Retrospective: September Revisited

In September time became unmananageable my life was turned over to dramatic events that I could no longer control.

The tall ships came and went with relatively small impact on our day to day lives here in 'The Ryn' except the traffic was a bit hectic and 'Trago's' was left empty for aspiring boaties to peruse at there leisure.

I fell off my bike twice. The first time I was just cycling out of Ponsharden Boatyard (where the boat was on the hard for a couple of weeks while the fiberglassing was done). The exit for the boatyard is on the roundabout at the bottom of the death slide hill that completes the bypass. It was really weird. I'd just cycled up the small ramp that leads onto the round about and cycled a couple of metres past the roundabout. I had not built up speed at all, when the the bicycle came to an unexplainable dead stop. I flew right over the handle bars and landed hard on the heels of my hands (if that's the right turn of phrase). I hadn't done that for years and I was a bit shaken up as a lay on the red tarmac cycle lane. My bike spun out from under me in the middle of the road obstructing one lane of traffic. It's easy to forgot the unforgiving gravel and gritty quality of road surfaces and pavements, having not inspected or even collided with them for quite some time. One person pulled over and stopped to help. I'm not sure exactly what I felt. I don't think embarrassment really registered I was still perplexed by the nature of my collision with the ground and the perspective from road level, one step beneath the kerb. Slowly there came a dull awareness that the mechanised vertiginous wheels anonymously speeding by could at any moment crush my fragile skull. That's an adrenaline rush for you.

The second time was when I let the breaks out of Dunstaville Terrace. Something either hit the spokes of got tanlged in them, I suspect it might have been the strap from my handbag. it never showed in ware. Anyways I let the speed pick up going down hill and then I was literally catapulted off the bike over the handlebars at speed. I literally flew hands out in front of myself like a super hero. Took off even more skin on the heels of my hands scraped all my elbow rolled over looked up only to see the bicycle suspended in midair and land on top of me. There were a few gasps from some passers buy and an older group of people made their way out into the street to help me. Luckily there were no cars on the road. Joyce appeared from the pavement, she lived on Dunstaville Terrace and had just gone to look out the window and had witnessed the unexpected scene while hoping to take in the breath taking harbour. Oh well, she was in shock too. Rather impressive to see a psychologist in shock. Anyways she picked me up off the street explained to the group that she lived right there and we knew each other. They were a bot concerned that I she might be taking advantage of an unexpecting stranger. Then I agree. I think we had a cup to tea and she put the bike in the hall it was a lovely house. I can't remember who else lived there now. By knee were fucked along with my elbows and some how even thought it happened mid morning I ended up staying there the night and reading The Old Man and The Sea. The boat might have been fucked, it might have been the day I met Del, that's a whole other story

Completed 20/06/2018 For more information please see here.

Trash TV

Well i've come back up to Scotland for a couple of weeks to try to sort out a whole sorage unit of personal possesions never mind a whole load of other stuff. Prudence my bycycle is still on top form shiny and red just like before. Even though I haven't ridden her yet. So really rather than sorting out all that other stuff I've just slipped right into neutraland been sitting at home watching trash TV. Repeats of 'The OC' and 'ER' which is reaaly sad, except ther aint much to do here in sunny Wemyss Bay. So thats about it nothing really to report just trying to get a few more blog entries in for October.

Bootleg Milk

it's now October and access to the internet over the last month has been a problemo. More importantly my mid twenties are now behind me, and I find myself on the steep helterskelter ride to thirty now being twenty-eight. I am faced with a dilema as to what to do now with this blog of mine. Alot happened in September. Alot has already happened in October. Do I back date or continue undocumented. Right now I am in Barry's house, correctly in his dining room, having just dined, while sitting at the computer that seems a bit of a waste but I've been gagging to write something in this blog for weeks now. Damien, Barry's son is also sitting with us and I'm being incredibley rude just tip tapping away. I've never met Damien before either arggggh.

Today I woke up. It hadn't rained all night which came as a bit of a surprise. I'm going to have to qualify this statement just so you understand exactly what I mean incase I haven't covered it already. Living on a yacht/boat my bed and therefor my head when I sleep is directly under a hatch, that I leave wide open all night, unless it rains. So when I write I was surprised that it didn't rain; I mean I'm surprised that at some point in my slumber I did not feel the gentle pitter patter of rain on my face. That I then had to respond to firstly by anticipating the level threat posed by the increasing or decreasing level of pitter pattering on my face and then if it be increasing kneeling up in my bed akwardly stretching over for the hatch in order to have it violently slam closed above me.

I think getting out of bed, which is where the real problem lies was pushed by an urgency to go to the toilet which in my case living on a boat is not necesarily simple. Luckily it's simplicity was increased once I realised it was high tide. Easier for getting on and off the boat. Not only my boat but Wayne's boat to. There's nothing quite like trying to get yourself 8ft up a ladder when your dying for a piss and ther is no assistance in site. Anyways "Peapods" was open and Beth made me some chai from there on in the day became managable, caffeine motivating the way forward. Other than Amelia no one had surfaced from Waynes boat after the party. I wasn't sure what I had done up untill the point that Cheryl appeared addiction ready grasping at her bacy. Slowly the aim of tidying up was acheived not before a few half time breaks when even the washing up seemed a bit to endless. Wayne did not appear. There were several discussions about the piss bucket that stank and what had happened down below after the party nothing that interesting except several stories of how each persons sleep had been interupted. Wayne maed no commet not beign there. Wayne had been left to sleep ont he floor despite it being his birthday. Wayne was still sleeping on the floor.

Wandering in and out of Peapods several times I eventually encountered Barry. Barry had been at our party the night before. I can't remember if I had invited him or if he had just turned up or if I had encountered him in a similar way to now at Peapods and taken him to the party. Either way we now had tales to tell.

I had seen Barry last on Waynes boat just as I was scuttling to bed. He had rearrived, after having already arrived and left announcing he had locked himself out. Barry had returned to the boat in order to inform his friend Jan of this occurance, who was also meant to be staying at his place. Fortunately Penryn was enjoying some what of a birthday party festival on this particular evening. Barry made his way to another party where he had agreed to meet his lodger with the key so they could get in. The lodger never arrived. Some time after 4am Barry endured and more importantlyy survived an acrobatic entrance into his own house that involved some back fences and trees. This might not seem all that much of a high jinx except that Barry happens to be in his mid fifties. After this unintended ordeal Barry was somewhat annoyed that his lodger came home after 6am to have a long shower. The plumbing running through his bedroom rattling away. In the morning Barry now out in the garden was greeted by his lodger voice. The lodger had spent most of the night in Treliske (officially one of the worst hospitals in Britain) having been offered a double up on a bike, where she had been expected to sit on the handlebars. The worst had happened and she had quite litterally landed on her face.

At the end of this short but engaging conversation Barry invited me to sound engineer (hold the boom) for a documentary film he was making about farmers, which involved traveling to West Penwith. Interested yet slightly reluctant, I accepted. Be under no illusions the technicalities of film making are incredible ardious and boring. Somehow the subject matter of the documentary was not the most interesting part of my day. However it did provide a life time first of unprocessed and essentially bootleg milk that was provided by the dairy herdsmen in question. Furthermore it revealed that both our Welsh ancestors had comefrom the same village. Strange. A good sread of cakes was put on along with tea and the bootleg milk sumptious, creamy and delicious, as well as indulgent bring the expression of 'milk & honey' into a whole new understanding aand meaning. I like the Cornish. Now I'm just a bit confused about getting to London in the morning and what that will entail, including the onward journey to Scotland.