the futility of complaint

This is just typical, and this more an irritated metaphorical roll of the eyes than a complaint. The weather was perfect last weekend. Remains perfect now and pretty much remains so until this weekend coming, when I'm finally gig-free and able to get down to the boat. I'd hoped to make a trip out to Fowey and back with Dad and Nikki.

At which point we have gusts of up to 30 knots coming through by Sunday and 2m waves. Petrella could cope with that, I'm sure. I'm not sure Dad and Nik would want to, however.

Still a few days ahead, so maybe it'll mitigate as the weekend closes in. Could, possibly, sail to Fowey on the Saturday, shelter there through the worst of it Sunday, then back to Plymouth Monday. But it doesn't take much to change before that all gets potentially very messy.

Perhaps I'm being too cautious? I'm very conscious that, despite getting down to the boat every couple of weeks or so, we've not actually managed to get her out of her berth since September last year, which feels like an awful waste.

This does sound like I'm complaining. Which, of course, is futile. The only person that can fix this situation is me.

Of happy news and other things

So the weekend went to plan, with just one happy little surprise thrown in.

Had Friday evening off, and sat out in my garden in the sunshine to restring my guitar and annoy my neighbours. You might think the sound of a guitar gently strumming coming from your neighbours' garden on an early summer's evening might be a pleasant thing. I guess the trouble is, as with anything that needs practice, practice involves repetition. 

So I try not to indulge too often, and am conscious to keep the repetition to a minimum. And nobody has yet complained. But it's too nice not to sit out in the sun on a sunny evening, and the house gets just a little too noisy at times. In nothing but a good way and I have no complaints. But being able to find a quiet corner in the garden in the sun with my guitar is a pleasant escape. I am not, by nature, a gregarious soul, so I like my own space occasionally.

The clip above is a version of Hotel California from Friday night. Still a bit rough around the edges, but got the words in, more or less, the right order. Always been fond of the song, never worked out a version to play with the band, but it remains an ambition and therefore a work in progress.

Saturday night's gig was excellent fun. Lots of faces in a packed house, some new, many we've known now for years, in some cases, decades, so count as good friends. It was a late one, home for about 0200, in bed for about 0330. 

Then back up for 0830 Sunday morning to get to the Club to meet Amanda and rig the Albacore a little before 1000. Didn't get time for my morning cup of tea, so dropped in at Nik's shop to say good morning (she'd been up to open at 0700) and grab bottle of Lipton iced tea and a bag of crips on the way out (the breakfast of champions! - that is, by the way, an ironic exclamation mark) plus a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle for lunch later. 

Don't say I don't know how to treat myself. Yep, more irony.

We replaced the Albacore's main halyard which slowed preparations down a little, so were last off the beach and barely made the start-line on the other side of the lake with seconds to spare.

Wind was light, at around 6 knots from north of north east, but very variable in direction and some surprisingly blustery gusts occasionally blowing through to keep everybody on their toes. The sky was very thermic, with little puffs of cumulus blossoming and fading above in the otherwise blue heavens. The sun was warm, but the wind still had a bit of a chill, as it almost always does when there's any east in it.

We sailed the two morning races together, with indifferent results despite two very good starts. Win some, lose some I guess. It was still a lovely morning to be out on the water.

I remained at the club for the afternoon, taking my turn manning the safety boat for the pursuit race. It was an uneventful duty, the wind stayed fluky, but dropped off even further, leaving the boats racing occasionally motionless on the flat water.

I'd originally been scheduled to run the safety boat for Saturday afternoon, but had done a last minute swap with somebody else when Nikki reminded me that we'd agreed to go out to lunch with Ben and Hannah. Ben's the eldest of my two boys, and lives with his wife in Bristol. They're teachers, so we don't see nearly enough of them during term time. 

It seemed a little odd for Ben to arrange a family get together, but he'd explained he'd missed seeing his grandad (my father-in-law) on his birthday because of work, so this was just a chance to remedy that. So Saturday afternoon saw Nik and I sitting down to lunch at Hickory's Smokehouse with Ben and Hannah, along with our daughter Tash and the twins Harry and Charlie, my in-laws Lil and Harry, and, of course, my Dad. Only my youngest, Sam, was missing, as he couldn't rearrange his shift at work. Such are the hardships of working in retail.

It was a lovely lunch, lovely company, and not long into it Ben and Hannah revealed the true reason for the gathering. It seems Nikki and I are going to be grandparents again, with the new baby, Ben and Hannah's first, expected for the beginning of November.

It almost feels redundant to say it, but I'm going to type it anyway, we're all completely delighted.

Hotdogs

The mid-week evening racing season is now well underway at the lake, and this Wednesday just gone, it's very much beginning to feel like summer.

Amanda and I have more or less switched back to racing the Albacore together on those Sundays we're both around, and racing our own Lasers mid-week, with the caveat that if there's more wind that Amanda is happy dealing with single-handed, we can always get the Albacore out instead.

It was a good turnout this week, with twenty-nine boats out on the start-line, including nine Lasers in our own fleet. Amanda finished a very credible 6th place out of the nine, and I managed to take 1st, albeit after a fair bit of work having to make amends for a disastrous start (about 15 seconds late crossing the line, which is a lifetime as far as these things are concerned) and half a race trying to pass and then shake off one of the Club's most talented youngsters in his Radial.

The 8 knots or so of wind we enjoyed was enough to keep us moving throughout, with the occasional gust to tease us. It was exceptionally shifty, as it always is when it's from the east. For most of this year so far we seem to have been stuck with easterlies, as opposed to the usual prevailing south-westerlies we usually enjoy on this side of the country.

At least now summer's drawing close, the easterlies have lost their biting chill; Wednesday evening was a vary balmy, very welcome 20°c, and the warmth has so far continued through the rest of the week.

A typically busy weekend ahead. I should have time for my usual hour of karate Saturday morning, then out for lunch at a restaurant with the family; ten of us in total, including my dad and my mother and father in law, only my youngest can't make it because he'll be at work.

Then I head down to Bristol for Saturday night's gig. One of my favourite venues, The Railway Tavern, is should be great fun, but will be a late night. A midnight finish should see me home a little before 2am, and in bed an hour later.

A few hours sleep, then out to meet Amanda at the lake for 10am Sunday, to rig the Albacore for the morning's racing. The wind should still be annoyingly in the north east and similar to what we had on Wednesday evening, but at least it should still be warm and sunny.

Which is a good thing, as I switch from sail to powerboat in the afternoon, and take my turn running the safety boat cover in the Club's RIB for the Sunday afternoon race. Running the safety boat in a howling gale with boats toppling over like skittles is always fun, but if I can't have that, give me moored to the buoy in the middle of the lake, lazily basking in the warm sun and watching the sail boats gently drift about without mishap is my preferred second option.

On the domestic front, the little wrigglers are thriving, and beginning to get very chatty. The following clip was a conversation with Charlie, earlier this week.