Redneck Yacht Club - Craig Morgan

The Breneman works at Aylesford Lake Yacht Club, home of a number of moderately sea-worthy vessels, a scarlet Zodiac known as 'The Red' (which Ian is often in) and also some of the most enjoyable sailing types I've seen. I know what you're thinking... letting me loose at a yacht club is like inviting Korn to play the Queen's Silver Jubilee. And if you were actually thinking that... seriously, what's wrong with you? You think like me. Let's go have a drink.

Ian's existence, to begin said redneck theme, is in a trailer from 1969 - coincedentally, the last time that it was cleaned. (Zing). It's roughly equivalent to the Chateau Frontenac, in terms of comfort and amneties - if the Chateau Frontenac was found in central-Alabama, and had been stripped down for parts and turned into a camper. There are three seperate 'rooms' - all located in one room. The 'Honeymoon Suite' - a square table-cum-bed that forces the sleeper into diagonals; the 'Loft' - a glorified clothing shelf that gives the sleeper roughly 3 inches of space betwixt nose and roof; and the 'Master Bedroom' - Ian's bed, which actually has nothing too funny that can be said about it.

Such is the glory of the Yacht Club that they have lost the rudder on the 'pride of their fleet'. However - you couldn't find a nicer or more obliging group of people. The Commodore - Steve - is a gregarious sort, and only reacted somewhat strangely when I referred to Ian by his naval rank (Admiral, of course - I have recently been promoted by said Admiral to Lt. Commander). There was many people up for a game of washer toss (the metal rings... not the appliances... though the latter would have seemed possible had Ian poured me another r&c), most of whom tried to biff the discs at me at one point or another. And most of whom may have come up to about my knee, and had an age equivalent to my hat size.

Also: there were tiki torches. Steve says they were to keep away the bugs, but we all know the truth. They just wanted tiki torches. And I'm pretty okay with that.

We stayed up around a fire until 3:30 am, chatting with the Commodore and his wife, before turning in at Chateau Breneman. Yay for the lake.

The next morning, at... oh... 9:00 or so, I was awoken by Ian so we could go watch Marshall the Safety Guy do his safety demo. He was... enthusiastic, demanding that people create a "culture of safety" and pointing out that one can't save lives... they can just extend them. With Army fatigues and some combat boots he could have passed for the sarge from Full Metal Jacket... only slightly less profane, and without the clever japery.

ALYC = At Least You Came... and didn't drown, get carried off by bugs, or killed by a rogue washer. That's just the kinda place it is. Seemed pretty close to normal, t'me.