On Saturday afternoon the North Easterly wind opposed the sun and the clouds decided who was running the weather. We sat outside on the boat, returned to its summer mooring, and watched the wind push rainstorms East of us, out over the coast, across the Solent and onto the Isle of Wight, where, once the sun returned, the Isle glistened enticingly.
Lines and bilges checked and a quick run of the engine, we ate our buns, waved au revoir to the oyster catchers and took the tender home. Our winter spot was still empty yet. At 4pm I declared the wind the winner, but kept my cold hands pocketed rather than shake a fist at it.
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