SCSC: the importance of just sailing the boat

Yesterday evening's race at the Lake did not go to plan. Although a 30 knot squall and heavy rain came through at 1800 just as we were beginning to rig the GP14, once it passed through it dried out and the north-westerly wind dropped into the low teens.

So the wind wasn't really the problem.

The problem began with the start line. The race was run from the committee hut ashore, so it was a reaching start due to the wind direction. The GP is a lovely boat, and the more I get used to her, the more I enjoy her, but she's got a very large genoa, so visibility is a bit rubbish.

Which wasn't the entire problem, but certainly contributed. It didn't get in the way of me seeing the Scorpion approaching us on starboard, for example, just as we'd hit a lull and a shift that gybed us onto port but otherwise left us stationary in the Scorpion's path.

"Protest"

Fair enough. And with another thirty seconds to go before the start, plenty of time to take a couple of penalty turns and reposition. Unfortunately, whilst I was looking for the best space to do that, half an eye on my watch and head full of tactics, neither I nor Amanda spotted the Laser hidden behind our genoa. That is, until the thump came and our bows rode up onto her.

The freeboard of a Laser is pretty close to the water, and our relative lack of velocity and the line of our bow-stem meant we just slid up and then back off; a bit of dark scuffing but no apparent damage to our boat or our victim. Damage to our pride was another matter altogether.

No excuses. It was a dumb thing to do. Yes, the start-line was crowded, but sometimes you've just got to remember to sail the boat, and first and foremost that means sailing clear and not hitting anybody else.

By the time I'd apologised profusely and we'd done our two penalty turns (and I'm not sure if it shouldn't have been four, two for the Scorpion and two for the Laser) the rest of the fleet was over the line and most of the way to the first mark.

Still dizzy from our turns, we ducked back to the line to ensure we had a clean start, set the spinnaker for the reach and set to chasing the fleet.

It could've turned out okay. It was gusty, and upwind we made good time with both Amanda and I hiking hard to keep the boat flat and pointing. Downwind, it was painfully obvious we're both still very new to the spinnaker. 

The hoists and drops are getting better. And to our credit, despite the occasionally blustery conditions, we didn't hesitate to hoist at every opportunity. The sail isn't intimidating us any more as, if I'm honest, it did at first. However, we messed up a couple of drops, bringing the kite back into its bag on the wrong side of the jib sheets. 

That made for a horrific tangle on the next hoist, and once the bird's nest of sail, sheets and halyard was unwound, the kite went up in an uncontrollable figure of eight that took another drop and hoist to sort out. And dropped us out irredeemably to the back of the fleet.

But it's all good practice. She's a good boat, we just need to use her to her full potential. I should stress none of this was the crew's fault, and although I think Amanda was frustrated with herself, I really hope she realises that.

Forecast looks light for Sunday. We shall have another go.

No photos. My hands were too full of boat to think of taking any. So the photo at the top is from a sunny, calm Sunday a couple of weeks ago.

SCSC: of drifts and screamers

A photo of our GP14 taken a couple of weeks ago. Despite the pink spinnaker Amanda wasn't actually crewing for me; we had sailed the morning races together, and then Alex (an infectiously enthusiastic thirteen year old) came out with me for the afternoon pursuit, which we won.

The photo was taken from the shore by his dad, Mark. Conditions were very, very light. This spring the weather seems to have gone from one extreme to the other, and it's either been a drift where it's been very difficult to get enough pressure into the sail to set the kite, or a white-knuckled 30 knots screamer of a blow where the idea of launching the kite has terrified both helm and crew. No easy middle-ground where we'd have the opportunity to get used to the third sail.

So Amanda, myself and Alex are still getting ourselves into frequent tangles, more often than not. Admittedly, Amanda and I more than Alex and I, but Alex has the advantage of lots of spinnaker practice racing with the cadets.

We're still having very good fun working the boat out though. 

Gigs tonight and tomorrow, then I'm racing at the lake again on Sunday. Amanda can't make it as it's her mum's birthday, so I've got Alex crewing for me all day. The forecast is 15 to 26 knots from the northeast, which, when your crew weighs less than your dog, is likely to be a bit of a handful.

Three races are scheduled, two class handicap races in the morning, and a pursuit in the afternoon.

unimpressed (but still cute)

I was a little late picking Lottie back up from the groomers yesterday. Apparently, she was not impressed. Lottie, that is. Amanda, the lady with the brush and clippers, was very understanding (as was her next client whom I'd kept waiting).

Lottie turned 4 last month. They grow up fast.

Freefall: mud and rain

Dad is recovering well, and seems very happy with his new bionic knee. He actually made it back out to his first gig again last Saturday. It should've been a balmy evening sat in a farmer's field, watching the band play on the back of a truck.

Of course, we're still in the midst of an English spring, and after a few weeks of sunshine and hot weather, on Saturday night the rain set in thick and hard just as we arrived to set up, and didn't relent until the gig ended, when the rain then cut off as if on cue.

