Fading Memories

Saturday, August 30, 2025

KARMA -
- THURSDAY 28TH AUGUST - SUNSHINE COAST UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL

It was only while sitting waiting for surgery admission that we noticed the brand of my Mother’s ex wheelchair, was “Karma”. The irony of that particular brand sent us reflecting on whether indeed the “Karma” that we were experiencing was of the good type or the other, and for the life us, we couldn’t see anything bad (apart from the obvious) that we had experienced getting to this point.

Even the fact that despite our misgivings at the time, that wheelchair had been stored in my brother’s garage since our matriarch’s demise, turned out to be a masterstroke of decision making on his part. At every turn our experiences have been positive, none more so than when the surgeon visited on his rounds yesterday morning, his face beaming and announced “your foot is now straight”. He followed up with “Did you know you have five broken toes as well?”

We are not sure what possesses anyone to stand for several hours untangling other people’s nerves and tendons, all the while wrangling bits of bone to point them in directions they were reluctant to point, inserting bits of wire, screws and plates along the way, but he assured us it’s great fun and very satisfying, and we are more than grateful for that...

… Now we are home, together again, one week since we landed in Aus, one of us in a position that she will remain in for the next two weeks, recumbent in a state of quasi-traction, the other busily ensuring that everything in her peripheral vision at least, is kept in the manner to which she is accustomed, while our house slowly accumulates all the accessories of a rehabilitation facility.

The prognosis such as it is, will be subject to progress over these coming fourteen days, and we will both be working to ensure that Doctor's orders are scrupulously observed.

All going well, he says everything should be functioning as it should within eighteen months.

On the one hand, this is a little disappointing, but objectively it’s far better than nineteen months, or for that matter not at all.

As for that Karma thing? Well there's probably not going to be a lot to report on over the next month or so, unless the progress from crutches to walking hopper to knee scooter is riveting for some, so we'll all get to spend a bit of time doing other things!

“LIFE IS JUST A BOWL OF ALL BRAN” -
- SATURDAY 23RD AUGUST - KOKSIJDE TO DICKY BEACH

As the Small Faces reminded us “you wake up every morning and it’s there, it’s all about, enjoy it…”. I wonder if any of them had ever flown across the breadth of the planet, because if they had, they’d know it’s not just in the morning that you wake up, as your body clock refuses to accept messages from your brain.

Here we are upside down and back to front, 16,344 km from where our phone last saw her AirPods, after losing a day and not sleeping for a couple more just for good measure. We can’t thank the airline staff enough for their assistance on the way. Despite our concerns, the means to overcome every obstacle seemed to materialise just as we needed it.

As we opened the front door of our house, we were of course confronted by the last obstacle between us and life at home, the staircase to our actual living space. The other of us made simple work of scooting up our stairs on her bottom while holding one leg above her shoulders in a manner somewhat reminiscent of a young contortionist we had once seen perform in Mongolia.

We were grateful that our now completely depleted stocks of adrenaline had done their job and would have a chance to recover in their own good time, we could take a deep breath, relax and have a good lie down, or so we thought. The time was just after nine, it was Thursday morning, so there was no harm in seeing if the Doctor had a cancellation.

By three, we’d caused said doctor some consternation, and had been referred to a specialist, by eight (PM) the specialist had reviewed our Dutch documents and ordered scans. By midday Friday, barely twenty four hours after landing, arrangements had been made for one of us to have a nice rest in hospital along with another round of surgery on that miscreant foot of hers.

On the one hand, this was a bit disappointing, as the time clock on healing starts again next Tuesday, but on the other, it would appear to be another in a very long line of great luck that circumstances have allowed us to arrange hospital admissions, digest a ream of paperwork, obtain a wheel chair, shower seat other mobility accoutrements and a new pair of crutches, all before the sun had set for the third time since our arrival, even while our somehow keeping our heads just clear enough to do the job.

It’s fair to say that even with two of our brood to help with the heavy lifting as well as everything else, the reserve tank of energy is sitting on empty. With just a dash of the same luck, when we wake up tomorrow it will be very late in the morning, perhaps too late even for a bowl of All Bran, and once again we can get on with enjoying all that we have around us.

TIME FOR SOME REFLECTION -
- TUESDAY 19TH AUGUST - KOKSIJDE

Normally, at this time of our travels, we’d post an image of an aeroplane taken somewhere in transit.

More correctly, normally we’d only be halfway through our travels so that wouldn’t be anywhere near happening, yet here we are, relaxed after a nice snack in the Brussels Airport Lounge, somewhat discombobulated, unsure of how it all came to this!

We expect that our changed logistical circumstances may well prevent an update for a week or two so here we sit, ruminating on the events of the past month or so, completely overwhelmed as we think of the support we received at every turn by dear friends and complete strangers.

