Has anyone seen my vest?

A piece of poetry from Frank Willmott. It’s been posted before but deserves a rerun.

Buxom barges drifting,
Outward with the tide,
Outward, onwards, seaward,
Where buoys and beacons guide.

Bound with Grain for Yarmouth,
Ghistong down the Swin,
Hasting, winding, storming,
From Lowerstoft to Kings Lynn.

Every port and haven
From Tyne to Cawsand Bay,
Still sees the barges trading
With fresh cargoes every day.

Laden deep with sugar,
with barley, sand or coke,
Spritties keep on sailin,
They were built of English oak.

A piece of kakkiness from the Towers.

Deepest darkest Africa

In novels by Jojo Tunn

Hawaiian greeting ‘Aloha’

reminds me of the sun

A cold wind scythe, piercing from the East,

cutting through premium PPE,

so safety matters………….. least?

Nan Howell

Nan Howell, allatsea’s granny on his dad’s side. A serene and unflappable lady who seemed to endure a lifetime of disappointment. Never blessed with good health she died in her 70s at Dartford. Strangely and to allatsea’s eternal shame, he never appreciated her or her goodness until she was long departed.

About allatsea

Sixty year old master-mariner. Absolutely gorgeous. Well wedged.....when compared to a Nairobi street urchin. Sorted, in that I haven't been in court recently. Hopelessly optimistic, terminally disappointed. Good with cats and other fluffy things. No musical talent. Generous to a fault provided it's someone else's round. Political centreist with far right and left viewpoints. A green activist from the hydrocarbon position with nuclear leanings. Averse to avarice but always happy to receive lottery wins, gifts, windfalls, legacies, prizes and wet sloppy kisses.
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