We had to rely on a friendly local to tow the band's trailer out of the field with his pickup, then go back to tow the drummer's car out.

It was otherwise fun, although a bit nippy; my breath was steaming in the air as I sung. Dad was fine, we installed him on a camping chair in the bar tent where he comfortably spent the night out of the rain watching the band play.

I've now got to clean the mud off my kit in time for tomorrow night's gig.

Dad and I hope to get down to Petrella for the end of the month; it's a bank holiday weekend, so if the weather is kind and his knee suitably healed, we hope to make Fowey or Falmouth or both. It will be our first cruise of the year. In fact, between my health (which is now, happily, fully recovered) and his, it'll be our first since our last trip out to Salcombe last August.

So the first sail of this year is shockingly late. I quietly wonder if perhaps I should give up on the south coast and perhaps look for a boat that's a little smaller and easier to manage single-handed, and closer to home.

But I'll park that thought for now. Petrella and I are far from done. It's just been a frustrating eight or nine months.

Bionic Dad

Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Roger Gribble will be that man. Better than he was before. Better... stronger... faster...

Dropped Dad off at the hospital yesterday for his knee replacement. Had a message later that day "It’s a done job! I’m back in my room. Can’t move my legs yet, but I’m starting to move my hips. So Progress!!!" I haven't yet caught up with him this morning, but so far so good.

Though I do imagine he's a little sore. Hopefully bring him home tomorrow, and he'll be well on the road to recovery and ready to resume his crewing duties on Petrella's foredeck.

bad poetry

whether the weather

So, it's not looking kind. Suffice to say, those 20's and 30's in the weekend's forecast are not the anticipated temperature.

lucy & the crocodile

Not sure when I actually wrote the song in the clip that follows, other than sometime towards the end of the last century. Which makes me sound older than I am, although I am now older than I was yesterday, it being my birthday today.

The guitar is considerably younger than both myself and my song, being the newest in my collection, and proof to the fact that the optimal number of guitars for a man to own is n+1, where n is the number of current guitars one is in possession of.

The same is not, I should add, true of boats.

It's a Yamaha TAS3 C, a lovely acoustic possessed of a few simple but clever Japanese electronics, included amongst which is a single track looper; the main reason I bought the guitar and the principle reason I find myself reaching for it most evenings, and why I find it hard to put it back down.

It's what led to this improvised rearrangement of an old song on a new guitar the other evening.

I'm not sure what my plans are for tonight. My wife Nik says "Whatever you want, it's your birthday" which essentially abdicates the arrangements to me. It's the first race of the Wednesday Evening Hotdogs at the sailing club, so I'd quite like to sail. But then I'd quite like to also spend my birthday with my wife, so I shan't. 

Instead, I have to decide whether to take her to the cinema and perhaps a meal out afterwards, or to stay in, watch a film and have something nice for supper at home. We shall see.

In any case, I have a gig tomorrow night, then Saturday morning I'm off down to Plymouth and the boat with Dad and Nik for the weekend, and if work allows, the week following. I'm hoping the weather will be kind and we'll get to sail somewhere. I've missed the sea.

I shall probably take my guitar.

Freefall: hat trick

It was a three gig weekend just gone, which meant no sailing. But neither was there much in the way of wind on Sunday to sail with anyway, so whilst I'm now twitchy from being landlocked for more than a week, I don't suppose I missed out on much.

Friday at Saturday were at the Railway and Pilot respectively, and were as fun and as energetic as those two venues ever are. Sunday was an early evening birthday party for a friend of the family at a venue called Dunkertons, in Cheltenham, and was one of the loveliest, best set up venues we've played at for a long time. 

No gigs this weekend coming. Hoping to head down to the Plymouth and take Petrella out for a sail. Of course, the weather was gorgeous last weekend. Colour me a cynic, but that means it's probably going to do its level best to trash my ambitions. 

of boats and bands and festivals

Last week was a busy one. It was Cheltenham Festival, otherwise known locally as Race Week (on account of there being a bit of horse racing going on) which I'd planned to skip this year, but various interested parties convinced me to do it again.

So gigs Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evening after work. Except Wednesday, when I snuck out of work in the afternoon to go crew for my friend Charles in his Enterprise for their Wednesday afternoon self-titled "Old Gits" race at Frampton. So I did get a bit of sailing in. It was a lively afternoon, with the wind gusting into the low 20's.

Tuesday and Wednesday were late finishes, but Thursday and Friday were earlier slots, finishing around 8:30pm. The downside being they were on an outdoor stage, under cover of a pavilion tent. Thursday poured with rain, Friday was dry, but the temperature dropped to around 4°c.