We are sitting, thinking thoughts of gratitude and affection for all who have provided help and wishes over the past few weeks. It’s been a funny time, we’ve enjoyed almost every minute of it despite the obvious impairment.

While we don’t want this to sound like an awards night speech, we can’t begin to thank those who have changed their plans just to be at our side, whether that be to cheer us up a bit, to help us on our way, or to lend a hand in the starvation prevention department.

Normally, at this time of our travels, we’d sign off till next time, but perhaps that would leave far too many well-wishers on something of a cliff-edge. There are still so many questions as yet unanswered.

Will she recover in time to once again take command of the good ship Joyeux in a summer time in the future? Will his culinary skills improve sufficiently so that they survive until that summer?

The answer to all these questions and more may well be coming soon to this very blog.

We shall have to see.

THE MANNER TO WHICH SHE COULD EASILY BECOME ACCUSTOMED-
- MONDAY 18TH AUGUST - DIKSMUIDE

No sooner had one of us drifted off to sleep last night than he was awakened by the first grey sky of dawn. Feeling a little cheated but none the less having things to do, people to contact, places to go, he reached for the computer. Before he could say “it’s probably breakfast time”, he’d checked in for tomorrow’s flights, confirmed the driver and wheelchair instructions, and given Dave and Thijs fair warning that we “might” be half an hour late. By then onto his third coffee, with the last load of towels already in the dryer, he was ready to face the final countdown.

The other did a wonderful job of hiding her frustration at not being able to take part in the kerfuffle, although the angst of not being able to help was telling to those aboard who’d known her for more than half a century.

As we shipped her from tidy part of boat to not yet tidy and back again she not once complained. Sighed perhaps, groaned a bit under the effort, but generally spent her time quietly worrying enough for both of us as to how exactly we were going to get her ashore when the time came.

When the time came, albeit an hour or two later than we might have predicted, but with everything more or less shipshape and “good enough” to leave, Thijs miraculously appeared seemingly out of thin air with a wheelchair he’d conjured up using some sort of boatyard magic.

After bundling her into Dave and Ria’s car, with what will be all of our possessions for the next day or two, and arriving safely in their apartment carpark, she had to face her next test. She has not actually “walked” more than a few steps on dry land with the aid of crutches in five weeks. Figuring it would probably be no more difficult than using them in a confined, rocking space that is the boat, with just a little assistance she found herself ensconced on a rather sumptuous couch in a living room that would be her place in the world for the next two dozen hours.

We had done it. We’d packed up, and were on our way and it was only mid afternoon. Without warning, now within spitting distance of boarding a flight home, all of the events of the past weeks enveloped us with an enormous aching tiredness.

So we did what any sensible person would do, and settled in for a lovely, completely therapeutic snooze.

Some people see things as they are and ask why? The other of us sees things as they could be and quietly suggests that if one is to be finished all his jobs by midday tomorrow when the boat is due to come out of the water, now would probably be a good time for him to pull his finger out, as the saying goes.

He on the other hand, had everything quietly under control, he thought. With two washing machines on the go, a dryer chugging away in the Harbour Master’s office, a vacuum cleaner that won’t say die, and an early morning wash of the outside of the boat complete, ably assisted by last night’s precipitation, how hard can this packing and wintering business possibly be?

Thanks to his carelessness in over catering the green curry a month ago, dinner was defrosting itself while the mountain of chaos slowly became a mole hill.

By the morning, there would be only the last few jobs to do, just a few minutes that both silently understood would turn to hours, but she would sleep soundly unworried by the approaching deadline, he would also sleep soundly to tired to worry about anything at all.

COMING DOWN-
- SATURDAY 16TH AUGUST - DIKSMUIDE

Normally we give ourselves a week to pack and clean and regroup. This allows us to take into account the vagaries of the weather as well as those of our own.

By the time we had run a few small errands this morning involving hardware stores and boatyards, and had our last farewell hugs, we were down to less than two days, with the half day of our actual departure in reserve.

By that time the rain had set in, accompanied by that kind of emptiness that fills a small boat when a month or more of what felt decidedly like partying despite the obvious distraction sitting foot up in the corner, suddenly comes to an end.

Nothing we did or said could motivate us to get started, even the one with the motivation stick was reluctant to reach for it let alone wave it in the other’s direction while he sat staring into space, deep in his wonderings and procrastination.

A man (and woman) has to eat, so a slightly less than quick walk downtown to drink in the last of the town for the year, and to pick up some bread and maybe a nice piece of cake seemed in order.

The cake, a whopping slice of Mokka Cream, was just what the doctor ordered. As we lingered much longer than we normally would over our late morning coffee, we wondered together whether the doctor order rest as well.

