Sitting in the lounge in Charles de Gaulle on my way home, I get this.
“The peak of the typhoon last night (it went straight over us) coincided with a high tide. There is sand over several low-lying parts of the road this morning.
That being the case, I thought I’d better go and see how your boat fared. The first bit of bad news is, it was no longer there―nada. We had pulled it as far up into the gap as we could and chained it to the rock. Well, the chain was still there…
So, I walked a bit further down the beach and, lo and behold, good news! There was your boat, firmly jammed into that little crevice that leads to the next beach.
The next bad news: it had clearly had a very rough night, and it is going to take a lot of work with a sander and a fiberglass repair kit to make it seaworthy again.”
Notwithstanding, had it been me who pulled Dileas up into Dead Man’s Gulch, I would undoubtedly have done a much lazier job than my friends and the Typhoon would have blown her off to Bali.
Oh dear,oh Dileas.
Cha b’e là na gaoithe là nan sgolb.