I think that's an old Perry Como song. For those of you who don't remember Perry Como, he was like the Michael Buble' of my parent's time. Who's Michael Buble'? Don't even start. So the saga of the sails is drawing to a close. It's a twisted tale of revenge and mayhem, betrayal and redemption. No it's not, but that sounded good. I should write a book. I had sent my sails in for repair before I left Fiji last time in late October '24. Spoke with the guy on the dock, we went through what I wanted, he made notes. I told him I would be back sometime next February ('25). Don't rush. (Pro tip: Don't ever say 'Don't rush' in Fiji.). I was getting regular emails into December. Ok. Good...good. Sent emails before I left. Have you got my sails ready? No response. Again. No response. Finally I get a response to the effect that we will be sending them next week. Ok, a little...
"Zika one, Zika one, Zika two." "Zika one here. What's up, Goose?" "Maverick - he's back." "Goose, we've been in Fiji now for a couple of years, infected hundreds of people, met all kinds of insect relatives...can you be more specific?" "The sailor guy - you know, his friend was the purple mohawk-haired woman?" "Oh him. I sort of thought he was gone for good." "Nope, he's back, Maverick. Sitting on that same sailboat in Savusavu." "Well, I wonder where he's going to go from there. Savusavu's nice, but once you walk around a few times you've seen it all." "I'll bet he goes out to the Lau islands." "Well, Goose, that's someplace we haven't been either. That's a long distance for us to fly with our limited supply of ATP." "Maverick, what's ATP." "Goose - Google is your friend. Actually you could ask Claude from Anthropic...
Nice marina!! Snow is melting here!
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