falling down water

I had to let the dust settle a little on this entry as time, being the great healer, needed er, time.
It was not funny at the time, but heindsight is the funniest thing.

It is common knowledge that a true sailor is a hardy drinker. One who embraces Rum with both anchor-tattood-forearms.

My fellow co-habitant, Mr X has been known to practice the art of Rum appreciation throughout his younger adult life. Though he doesn't have the sailor tattoos he has other credentials that make him a sailor.

I work long hours sometimes, leaving me less time for my blog as people may (or may not) have noticed and less time to spend at home. My poor dog will surely one day mistake me for a burglar and lick me to death.
Anyhoo, it was one of these late nights, a Friday of all days I arrived home around 10pm, I immediately clocked the two bottles of rum (55%) in the kitchen, one of them empty, the other one seriously storm battered and a chopped up lime, squeezed and re-squeezed into wafer thin skinny green shells.

I knew immediately the weather forecast was going to be stormy.

I battened the hatches, put all breakables away or on the floor and braced myself, armed with mobile phone for both evidence gathering and any possible Mayday calls.
It was while attempting to re-set the stereo in the kitchen, balanced precariously holding onto the kitchen work surfaces to aid with balance that an almighty wave must have caught Mr X out and sent him sliding, tumbling, like a sack of spuds to the floor. It was here he promptly fell asleep and asumed the safety position. (like a true sailor)

[img]http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p213/jaynetoyne/IMG00249.jpg[/img]

I seized the moment to deploy the sofa cushions to the floor in anticipation of a further stormy night to come. Stepping over the sleeping baby I took the dog outside for his nightly oblutions, said goodnight to the neighbour who was moored alongside, oblivious to the fact I was standing two feet away from an unconscious body then went back inside and waited.

one hour later the creature from the black lagoon came shuffling on its derier from the kitchen into the living room, looking for a warm safe place to sleep. upon finding the cushions, commenced a discussion about why it couldn't sleep on the "normal" bed. It eventually conceded to the fact it was safer on the floor, away from an angry female.
The angry female commenced with tooth brushing duties (with analogue toothbrush not the electrical one because the travel power, although fully serviced has not been re-fitted to the engine)
When, the sound that no-one likes to hear, was heard.

[i]Yaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggghhpp, Yaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggghhpp, [/i]

I ran back to the living room, fearing the worst, [i]vomit central[/i], when in fact, I soon realised [b]It[/b] had cleverly employed the use of the fire bucket to contain his seasickness.
A true sailor never spoils the interior.

After a swift clip around the back of the head, calling him a, silly sailor [read: c**t]
I swapped his fancy brass bucket for an altogether easier to clean plastic one. I pondered for a moment as I was swilling the sick out of bucket via the side hatch, I had never seen Mr X seasick before, it was most un-charactaristic of him.
It was then, that I spotted a large mark on his face. It seems he must have hit his head when he fell to the floor, causing possible concussion.

I spent the rest of the night on sick-boy watch, checking frequently that he was still alive. The next morning, I ventured into the living room, he was sitting up asking how he arrived in the living room.
Incredibly he remembers absolutely nothing after the second glass of rum. No head ache, nothing.
It was two hours later, after filling the tank with water and preparing to descend the lock, the colour drained from his face, suddenly the tempest returned and remained for the whole day.

I cruised the boat mostly on my todd, savouring the fact he was still alive, but suffering. Will he learn a lesson in seamanship from this?

It seems life is harder to navigate than canals.