Wee Pier Update

Well, things are definitely moving along, outwards and a little bit upwards as well. It's safe to say that things are also a wee bit late, and Lochshell, the contractors, must be wondering how much profit they'll be making.

Trouble seems to be, as our own civil engineer put it a while ago, the water goes out, and comes in again every few hours, and also goes up and down, which limits the amount of time that can be spent pouring concrete. And when it doesn't go down enough, there's really no point in anyone getting out of bed, let alone their feet wet.

That all means delays, and add in a reluctance sometimes of concrete to set underwater in the time allotted, and you can understand why the directors must be getting a little bit worried about their bonuses.

All of which is also worrying for the LBSC which has yet to run a race. Indeed at the time of writing only two Flying Fifteens were afloat, the others resting up at The Royal, with the grass growing ever higher, and Franco getting ever more concerned that he may have a fixed exhibit on his hands (call it an Art Installation and charge folk £5 to see it).

So, Franco, from the LBSC a huge Thank You for being patient. ("Make that man an honorary member")

The other problem, if the boats are launched is the inaccessibility of vital items of gear from the shed: viz, sails, booms etc. There's also the question of how crew will get to the boats, although the first step was made a few weeks ago with the removal to the pier of the Pioner (sans outboard which is also trapped in the shed behind a huge pile of plastic barrier bases, and a rather large container).

These and other problems can be sorted, and what's a few weeks delay for the reward of an acre more of hard standing, outdoor swimming pool, viewing platform (with brass cannons) and Commodore's private shower (all pending negotiations). Personally, and I am speaking for myself, personally that is, the delay means I can catch up with so many other important things that sailing interrupts: reading, painting the house, clearing the rubbish, weeding the garden, cycling, gliding and last but most importantly, unblocking the sewage pipe. And racing aboard a very lovely McGruer 46-footer.

After three years of pretending to be in charge, it's a relief to be able to leave the running of the club to more capable hands; those with skills that include engineering, waterworks, environmental regulations and everything needed to address the most odiferous (potentially) issue [sic], namely where will all the poo go?

You may have heard that, while digging a hole, a digger inadvertently connected with our drain pipe. It was bound to happen; diggers, drains, electric supplies, water pipes, gas pipes all have a magnetic attraction for digger buckets (or maybe their drivers just like an excuse for a fag break and a spell reading the Sun.) Whatever, our p** is now a problem.

OK, that's a bit brutal for the sensitive members, and in truth not a great deal of the p** goes down the pipe. Probably more p** in recent months with all the bacon-sandwiches consumed by the contractors, but maybe that's going too far. Just to say that the amount of p** per week on an average week during a sailing season could be measured in ounces, whereas at the moment... OK, OK. You've got the point. But what I was trying to suggest was that to spend a fortune on a system to deal with such a small, erm, amount of you know what when the club's healthy coffers could be better used buying a few cases of beer, fixing the ceiling, refurbishing the changing room, buying a fleet of tenders, a FF trailer - the list goes on.

Alas, this is almost certainly a minority view and can be safely ignored, like most of my views. One that has promise, suggested by some eminent scientists,was the idea of a composting loo. Just think, we could become the first club in the UK to have one. How green is that?

Alas, at the last attempt it was unceremoniously dumped, you could say poo poo-ed,

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