There’s no point in washing anything in this rain.

Perhaps one of us can get it all sorted in a day?

It’s a testament perhaps to where our minds were, that on a near perfect cruising day, when everything went right, there were no delays anywhere, every bridge and lock opened for us metres before we arrived, and as far as we can recall the sun shone brightly all day, that the only image that illustrates any part of it, is the one taken to remember where the car was parked in Bruges.

The first bridge opened at eight this morning, and with a full crew aboard to keep the breakfast and coffee coming while underway, we were there precisely on time. Entirely as planned we were safely in our berth in Diksumide by ten past lunch o’clock, the boys set off for Bruges by train to retrieve the car and the girls did whatever girls do when left to their own devices for the afternoon.

Today was a holiday for most, and a minor inconvenience for those intent on foraging for dinner when all of the convenience stores are closed.

Fortunately, the station in Bruges is large enough to contain one of those “Mini” convenience markets, which even by mid afternoon held enough fresh produce for Pat to apply his magic later in the evening.

We discovered the car right where we left it right next to the column with the hippopotamus on it, which was fortunate, as not long afterwards we discovered that all of the columns had the same smiling hippo, the meaning of which may well remain one of life’s great mysteries.

As the evening closed in, we were enjoying ourselves immensely I think, all four of us, ignoring the hippo in the room; the countdown clock ticking away in the corner was down to the number two.

After all that fuss and effort we went to earlier in the year (was it really only last month?) to obtain our radio license (mostly) to appease the long suffering waterways inspector, with only two more days on the water this summer, we really thought that we’d escaped his watchful eye.

We had been mistaken. A small tap on the side of the boat and a cheery enquiry “have you managed to sort the radio problem at all?” was our clue that we were about to be inspected again. He was so delighted at our response in the affirmative that we truly think had the answer been “no” he may well have moved on, but instead he cheerily boarded, inspected and with some genuine happiness for us, ticked his boxes wishing us well on our journey, and noted in passing that we hadn’t even had to hide our transceivers this time!

Relieved to be no longer targets for the ire of some less friendly person in a uniform, we quietly pulled up stumps on Bruges for the year and turned towards the first of the significant obstructions on our course home. The bridges went well, but we had to endure a lengthy spell waiting for the first lock.

Also clearly waiting, although having shown less respect for the lifting bridges than we did, was a seal, presumably having popped into town for a waffle, now heading for home for a nice fish. It was apparent that he’d done this before, stooging around just as we were a few dozens of metres from the lock gates, until it was about to open, when he shot off and began stalking that very first crack that appears as the gates begin to part, submerging and dashing into the lock to find the best place.

The lock itself is a large semi circular thing, designed by someone who knew a bit about washing machines but nothing about tying boats up in one. The seal didn’t even attempt to secure himself against the wall, but repeated the performance at the gate, dashing over as it began to open to make the point about who was going to be home first.

We didn’t see him again, presumably because he was heading down to Zeebrugge for the afternoon, but he’d reminded us that there was no need for us to rush, we’d let the others go first and get there in our own good time.

Tomorrow we’ll be home, but as usual, let’s enjoy what’s left of our journey while it lasts.

No one we know particularly likes Bruges in the mood it was in today, at least not the bits of it in the centre. We certainly tend to stay away at times like this, when apparently every tourist in Europe decides that today is the day they’ll visit. Thankfully it’s only for a short time during the day, and when all is said and done it only affects a few city blocks with the rest of the place pretty much left alone to do its thing in peace and quiet.

Who knows what they are thinking, or trying to see as they hustle shoulder to shoulder on their pilgrimage. We would have avoided them entirely on our last day in town for the year as we thought the few errands we had to run could be taken care of in the periphery where it seems tourist dare not venture. We were wrong of course. It was Market Day, and the square was filled to the gills with stands and trailers offering all sorts of fresh produce, although strangely not affected by the crowd intent on other things than obtaining the fixings for dinner.

He who dares wins they say, and in this case it was the best fennel Pat says he has ever sliced, and he does know a thing or two about this stuff.

Of course the little gallery which had been displaying a small trinket in the window, (an object of desire for one of us which would certainly bring cheer if not a cure for broken bones), was closed on Wednesdays, and in case we got any bright ideas about popping back in the morning, it’s closed most of Thursday for good measure.

We had other things on the shopping list too, meat was one, but the butcher was closed for his annual break, so was the baker and for all we know the candlestick maker was with them, perhaps queueing for a boat ride downtown.

Having managed to cobble together the ingredients for a fine evening despite the added challenges, Pat set about doing his culinary thing, Pamela joined the crowd in search of a waffle, Dave and Ria popped in to assist with another lengthy night of revelry, and the two of us just sat about enjoying the distraction.

