Glossary: Why there are always 1,000 things on board that absolutely have to be done

"In a minute!" I hear my husband shout - and I'm about to go crazy. "We have to go, we're invited tonight." - "I'll say in a minute. Sit in the sun for so long." The latter is ordered with a mixture of accusation and anger. Yes, I know, the weather is nice, it's Saturday and we could have stayed until tomorrow. Yes, I also know that you don't leave the boat until Sunday, if at all. It would be best to stay on the boat anyway.

So I sit down in the sun while he bumbles around behind me. "What else do you have to do?" I ask. "Have you looked at the winch cranks? Didn't you see how dirty they are?" No, I haven't. "You can do that next time," I object. To no avail. He: "I'm almost finished."

I get up. Things are moving forward. At last. Claudi comes and waves. "Aren't you off yet?" That's right, the two of them are also invited tonight. "No, the winch cranks are dirty," I explain to her. I don't need to say any more. She nods knowingly.

• More glosses by Steffi von Wolff...

Of course, it's by no means the case that men don't want to go home. That would be absurd. After all, there's a cosy place at home, conversations about the day and that one loose drawer in the kitchen that needs to be fixed "sometime". And an invitation to a 60th birthday party on Saturday evening. So today. So later. No, it's not all that. It's the circumstances.

"Will you get your bag?" I ask my husband. "In a minute. I have to start the engine again. It sounded so funny earlier." I look at him in disbelief. "Why didn't you look straight away?" I want to know. No answer. We've only been motoring for two hours, so it's impossible to check. No, it has to be done in the harbour while I'm sitting on pins and needles, because it's almost midday.

"Men on boats go after things that aren't there but could be. Sounds that nobody else hears."

A sound, then. "Yes, a very special one. Not a normal sound. More like a mmrrrr-clack-clack-clack-clack, you know?" No, I don't understand. "Only trained ears can hear that. It's unthinkable if there's something wrong with the engine and you don't check, impossible. Completely irresponsible," I'm told.

Here comes Michi. "Ah, you're still here too." That sounds really relieved. I sit down on the jetty with Claudi. It's getting warmer and warmer. My husband starts the engine of our "old lady" and he and Michi go below deck to open the cover and listen to the engine.

"That doesn't sound good," we are told shortly afterwards. It sounds exactly the same to my ears, but that's irrelevant. "Quite warm," Michi then says. "Yes," says my husband and the silence that follows is very loud.

"It's going to be really nice tonight!" exclaims Claudi. "There's bound to be bratwurst." Nice try, but unfortunately in vain. No answer. Instead, the men confer. The word "DIY store" is mentioned and Claudi and I now know that we can make ourselves comfortable for the time being.

The DIY store is a kind of parallel universe with time dilation. You "just pop in" to pick up "two or three screws". Special screws. Very special ones. With a thread that is probably only available on a secret shelf at the very back left, next to the things you never need but take with you anyway. The twelfth folding rule, for example. Microfibre cloths in packs of ten. Tape for whatever. There you meet other men from the harbour by chance. They also just wanted to get something. They nod knowingly to each other. Nobody asks any questions. They understand each other without words. Oh, there are hoses. Cordless drills are on offer. You can always use them.

"We're going to the DIY store straight away," we are told. Claudi and I know: It's not about winch cranks. It's not really about the engine either. It's about the principle. About staying. About not having to leave yet.

It's getting warmer and warmer. A beautiful day.

An energetic cranking sound is heard behind us, followed by a meaningful: "You really can't leave the crank like that. You're making a mockery of yourself." Of course. You never know when a hurricane will spontaneously sweep through the harbour and only clean winch cranks will survive.

Claudi sighs and says: "For us, it's the outboard motor." Although I know the answer, I ask: "What's wrong with it?" Claudi: "Nothing. But it sounds somehow ... different today. I'll get us some coffee." Of course it sounds different. It's Saturday. Engines know that. They develop an acoustic personality just in time for departure.

There's more: "I might need some small stainless steel screws. Special ones," says Michi seriously. "With Torx." Torx! The word echoes across the jetty like a battle cry. Then: "I can't drive away knowing that a screw might not fit perfectly!" Claudi leans towards me and whispers in my ear. "Last weekend it was the railing. It was supposedly sagging." I whisper back: "For us, it was the forestay." We smile that quiet smile of people who know: We won't get out of here before sunset today.

Later, there is suddenly a metallic clacking sound. Followed by a scrutinising silence. Then: "Do you hear that?" my husband calls out to us. I hear nothing. Claudi also shakes her head. "It's just cracked." My husband looks panicked. I act interested and ask: "What cracked?" My husband: "Well, that one!" I make a joke of it and follow up: "What exactly cracked?" Short pause. "I don't know yet. But we'll look into it."

Of course they pursue the matter. Men on boats investigate things that aren't there, but could be. Noises that nobody else hears. Screws that could theoretically loosen. Winch cranks that become morally dilapidated if you leave them dusty.

Our men trot along the jetty towards the car. Time passes. Claudi looks at her watch. "If we leave in an hour, we might only be 20 minutes late, but without showering."

And so we continue to sit in the sun. Maybe they're right. Maybe you really shouldn't drive until Sunday. Or preferably not at all. Turn down invitations from the outset. Perhaps life on land is simply a temporary solution between two berths. Who really knows. I can't even think about the fact that we've been invited to two milestone birthdays over Easter. I don't know how I'm going to manage that yet. There might be deaths at the event if my husband has to go. But I do know one thing: we're not going to change our husbands. It's not going to happen. The boats mean everything to them. Social contacts? They have each other.

Here they come back. Ernst. Claudi and I look at each other, nod and get up. "We'll be off then," I say kindly. My husband looks confused. "We?"

"Well, we are. To our invitations. You stay here. With your Torx."

Silence in the harbour. The sun is shining. Seagulls are screaming. Somewhere a loose line rattles - probably ours, and it needs to be followed up quickly. Claudi and I pick up our bags and set off. We turn round at the end of the jetty. "That can't be true," says Claudi. But it is. Our men are each on their own boat. Both have started the engines. Both have cast off the lines. "Ready to cast off!" they shout to each other. As if that wasn't enough, I hear my husband Michi shout: "It's a good thing I took Monday off!" I didn't know anything about that. Michi laughs and calls back. "Me too!" Claudi looks at least as surprised as I am. We look at each other - and then just keep walking.