Go Fish!

My love for my new hobby came to a swift and shivering halt last night, approximately 18 hours after my love for it blossomed.

So I lost a screwdriver overboard, the traditional way to retrieve such an item from the briny deep is by magnet. The fine gentleman whom works the desk of the Marina lent me his sea-searcher professional magnet that is designed for such a purpose (it can lift between 50-100lbs). I was soon hooked on retrieving scrap iron from the basin, I found the teaspoon I lost 6 months ago, a key that opens all the gates and locks in the marina, a windscreen wiper, an engine mounting, more nails, washers and screws than I knew what to do with, but unfortunately no screwdriver. Now as legend goes Bob the Barge threw a considerably large magnet from his old wind generator overboard last year and it just waiting for the right person to retrieve it.

Last night I was determined to find the fabled magnet of Bob so I would have my own magnet to fish with. It could even be mounted on a stick to extend my range and really make it like fishing. The area to cover is not inconsiderable so I tied the magnet off to my leg and started covering the aft section in a grid pattern. 30 mins later and still no joy (apart from a clamp, 3 bolts and a gnarly screw), so I decide for one last wild cast and then call it a day. So I hurl the magnet as far as I can aft, only to feel the familiar tug on my leg as the rope goes taut abruptly cease. I watch as the rope floats on the water and slowly drifts away form me but is rapidly getting pulled underwater. Without a seconds hesitation (well ok possibly a second as I swear, weigh up the cost of a new phone against the cost of a new magnet and loss of pride) and I hurl my self head first after the string fully clothed. After some splashing about I retrieve the end of the rope (just), I hear my phone die (I was listening to the radio on it) and I wander if anyone has seen me (oh the shame). With the rope between my teeth I swim to the side of my boat and attempt to climb aboard with some effort and very little stealth.

The weight of my sodden clothes kept pulling me back into the water everytime I managed to get my upper half out of the water, the magnet that was still held between my teeth obviously didn't help. With a massive burst of what remaining energy I had and a change in tactics (I used my bow rope for leverage) I was able to flop into the front deck and lie there laughing and dripping considering what a complete plank I was. So standing butt naked on the front deck, shivering I decide that possibly fishing with a magnet, particularly someone else's magnet may not be the wonderful treasure seeking hobby I had envisioned.

Will be returning the magnet to its rightful owner today and that will be the end of my salvaging days. Now to convince my phone providers that I got caught out in a rainstorm and for some reason my phone no longer works, if I can just dry it out thoroughly first I may stand a chance. I remember dropping my old nokia into the bath and it was fine, modern technology is not all that it is cracked up to be.

DougalDutch

Fruit and Veg!

I am starting to get into fruit, no seriously its not just something that happens to hippies.

But I still don't see the point in vegtables. Unless they are humourously shaped of course in which case they get points for trying, but brussel fucking sprouts are going to have put on a fucking comedy festival with free booze and strippers before they get my vote.

Green scum!

Welcome Home

So sitting at this desk I find myself feeling strangely at home after a visit to the toilet. Our wonderful new office building that has won so many environmental awards and is heralded as an architectural tour de force, but is completely pish to work in sprung another suprise on us. So now not only do the security doors only work when closed from one specific angle, I cannot work at my desk after 3pm due to sun glare from the glass roof but the rainwater flushing toilets are blocked solid with gunk from the roof. Brilliant!

Now to dispense of my own internal waste I have to take a huge hike to some a nondescript row of porta-potties, bask in the chemically preserved fecal aroma and marvel at the smurf like qualities of the light. Only thing missing is the deep bass from the Deep End and the threat of playa plague and I could be back home.

To those totally inept architects I salute you for creating my home away from home, the perfect way to decompress. The devil is in the details soldiers.

On another note those bastard ducks decided to welcome me home by shitting on every available square inch of pontoon, making boarding my home a trecherous adventure pitting balance against traction and gravity. I pity those fowl fools, don't they know I have just returned from my desert training facility with the cutting edge of counter insurgent strategies. Now if I can just get them to setup a theme camp so I can steal all their shit and throw ice at them I will be in business.

THE WAR IS ON!!!