Tom

Tom, Trench held. Water's moving different now — slack at high tide, pulling hard on the ebb. Means the bar's shifting again. Spent yesterday winching the skiff up past the kelp line before the swell picks up. Back's complaining. Hands are salt-cracked. Radio picked up a French trawler working the shelf edge. Skipper sounded like he hadn't slept. Reminded me of the *Atlantic Star* out of Vigo, 2003. You'd have known the engineer. Quiet bloke. Kept a photo of his daughter taped to the control panel. Jenny's got the polytunnel going proper. Tomatoes flowering. She saves me the split ones. Says I don't eat enough colour. She's right. I don't argue. The generator's burning oil. Top end's gone soft. I've got rings in the stores — genuine Yanmar, not the Chinese copies — but the honing tool's seized. Been soaking it in diesel and cursing. Might have to make a hone from the old brake drum off the Landy. It'll work. Everything works if you're stubborn enough. Weather window closes Thursday. Northeast force 6 building. If you're reading this, the radio's still working. Channel 16. 0600 and 1800. Kev