Yotblogging

It's coldish and dewy. I'm sitting on my bunk with the heater on, having just watched an extremely drunk sailor attempt to navigate the pontoon, trip over a few cleats, his own feet and finally fall onto his boat.
Our sail here was from the beginning, overwhelmed by difficult visibility. I spose we had around 2 to 3 miles, though expected the mist to burn off throughout the morning, it chose not to however. Although we were pretty certain there wasn't a real chance of fog banks, we nevertheless hugged the shoreline and kept a watchful eye on the murky horizon through binoculars.
We arrived just before noon with the aid of the ebb tide; tied up, ate, beered, chatted about how bloody hot it was in the cockpit and went for a stroll ashore.
By the time we got back to the boat, we were ready to snooze until late afternoon, then back ashore for a bite to eat and a tad more beerage (for the cold that set in after dusk of course).
Home tomorrow, late on. The tide won't be in our favour until mid afternoon so we'll wait until we can whoosh through and get back without having to use the iron topsail.
Right now, I need to figure out how to get into my sleeping bag without freezing half to death or causing some sort of injury.

Update: 0230. Sleeping bag mission a complete waste of time, as I doubt I shall sleep at all tonight due to Fur's concerted efforts to impersonate the bleedin' Needles fog horn.