Tales of Woe

A fine day for a sail. A solo sail at that, as I’m being careful at not bringing the lurgy home. I mean, if the wife catches it, who’s going to make ma tea?  
A delightful sail it was, but arriving back at the pontoon, there was Trev pottering about on his boat. The same Trev who goes out every day without fail. Not out for a sail today, I shouted over. He cast a baleful look in my direction. It’s a long story he said. And then proceeded to tell me his tale of woe. He’d written to his Commodore (he’s with the other mob) asking whether it was OK to continue sailing! How I guffawed, bastard that I am. Schoolboy error No1. The Commodore thought he shouldn’t, because if he got into difficulties he’d have to get the RNLI or Coastguard and that would put them at risk. That old nugget. Can I play golf? But.. what if you were hit by a stray ball? What about a walk… what, on these icy pavements? Poor Trev. A salutary tale. Did you reply to his email, I asked. He didn’t. Well, says I, there was every chance you didn’t receive it - perhaps it went into your junk folder…
And chats with Brian and then John too - all well distanced; I think a few gentlemen are at loose ends.
Later, however, at home and much fortified by my bracing day out, a rather worrying text out the blue. It seems the sis has suffered a minor stroke and is in the Hospital at Dumfries. I’m totally shocked. Luckily for the family the nephew decided to stay there after Christmas so her old man isn’t all on his tod and I phone to have a chat. Speedy recovery, Jeannie.