Said Sophie, congratulating Ian on successfully closing the garage door with the remote control.
We’ve taken a few days away from boat-buying to spend with the family, and were heading off to Hidden Pond Country Park, Springfield.
Virginia is lovely, and especially so in the winter, when there seem to be more sunny days than there are in England.

The air is crisp and dry, and the light doesn’t fade so quickly in the afternoons. The brightness seems to illuminate the winter colours of russet, pale gold, grey and green.

We had forgotten that the simple business of finding a stick, throwing it, and making it splash into an expanse of water, can afford seemingly unlimited fascination to small children.

Then they discovered that if they lay down on their tummies and peered over edge of the little jetty, they could see their reflections in the water below. This activity was considered too nerve-wracking for the grandparents though, and quickly curtailed.
On the way home, Sophie, who has perfect pitch and is four tomorrow, started humming The Red Flag.
It’s interesting, what they pick up at pre-school.
In the afternoon I learned some more American, when we took Soph out to the Mall to get her birthday present.
As we drove past Barnes & Noble, the amazing chain of book shops sadly under threat from Amazon, I asked Soph if she liked going to the bookshop.
‘No, it’s bookstore,’ she corrected me, in a slightly impatient tone.
Do keep up, Grandma.

The St Petersburg Looper

A minor, but painful, condition failed to respond to two days’ self-medication and Hoping For the Best, so this evening, not without some trepidation, we went off to Sarasota Memorial Hospital Urgent Care.
There was a moment of panic when the nurse announced that she was going to check my vitals, but this turned out to mean nothing more alarming than taking my blood pressure and measuring my oxygen saturation.
The problem was swiftly, professionally and kindly dealt with, but what amused me was that although the staff did not hesitate to tell us what everything would cost, they did so in an apologetic manner, and I couldn’t help wondering if they were like that with everyone, or if they thought that being British, we would begrudge the cost because it was free at home.
I didn’t begrudge it. It was worth every cent, and good value for money.

America may have given us Macdonalds and Burger King, but there are a lot of good, inexpensive eating places here too. This was today’s lunch, a Garden Wrap from Marketplace Express.

We’ve had a few good days taking in the Farmers’ Market and a Bikers’ Festival at Sarasota, watching the wildlife at Myakka River State Park and the excellent Museum of Fine Arts in St Petersburg, finishing with a ride (50c for me, 25c for Ian) on the St Petersburg Looper, an entertaining tour of the town.

But tomorrow it’s back to business. We have to be at Treasure Island (yes, really) at 8.30am for the survey and sea trial of the boat we want to buy.

I was reminded yesterday that it was 40 years to the day since we travelled to Hongkong to live and work for 11 years. Forty years on, I’m still following Ian to strange places round the globe.
We got the usual friendly welcome at Orlando Airport.
‘You guys bringing any food into the United States?’
Well no, not after the time I brought some lovely, air-dried, vacuum-packed Waberthwaite bacon as a present for Ted and had it confiscated.
Anyway, Ian thought it wise to admit that he was in possession of a number of Rington’s tea bags.
‘Ah, tea.’ The US Customs official’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. ‘We had some great tea, once. Then someone tipped it into the ocean. You guys have a great trip.’
Our first impressions of Florida, it has to be said, were not that favourable. It probably isn’t best viewed from the motorway, on a grey day at a temperature of 7C. Wednesday we drove 150 miles to look at two boats. The first one was being sold because the owner’s partner had decided after a trial run that cruising wasn’t her thing. It wouldn’t be mine either, in a boat where the storage space consisted of one six-inch wide wardrobe and a 9inch wide cupboard.
The next viewing was rather different. Mrs Current Owner had stipulated that if she was going to live in it for 2 or 3 months at a time, certain requirements had to be met, and not only did these coincide with mine, but Mr Current Owner had acceded to all demands, resulting in a very nice boat indeed.
So the next day we made an offer to buy Carina, subject to survey and sea trial, which has been accepted! Woo hoo!

Today the sun came out and we drove over to St Petersburg to pay a deposit and sign the contract. The ‘comfort station’ on the front street caught my eye, and a gentleman who saw me take the photo insisted on telling me the story.
In 1913, a builder was commissioned to build a new church, to be known as Great St Mary’s. When the project was complete, the Catholic Church (allegedly) refused to pay on the grounds that it didn’t have any money. A couple of years later, the city council advertised for someone to build some new public conveniences. The builder won the contract, and built the comfort station as a miniature replica of the church..now referred to by the locals as Little St Mary’s.

Little St Mary’s, St Petersburg, Fl
Finally, on the way to our current hotel at Sarasota we passed over the Sunshine Skyway bridge. As Ian says, it’s not every day you see a cable-stayed bridge, is it?

As we’re now officially designated ‘elderly’ by government departments, statisticians and journalists, it’s perhaps unsurprising that I have developed an almost pathological aversion to Wasting Food. This means that going away anywhere results in a stressful bout of Trying to Avoid Throwing Anything Away.
Lunch on Monday was something if a triumph – a confection, no less, of red onions, sweet potato, and red pepper, topped with five different varieties of slightly stale cheese and a thick layer of brown breadcrumbs. And in a flash of inspiration, the half-loaf of stale white bread was consigned to the freezer, destined for a bread and butter pudding when we come back.

It felt as though the 3-coach, stop -at-every-station train we boarded at Newcastle for the 3-hour journey to Manchester Airport didn’t quite match the aspirations of our project. For some reason, we had to wait in the rain on the platform for 15 minutes before the train operatives, as I believe they are now known, deigned to open the doors to let us board.
Ian asked about Wifi. Having already delivered the disappointing news that a cup of tea wouldn’t be available until we had passed York, the train man placed a friendly hand on Ian’s shoulder and said ‘Wifi? This is t’Transpeninne Express, lad.’
So now we’re at Manchester Airport, or Ringway as we elderly Mancunians know it.
And it’s the same temperature in Florida as it is in Newcastle.

It’s happening- all the hours spent over the computer doing on-line navigation courses, researching the route, deciding what sort of boat would be suitable,  engaging in dialogue with other boaters on the Great Loop forum, and even the online flight booking, all had a dream-like quality that could be safely ignored in the light of the day, unlike the dark nights spent in a state of free-floating anxiety.

But two weeks ago the first physical sign appeared, a Union Jack which  it seems will flutter from somewhere on our boat,  in competition with the Star-Spangled Banner which will compulsorily adorn the stern. Not sure this is entirely wise, but we shall see. Then Christmas brought a brightly coloured rubber fish key-ring (to stop the keys sinking to the bottom of the waterway in the inevitable event of their being dropped over the side of the boat) and some very appropriate socks from my friend Alison.

So here we are, packed up and ready to go, and I’m feeling reluctantly excited, trying to put out of my mind the way my friends have been hugging me rather more than usual lately, as if they might not see me again. At least I’ve been promised some ballroom dancing in Orlando on Thursday night.