It's warm (+11C) and sunny and it is pure torture to have to stay in the slip working on the boat
. The Solent is full of yachts under sail, gliding by on the balmy, light, Southerly breeze. The soul wants nothing but to throw off the dock
lines and go out. The brain says only three-odd months before the next long voyage, and the maintenance
list runs into three pages. Argggghhhh!