A journal of my sailing, my dogs, my band. I can promise photos, but not consistency; as far as subject matter goes I'm a bit of a nomad, so can at times drift about the place with seeming abandon.
I don't do cards. Not very good with flowers. But do appreciate how lucky I've been. So I wrote her a song. Well, nicked an old folk song and butchered a couple of verses, rewriting them so they were hers.
So I recorded her a song. Yeah, we can settle for that. Though the two verses are all hers.
Naturally, I'm talking about my wife, not my boat.
As is, I find, not unusual for this time of year, I've been somewhat shore-bound of late. Dad and I did have a weekend away with Calstar at the beginning of the month; she'd been out on the hard for some general TLC and overdue maintenance on her mast and had gone back in the water on the Friday.
Unfortunately, the wind was such that the Marina wouldn't let the riggers use the mast crane, and so she, and therefore we, spent the weekend alongside the pontoon beneath the crane, mastless. Which, according to my spell-checker, isn't a word. But it will serve.
The weather was such that we couldn't have sailed anyway. Perhaps on the Saturday, but returning on the Sunday would've been nasty.
So by way of compensation we ate at Dad's favourite restaurant in Plymouth on the Saturday night. We duly arrived at 8pm, spot on time for our reservation, to discover our table hadn't yet been cleared of its previous occupants. The eatery was, as always, packed, so we happily agreed to wander down the road for a pint and come back in half an hour. It's not like we had to run to any kind of a schedule.
The Admiral MacBride was as comfortable an establishment as any for us to pass the time in; it's one of my favourite pubs in the Plymouth Barbican, partly because it's nearest the Marina and I am a creature fond of convenience when it's offered, and partly because it's just on the outskirts of the main drag, so often a little quieter than the pubs further along.
I'm also a creature generally unfond of crowds. Unless, of course, they are there to see me.
Nowhere is really that quiet in the Barbican on a Saturday night. I almost lost Dad to a crowd of of enthusiastic young (and some not so young, but who am I to judge these days?) ladies out enjoying themselves, celebrating the birthday of one of their friends.
However, whilst arguably over-enthusiastic in their revelry, they were not unfriendly. I can't believe Dad didn't enjoy the attention.
A storm blowing through this weekend saw racing at the lakes both at South Cerney and Frampton cancelled. In any case, I was stuck on a First Aid course, necessary to maintain my sailing and powerboat instructor's ticket, so couldn't have sailed anyway. Next weekend I'm on the Safety Boat at South Cerney, so again, no sailing.
That said, the Albacore is currently in the workshop, having some modifications to the rigging done, so isn't likely to be ready in time for the weekend. Although with the forecast (albeit still a long way out) suggesting we might see gusts of up to 50 knots again next Sunday, it's not certain there will be any racing anyway.
If there is however, it should at least be entertaining to be on the Safety Boat.