When it’s sunny, as it was today, after a week of matt grey sky, I feel tentatively hopeful. Even if it’s a Sunday. And that’s really something, considering how much I struggle on this day of the week. Poo is hopeful too. Look at her looking straight ahead and bathing in the warm light. I think she knows she won’t be spending Sundays on the boat no more. There will still be Sundays, unfortunately, but just no more Sundays to be spent on the boat. There will be Sundays to be spent in a flat. Or somewhere else. With someone else. Or alone. Not on the boat though. Which maybe I will miss. Who knows. I’m sort of getting a bit emotional and excited about the idea that each day of next week will be the last I spend on the boat. Just as the weather is getting better. Just as I was learning the secrets of the trade and had mastered the art of shitting in bags. But many new exciting things are coming, or I’m going to them. And I guess that whenever I feel saudade, I can always shit in a bag at home.