Yeah yeah I know. Everyone's leaving for the burn in the next few days and isn't that exciting.

No it isn't actually. It's fucking crap.

I have rather rashly decided to host my Dad’s 70th birthday Chez Turtle, which means that come Friday three generations of motley Josef crew will be winging their way down the M4 squashed in the back of my brother’s white van on top of an old mattress. How the boat will contain them all I don’t know but it will be fun finding out…

Minor problemette occurred last night when with a tank full of bleurgh we attempted to do a well overdue pump out, because frankly, the boat smells like Gastonbury and it is just not cricket when you have guests coming round.

So, after a quick glass of red wine, we untie the moorings and release XJ from her bonds. The grey hulking 12 and half tonne of steel that is our home starts to float out into the basin. I kick off the side and Turtle flicks the ignition and the engine is dead. *fuck*

After some rapid retying of ropes it took us three hours and the involvement of four neighbours to figure out that it was not the battery, starter motor or alternator but ONE fucking wire which had disconnected from the ignition. Well, honestly! How were we supposed to know? We’re Turtles, not mechanics….

I have grown 4 figs and 7 apache chillis - despite armageddon. I have borne fruit. All on my own. How exciting and, well, fruitful...