A snippet from the novel, Dear Mr Busby:
People think an ageing man’s loneliness becomes his own little world; it is not. It is a wooden ship, the windows port holes, the earth outside a sea of blazing fire. Daily the smoke is ignored, the ship is primed and lacquered with such intricacy from years’ of crafting in a forge of patience and experience that, though the canvas of the main sails may be singed and the old man’s ship no longer goes as it should, the wood of its making is sturdy enough to withstand the flames. It is the view that erodes its captain, sights of a new dawn and another spring on the horizon. The captain may spot land but already be too salty and dry to want any more sand for his hourglass.