Gloop, slop and half a century

Over half a century ago there was a skiff in the harbour with my first names on the name board, it wasn't mine it was Da's and I learned to row in it. It was big, for a skiff, old and heavy with paddles bigger than me and which I could row with if all went well. If it didn't I was better at scullying anyway.

When waiting for the tide to float her there was a pointless ritual that we all undertook because when time rushes by like treacle you always want to speed it up as best you can. So you'd get aboard and cast off long before the tide got to you and you'd sit yarning to the rest but as soon as the water got to the keel you were up on the stern thwart, toe against the name board and you stood leaning for all you were worth on the paddle. The fact that dry(ish) sand was all around, that it took two or three inches before she'd move, another inch or two to lift upright and then another to actually float was inconsequential. I must have added milliseconds to my life afloat by leaning on a paddle trying to be away before the tide allowed.

It was only on nice days that you were allowed to take the skiff so it was always fine weather when you did. What I remember most is the noise. It started with a "gloop" followed by a "slop" under the transom as the merest ripples ran from stern to bow. As they went under the bilge the final volume open to them was far less than they themselves so they'd run upwards and make a "gloop" sound at that point momentum would be lost and they'd fall back on themselves and make a "slop" that would be heard as the water ran away till it all happened again.

It only happened for a short while as the tide didn't hang about, apart from neaps but they were midday tides so you'd have shoved out anyway. There are a few places where the rocks are so arranged that gloop and slop can be heard, too. There's a place down the cove, the Island side of  'meor, Crab Rock and down 'widden just after low water where the very same sounds can be heard but only at certain times and in calm, benign weather. Usually the afternoons of summer days and springs.

I spent ages sitting on rocks listening to "gloop" and "slop" when I was a kid. Vacant hours, idle times and no regrets. I can't ever remember thinking about anything or doing anything but listening and then moving as such times are fleeting as tide doesn't hang about.

The soundtrack that matters. You'll either get it or you won't!

Not so in The Mediterranean. Today I sat on a rock and there it was the unmistakable "gloop" and "slop" and there was I over half a century ago sitting in a skiff with nothing better to do than sit, watch, listen and wait. In the Mediterranean, however, there is no tide to speak of so there is no reason to move until a glance to the right reminds you that in the past half a century a lot has happened and you may only be a few feet away in space but explaining that you're well over fifty years away in time is far more difficult than getting up and moving on.

There is much to occupy the mind half a century and more later, too. Reflecting on our visit this morning from the house owner who rather wonderfully came along with her English friend to see if all was well, if anything could be improved and to let us know that our deposit will be returned.

Everything is wonderful. Too good, really, better than I deserve at least so could we book it for next enero/febrero?
Non!
Already booked. For six months all next winter.
Someone is a very wise person, I think, well done them.

The view from where I sit whilst tapping these laptop keys.

The problem is what do we do? Last year's place was a bit dire, we knew no better but we do now and this place is perfect for us. It has all we need and what we want. Any more would be superfluous, any less a disappointment. To book another place and wander by this balcony when occupied by others would not be good, unless, of course we booked a mansion but we don't want a mansion. All we want is this and it's not available.

The prospect of a enero/febrero in GB, especially now I've found a significant rock to sit on is unthinkable. I shall therefore give up thinking and allow management free reign.  She's already on the case, I just looked over her shoulder as she sat on the balcony with the iPad.

She was looking at some place called "Malta".
Does anyone know if that's got a rock you can sit on which "gloops" and "slops"?
Has it got places with a sun bathed balcony a few steps from the deepest blue Mediterranean from which you can watch proper boats coming and going?

Change?
How will I cope?

I suppose that like the tide I'll just go with it and try to find another place where "gloop" and "slop" can supply the soundtrack for a few more weeks of my life.