The Papillon Question

I spent the day confirming plane tickets and stuffing underwear into a bag. Why? Because it is time, people. Time to return to Papillon. Our good old Papioni-pepperoni.

Not permanently. No, that would be too much to ask. Erik is still firmly in the grip of his work addiction, so we'll have to ride out the land life for a few months longer. However, the good people of Nouvelle-Calédonie are ready to be rid of our fine vessel, so it is time to jump aboard and sail the boat to Brisbane.

But what kind of a boat are we returning to? As every sailor can tell you, boats don't like to be left alone. They get sad. They fall apart even faster than normal.

Cleverly, we sent Erik ahead to suss out the situation. Of course, that meant he sent me a series of photos that I didn't especially want to see. His super close-ups remind me of reading Owl magazine when I was a kid and playing those Can You Identify This? games where they would show you a dark, greenish smudge and expect you to pipe up and say: "Oh! That's the inside of a tree frog's nostril!"

We also played my other not-favourite game: Can You Tell What Is Missing?

Missing: stern tube

Missing: pillow block and prop shaft

Missing: aft centreboard assembly

Removed: rotten aft centreboard sheave

So I'm going to stick with what I'm good at and pretend this isn't happening. I'll grab the kids, get on the plane, pick up our electronic charts, get to Noumea and... I don't know. Pretend my way out of a heart attack, hopefully. And things will happen. Step by step, we'll get ready to go. And we'll sail. And it will be fun. And we'll get to Brisbane eventually.

And I won't have to look at any more pictures.