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Erm? They're Clive and Les aren't they?
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Ardglass 15th August
15th August, 2005
We woke this morning, but only just. Clive complained that he hadn't slept very well and was very tired. That would be 'as tired as a newt' I suppose. And if he didn't sleep that well, who was it snoring like Annie on the other side of the cabin?
I showered and went off to buy fresh bread and milk in the village and, on my return, called into the shower block where I had left washing kit and towel. Clive was inspecting a large bruise on his hip.
'I wonder where I did that.' he conjectured. No recollection of the ditch, then!
We had to leave soon after 11.00 in the morning otherwise the tide would preclude our departure before 7.00 in the evening, so we muddled through breakfast and finally slipped our lines and motored out.
We remembered to motor back up to buoy number 18 before turning for the sea, which was pretty good when you consider what we'd been doing to our brains all day yesterday, and, before long, we were barrelling along heading for sea.
Lunch was makeshift. I had a couple of the remaining chicken legs shredded in a sandwich. Clive settled for two ginger biscuits and an apple. Shortly afterwards Clive went for a lie down.
By 6.00 pm we were in the Ardglass channel and motoring between the buoys which seem to bear little similarity with those shown in the almanac or on the chart. But we didn't ground and by quarter past we had been directed to a berth and lines taken by the nice lady who runs the marina office. After showering, we headed into town looking for a cash machine, beer and food in that order.
Cash was found at the Ulster Bank hole in the wall. Beer was more difficult to locate as we had decided we would not do the Dock Inn after experiences in Newlyn with the pub of the same name. However all the other bars looked either tatty, empty, or closed so we settled for the Dock after all. And it turned out to be a good choice: clean, friendly and with excellent Guinness.
We were recommended to visit the fish and chip shop next door where I took the whiting and Clive went for the prawn open sandwich. Both were good and inexpensive.
We went back to the Dock where I tried to understand the conversations but the Ulster accent is beyond me.
We had just one beer and part way through Clive started to yawn uncontrollably almost slumping forward onto the bar. It seems that he was still very tired. So that would be 'still tired as a newt' then?
I took him home to bed at 9.30. Pathetic!