We got off, our luggage was unloaded, and for ten days after a successful operation we waited while Beth mended. Perhaps we were being punished for the time we boarded ship in Southhampton, concealing the fact that one of the kids had mumps until we were well on our way. These are not my memoirs. These are the musings of a man who has lived into the time when the useful has become entertaining. Most of the boating done in this country has no aim beyond itself.
People set sail, are blown about a bit, and then head back to port.
And ships that once had destinations now describe great circles on the cerulean waters. From A to B has become from A to A. Sofarforth, the activity shares features with contemplation. The practical has an end beyond itself, but theoria is absorbed into its object, a self-validating activity. I shall remember this as I lie in dark glasses and daring dishabille, exposing myself to the sun. It is a far, far better thing I do . . .