To Peterheid

On a sea of liquid pewter, for those of you of a poetic bent. I did the 6:00 to 8:00 watch, past the ships coming in and out of Aberdeen, then Pete got up and got the healthy breakfast on the go: you know the drill: bacon, sausage, eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes. Cups of tea. Marmalade and a roll.

So Peterheid. Unfortunately (but also luckily) the oil pressure suddenly went to zero as we entered the marina. Five litres of oil had pissed into the sump over the previous 21 hours. It may now be fixed. We hope. So a step into Peterhead for a beer. I don't think we'll be venturing back this evening. Ok, time for a Peterheid joke....

A woman biding in Peterheid phoned in to the Press & Journal to post a death notice for her late husband. It read “Peter Reid from Peterhead is dead”. That was it, so the customer sales rep at the P&J said that she could have a few more words for the same cost. So she started again, “Peter Reid from Peterhead is dead, Cortina for sale”.

Toot toot!