I got the train down to Plymouth after work yesterday, and finally came home to Carina. I had an understated, coming home to what I know, sort of feeling about me. There was no fanfare, no celebratory whooping and hollering. I climbed on board, put down my bags, opened the padlock, filled the kettle and made myself a cup of tea. I sat for a while, just taking in the fact that I was home, and then made a simple pasta dinner, cracked open a bottle of wine and enjoyed a couple of glasses, and slept soundly through the night as the boat rocked in the swell rippling up the estuary from the force sevens out to sea.
Today was unpacking day. Every surface in the saloon and fore cabin was piled high with our belongings. I had to get it all stowed before Julian and the girls arrive tomorrow. Trying to deal with this with the children on board would be Sisyphean. So I began, methodically working my way through it all, trying to remember where things had been stowed last year, and whether a more convenient home can be found for them this year.
We have learned from previous years that there are a lot of items we simply don’t need on board, but despite having brought far less than last year or the year before, I struggled to figure out where to put it all. What did I do two years ago, when I had about a third more stuff?
But I got through it – mostly. There are still things lying around, but I need to wait til morning and look on them with fresh eyes before I can decide where they go. I need to make the girl’s bed up, but that’ll be done by the time they get here tomorrow afternoon. When I spoke to the girls on the phone this evening they were very excited. I imagine there will be whooping and hollering all round when they get here!