We are currently enjoying the company of an old Merchant Navy friend. I have known him since I met him when he was a young Cadet aboard the Troopship Dilwara on our way to Kure. He's a retired Master now and has been flooded out of his house near York for a second time. His two daughters live abroad and he's a widower now. He insists on living in sight of water and,, sadly, pays the price. He displays that typical bulldog attitude to problems in life and remembers the" Blitzness as Usual" signs outside bombed out shops in WW2. The butcher inside brushing bits of broken glass from what few sausages he had left for sale. Despite his lovely house being ruined for a second time, he hasn't lost his sense of humour. he was telling us of taking his ships through the Great Green Greasy Limpopo and the squalid Irrawady but of all the humid rivers he had sailed through, the Demerara in Belize (British Guiana) as it was then, he thinks the worst. That Deep Brown stinking hole-his words- was such that his Chief Officer said to him--Not sure if we should navigate or cultivate this Sir.