FOSSC: YouTube - Northbound

If the share button does what it says on the tin, the following should be a YouTube playlist that a friend from my old sailing club at Frampton put together of his adventures this summer just gone. The above is a still from one of the later videos.

If share button doesn't do what it promises, then the link to the playlist is here.

Reuben's around the same age as my eldest son Ben. I remember how as a kid he'd cycle the sixteen mile round trip from Stroud to the club every Sunday to race with the rest of us in his somewhat ratty, beat up old Laser. But the age of the boat and state of its sail didn't stop him from regularly beating us.

I took the above at Frampton on one such an occasion. The photo following was in 2020, when we last crossed paths with him sailing across Falmouth Bay. His is the little boat just off the bow of the cargo ship.

About the time Ben left home for Bristol Uni, Reuben left home and the Club to move to Falmouth for a boat building apprenticeship, and there he designed and built the dinghy he sailed to Norway this summer. We'd bump in to him occasionally when we in the area with Calstar. It's a beautiful little yawl that he built, possibly the only yawl I can think of that has a spinnaker and a trapeze rigged for the helm to hike out on, the idea of which always makes me smile.

So very Reuben. Although I don't think he used it much on his most recent trip.

Freefall: PRS Paul's Guitar in Faded Blue Jean #0371814

She arrived just after lunch. I'm very, very pleased. Lottie was bemused by how long it took me to get it out of the box. It's not as easy as it sounds. Reassuringly, the hard case that came with her seems to weigh more than the guitar itself.

Apparently, the nitrocellulose finish to the maple top is "faded blue jean" which, for some reason, made me chuckle. Seems a bit pretentious for what's essentially a working guitar. But it is undeniably pretty. I've checked back, and the finish to my current PRS is "faded blue".

So when the next person asks me "Why do you need a new guitar" it seems I can't just say it's because I fancied a change in colour. In any case, the honest answer would just be "Because".

She is, in every sense, the big sister to my current PRS. American built in the PRS factory in Maryland, on the shores of Chesapeake Bay, the maple top, mahogany body and neck and rosewood fingerboard are machine cut, but hand finished, and the workmanship is exquisite. 

Because the top of the new guitar has that nitrocellulose finish, rather than the veneer of my current SE model, the carving of the body is deeper and more pronounced, with inset tone and volume controls and switches. It has an elegance that the lines of the SE just can't match.

Which is not to disrespect the old guitar. The SE has been an absolute workhorse and a pleasure to play and perform with. In so many ways she's the more sensible choice for what I actually do with a guitar and the venues I perform at. But what's the point in a midlife crisis if you're going to be sensible?

Anyway, I've now spent a couple of hours plugged in and playing. Quite loud. I have very patient neighbours.

Her first gig will be this coming Friday.

enabler danger

Just got in from a chilly walk around the park with Lottie. She's a pretty dog, I think she has all the colours of autumn in her coat.

Winter is definitely nipping at our heels. We had our first snow last week, which lightly settled for the day with the temperatures around zero C, before melting again as the weather warmed back up over the weekend by a dozen degrees or so and a storm blew through. 

I spent a very wet weekend on the boat with Lottie and Dad. Any of the original ambitions we had of sailing to Fowey for the weekend was made a mockery of by the weather, and we stayed secure in the marina whilst the wet south-westerly blew through over the two days with gusts of up to 50 knots or so.

The boat was very comfortable in the weather, despite the perpetually wet dog aboard with us. The drive down Saturday morning and the drive back Sunday afternoon were less comfortable in the thick rain, but manageable.

The temperatures have fallen back down to around freezing again today. I haven't bothered to look at what they might do for the weekend, as I can't go sailing anyway. I have a gig in Cheltenham Saturday night, and it's my daughter's birthday, so we're taking the family out to lunch on Sunday. It'll be nice to see the grandchildren again, I've quite missed them.

I've had my eye on a new guitar for some weeks or more now. It's more than I should spend and more than I need to spend, given that I have a perfectly lovely guitar that I gig with already, and a very nice collection of other guitars, electric and acoustic.

The algorithms that drive the internet have haunted and taunted me with frequent images over the last month or so. I can't even guess how they work out our interests so keenly, then saturate us with advertising at every turn.