ONCE MORE DEAR FRIENDS -
- TUESDAY 12TH AUGUST - BEERNEM TO BRUGES

We left Beernem slowly, quietly, early enough to miss the gathering of eighty or so amphibious vehicles that were due to meet and “drive” along the waterway to Bruges in mid morning, just a simple wave to Dave and Ria lest our composure should break at the thought of being away from them for one whole night.

This would be our last day of navigation in our own company. Each year at times like this we fondly remember returning to Lagarde at the end of our first season, on a perfect Autumn day, roof back just breathing the world, when one of us asked if we could go a little slower. When the other replied “We are already in neutral” neither could offer an alternative means of prolonging the enjoyment.

Today was one of those days.

Even waiting for the bridges couldn’t delay us long enough to break the spell, at least till the final one, which had all the makings of ruining our plan.

The bridge that blocks the little harbour was out of action, preventing anyone entering or leaving, and the extent of repair hadn’t been determined. With no way of sensibly getting ashore, Pamela and Pat’s arrival imminent, and the next heatwave of summer slowly building around us, nothing looked to be quite unlike they had appeared in the brochure!

Of course things worked out. They always do.

In quick succession, Pat and Pamela arrived, the bridge was repaired, we found a place in the shade, and we settled in for a long and happy evening determined to have one last day off tomorrow, some of us expect to be walking around enjoying Bruges, the other may well look through her photos of the last time we were here.

As Paul McCartney’s younger brother once reminded us, Monday is washing day.

It’s also washing the boat so you can pack it up at the end of the week day, sort out what clothes are going to be left on the boat day and try to avoid getting heat stroke as the temperature once again hits the thirties and makes life just as challenging for those stuck indoors as those scrubbing the roof day.

Extraordinarily it’s exactly three weeks (but who’s counting?) since that fateful day in Dordrecht when our adventure took a turn for the ever so slightly beyond our control, the earth started spinning in reverse at twice it’s normal speed and we began living at half ours. I mention that t because I had a photograph with a “three” on it, and I’d simply run out of energy to take a more appropriate photo today.

The realisation that it’s only been three weeks and that we will be on our way home before the fourth is complete is just as difficult to compute as it is to come to terms with the scope of cleaning and packing to be done.

It’s not over, but we have a clear path to next Tuesday now, and we simply can’t express our appreciation for the assistance we’ve been given, and the kindness of those simply wishing us well. Extraordinary does not come close to describing what we have been experiencing.

Tonight, after sharing one last meal (until Sunday anyway) Dave and Ria returned to their boat. Shortly afterwards, Ria apparently, having discussed with a neighbour, our “plight”, although that word truly does much more drama on our current circumstances than they deserve, returned with yet another meal prepared by someone we had never met, to help us along on our fifteen kilometre solo leg to Bruges tomorrow!

When I was very young we had a long play record in our house, a recording of the music of Burl Ives. It’s funny how things from the past come flashing back in times like this, but slightly overwrought by being the recipient of this kindness, I must confess;-

A little bitty tear let me down.

All days are golden, although some may have a slight tinge of baby-cack yellow.

Today might just have been one of those days. It was supposed to be a pleasant cruise in the company of mates, for five or six hours if we don’t count the planned stop for lunch, with Max skipping around us like the puppy he will always be beside our ancient Joyeux.

We’d started civilly late, late enough to have had a quick visit to the supermarket, and went quietly into the wild blue yonder onto a windless, greasy sea with a sun that beat mercilessly on the helmsman no matter which direction the boat turned.

While one of us slept on, the other after less than an hour, for reasons inexplicable but may have been due to the events of the past few weeks catching up, or it may he just been the usual melancholia that befalls us on the last few days of the cruising season, had had enough. Nothing he could do could coax another milli-oomph of speed out of the boat. This was just going to be a very long, hot day. Suck it up, buttercup.

After what seemed like a couple of hours, because it was really a couple of hours, we arrived at the Sluice Evergem, the lock that is Dave and Ria’s nemesis, true to its name, we ended up free floating, jammed between Max and another boat in the twenty metres left in the front of the lock after a container ship had joined us for the ride. This is not the most pleasant way of spending half an hour, but we were consoled with the thought that if we did drift back onto the ship, we probably wouldn’t do it any damage.

Half an hour later we discovered there was no space at our luncheon spot, so we had nought to do but press on. The Captain was nudged gently from her slumber and temporarily demoted to helmsman, perhaps her least favourite job in the whole world, while the usual pilot went below, glad of the short break from the sun, to rustle up a couple of sandwiches and a nice cup of tea to reward her for her efforts.

The rest of the afternoon was spent just as unpleasantly bobbling along in the sun, being buzz bombed by wake boats causing far more grief aboard than the Westerschelde ever could.

