visitors

I hear on the jungle drums that we may be getting a visit from old shipmate, Ian Heard. He's a Cornishman, painter and aspiring writer from the Tamar valley back in Blighty. I have the crew keeping the deck tight with liberal buckets of sea water and polishing the brass, after months at sea and a lazy summer have allowed a dull patina to steal the reflections in the lamps and binnacles. Last time I saw him was in Fowey, singing in Gallants, to some French yachtsmen who were reduced to tears. I though his pronunciation was equally questionable. We'll do a few songs here I'm sure, once the langoustines have gone down and the calvados is glowing in the glass.