On our first voyage in the early 90’s we had a few adventures.
We were parked in the harbour at Alghero in northern Sardinia, very near to the quay that the locals used for fishing. There was a father and son there doing what fathers and sons do – a spot of fishing while the Signora was shopping.
The son fell into the water and ‘super hero’ Dad immediately jumped in to save him.
The son was tossed backed onto the quay, safe and sound.
Unfortunately Signor had landed heavily on a piece of broken glass and gashed his foot down to the bone. He was bleeding very heavily.
The TG assessed the situation - including the fact that if he was brought onto ‘Cereola’ the teak decks would suck up the blood like a sponge. She collected bowls, disinfectant, bandages etc. and then hopped ashore and ushered the man to a comfortable bollard.
She washed and dressed the wound calmly and efficiently.
Then the wife arrived.
She had hysterics.
The TG, in her inimitable style, stunned her into silence with a look and tried to communicate through the language barrier that her husband needed to go to the hospidale. At the word hospidale there were more hysterics but eventually the Signora went and got the car. Signor and son got in and off they went.
And what was I doing? Running around like a headless chicken, trying to hide. I faint at the sight of blood.
(Blood on my beautiful boat – I should cocoa! Lo,TG Ed)
