Order Restored

The minky wanted to go swimming. And of course, if that’s what she wants, that’s what she gets. Not a lesson in life that really should go beyond the confines of Grandpop’s tender care of course. Wouldn’t want her to turn out a self centred little prima donna. And blimey, she managed to float free with her little armbands. And didn’t freak out. Though wasn’t entirely comfortable either it must be reported. There you go, that’s my report.
And later she helped tidy out the shed. A much needed task. And she did rather well. 
Then off – yet another marina meeting discussing dredging. Just when it looked like all the ducks were lined up, a fly has arrived in the ointment (that’s proper writing, that). There’s a red line beyond which it seems we cannot dredge.  And said line is barely two boats’ width off the pontoon. Useless! What nonsensical bureaucracy will we now need to engage with? What hoops shall we jump through? Godammit. Get me Elon Musk on the blower! 
Right, got that off my chist. Off to the Diggers I did go. Whiskies again. They’re the very devil.