I was procrastinating for about an hour after finishing my bar tending shift. A southeasterly gale had the boats in the harbour bobbing around like corks, all of them holding on to their moorings for dear life, waiting for the worst to pass. I was exhausted from a poor nights sleep and lack of food, and I knew it wasn't going to be easy rowing against that wind to get home after work. But I honestly didn't expect it to be impossible. Once I rowed out of the lee of the docks and was out in open water, there was no fighting it. After sitting on the dock for a while, waiting for something to happen (I'm not sure what, but I'm traditionally quite lucky this way), a friend from the Picton Castle came walking down the wharf. He wondered if I would like to come for dinner and a movie, and if need be, have a bunk for the night.
The rains were torrential and I was well prepared except for my lack of boots. My friend came back from the foc's'le with extra dry socks and shoes, and we set my drenched gear beside the antique cook stove, who's roaring fire was warming a batch of whiskey cider. The wind in the Castle's extensive rigging was incredible as the night grew darker, and it left me a bit anxious as I envisioned my boat chaffing through her mooring lines. But with a few sips of cider and a haddock and rice dinner on the way, my worries abated and I was in much better spirits.
Times like these, I remember the ease and simplicity of apartment living in Halifax.
And its quiet monotony.