When all was said and done, we arrived tired, one of us a bit reddish, both of us happy, after yet another glorious day spent boating with a couple of friends.

Life doesn’t get much better than that.

WRUNG OUT-
- SATURDAY 9TH AUGUST - TERNEUZEN TO SAS VAN GENT

We barely had time to tie off in the harbour in Terneuzen last night when the first container ship passed.

It’s no big deal, it’s a container ship, we’re in a harbour protected from it’s wake.

But out there it’s a different story. It’s travelling at almost forty kilometres per hour in the very same place we were unable to make four and I’m not sure if any of us had the energy last night to contemplate taking them on again this morning. Thankfully the lock is less than a kilometre away, and when the morning came we obtained permission to sail on the wrong side of the channel for the few minutes it took to go with the ebb tide.

We’d decided that a couple of hours would be enough today, to give us time to get our house into some sort of order, and replenish our stores and we were happily snug once again in Sas van Gent, where we would spend our last night in the Netherlands this year.

Happily for us Val turned up out of nowhere for a short visit with Zoe the wonderdog, bearing gifts no less! Poor Zoe seemed less than enthusiastic about coming aboard, but once there settled at our feet as though she actually liked our company. There's no doubt she would rather have stayed than be passed across to the shore once more.

Boarding boats must be to her, what crossing shipping lanes is to us.

This visit, due to circumstance, somewhat fleeting, was all that was needed to lift the veil of the fatigue that has slowly built over the past few days. We are sure that we will face tomorrow with just a little more enthusiasm because of it.

HALF A CHANCE-
- FRIDAY 8TH AUGUST - THOLEN TO TERNEUZEN

It’s difficult to write about risk and life on the water. On the one hand, tales of bravado and derring do make great telling yet on the other there is a very fine line between taking risk, and practicing sensible seamanship. The very worst reason for making a decision at sea, is in order to make a deadline, and despite our nervousness about having a plane to catch, we were determined not to proceed unless conditions were perfect, or near enough, or not perfect but in a neat envelope of safety, or at least good enough to give us half a chance of arriving by boat rather than swimming.

We needed a combination of very modest wind, preferably in the direction of the tide, a modest tide height too if possible, and an outgoing tide so that we could take a little ride rather than fighting it for the few hours it would take. The forecast for the afternoon was vaguely promising in terms of wind strength and tide direction, but the wind direction and size of the tide and therefore current were exactly wrong.

Therefore in the interests of prudence, with only ugly but not terribly dangerous conditions we decided to umm… suck it and see. So we did and it was slow, at the safe limit of the wind, against the tide, awful if comfort on a small boat is your desire and perhaps might have been a little frightening for some without considerable sea miles under their belt.

The updated forecast was still promising a reduction in wind speed when we set out and all went well for a while. We happily pushed on, mixing it in a special lane with the little ships, each displacing several thousand tonnes more than we mostly travelling at three or four times our speed tossing up an ocean full of spray in the small chop.

We were well and truly past the point of no return, when we reached the confluence of the tides and an ominous darkening of the sky brought significantly higher winds. “Gnarly” comes to mind, perhaps “character building” would be an expression that fits the penultimate half hour or so of our passage, with some peaks so steep that we were wishing we had low range and four wheel drive. We were still within our safety margin and weren’t in any significant danger, but it’s fair to say that we were at what we consider to be the safe limit for our boat, which was not built for the sea.

With the bow and sometimes the stern being bounced well clear of the water by the confused sea, we were making little progress across the water, but still being propelled towards our destination (or the north sea if we couldn’t turn in time) at more than ten kilometres per hour.

When the time came to turn into the protected current, with a maximum upstream speed of less than four kilometres per hour, crossing fourteen ships was something of a trial. Dave and Ria’s view of proceedings from their “Max” gave them some cause for anxiety, and we were grateful of course for them remaining in visual contact for the whole voyage.

We can’t pretend we weren’t relieved when the banging stopped, nor that we weren’t just a little tired, perhaps satisfied and overjoyed that our little boat had exceeded our expectations, let alone that we were now just one lock away from being back on the canals and one step closer to “home”.

For the next few days we expect to be lurching from one emotional hurdle to the next. We are still reeling a little at having a leg with no plaster on it, albeit still quite swollen with colouring something akin to a ripe plumb, and thinking about the best way of protecting it on our long journey home.

At the same time had made some good miles yesterday, and planned to leave early this morning to make some more yet we still haven’t quite come to terms with the fact that only yesterday we were in a hospital. We both woke well before dawn, our minds abuzz with thoughts, plans and jobs to do, so we spent a productive few hours changing our flights and confirming connections, arranging suitable transportation and assistance before heading out as the first rays of a new day began to appear.

