Sorry that was an awful use of a perfectly good film title. Sue me.
SO. Where do I start?
I'll start at the beginning.
The day after I arrived in Southampton it was my Great Aunty Grace's funeral. I loved her. She used to teach English and she gave me so many books, she wrote history and she just fell in love with everyone she met. I followed the coffin up the aisle with my Godfather, I listened to the gorgeous things being said, I wished I could speak, I used a packet of tissues (fuck my rule about not crying in public) and I sang.
Then we buried her, put her in a hole in the ground and threw soil on her. We walked back to the hall and some people ate sandwiches. I just sat and was asked fucking stupid questions about college and University and my eyes and was I married and was I my mother?
I went to the toilet and cried, a lot.
I drove my grandparents home in their tank of a car.
I went to bed.
Next we have Cowes Week. Seven days of lethal racing on a Contessa 32 called Blanco. A crew of 7 in a class with 16 boats. We won five days, got one second and one third. I fell into the Solent and met a lot of sailors. I ate out. I watched the other six members of my crew get pissed every single night, while I drank water.
Overall we won. WE WON. FIRST. Out of the 1000+ boats in the regatta we came about 5th.
It was awesome, and well worth the discomfort.
So. Why can't I get out of bed? Why aren't the meds working? Why do I want something sharp and silver that sure as hell isn't tin foil?
Why the hell am I still alive?
Sorry. Didn't mean to ruin the greatness of Cowes. Just a bit fed up. How are y'all?