Turning Purple.

Our conundrum of where to leave Zofia when we went out for dinner at Martin and Carolyn's was resolved by the prospect of 'half a berth' at the Cammeray Marina. This in fact turned out to be a pen because the half berth was unavailable at the last moment - an unexpected bonus. An additional bonus was the opportunity for a proper 'stand under' shower. A simple and guilty pleasure as compared to our 'bird baths' on board. We are clean of course, but miserly with the water and it's a bit of a treat to be a bit more profligate with the water. Since Martin would not be collecting us until 16:30 I'd even have time to 'do' my hair, which in this instance meant putting a colour through. No problemo, we were not going to be looking like scruffy sailor folk. We'd be spruced up!

Running short of my usual colour meant winging it a bit with a purchase made in Cronulla and I'd re-stocked with an unknown brand and shade. This is never going to happen again by the way because I should have guessed straight away when mixing up the goo, that the colour was far from normal. What to do? Abort the attempt and miss the chance to limit the break-through grey? Vanity said 'keep going' when sanity said 'stop'!

There is an 108 step ascent to the entrance of the Cammeray Marina at the roadway. It's just a small gap between 2 mansions. I think it's been many years since the inclinator stopped working judging from it's rusted and abandoned remains. The Bloke, who'd gone on ahead, was apologising to the waiting Martin for my tardiness and must have thought that he was starting to see stars after the effort of his ascent.

 This was not a play with the light. I'd gone punk purple and The Bloke was lost for words.

 Ever the gentleman, even Martin struggled to suppress his dismay.