Well hello from the Solent.
This week I’ve abandoned the Travelodge and am on a sailing course in Dorset. Soon I will know my port from my starboard, my keel from my ship’s cat and my arse from my elbow.
For the last two days we’ve been in the classroom, but soon we will be seeing what kind of weather La Manche can throw at us. Apparently it will be flinging some gale force winds and freezing temperatures. Oh goody! I may as well drown myself at home where I can at least use warm water.
Anyway, the rest of the course seems to be made up of police officers. It is an interesting position to find oneself in, being surrounded by the filth. I’ve always found police officers an unrewarding group of people to argue with, as the power balance and verbal reasoning skills is all skewed, but off duty they seem like normal human beings. No one has beaten a confession out of anyone else yet but it is early days. One of them even used to be in the armed response unit, which has to go down as the coolest job of anyone I’ve met. Imagine taking a gun to work! I said I longed to take a gun to work and he explained that the armed response unit exists to stop exactly that sort of thing from happening.
So far I have learned plotting things on graphs, tides, and the rules on crashing into each other. Tides are hard man. I think I might destroy the moon to make life easier. I was planning to just write my name on it with a giant laser, and it seems a shame not to do that. So I’ve decided to compromise: Write my name on the moon and leave it up there for a week, then destroy the moon. Kind of like when men grow beards and then shave them off in phases.
