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A new home on Isla Clementina

Yesterday evening at sunset, I brought Zamindar onto Isla Clementina, her
new home in the centre of Mahon harbour for the winter. It's a floating
island that takes about 25 boats, with a large area in the centre with
seats, a barbecue, and a shower, and supposedly it's one of the most
sheltered places to berth in this part of the Mediterranean. The sea is
about 2.5 miles away to the south-east, and the harbour has cliffs on either
side. There was a barbecue in progress when I arrived, and once I'd tied the
boat up I was invited over, so I joined them and enjoyed some red wine and
something that had been barbecued, though it was too dark to see what it was
I was eating. It was just as well really as I'm beginning to run out of the
pasta that Nina made for me before she left. Not trusting my ability to
create a balanced diet, she very kindly made some chicken pasta last
weekend, and I've been heating it up and working my way through it this
week. Maybe a week's a long time to be re-heating chicken for, as it does
seem to be, how should I say, developing a new flavour, as time goes on.

It is, however, quite exciting to be in a marina, and I hooked the boat into
shorepower this morning and all the luxury that brings, namely unlimited
electricity (or actually up to 1000W). So now I can put lights on, listen to
music, use the espresso machine, or even blowdry my hair into a bouffant
quiff to resemble my passport photo should I desire to, with all the power
on hand.

It's just after midnight, and it's really calm, but I've just been outside
twice as I keep hearing a banging noise. But every time I go out, it stops.
Then I sit down again, and it starts up again. It seems to be coming from
underneath the hull, and so the only thing I can figure it could be, is a
fish or something continually banging into the boat. Or maybe somebody's got
pissed and fallen into the water (when we were in Palma we saw a body
getting pulled out of the harbour).

I'm currently walking around looking like a cripple; which is a word not
used much nowadays as it's not very politically correct, but it's true, and
I will not be offended when, walking down the street, families now point at
me and call me a cripple. In addition to smashing my right foot up with the
wakeboard last week, I leapt onto deck the other night, and booted the genoa
track car (i.e. something very metal and sharp) as hard as I possibly could
with my left foot, and in the process sliced it open in three places. The
only consolation was that I'd had a couple of drinks at the time and hence,
the pain was not too bad, though, of course, on the other hand, if I hadn't
had the drinks then I may have been more coordinated, and chosen not to kick

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