Rhu to Troon

At Rhu it rained but we were well cared for by Maxine’s Iceland friends John and Rosemary Brown. Splendid folk.

After a seriously indulgent evening aboard Blue Dove we groped into consciousness to farewell dear Pasha and Tatiana, who are heading home to Moscow via London.


With the help of a local engineering shop I started work on the seized Aries and we explored the Charles Rennie Macintosh masterpiece Hill House. 

Now, tied up in Troon after a beat down the coast from Rhu and Kip on the Firth of Clyde, we sit waiting for yet more shitty southerly weather to pass tomorrow. Already the rigging is whistling as squalls sweep over us.

We slept 14 hours last night and have now repaired to the local cafe. I order roast beef medium rare and am told “sir, we only do it pink or well done.” Meanwhile, sitting beside me Little Miss Perfect is outraged that every one of the Troon fingernail repair shops is closed on Mondays. Outside it is seriously raining but that’s nothing new. I am happy to sit and plan attachment of the elderly Aries wind vane, inherited with the boat but never installed.


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