I saw a joke the other day on a site that these afore mentioned algorithms frequently point in my direction. I enjoy the humour of the site, so they're not wrong.

I can confidently inform you from personal experience that it's not twenty eight or twenty nine, either.

The trouble is, it's not just the Internet advertising algorithms that seek to enable me. I mentioned this guitar to Nikki, thinking she'd very quickly put me straight. But I should've known better. I think she gets a rush out of spending money, and I don't think it matters what on.

I mentioned it to the guitarist in my band, Matt, thinking he'd set me right. He's absolutely the best guitarist I know or know of, but he owns two electric guitars. Both exactly the same, except one is silk black, and the other finished with a natural wood appearance. Ironic, as both are actually made out of carbon fibre. He got the first when he was about nineteen, a couple of years after he joined the band, and the second he bought a couple of years later.

So he's had these two guitars quite a while now, as neither of us are nineteen any longer. But no, rather than talking me down, he waxed lyrical about how he'd gone up to the shop in Birmingham with his wife the other weekend to find her a bass, and had seen this guitar himself and had immediately thought of me.

Finally, I mentioned it on a call to my friend and business partner, Will, about an hour ago. By this point, I wasn't so much looking for somebody to talk me down of the ledge, but rather affirm my wayward inclinations. Will's a fellow guitarist, much more technically proficient than me in many ways, though in his case it's for his own pleasure, he's far too committed to his work and family to have time for a band and doesn't perform.

But he does have a fine collection of guitars of his own. In his words, "I've never regretted buying another guitar"; and in truth, neither have I.

It's amazing how few key-presses it takes to commit to spending such a large amount of money on the Internet. Three, in total, I think it took. And the guitar should be with me on Monday. A gorgeous, American built PRS, serial number #0371825.

Far more guitar than I really need or could ever rationally justify. Some men spend their mid-life crisis on a sportscar or motorbike. I refuse to count the boat as such, so instead, this can be mine. Anyway, I'm planning fewer gigs and more sailing next year, but even with that in mind, within a year she should've paid for herself.

the question is

 Will the dog fit?

autumnal (and a rubber dinghy)

I'm not fond of the year growing older, and for the first time in quite some years, feel like we haven't had enough of  a summer to justify the on-rush of winter. But I couldn't help feeling, as I walked Lottie around our local park yesterday evening, that autumn can be ever so pretty.

In other news, I took a trip back to Portishead with Dad the day before yesterday, to pick up a new tender from the chandlery there. A Honwave T25-AE; basically, a 2.5 meter rubber dinghy with an aluminium insert floor.

The idea is to trade the inconvenience of the extra weight involved for the additional stability it should give, and so make Petrella a little more accessible at anchor or on a mooring buoy for the less mobile members of her crew. I'm specifically thinking of Dad, Nikki and, potentially, Lottie. The dinghy's bigger tube diameter and inflatable keel should also make the ride dryer and more comfortable for them.

The chandlery in Portishead was able to source the dinghy for £100 less than I could find it for sale anywhere online, which was a nice change. Always prefer to support a local business if I can.

I've also bought an electric pump, an AIR NRG 6000; this admittedly from an online chandlery. It's not that I mind pumping up the tender manually, but it's a job Dad always insists on doing. Which always draws dirty looks from any boats surrounding: "why is that fit young man sitting there with a beer watching whilst that poor old man does all the heavy work?"

Which, I admit, simply amuses me. Both the idea that being a "fit young man" is only relative to the company I keep when sailing Petrella, and the idea that I have any say in the matter as to who gets to pump the tender up.

In fairness, the electric pump was, I think, his quiet suggestion. Because, as he puts it, pumping up the tender is such a nuisance. Which, of course, it wouldn't be, if only he'd let me do it.

All four of the above photos were taken within the space of about a minute with, of course, the phone in my pocket, on yesterday evening's walk, facing three different directions, the sunset to the left of Lottie, the moonrise over Robinswood Hill to the right. 

I think dusk is my favourite time of day. I just resent the fact that it arrives so early at this time of year.

a quiet autumn

Unless you count the band. Then it's been anything but. Six gigs in October, quieter than the eight gigs we had in September, but it still left very little time for anything else outside of work.

