Tossed About

A long corkscrewing voyage over to the north west coast of Sutherland and into a lovely wee anchorage down Loch Eriboll. Tis always uncomfortable to have a running sea on one of your rear quarters, and so it was. We gave up trying to make tea after G poured a bit of very hot water over his leg. And after I'd been tossed across the cockpit with one wave, I thought it best to stay wedged in the corner.
On the plus side, I was able to finish Connolly's Attention All Shipping and get started on Peter May's Entry Island. The Shipping Forecast was very entertaining in parts; much less so in other parts. I guess it suffers as much writing in that genre does, from a surfeit of formularity. Aye. You set off writing your travelogue - you need things to happen; nothing much happens (it's like real life) so you inflate small incidents to try and make them amusing (his hat almost blew over beachy head); you exaggerate characters to make them more interesting (until your narrative is flawed by being peopled by unbelievable creations); you drink to excess as that is always a laugh (isn't it?); and then there's always a bit of historical nonsense cut and pasted from the local historian/bore. Pretty much sums up errr travelogues, doesn't it.
Did I tell you G burnt his leg - this was after we got steaming drunk and I almost went overboard. At the entrance to Loch Eriboll, Gaelic for loch of the secret back passage. You couldn't make it up.
Actually, it's bloody stunning here. And I'm so glad I bought that jar of peanut butter in Wick.