Salt

After 3 months of a floating life and this most recent extended passage across the Great Australian Bight, there are probably very few surfaces aboard Zofia that haven't by now got an invisible dusting of salt! Maybe our foulies are to blame to some degree. We can't keep climbing in an out of them and even when we try to, we need to sit to do it. We stagger around so much we can't always choose what we'll brush up against. When we are in a seaway and if you were a fly on the wall, you'd see two loonies moving about the cabin .... just like those puppets from The Thunderbirds.  Remember Virgil and Miss Penelope? Dress those puppets up in our Musto wet weather gear and we could be them. The salt just transfers from one thing to another like a contagion.

If you've got salt on anything it's never going to be dry and in fact, in humid conditions, it just attracts more moisture. It's a monster. All those sacred images and statues of the Madonna that appear to cry are symptomatic of salt, I reckon.

My mission over the next week will be to wash down every hard surface and to launder every doona cover, cushion cover, worn clothing item etc...... The list is long.

It's probably an ambition to match King Canute's but I'll give it a darn good shot. A good start will be to give the Bloke careful instructions about where he can sit and what he can wear until the job is done. Hope he's in the mood for a good 'listening to'... ha ha

I declare war on brine..... it's the salt, not my Bloke, Brian!