Dad and I did manage to get out of harbour for a day. Actually, thinking about it, that wasn't October, but rather the last weekend of September. A gig free weekend, we'd hoped to sail over to Fowey. But the forecast for the Sunday was grim; far to rough for us to consider sailing back in, which meant that any sailing was going to be limited to the Saturday only, as I needed to be back in the office for the Monday.

So we stayed on the boat for the weekend and took a couple of friends, Dan and Justin, out sight-seeing on the Saturday. In deep contrast to the Sunday forecast, it was a flat calm, so we put the main up just to remind ourselves we were really a sailboat, but otherwise motored the eight miles or so out to the Eddystone light, which proved to be quite a popular spot in the calm weather.

Happily, the wind filled in a little towards the end of the day. Dad muttered something about having had enough and supper calling, but with our two guests aboard he lost the popular vote, so we silenced the engine and had a very enjoyable couple of hours sailing back and forth across the Sound, just for the hell of it, before we returned to the marina.

That was the last time I managed to get Petrella out of her berth. We've been down a couple of times since to check on her, but haven't had time to actually sail.

In part because Dad's damaged himself. Some time around the beginning of October, probably gardening. He has a stubborn talent for disregarding the physical limits of his body, and we think he managed to pull something. Subsequently, he's been in a lot of pain and next to immobilised the last few weeks. He's improved a little, but he's still walking only with the aid of a stick, stooped over and in significant discomfort.

That aside, we're still hoping to take Petrella out west to Fowey and back again on my next weekend off, which is in a couple of weeks time. It will, of course, be very dependent upon the weather. Which is flat calm again at the moment, but always very changeable at this time of year.

In other news, my daughter and the grandchildren move out this week. Probably tomorrow. For reasons I completely understand. But, for reasons it would be indiscrete and inappropriate for me to fully explore here, Nik and I are deeply unhappy and more than a little distressed by the situation. In part, because of the timing, it's too quick and too soon. But mostly because of distance. 

The twins are just a little over six months old now, and thriving. After all the stress and trauma of their early weeks, they've been an absolute joy to have in the house, to watch how they've developed and grown.

Arguing that it's the only place they can afford to rent, Tash and her new boyfriend are moving with our grandchildren to a place called Tonypandy. A Welsh town, a little outside of Swansea. I'm sure it's lovely, but the fact remains that it's eighty miles away. A two hour drive away from her nearest friends and family.

Whatever twist I put on it, whatever reassurances Tash or her boyfriend try to give, I find that distance, and everything it means that Nik and I will miss out on in the coming months and potentially years of our grandchildren's lives, quite heart breaking.

and that then was September

More or less. One more weekend to go. 

I'm off down south with Dad to join Petrella this evening. Weather is vicious on Sunday, but calm and quiet tomorrow, with the hope of a little sun.

So we may sail. Or we may not. 

I have to admit, aside from the flesh wound to my index finger, my confidence took a bit of a battering from our last trip, when I made a complete hash of bringing her back into her berth and ended up perching her on the shoulder of our neighbour.

Small consolation that no real damage was done, even my finger healed in time for the next gig. 

And the locals all consoled my by explaining that yes, the marina was particularly tight and an absolute peril (not the words they used) to come back to when the wind was in the west.

I still made a mess of it, and yes, that has me now double guessing myself. 

There is nothing for it really, except to cast off and come back and cast off and come back and keep doing it until it's as natural to me as drinking water. She is my boat, she was my choice, and there's nobody else to take her helm. 

Nor would I have it any other way.

So maybe we'll sail tomorrow. Maybe we won't. Something I've discovered, without somewhere in mind to go, it's all so terribly easy to find excuses why not to sail.

This is also the last weekend I have free between now and January to spend on the boat. I might be able to take a Monday or two off work in December if the opportunity presents, but the weather is going to close in soon. So between now and the end of the year, it's probably just the occasional Sunday day trip down to the boat and back.

Next year I am definitely going to be harder on myself when it comes to blocking space out of the diary and not booking gigs. it will have been 58 bookings this year, by the time we play New Years Eve. It hasn't let much time for sailing.

All this sounds vaguely bleak, but my mood isn't as black as it seems. Aside from gigs and work, it's been a fairly uneventful month. The twins are growing, five months old now and squealing, giggling and smiling at me when I walk into the room.

