A Ship in the Wind - Fat Dogs and French Estates - page 86

two and a sextant. At least twenty variously-knotted lengths of rope were either hanging on
the walls or nailed to the ceiling. Yet more had been carefully arranged to form extraordin-
arily hard-wearing mats, which would have been tremendously useful on any dockside sur-
face.
This was a world of hemp, hessian and jute. Co-ordinating nicely with this theme, the
furniture had been made from re-claimed pieces of iron (probably from a sailing vessel) and
inventively upholstered using sections of old sail cloth. The latter I felt must be extremely
durable, if a little hard. The owners were undoubtedly enthusiasts of modern, minimalist
furniture and judging by the expression of immense pride on monsieur's face, a comment
was expected from one of us.
“Goodness how unusual! So you have an interest in the sea monsieur ?” I said, stating
the blindingly obvious.
“It is my passion !” was the immediate response.
Oh Lord, not another one , I thought.
“Well, that's fascinating , do you sail often?”
“Yes, I did, but not now of course. My ex-wife, she has forced me to sell my boat.
There is no money now. I am ruined and…”
“Oh that's terrible! Well, never mind,” boomed Jack's voice from behind my left ear.
“Let's carry on to the next room shall we?”
Jack had obviously revised his earlier opinions about monsieur and was heartily sick
of his whinging. I hurried after him hoping he wasn't warming up to another sardonic re-
mark and left poor James to listen to the latest chapter of marital woe.
Our next voyage was into the dining room, where the nautical theme had been admir-
ably maintained. I was fascinated by the walls. The bottom half was painted midnight blue
using a ragging technique and the top half was white with the occasional interruption of
pale blue swirls. They were completely lined with portholes, some of which had brass grills
on and others had been made into mirrors. Then I looked at the furnishings. The oak dining-
table formed a splendid centre-piece that had been carved into the shape of a boat deck.
It was obviously a labour of love. With chair frames made from re-claimed driftwood and
tiny lifebuoy seats equipped with very French pom-pom cushions, one could quite imagine
oneself being aboard a ship. As I was gazing around, I caught Jack's eye. He was beginning
to look bored.
“If we ever had the misfortune to eat in this room,” he said, “I'd probably end up with
a bout of seasickness.”
“Fair enough, darling, this decor isn't for everyone. We wouldn't need to take all the
furniture and there's nothing that a spot of paint couldn't sort out on the walls.”
“Do you have even the slightest idea how many coats of whiter-than-white paint it
would take to make a dent in that lot? It looks like a coach load of goths have been let loose
on it. It's practically black.”