Hey my peeps
So now you know that I live on a boat. But sometimes I don't. Sometimes, and sometimes often, I move ashore to be Aunty Lorraine to various canines and felines. Now moving ashore is not a thing to take lightly, oh no, it is something rather heavy instead. First the washing is collected, the bed stripped and all bunged into a big bag. Then the computer is packed up, the desktop into its own bag, the monitor and peripherals going into and amongst the laundry. The fridge is emptied, turned off and contents packed up; the coffee, tea and plunger; the phone, tablet and chargers; toiletries and meds; clothes, shoes and slippers; empty gas bottles and petrol containers; the desk chair, diary and pens and pencil case; all of this is loaded into the dinghy making sure to leave some room for me. Then the boat is battened down: batteries off, gas off, fridge left open a couple of inches, bilge emptied, top sides tidied and tied down, portholes closed and dogged, wheelhouse door locked on the inside, cockpit door locked and barred from the outside. Now I motor ashore, being careful not to scoop a wave over the bow, unload dinghy contents into trolleys, take across the yard, load all into the car, drive to house, unload the car, collapse. One, two, three, four or sometimes more weeks later, do it all again in reverse. I was lucky today, I got to take the heaviest things ashore and come home. Tomorrow there will be just me and the lighter stuff. And the desk chair. And in nine days, I'll bring it all home again.