Lottie thrives. Though she was attacked in the park yesterday by a bull terrier type dog that was almost the same size as her. A misunderstanding over a ball. The other dog took her by surprise and pinned her to the ground but he had a pretty robust harness on, so I simply lifted him off by it and carried him spitting and snarling back to his quite distressed owner. 

Our friends in the park, fellow dog walkers, looked on bemused, a little stunned by the shock of the whole thing. Lottie was ruffled, hackles raised and very vocal once she was back on her feet, but backed off and gave the other dog space when I told her to. She was slobbered, but escaped unhurt as I was close enough to grab the other guy before he properly latched on and things escalated. Everything resolved peacefully. 

My fault for being incautious with a ball in proximity to a relatively unknown dog. Been a long time since I last had to intervene with squabbling dogs. It's certainly one way to get the adrenaline pumping. I really don't recommend it.

So, not counting whether or not I sail this weekend, that was the month's end. It began with the band playing a wedding gig. The bride was the daughter of friends and family; my brother-in-law's sister-in-law. I helped teach her and her brother to sail not so very long ago when they were both small, and gave their dad his first boat, an old Mk1 Gull that had been sitting in Dad's garden slowly turning green.

In other news, a friend has asked me to help move his boat "Amore", a Hanse 415, across the Atlantic in November 2026 and my wife and work have both provisionally agreed to spare me for the four weeks Mark thinks it'll take. We've holidayed on her for a couple of weeks in 2022 and I helped deliver her from Montenegro to her winter berth in Parga, Greece that same year. She's a lovely boat, and Mark's great company. It'll be a fun adventure if it actually comes off, but 2026 feels like a long time away at the moment.

And, meanwhile, I have my own boat to sail. Once I can work the courage back up to take her off the dock.

meanwhile, somewhere in Eastington

Probably our last outdoor gig of 2024 as the evenings are drawing in and the weather turning. Actually, the weather didn't really get here in the first place. This year's summer has been a bit "So that was it?" It was the last race of the Wednesday evening series at the lake last night, and the first time I've managed to sail the Laser in an absolute age.

Spotty, shifty, light wind, but a pretty sunset, and nice to out racing again. It's been too long.

After having had a quiet August with the band, September sees normal service resumed, with seven gigs in the book, of which the above was the first. Two more this weekend, three the weekend following. Will try to get down to the boat this Sunday.

so that was July

Another month of summer gone.

Six gigs, a bit of sunshine, some welcome warm weather. A lot of Wednesday evenings spent running the safety boat to cover the racing at the lake and not much time racing myself. 

Some worthwhile work done on Petrella, but no time spent sailing her; at the end of this month I will have had her a year and I feel like we've hardly spent any time together yet.

Random metric: not counting her purchase price, marina fees or insurance, her upkeep and maintenance for the year has cost £5,295.37. Some things didn't necessarily need doing, some other things I could possibly have done cheaper, especially had I more time. But all of it was worthwhile.

The babies are growing like weeds, the house is full of noise and the clutter of the paraphernalia associated with the raising and nurture of them both. 

The dogs are well. Dad is well, although continually complaining about the aches and pains and inconvenience of growing old (though better than the alternative, he tells me) and nagging me to book fewer gigs and spend more time on the boat. 

With 54 gigs in the band's diary for this year, I clearly failed on that score this time around. But it's an ambition for next year. We currently only have 12 gigs booked for 2025 and only 1 for 2026, so a good start so far.

I feel like the year is running away with me and the evenings are already drawing in too fast. Planning the next couple of weeks hopefully away on the boat with Dad and Nik (if all goes to plan we head down on the evening of Sunday 11th and sail west Monday 12th) I was dismayed to realise that dawn is now gone 0600 and getting inevitably later as the year creeps on.

Postscript: I wrote the above at the beginning of August, then, planning to add a little more plus a few photos, have since left it in draft. So, on the grounds that that ship has now sailed, as has August, I've added in a few of July's photos but am now just going to hit "Publish" and be damned. 

So then, that too was August.

In other news, since writing the above, the 2026 gig cancelled, 2024 is now up to 56 bookings, and 2025 currently stands at 26. We did sail for a week last month, absolutely determined to leave more space for sailing next year.