MFV BF494 'Pansy', an old Motor Fifie Conversion

so there we are bouncing around, watching the water feature develop in the saloon - I can now confirm that the noise of running water is neither pacifying nor relaxing, all but ready to say pretty please to the harbour master to let us in despite the fact some oil carrying behemoth is on its way out when the radio crackles into life and proceedings are interrupted by the 'Yacht Crispin", now, you have to read this imagining the voice on the other being that of Paul Whitehouse doing an impression of Noel Coward (I think the name of the boat gives a lot away here):
"Peterhead harbour, Peterhead harbour, this is they Yacht Crispin..... we can't get into the toilet"

I kid yee not, here I am, surrounded by the Black SeaPhlegm, a pseudo michelin man practicing to be a contortionist with a lifejacket, monstrous seas, in a sinking boat, with little steering, and the poor yacht crispin can't get into the lavvy for fecks sake

"Peterhead harbour, Peterhead harbour, this is they Yacht Crispin..... so can some one come do and bring us a key for the toilet"

howay man, do you posh yotties not have posh netties on board?? we've got one and we're sinking, at this point it was sheer disbelief at what was unfolding that prevented me from informing what I was going to do to him with a toilet should we ever survive long enough

"Peterhead harbour, Peterhead harbour, this is they Yacht Crispin..... so when 'the man' brings the key, how will we know who he is, and how do the showers work in the toilets"

Priceless, you want a shit AND a shower now, despite the fact davey jones is knocking on Pansy's bottom, and we can't get a word in edgeways to avoid it. Peterhead harbourmaster though, managed to placate the the "Yacht Crispin" and his emerging tortoises head long enough for him to keep off the radio so we could be invited in to the sanctuary of peterhead harbour.

shortly after a small bout of hysteria broke out, closely followed by single malt. We didn't sink or die, No 3 didn't succumb to death by Sea Phlegm and No 2 didn't garrot himself with a lifejacket, so all in all not a bad afternoon at sea really.

The old Girl did get many admiring glances in the marina despite the mega bucks plastic she was surrounded by, including one chap that had worked on her in the past, which was a welcome distraction. First task was to get some extra bilge pumps going to get rid of the water feature/jacuzzi/footspa, and then break out the sikaflex (or toothpaste to No2) and try fill in some of the seams that had been blown out in the sea we'd just survived. No wonder she took on water, the top edge between the top blank and decking has gone completely in one place, leaving a gap as wide as the scuppers and 3 foot long. no wonder she took some water on board. caulked this with some mooring rope, covered it in Sika, and jobs a good un. More toothpaste applied to some lesser seams that had been battered. No 3 was sent below with a cat litter tray scoop to chase the richards around the rapidly receding water level before they stuck to the floor, no 2 chased the lemon that has previously been spotted bobbing around down there and polished it before putting it back on a shelf, all whilst I played catch up with smoker of the year 2008.

In retrospect, this first part of the trip was the easy bit in light of what was to come!