The Salt Life

Dear Buffy,

I hope you are well recovered from the debilitating anxiety you suffered over the recent Presidential Election.  The potential loss of your domestic help must have left you frantic.  I’m so happy you were able to recruit suitable Canadian replacements. Do keep in mind they will require less food and they will bruise ever so easily. Any-who, I ‘m just dropping a line informing you of the tremendous success of my recent boating adventure.

sea-ray

Although nothing like the yachts in our native Kennebunkport; I found passage on the most adorable little dingy, crewed by authentic locals. You would have been thrilled.  There was a former Sommelier and his operatic wife, a television personality and her photographer, a wonderfully ethic Italian restaurateur and his spouse, and an old man and his younger companion whom, I can only assume was his daughter.  The entire outing was a farcical charade if ever there were such a thing.

The crew arrived toting their belongings like the porters on our Nairobi safari.  Apparently their supplies consisted of inexpensive cheesy comestibles and cheap domestic sparkly because the entire group were either opening bottles of bubbly or spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom.  They were as giddy as orphans on Charity Day at the country club pool.

We were barely under way when a group of them (to the dismay of the First Mate and completely against previous instructions) were swilling beer and congregating on the swim deck to smoke something the locals call “cigareets”.  Eventually the Sommelier became so inebriated, he fell over-board.  The poor fellow was much distraught and had to be restrained, tied to a paddle board and floated several yards behind us on a tether.

The afternoon was waning and so we headed back to dock with the paddle board in tow.  Now that I think of it, it did greatly resemble a piece of bait tied to a lure.  I suppose then not too surprising that the board and its occupant were attacked by what was later determined to be either a pod of deranged dolphins or the most effeminate swarm of sharks I have ever seen. At any rate, the poor drunken Sommelier was lost.  His wife, upon waking from her nap, was inconsolable until an unopened bottle of champagne was discovered.  All in all, the day was a ripping good bash about.

Please give my love to Grand Papa and inquire about an advance on my allowance.  It seems the television is out in the Bentley, so the purchase of new transport is an unexpected expense.  Cheers to you and the gang.  I’ll be home in time for the Spring Regatta.

Best wishes,

Skippers.

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