The boat has been a part of our lives for a few years now. Last night, it even featured in my dreams.
Mr Grigg and I were sitting having a drink at De Vinchies, a now defunct club in My Kind of Town, when various hen and stag parties walked by, in high heels and Oompa Loompa outfits. Mr Grigg then suddenly declared he was going to bring the boat through.
Cut to a canal-style lock, with the tall masts of Nestor just fitting in beneath the nightclub roof, and then the beer-sodden, fag-ridden nightclub floor between the boat and the sea beyond.
I told him it was impossible but he insisted he could do it. The brightly-dressed clientele lent a hand to lift the boat's bow across the floor, much to the annoyance of the bar staff who were concerned at losing trade. I then presented a barmaid called Ann with a raffle prize before going back to lead the yo-heave-ho. It was no good, they couldn't lift it.
And then I woke up.
I am used to these vivid dreams in the Ionian. Probably too much sun, wine and all that calamari.
Today, we take the Putters back, along with Mr Grigg's brother who is so handy with a windlass.
Mr Putter has become do-er rather than dour as he takes the helm to avoid the seasickness he feels by just looking on. The fragrant Mrs Putter has brought a touch of Lush Places glamour to the boat, armed with nappy bags and wet wipes for the loo and the brilliant tip of lighting a match instead of cloying air freshener after using the lavatory. Every bathroom should have a box.
We will miss their company. My lasting memory is of Mr Putter rowing the dinghy as Mr Grigg and his brother snorkel to collect what Mr Grigg insists are a type of scallop from the seabed. Mrs Putter, discussing their find with an Italian gentleman who happens to be treading water nearby (attracted, no doubt, by siren Mrs Putter's fragrance), confirms they are endangered species which taste terrible.
The large bivalves are dispatched back into the water, with Mr Grigg annoyed at missing out on fresh lunch.
I took a photo of him with one of them just before the crew made the decision that the Noble Pen Shell (for this is what Wikipedia later tells me they are) should be returned to the seabed.
If figured it would have been useful to show the hospital when I took Mr Grigg to have his stompach pumped out.
'Remember the puffball,' I tell him.
His gills go green at the memory and the long wait in the A&E department.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x