Yesterday was the first day we’ve given over to the Newsletter entirely. Gillian Bolt, the Marketing Manager, came round first thing with her copy of the current draft of Thursday’s edition, and we spent a good chunk of the day incorporating her suggestions into it.
It’s always hard taking criticism of one’s creative efforts, but Gillian’s comments were pertinent and largely helpful, so we knuckled down and got on with them. I’ll be interested to see how she takes our interpretation of what she’s asked for. It’s the eternal tension between editor and proprietor, of course, and many a journalistic career has foundered on those reefs.
That first edition is very nearly finished; we’ll spend some time today polishing it, then it will be on to Friday’s effort.
We’d become anxious about the gas supply; the first of our two cylinders ran out a while back, and I’d postponed replacing it until we got here, so that the IWA would get the benefit of any profit. The concern was that the way we are moored, there’s no land access to the bow, and I really didn’t fancy struggling through the boat with a bottle of Calor Gas weighing around 18 kg.
When consulted, John Baylis the Quartermaster was forthright as ever (he’s from the North of England). “They float,” he said “tie a rope to it and chuck it in the lake off the end of the pontoon. Then you can tow it up to the bow, walking on the roof.”
Sure enough, this worked. I went to the Tardis and paid for a bottle, which was delivered to the nearest possible approach to the moorings by Bradshaw (the little four wheel drive golf carts we use for general transportation around site).
Sheila did the business, whilst I took photos:
Towing a full gas bottle
In the afternoon, we took a break to walk Sally and take some shots of progress on the field.
Warehouses appearing on the Historic Wharf
Still not much on the main field
The Bar, half complete
WRG was celebrating its fortieth anniversary in the compound last night; we copped out, I’m afraid, and had a quiet meal on the boat, followed by an early night. Elanor made it back by midnight, which was a bit earlier than we’d been expecting. I guess we’re all getting older.
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