Well, eventful days are certainly common down here (in Dorset).
Last weekend, an ex-arse asked me to go out on the boat. His daughter was around, who I have now met several times, as was my eldest son. We thought we had a full crew. But no – his daughter wimped out as she was tired after a couple of night shifts, and my son, tied to his laptop, cried off as he still had work to do.
By the time I got to the jetty, the boat was off the trailer and already in the water. At this point, I need to explain my outfit: denim shorts, a white sleeveless t-shirt, a navy hoody and my battered Converses. In my eyes perfect for a boat trip.
I had to wade out to the boat carrying my bag on my head. By the time I got there, I was soaked through, quite literally, everything. Being somewhat vertically challenged in a slightly choppy sea, it took three attempts to get me on board. Only once I was aboard and we were setting off did we both see a set of steps at the front of the boat that could have been lowered if only someone had remembered they were there.
As we set off, it was getting a bit breezy, and I was soaked and cold. I had brought a towel with me, so struggling underneath it, the sodden shorts and knickers came off. My friend offered his shorts as he was sensibly wearing swim shorts. I put his shorts on. I then stripped off my wet top half and put on the cagoule I had also thoughtfully brought.
It was not the sartorial style I was aiming for, but we couldn’t stop laughing. Especially as my wet knickers kept falling out of my bag. I have never been so overjoyed that my son was NOT with me!
