And waited...
For a month...
Then another month...
Then suddenly, a week before Christmas, the wind
dropped and they were off, Simon, Alan, Little John
and a salty sea dog called Trevor; a crew of hearty
men furnished with bacon, beans, fizzy pop and so many
cigs that if they'd been stopped the cops would have
thought they were smuggling.
The trip started well, they travelled down the Trent,
along the Humber and out to sea. They made it across
the wash with out any problems and they did fine
(barring a little sea sickness from the younger
members of the crew) until they reached the Thames.
Once in the Thames the possible traces of mist, turned
into such a heavy fog that London practically shut
down. Thomas was stuck at Tilbury unable to tell where
they were going except for GPS, which didn't help them
navigate away from several large container ships which
seemed to ignore trivial matters like collisions with
smaller ships.
Two days later and the fog hadn't lifted, they
couldn't see the shore, the coal was running out, as
was the petrol for the generator, the cooking gas and
worst of all, the bacon. The phone batteries were
running out and I was frantic.
They managed to fight their way up as far as Greys in
Essex and dropped anchor. They took a chance and set
out in the dingy in the direction (they hoped) of the
shore for supplies and rescuers. It was christmas eve
and they were desperate.
I met them there and wouldn't you know it, they'd
managed to anchor right next to Greys Yacht Club, a
place with gas, beer and bacon sandwiches! Not only
that, but those truly lovely people let us moor up in
a gully they had; giving us sanctuary for christmas,
allowing me to get the crew back to Yorkshire for
christmas and letting me hug Simon to make sure he
really was alive after all the worrying.
So on Christmas eve we finally arrived at Simon's
Mum's, dirty tired and totally drained. Thank god for family.
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