‘We’ll go to Amsterdam.’
‘For our honeymoon.’
Is that a proposal?
He shook his head.
By train, then; via the Chunnel?
He shook his head. ‘By boat.’
Yea? The ferry? From Harwich?
He shook his head again and grinned. ‘In my dingy.’
I looked at the flimsy boat, moored next to my father’s.
Nah. No way, mate.
What, to cross the North Sea in that?