. Thanks. Anyway, while I was waiting a young man in his mid twenties came down to the boat. In my eyes he seemed quite a lot like a reporter. He asked me whether, “Steven Hempleman Adams.” was on board. So I told him that Dad/Father Dearest/Big Nose, was having dinner, and that David wasn’t here yet. He said He’d come back tomorrow. So ends another exiting instalment of the Hitchhikers Guide To Th. . . No. Sorry, wrong one. Ahem. Tune in tomorrow for the next episode of, Stupid Teenage Boy Goes To a Cold Place You’ve Never Heard of. Thank you and goodnight.