Always

a pleasure when this arrives. I still cling to the advice of  my late mentor (and Master Under God of various Auxiliary Sloops) : don't go out if you hear the word 'six' in the forecast; tie up alongside by seven, and be in a restaurant, preferably  one patronised by overweight French people, by eight. 
So  reading about collapsing hulls in fifty knots off New Zealand in the winter just makes life cosier ashore.