Histories

Too much wind to risk the Bristol Channel this weekend, and a Solo class Open Meeting at the lake, which, lacking a Solo of my own, meant I couldn't race there either, so on Sunday I took Lilly for a long walk out to Haresfield Beacon. It's a lovely spot, with fantastic views over the Severn valley. Nearing the trig point I was struck by the thought that more than three quarters of my life has so far unfolded within sight of this place.

If you'd told me that was going to have been the case thirty years ago, I'd never have believed you, but the compromises that have kept me here have carried their own rewards. I've no cause for complaint.

Saturday was spent at the lake all day, taking visitors out sailing in the Club's Gull and Wanderer dinghies. A warm, bright, exceptionally gusty day. I paused briefly between swapping guests to bolt down a cooled to tepid cup of tea that one of the shore crew thoughtfully brought out to me on the pontoon, and snacked off a handful of Swedish meatballs that I'd secreted in the pocket of my buoyancy aid, but was otherwise kept busy on the water all day. The things we do in the name of enjoying ourselves. It was a lovely day though, perfect weather for my tastes, even if I did finish the day hungry and dehydrated with no time left to grab anything else to eat before rushing off to the evening's gig.

photo: roger gribble

An odd thing; too warm for gloves, I inevitably picked up a few rope-burns from playing the mainsheet through the gusts to keep us upright. But all the abrasions are on my left hand, despite not favouring any one tack over another. My right hand thinks my left hand is a wimp and should "man up".