Aaaaaaachoooooo!

Fur's parents' boat. Beautiful, solid and very hard work

The weather this weekend has been fabulous and my hayfever, upon arriving at Fur's parents' house, was in very fine fettle indeed. There are more reasons than one for living on the water. Despite taking as much antihistamine as I could get away with, it made little difference. Thank God for balm infused tissues or my nose would be in tatters.
As we arrived in Fowey yesterday, we both sensed an air of tension.
This is normal, however and we try to prepare for the guessing games whenever we visit.
Fur's parents looked well. They had been scrubbing their teak decks, whilst waiting on the visitor's pontoon and were hungry, as were we, so we went for a stroll and to buy some oggies (an oggy is a cornish pasty made with chuck steak, onions, potato and swede).
The pasties went down below (fnaar), as it had been decided that we were to go back to the mooring to eat, then help Fur's father up the mast for some work he needed to do.
I am not allowed to do anything on their boat, so I took some pictures on the way and had a sneeze or two.
After a rather mediocre oggy experience, we hoisted him up, but he had to come back down, as the Bosuns chair was 'cutting him in half'. I went out in the dinghy with Fur's father and took some pictures of the boat. She has just gone back in the water after another Winter of sanding, varnishing and painting and looks very pretty.
It was hot in the cockpit, so we stayed for another hour and then went ashore in the rather overloaded dinghy (four people, plus baggage, poor Fur got a bit wet. I perched on the bow, tee hee) and drove to the house.
The afternoon and evening were pretty uneventful, thankfully. Excluding the dismissal I am used to, there were no dramas. Since spending a night on their boat last year (a torrid experience and the proverbial straw), I am resigned to the fact that I am not accepted as part of the family and try to make the most of my invisibility by doing other things, like looking for the lovely, scruffy little cat that lives nearby and taking the odd picture.
It used to upset me an awful lot. My family is very close and newcomers are usually welcomed, every effort made to ensure that they feel part of the family. Fur had warned me about it, but it still grated.
I feel bad for his mother. She behaves like a jealous, spoilt child and being around her can be very difficult. Nothing anyone does can change it. She wants full control, centre of attention, or she will do her damndest to spoil things for everybody.
Last year, when arriving back in Fowey from the dreadful night away, I contemplated jumping ship and swimming ashore, it had been that bad. I felt relegated. Not allowed to take part in sailing, talked over in conversations, scoffed and scowled at, I'd had enough.
We didn't fall out with anyone as a result, but have created a bit of distance since. If they lived any closer, I imagine things would have been different.
She did try to corner me at one stage this morning, but I escaped, dodging through the copse with my camera in my hand, far too preoccupied with sneezing my bonce off to care.
Anyhoo, we did get some time to ourselves. After sitting in front of the TV in near silence (talking through TV programmes is verboten), they went to bed at the usual time of 1030.
Out came the Pimms and Sin (he'd been locked in the boot, gargling G&T, a sensible choice). We quaffed a sizeable amount, went to bed and zonked, not forgetting to put the alarm on for 0800. If we leave it any later, Fur's mother barges into the room to wake us up. Erk.
We had some breakfast, said 'ta ta' to Dougal the cat, loaded the car up, thanked them for looking after us and got the ferk out of there.
Once home, we scoffed a huge amount of four cheese pasta, washed down with cold beer and crashed out for a couple of hours, relatively unscathed and ever confused.
My nose has stopped tingling and there's a beautiful sunset out.
Time to go and scare some bunnies methinks.

A Troy

Fowey (pronounced 'Foy')

Sin eyeing up the harbour

A stunning Fife

Poor little Mirrors

The Hammer House of Horror (pretty though)

Dead cat for Charlie

Sweet little Dougal. She is 15, has no teeth, hence the dribble patch down her front and only one working eye

Humble bee

Spotted Flycatcher in her nest. They have been very busy feeding their young and kindly left a moth's head on the car bonnet for Fur

I think this is an opium poppy. There is also a plant growing wild in the copse that looks uncannily like a certain illegal drug beginning with M