Dismasted

An early start to catch the tide and get the mast unstepped. First in line we were, with McC the elder as deckhand, and MrT on the quayside to get barked at. All done, with no drama, by 9:30. The Commodore is already on the upward trajectory which will see him reach fever pitch by lift out in three weeks time.
Talking of fever pitch, blimey, it’s all kicking off at the Tory Party conference. Kwarteng has backtracked on his proposed abolition of the 45% tax rate. He’s contrite. He’s listened. Or else it’s a coup and an outrage. Rees-Mogg is everywhere on the airwaves, loftily wafting the foul odours away, explaining that it’s all mere froth. Do not be concerned, little people. Liz knows what she’s doing. It’s.just.that.she.can’t.actually.speak. For a great believer in free markets, she seems curiously incapable of understanding what spooks them.