Machiavelli wasn't wrong

This is a burgee. To be prosaic, a "wind-direction indicator", though I expect this one didn't have chance to indicate the direction from which came the wind and the rain of terror that rendered it an ex-burgee. It just wasn't made for official storms with names.

For those who are confused, this man is a bargee.

(photo player.bfi.org.uk)

This is our saloon.

I normally pride myself on how tidy the interior of the boat is, but, sad to say, the photo only shows part of the current chaos. I have to add that the piles of stuff that are dotted around the saloon are there for a very good reason. Grace is making new curtains - two curtains and seven blinds, to be precise; you can see just a corner of one of the curtains on the right - and these require a lot of storage space. I use the word "storage" lightly, but the metres and metres of fabric, thread and cords have to go somewhere. This is where. Somewhere in there is wool, needles and who knows what else - well, Grace does - for her knitting and needle-point. The sewing machine is buried on the other side of the room. Other things too, probably. The sofa I was sitting on to take the photo was shared with rolls of fabric. The cabinet I stood my coffee on had tins of reels of thread and... more stuff.

It's just as well that we're not needing to light the Bubble stove in the corner. The timber for the blind-rails has to go somewhere, too. What's left of the floor is the only space that Grace has in which to do the job, and it would be impossible for her to work in front of a burning stove. It's not best as it is!

I tell you what, though. This will all be worth it. The two curtains and one of the blinds are completed and looking great. When the rest of the blinds are done, it's all going to look fabulous. In this case, Machiavelli wasn't wrong. The end really can justify the means.

I'll show you photos of the clear floor in due course. And of the window hangings. When it happens.

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No quite what we had in mind

Our very satisfying plans to go out on the cut for a few days each week to do touch-up painting were foiled by the heatwave, which raged up to 38°C in the saloon. It was a lot hotter than that in the sun. Paint would dry on the brush on its way from the tin. So Grace got to work making the curtains and blinds instead.  It was good to sit out on the jetty amongst the reeds and in the shade of the trees.

Heavy, though brief, rain and equally unenthusiastic thunderstorms broke the heat after a week, and we could again sleep under a light duvet rather than on top of it. But still the painting was out of the question. The rain was totally random and the weather forecasts did nothing beyond telling us that the rain would be totally random. Wet paint and rain don't mix, either. Grace continues with her sewing, and I'm left feeling cheated, and more loose-endy than ever. I'm trying to get on with writing the book, but it's reluctant in the heat. And in the rain. I considered offering to help with the sewing, watched one very long YouTube video about making curtains, and went for a walk.

Needless to say, it rained on me.

Lindsey Anne set out to Oxford today, and our wide views of the marina pond have been returned to us. I don't know if they studied the weather forecast, but it says it'll rain. Randomly.

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