Banned in France

Ira, normally a fierce proponent of the secular model a la Sarkozy, is spotted sporting a head scarf late at night on the boat. Captain Ron was onboard drinking beer when he soiled his favourite t-shirt. I promised Captain Ron that if he left the shirt with me, I would use my super human stain fighting powers to return his shirt to its semi pristine state. In the meantime, Ira wrapped himself up in the shirt and said "Allahu Akbar. What's the fuss?"

A Feral Flotilla

We have amassed a flotilla of boats to head over to the wall at Hanlan's for the weekend. The people who were unobstructed by that four letter word 'work' have been over there for days. The rest of us are heading out at happy hour. You will find me wearing white linen on the deck of a yacht, sipping a martini. Indeed, that's somewhat of an exaggeration. You are more likely to find me covered in sand, dirt and twigs in a couple of days, holding a half empty bottle of rum, having completely eschewed showers and all other vestiges of civilization. The dogs will be running wild on the beach, digging holes to hide fish carcasses, generally reverted to feral behaviour. WOOT WOOT!

Dog Ferry

Yesterday we took two boats over to Ward's Island and anchored next to each other. The wind was strong enough that the logistics of tying the boats together made it unadvisable. Luckily we had a small dinghy to ferry our beer swilling passengers back and forth. The dogs came on my run. Chili is a local Cairn Terrier rescued from the mean streets of Los Angeles. If you take Chili fishing, she stands on the stern of the boat, barking when you throw the lines out; some kind of fish whispering. Or rather, fish shouting.

Driving Miss Sadie

The marina is very close to downtown Toronto, but sits at least a couple of kilometres off any sort of beaten path, on a private road. At night, the drive is dark, bumpy and strangely eerie. If you hail a cab from the nearest streetcar stop to get to the marina, it's quite necessary to reassure the cabbie that you have no intention of luring him down the dark winding road into a trap to be robbed and beaten. I've had good luck in this respect, but a large biker friend of mine who lives aboard usually only makes it about halfway to the marina before he is unceremoniously kicked out of the car. The cabbies get spooked. I had the good fortune to meet Fekadu on one such dark night, a warm and engaging fellow from Somalia. He is now our regular driver, going where other cabbies fear to tread, to and from the marina. Sadie is quite enamoured of our Fekadu. She is pictured here, gently reassuring everyone that nothing dangerous lies ahead.