Having a confirmed deadline for our return did at least take one variable from the equation and one might have thought one less thing to worry about, but the weather forecast was anything but stable, and our prospects for a simple passage were changing hourly. It’s one thing to have airline tickets, it’s entirely another to get to the airport on time, when one’s means of transport depends entirely on the vagaries of the weather over the coming week.

After speaking with Dave and Ria it was fairly clear that our plan to cross the Oosterschelde today would have to be abandoned in the face of high winds, so with no other sensible choices to be made, we joined them to shelter in the Harbour in Tholen.

Ron and Robin, having already given up so much of their time to be with us, were beginning to feel the pinch of their own deadline and very reluctantly it must be said, formally passed the baton to Dave and Ria to watch over us for the balance of our journey. Tomorrow there would be sadness at their departure, last minute instructions, and a bundle of nerves aboard as we bade our farewells and waited for the weather to take a kinder turn, but tonight, once again the boat was filled with merriment and laughter.

EARLY TO BED, EARLY TO RISE -
- WEDNESDAY 6TH AUGUST - DORDRECHT TO OOLTGENSPLAAT

It wouldn’t have mattered how many hours we had spent in bed, gentle nervousness rather than anxiety had ruined any possibility of adequate sleep, so we had no chance of missing the early taxi to the hospital where we arrived more than an hour early and as things so often do, things simply began falling into place.

It began with our coffee in the hospital foyer. George, the proprietor of the shop, concerned that we’d spent way too many days in the last two weeks drinking his coffee, enquired as to our health. After discovering our story, with genuine concern told us he understood how difficult it must be, strangers in town locked in a small boat, and very sincerely offered at any time we wanted a break, to come to the boat and pick us up to take us for a coffee just to get out for a bit.

Shaken by his kindness, but not stirred, we arrived almost an hour early for our appointment to be told that the post-op department wasn’t particularly busy and we’d be welcome to come now if that’s ok.

Even more shaken, once the plaster was removed and the sutures had followed, with strict instructions for the next six weeks or so, and after picking up a paper trail that seemed to have everyone in the hospital running after us for a time, we had that tick!

After a round of farewells, thanks and hugs around the harbour, we gave Mr Perkins a little tickle under his chin, and before midday we had left that wondrous part of this year’s adventure in our wake.

With one thing in mind, to push as far south as we could in the next two days, we had no time for glorious cruising photographs, but as we passed Willemstad to Port, the waving Windmill gave us pause for thought.

We had been on a mission a few weeks ago, to begin our cruise further north, telling ourselves that there’d be plenty of time to photograph windmills later and that we should really get excited about the first one we’d seen in the Netherlands (this year).

There is probably no need to expand on how that worked out, but now faced with a journey curtailed by several months, with just a little disappointment, this same Mill will almost certainly be the last one we see in the Netherlands (this year).

How is it that the last fortnight has passed in a blur, and yet this, the day before our hospital appointment has taken longer to pass than the previous month? There must be some sort of fracture in the time-space continuum which is much larger than the ones in her foot.

This has been our first true waiting day. A day spent doing odd jobs and foraging in the supermarket, trying to think about the tasks in hand that we can control and not the things that we cannot, we have our travel agent on stand-by, Thijs is ready at the shipyard to lift us when we say so, Dave and Ria are waiting downstream to sail in company across “the paddock”. All we need now is the hospital clearance box ticked.

Ron and Robin meanwhile have been exploring every nook and cranny of this memorable city, giving us a rundown of their adventures every night, allowing us to explore all we’ve missed vicariously, including an ancient Italian restaurant, run by a perhaps even more ancient Italian gentleman.

On the menu a Pizza was screaming “eat me”. The description read simply: ‘a secret recipe from only the best ingredients’. No amount of coercing could produce even a hint of what ingredients in might contain. Responding with only the simple words “it’s a secret”, they had us hook, line and sinker.

Just before dinner time, three of us, armed with a towel for insulation rather than intergalactic mishap, returned triumphant with our prize.

The Pizza was sublime, the mystery around it shall remain so for the benefit of those to come, but even so, as the sun shone slowly in the west, only one thing was certain.

There would be very little sleep for anyone aboard the little ship that night.

THE WALL OF UNCERTAINTY
- MONDAY 4TH AUGUST - DORDRECHT

We rarely receive calls from unidentified numbers, but since the last one that came through was from the helpful person at the insurance company, when the phone sang (because that’s what phones do in 2025) before breakfast time, and the number was “unidentified” we were of two minds as to whether we would answer it.

