Friday, 10 June 2011

In The Dog House

It's a Boat For My Potplants.
It's a garden. And a terrace.
It's a study.
It's going to be The World's Smallest Pirate Radio Station.
It's been a dining room.
It's always a bar.
It was a golf-course recently, but that's another story.
And last week it became a dog-house.

Our friends Lynn and Wayne came aboard one fine evening to join us for drinks and bask in the glorious sunshine. I had been working like the clappers all day on the boat's interior, and it was now looking clean, fresh and tidy.

Despite there being still much to do in the kitchen and toilet departments, in essence the boat is now comfortable and good enough to sleep in. And that's what their dog, Harvey, wanted to do.

He pleaded with his owners to let him experience life on the ocean waves (or at least the muddy banks of the Colne). Or was it Wayne pleading with Lynn? Who knows? Wayne popped home to get the dog-basket, just in case the answer was yes.

It was yes. So, some makeshift curtains were hung, and they all settled down for the night. It all seemed like a good idea at the time.

After a few hours, Harvey woke up his owners and asked if he could go home now. Or was it Lynn? Who knows? At three in the morning Wayne didn't really care.

All he knew was that he'd be in the dog-house if he didn't obey.

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