The Rascal

Oh my word yes, it blew. The SK did her magic of transforming my list of days into a list of food in aisle order. That’s a skill. So round the supermarket we did go before heading over to the boat to stow it all away. 
Later I returned to give the place a good swabbing. My word it yawed about a bit. Occasionally I watched the speed on my lovely wireless windspeed instrument, willing it even higher. 
But that dripless seal is far from dripless. It’s got worse, and of course there’s no adjustment. This grieves me just when I should be at my happiest. Ach, worse things happen at sea. 
Back to visit the new K who has moved in two doors along. She’s really nice as are all her young friends. Gentrification proceeds apace. 
And then, the Wimbledon final. Well, the end of it. I suspect not quite the end of  Djokovic despite losing to a 20 year old. And he managed to reduce himself to tears in his engaging and gracious losers speech. And I must say I got wet eyed too. Getting sentimental about Djokovic is a new one for me. Am I unwell?