Curiosity won out, and the somewhat broken up voice on the other end of the phone confirmed that she too was from the insurance mob, the claims team, just checking as to whether we had sufficient funds to see us through the next few weeks and whether we would like to begin the claim process so that they could help us out. This was both unsettling and reassuring at the same time. Unsettling, because clearly the company is wanting us to begin the claim process early, and we are reluctant to do so until all our ducks are hanging neatly on the wall, but at the same time reassuring because it seems our file is actually somewhere in the system, and just possibly the system really does care for our well being.

Being unwilling to bury ourselves in paper just yet, we very respectfully declined her offer, and we can only hope that when the time comes, the person dealing with that paperwork will be as helpful as the two that we’ve spoken with.

Incredibly it’s now been two weeks since that fateful stumble, and while one of us has spent that time hopping in very small circles the other has been running in them, becoming quite adept this thing called “multitasking”- a curious process that involves for instance; making a cup of tea while cooking an egg with one hand while the other hand is checking social media feeds on the telephone, with one foot making the bed, and the other is preparing to administer her nightly jab.

With Ron and Robin’s able assistance or management more like, things have been running very smoothly indeed, but there’s a level of nervousness beginning to appear despite that reassuring call. As our next date with the hospital looms and hopefully giving us some parameters around which we can make plans, we are staring at a blank wall while trying to plan a sailing route through a hypothetical weather window and hoping against hope that we can find flights and magically transport ourselves from boat to home without one of us having to carry the other.

If mental gymnastics were an olympic sport, we’d be gold medal contenders.

LET CANTERBURY COME TO US
- SUNDAY 3RD AUGUST - DORDRECHT

“The identification of Canterbury Cathedral as successor to a henge monument has been confirmed by a second trip to Canterbury. My earlier analysis (1) was based upon published plans and descriptions, in which it is difficult to know what peculiarities of a plan are drafting errors and what values may be relied upon. For example, the azimuth of the nave varies by as much as 50 from one plan to another. On these surveys the amplitude of the nave was 50 south of east, giving an azimuth of 950. The East Kent grid at the position of the Cathedral is 2024' east of true north, thus the true azimuth is 971/½ 0. Large-scale plans of the Cathedral show an angle between nave and choir of 1°40’.”

Our own second trip to Canterbury Cathedral was going to be undertaken next month as a little side excursion to the one would confirm that Ralph and Jenny’s little brood were all thriving and had no doubt had grown in size as well as number since the last time we’d seen them in one place, more than a decade ago.

As a result of the events of the past week sadly we had to rethink that visit and live with the hope that our reunion could be postponed for one more year.

Due to an alignment of the stars perhaps not dissimilar to that described above (which no doubt could be confirmed by Dr Lyle B. Borst, astronomer and author of the above paragraph were he still among us), we received a message quite out of the blue, to the effect that they were holidaying in Utrecht which is quite nearby, and would it be alright if they popped in on their way back to the cross channel Ferry on Sunday?

Would it be alright??!! With Ron and Robin lending a hand, all of the waking hours between then and this afternoon we spent cleaning and tidying and putting things out of sight and generally pretending that the boat was not the home of four people.

The other two disappeared for the day, off to the town of s’ Hertogenbosch to become intimately equated with the life and work of Hieronymus Bosch, whose paintings seem only a little less surreal than our life at the moment,

And there we were for the afternoon, alone except for the other five, the boat once again living up to its name, filled with happiness, all of us eager to make what we could of the precious few hours we had in each other’s company.

WHEN THE CHIPS GO DOWN
- SATURDAY 2ND AUGUST - DORDRECHT

With the stress of yesterday long consigned to the “forgotten already” bin, today was the first proper “waiting till Wednesday” day with the merest hint of “nothing we can do” mixed with “wish there was something we could do” to plan ahead, but we can’t!

Even trying to interpolate the weather chart a week ahead to try to make some sense of a timeline for our return is pure folly, and the temptation to continually peek at it looms like some sort of spectre, just daring us to get our hopes up, so mostly we don’t.

We are both conscious that with one of us in the position of having almost zero activity, bar a few basic exercises, it’s quite important to ensure that the food consumed by her is both of a smaller portion than usual, and of a sufficiently well balanced nature that no new rolls of tummy fat appear in the short term.

With that in mind, the other popped down to the market this morning with the intention of purchasing perhaps a single lettuce leaf for her to consume with her lunchtime glass of water, and perhaps, not similarly encumbered, he’d lash out on a small bread roll for himself.

As soon as he arrived however, the aromas started to mingle with the ocean of people swirling around him, and in the absence of a note, his subconscious mind began to guide him towards more delicious offerings. At first the man with the warm chicken rolls beckoned, but then the fish mongers seemed to pop up as if by magic. The thought of a broodje haring (raw herring on bread with pickles and onion) became irresistable - perhaps she could leave the bread aside, or perhaps we could just have the haring on a small plate, or a few rollmops.

