Escape

My Mother-in-law’s been round to check out the bearer of her ashes: my Trow. Apparently she’s been talking to her friends in Barcelona about the plan, it sounds like its going to be along the lines of a Viking burial, I only hope I don’t have to burn my boat as well. Anyway, her friends think it’s a fantastic idea and, not only will they all be coming to the launch but some would also like their ashes taken out to sea when the time comes.

I can see a business opportunity developing here. See a need—fill a need. Book now for a Light Trow ash scattering cruise. Custom ash dispersal ceremonies. Boat fitted with luxury teak urn holders, maximum discretion.

Actually a few people stopped by today for a chat. One guy, who reminds me of chief Vitalstatistix from Asterix, watched me chipping away at something until his curiosity got the better of him and he came over to ask if it was kitchen units.

Kitchen units! …I ask you… It's a bloody boat you fool!

He reacted as if I’d said I was making a nuclear warhead, raised his arms to heaven, “It’s tremendous! A boat! He is making a boat! It is tremendous!” I heard him later, over the hedge, telling someone in the street, “It’s tremendous…etc.”

Then another acquaintance popped by the workshop. I should explain that when a Catalan tries to pronounce my surname it usually sounds like they’ve just breathed in a fly—they splutter and hack at my phonetics and generally discharge something that sounds quite but not entirely unlike Crawshaw, the sort of name you’d expect an alien floor cleaner to be called. This particular guy has got round the problem by calling me Robinson Crusoe, so when I told him what was afoot he obviously found it very fitting, “Ahh Crusoe, so you finally escape, you build your little boat and escape over the sea.”

What with one thing and another I didn’t get much done.