Back home the polling stations are open and the girls are all home ready to cast their votes this evening. It is lovely to see them all together and a bit poignant not to be with them. This election we have used postal votes, so are already in the bag. I feel we have not missed much in the run up, just mud slinging from the press and promises of jam tomorrow for “hard working families” from the players. I have a nasty suspicion that tomorrow will always be a day away. Course, I’ve some need to talk sat here on my yacht. Here we have jobs to be getting on with.
The Captain has a list. He checks it frequently, ticking off items every day, but also adding things hitherto forgotten. I peek over his shoulder at it. “Fit lifelines, check lifejackets, check winches, check nav lights, fit new gas bottle, check electronics” and so it goes on. Thus far there is no “check wife”. I am keeping quiet. If he realises I could be set a schedule of fender juggling and jumping from the deck to the jetty, to make sure I am fit for purpose. I expect checking my performance is covered under the blanket heading “test sail”, which is fast becoming the only thing left unchecked. It will not be tomorrow though as John is thinking of staying up late to follow the election results. Given the predictions that it will end up an almighty horlicks, this is not likely to be informative, but at least we will have been paying attention and can have a lie in tomorrow, as the protagonists circle round each other courting dance partners.