Hold that thought - there are chips over there, and a man frying fish! Kibbling (pieces of battered fish) and friets (chips) with mayonnaise seemed like a match made in heaven, no doubt about that. Admittedly jostling the paper cone of chips and platter of kibbling through the crowd and then being Mr Delivery across the next several hundred metres of cobbles had its challenges, but we made it to the boat with all still (just) warm enough to consume every greasy crumb without reheating.

Unless smiles are heavy, she didn’t appear to be any weightier than before lunch, so we call that a giant win all round.

RETURNING TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME
- FRIDAY 1ST AUGUST - DORDRECHT

Our previous dealings with the credit card travel insurance company have been exemplary, but by four am this morning when we’d received the fourth email request for some inane detail from the third “case manager” in five days, the grumpy juices began pumping and the keyboard fingers were doing their very best not to provoke some poor overworked person trying to do their job to the best of their ability.

On the one hand all we were asking was for an indication that the actions we had proposed were acceptable.

They on the other hand were reluctant to communicate unless we had made a claim, certified our bone fides, provided sworn witness statements and twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was, to be used as evidence.

It was becoming clear that there was a reason that the first automatic response we received had more than half of its contents below a header in bold letters which read “COMPLAINTS PROCESS”.

By that fourth email of the day, clearly a cut and pasted response with no hint of a reply to any of our questions, something snapped, and one of us rattled off and email asking if in fact a human had been involved in the process to date, and if not, could one please actually read any one of our notes and perhaps just indicate that we were on the right track. Realising that by that time it was the weekend in Australia, a longer somewhat more bitterly phrased document was drafted to be sent after the weekend, when by then sure as night follows day, no response will have been received.

Twelve hours later, in the late of the afternoon, frustration levels unabated, the icing on the cake arrived when an unidentified caller began knocking on the inside of the telephone begging to be let out.

Her name was Lara she said by way of friendly introduction, she didn’t offer her surname but it may well have been “Croft”, such was her super-human ability to cut to the chase, to size up our situation, and to check on our well being. She was from the Insurance “medical support” team and was there to help she said, and help she did, questioning us thoroughly to ensure that all was well with the patient, confirming that our strategies for repatriation were sound, allowing us to make our own arrangements but keeping a very experienced, motherly eye on the process we had proposed. Once assured we were able to stand on our own three feet, she wished us well, apologised for the earlier kerfuffle, and assured us that at any time of the night or day help was just a phone call away.

With our faith in that particular company completely restored, we now sit quietly waiting for Wednesday, to see where the next cards fall.

PARTY SHIP
- THURSDAY 31ST JULY - DORDRECHT

Our friendly harbour master had a quiet word today, just after Fred and Els arrived and moored on the staging pontoon right next to us, because there was no more room in the harbour.

“Would you mind asking your friends to stop coming? We are full!”

That is kind of how the evening went really, a way back play back to the good old days when we’d have eight on board for dinner, and a rollicking good time would be had by all. Of course in those days one of us wasn’t taking the space of three people with her leg on cushions under the pretext of remaining elevated, so this time it was standing room only, with the shenanigans resembling a cocktail party rather than a dinner party, but a very good time was had by all, with only a few directions being required from the Captain herself.

There was no music of course, as it would not have been audible over the laughter, and once again Dave, with no more than two chickens and a leaf of lettuce (and of course the magic pannenlikker) made sure that no one would go home lighter than when they arrived.

Right on cue, the email arrived from the hospital confirming our appointment for this time next week, so at least we have a date after which our next set of decisions can be made. There’s a bit of movement and some feeling returning to her toes now too, although the colour of them is so completely at odds with those of the other foot that we wonder if they haven’t gone to their spare parts bin and sewn on the first foot they found rather than trying to repair the original.

If we could see around the corner that is next Wednesday, we’d know what the exact combination of wind and tide would be, and chart our way home, the stars would align themselves and we’d be able to put our travel arrangements into some sort of sensible order and cancel bookings for the next couple of months.

But we can’t.

Thinking too much about what may or may not be the outcome of next week cannot change what will happen, but our minds keep returning to that forbidden garden.

Thankfully, Dave and Ria arrived in port today and even it we had tried it would have been difficult to hear ourselves think over the din of our reunion. By the time Ron and Robin had returned from their meanderings, Dave was waving his pannenlikker like a magic wand, casting a spell as only he can over a few simple ingredients to create a monstrously splendid party meal.

Perhaps it’s the magic of being round so many great friends at the one time that makes it work so well, more likely it’s the years of schooling and experience and talent that enable him to produce anything from anything.

Actually, when we think about it was our pannenlikker not his, and it doesn’t quite work the same when one of us wields it no matter how many people are aboard!