Wednesday, 17 February 2010
on the roof
I was up a step ladder round at Marta's, fixing the thing that fits on the end of a gutter to stop it dripping onto the windowledge below. One pair of the ladder's feet was on the paving, the other was in the kitchen, and the ladder was at a bit of a jaunty angle. Marta held onto the ladder, just in case. "It's all slanty," she said; "How do you manage to stay on?"
"All those years of seafaring," I said.
On which subject, I listened to a dramatisation of Jack London's "Sea Wolf" on BBC Radio 7 last night. And then had nightmares about being back at sea again. It happens.
Eight years ago I was somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean about now, watching the stars and eating flying fish, and enjoying the company. So it wasn't all bad.
Marta's roof had moss growing on it, and it looked beautiful, especially with the pendant raindrops hanging off it.