Personally when I cast my eye over my 100 year old boat her signs of age endear her to me. My aesthetic is that of the cathedrals gloomy with the smoke of innumerable candles, the scars of the sackings by the Ottomans, the steps worn hollow by a thousand years of kneeling penitents. Further to that my humble vessel belongs to a vernacular tradition based on the Queenscliff fishing boats from the turn of last century. A tradition of hard usage, hard knocks, and short pockets.

And aboard the boat anchored next to us, the playboy model American girl came up on deck with her walkman hooked to her string undies. I think we call them thongs, now. Things. Thongs.