Whilst on our way to that rocky outcrop off the SW coast
of the former Imperial conquest in what one can only be described as a
double handed frenzy, the apparent delirium or my inability to understand
the accent of my co skipper has led me to attempt communication elsewhere.
Given the lack of the usual supporting crew on the rail that would
ordinarily regale me with stories of their beer tent shenanigans, I have
discovered an intelligent mammal that responds to my local New Zealand
tribal form of communication, based somewhat on my facial tick but
predominately on the clicking sound made when the tongue moves across the
roof of the mouth.
I have successfully, obviously between trimming sails,
driving like a demon, sail changes, boat dodging not dissimilar to driving
the wrong way down the M1 at full throttle in thick fog, preparing Ragu
that I think he means "To die for" but came out more like "tea dea fur",
and making this craft slip through the water like an AC72 on steroids,
made a new friend, he has since told me his name was Francois.
Having battled out West of the Scillies, and on North post
shift, Francois and I skipped along and chatted for hours about family,
friends and even the occasional lighthearted quip about our respective
girlfriends Zoe and Delphine, my new friend Francois, suddenly heard a
sound he recognised, he told me it was his other good friend Francois of
which he is a guardian and spent many weeks taking good care of last
winter, he asked me if it would be possible to take a photo of them
together as the opportunity rarely develops, I think Francois and Francois
would like the snap for their respective scrap books.
Please see below.
The Jolliest of Jellyfish.