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Somnium - Paul Part 2: Getting Up



The waking-up part itself isn’t so bad, you see. There’s the mild existential crisis, but no worse than how you feel when waking up for work. You know; one minute you’re slaying dragons with a lightsabre, and then next thing you have to find a clean pair of socks to match your shirt, and remember your Windows password that changes every 90 days.

Anyway, this morning was a morning of the Atlantic Rally, and began in the middle of the blue part of the map. I laying in a wooden cabin as described before. Some of you may be familiar with the situation from a previous rambling, though it’s not particularly necessary if your imagination is up to par.

But back to the story, I flicked on the bedside lamp. It has two modes; gentle red, and screaming white. I always get it wrong the first time. Brilliant white light flooded the room and I felt like an orc staring at Gandalf before I managed to flick it to the more subdued red.

Mine is one of the tunnel-beds to the aft of the boat that stretch back under the cockpit. The boat is over 40’, so it’s quite roomy, but a tunnel bed is what it is. I crawled out like a gin-soaked ground hog, and stood up. The boat lurched.

One of the splendid things about boats is they’re able to bob about on waves and such, staying atop them in all sorts of strange geometries and angles. As I came to a standing position, gravity in the room made a dramatic play for a 45 degree switcharoo, and I become rather more acquainted with the wardrobe than I had intended. I shook off the embrace of a few coats that we hadn’t donned since Biscay, and wondered if Otto had hit the sauce early.

Otto is our autopilot. He is a drunkard and a nuisance, but a dear old friend when arms are weary. I cursed him lovingly and began rummaging for a t-shirt, a lifejacket, gloves, a headlamp, and a sailing knife. Fortunately they had made their way into an orderly floor-pile when I had disarmed before bed last night. I reappropriated them to my person in convenient order before beginning to make my way outside.

Groping the walls for balance like a sozzled spider man, I glimpsed Mart through the companionway. He had the look of a man ending a 3 hour night-watch; bright eyes, mind on the sails, posture slightly less perfect than usual.

Curiously, have you heard where the word “companion” comes from? I don’t mean to bore you with that sort of stuff, but I find it quite charming, and I’m going to tell you because it will make us all feel educated. It is from the Latin, meaning “with bread”, or a person with whom you share bread. As a coeliac, I feel a little left out of the whole affair. But back to the story, such as it was.

This morning my companion Mart was to be seen outside the companionway. I stepped up the ladder into the cockpit, the etymology of which I am disinclined to speculate after.

As I did, a view of the sky opened up above me. It never ceases to amaze me, you know, how many stars there are. I’m sure plenty of people have tried to count them, and when I listen to an orchestra I like to know what all the instruments are, but with stars I’m happy just to have them all up there like a Wizzard’s cloak. Best not meddle in the affairs of Wizards.

Anywho, Mart’s quite a top notch sailor, runs a good ship, good cut on his jib etc etc, but instinct takes hold of one when one appears on deck, and I had a reconnoiter at how things were set. Curve of the sails, how they were sheeted, quick glance at the compass, an eye cast up to the windex at the masthead lit by the nav lights, a look at the sea state astern and how the waves met the boat, a look ahead at how we’re heeling. I suppose it’s the equivalent of a dog doing circles before he settles into bed.

She sounded like she was really moving well through the water. She being Somnium, the darling vessel who had so far bruised my hand, tossed me in a wardrobe, and lovingly cradled me half way across the world.

Now she was making That Sound -. You know the one? The sort of purring. That satisfying whoosh that means speed. She was making it.

As I settled into a seat on the windward side of the cockpit, Mart gave me a run down of his watch before exiting my view stage right and leaving me with the wind and the waves and the sails.

Otto groaned and swerved and the stars twirled about me.

Two’s company. Paul Part 2: Getting Up

The waking-up part itself isn’t so bad, you see. There’s the mild existential crisis, but no worse than how you feel when waking up for work. You know; one minute you’re slaying dragons with a lightsabre, and then next thing you have to find a clean pair of socks to match your shirt, and remember your Windows password that changes every 90 days.

Anyway, this morning was a morning of the Atlantic Rally, and began in the middle of the blue part of the map. I laying in a wooden cabin as described before. Some of you may be familiar with the situation from a previous rambling, though it’s not particularly necessary if your imagination is up to par.

But back to the story, I flicked on the bedside lamp. It has two modes; gentle red, and screaming white. I always get it wrong the first time. Brilliant white light flooded the room and I felt like an orc staring at Gandalf before I managed to flick it to the more subdued red.

Mine is one of the tunnel-beds to the aft of the boat that stretch back under the cockpit. The boat is over 40’, so it’s quite roomy, but a tunnel bed is what it is. I crawled out like a gin-soaked ground hog, and stood up. The boat lurched.

One of the splendid things about boats is they’re able to bob about on waves and such, staying atop them in all sorts of strange geometries and angles. As I came to a standing position, gravity in the room made a dramatic play for a 45 degree switcharoo, and I become rather more acquainted with the wardrobe than I had intended. I shook off the embrace of a few coats that we hadn’t donned since Biscay, and wondered if Otto had hit the sauce early.

Otto is our autopilot. He is a drunkard and a nuisance, but a dear old friend when arms are weary. I cursed him lovingly and began rummaging for a t-shirt, a lifejacket, gloves, a headlamp, and a sailing knife. Fortunately they had made their way into an orderly floor-pile when I had disarmed before bed last night. I reappropriated them to my person in convenient order before beginning to make my way outside.

Groping the walls for balance like a sozzled spider man, I glimpsed Mart through the companionway. He had the look of a man ending a 3 hour night-watch; bright eyes, mind on the sails, posture slightly less perfect than usual.

Curiously, have you heard where the word “companion” comes from? I don’t mean to bore you with that sort of stuff, but I find it quite charming, and I’m going to tell you because it will make us all feel educated. It is from the Latin, meaning “with bread”, or a person with whom you share bread. As a coeliac, I feel a little left out of the whole affair. But back to the story, such as it was.

This morning my companion Mart was to be seen outside the companionway. I stepped up the ladder into the cockpit, the etymology of which I am disinclined to speculate after.

As I did, a view of the sky opened up above me. It never ceases to amaze me, you know, how many stars there are. I’m sure plenty of people have tried to count them, and when I listen to an orchestra I like to know what all the instruments are, but with stars I’m happy just to have them all up there like a Wizzard’s cloak. Best not meddle in the affairs of Wizards.

Anywho, Mart’s quite a top notch sailor, runs a good ship, good cut on his jib etc etc, but instinct takes hold of one when one appears on deck, and I had a reconnoiter at how things were set. Curve of the sails, how they were sheeted, quick glance at the compass, an eye cast up to the windex at the masthead lit by the nav lights, a look at the sea state astern and how the waves met the boat, a look ahead at how we’re heeling. I suppose it’s the equivalent of a dog doing circles before he settles into bed.

She sounded like she was really moving well through the water. She being Somnium, the darling vessel who had so far bruised my hand, tossed me in a wardrobe, and lovingly cradled me half way across the world.

Now she was making That Sound -. You know the one? The sort of purring. That satisfying whoosh that means speed. She was making it.

As I settled into a seat on the windward side of the cockpit, Mart gave me a run down of his watch before exiting my view stage right and leaving me with the wind and the waves and the sails.

Otto groaned and swerved and the stars twirled about me.

Two’s company.

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