It is the weekend, in Roscoff Vieux Port. Breezes are light. Shoal draft sailing boats waft, between tor topped granite islets and the pier head.
Anglers set forth purposefully, for a day's fishing. In their secret spot.
A cadet keeps the old skills alive. Sculling alongside attentively.
To deftly pick up a mooring.
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Whilst full time fishermen hail for help, from high above on the quay.
Enlisting a derrick to bring the nets ashore.
Others are content to bide their time. Waiting until wind and tide serve. In my case catching up on lost (to 'flu) sleeping and eating.
Happy to wander the lanes, to stretch my legs.
Today (Monday) seagulls soar on the updraughts created by thirty knots of northerly breeze. Tomorrow the wind is forecast to fall to passage making proportions. With a fair tide from dawn.
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