I think mid-March now stands as the band's record for the earliest outdoor gig of the year. The latest has long stood as November 5th. Funny enough, that also involved Cheltenham.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Freefall (@freefall_theband)

The original plan, and my main reason for negotiating the earlier finish on Friday, was that Dad and I would slip off to the boat straight after the gig, and spend the weekend sailing. A couple of weeks ago, that plan was shot in the foot when somebody pointed out that Sunday was Mother's Day. Nikki pointed out that whilst she may not be my mother, she was the mother of my children, so I was (okay, not unreasonably, I guess) expected to be around on Sunday.

So I made plans to go down to the boat Saturday, just to check her lines and run up the engine. Then my daughter-in-law invited us to lunch Saturday.

A renegotiation with Nikki revealed she was working most of Sunday anyway, so we'd visit the kids Saturday, and Dad and I could go down to check on the boat Sunday.

Saturday was glorious weather. Bright blue skies, light winds. Tash and the twins came with Nikki and I down to Yate to see Ben and Hannah. Lunch was eaten then we took the grandchildren to play in the park. Although I suppose a small part of my soul begrudged the time not sailing, it was lovely seeing Ben and Hannah and our youngest grandson Freddie again. He is totally adorable, and grows more so every day. His bigger cousins, Charlie and Harry are, of course, an absolute riot.

The drive down to Plymouth on Sunday was easy. The lovely staff at Waypoint, the marina's onsite pub, managed to somehow fit Dad and I in for lunch despite already being fully booked because of Mother's Day. Petrella was secure, dry and well. Engine started at the first turn of the key (actually, it's the press of a button, but turn of the key sounds better, I think)

It was pouring with rain and blowing up to 30 knots across the Sound. Even had it not been Mother's Day, we wouldn't have sailed far this weekend anyway.

If work and weather permit, we might get the chance to sail for the week following Easter. Nikki's got some time off, and my schedule at work currently looks like I might be able to swing some too. 

Then on April 14th, Dad's booked in for a knee replacement. That's probably going to slow us down for a month or two.

Freefall: band night

Band practice last night. Keep the volume down unless you're a fan of Wheatus. This was our cover of their "Teenage Dirtbag". Leah, our drummer, commented afterwards (and off camera) that I "sing a very good Noel" 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Freefall (@freefall_theband)

I was flattered. Noel is normally Matt's job (our usual guitarist) but our mate Eddy was standing in for him as he's playing a gig with us in Gloucester at the beginning of next month.

Having previously failed to share videos from Facebook here, I was curious to know if the same limitation applied if I shared from Instagram. I suspect it does, but you never know your luck.

SCSC: Chilli Dogs

The weekend's weather took a turn away from sun and blue skies and back to the seasonal grey dank. Driving home from Saturday night's gig in Thornbury was an adventure, with fog so thick I could barely see the road in front of me.

Sunday was murky, a damp feel to the air but not punishingly chill, so long as you kept moving. South of south east, the wind averaged about 3 knots, the very occasional gusts topping out at around 6. 

Uncharacteristically, I got to the Club early, and Alex and I were rigged, changed and on the water in good time for the start of the first race. The light winds caught me out though, and I found myself too far behind the line as our starting numbers dropped, so we were an inexcusable twenty seconds or so late to the start. 

The boat sailed well, however. Just enough wind to fly the kite made for an interesting sail. The sail handling with respect to the hoists, gybes and drops still needs to be smoother, as does the boat handling; our roll-tacks often left something to be desired. But these are all points easily improved with practice and familiarity.

After the two races finished, with us acquitting ourselves with a 6th and 5th out of the eleven boats that raced, we went ashore for lunch, then with the lake to ourselves other than a single RIB with her crew under instruction, Alex and I went back out for a couple of hours of kite practice. The winds stayed light, but that meant the conditions both highlighted our mistakes and forgave of them. 

I vetoed Alex's suggestion for a capsize drill on the way back in, with the excuse that I didn't want to put away the sails wet, and pointed suggestion we save it for warmer weather.

The video above was shot during the first race by my friend Simon. We're the second double hander in the approach to the mark, with the bell insignia on our mainsail, sail number 13862. Unlike the Scorpion ahead of us, the camera doesn't follow long enough to catch our own spinnaker hoist. Probably just as well, I'm not sure our technique is camera ready!

It always impresses me as to how little wind you actually need to make a boat move.

With the significantly slower handicap of the GP14 compared to the Albacore, we're spending much more time racing in amongst the pack, competing for rights and room at almost every mark rounding. I'm quite enjoying the change.

That's the winter's Chilli Dogs series over now. No racing at the Club next Sunday, which is probably just as well as it's Mother's Day. Then the official sailing season starts the Sunday after. Typically, I have a gig that afternoon so will have to miss it. The band's diary again seems to be getting out of control, despite my best efforts to contain it.

spring is sprung

There's been a definite feeling of spring in the air this week. Okay, so yesterday was dank and grey and just a little chill, but these two photos are from Monday lunchtime, and a walk to the park with my daughter and the twins.

Half an hour playing on the swings whilst the dogs explored the hedges and the soup maker bubbled happily along at home preparing lunch for when we got back.

We have blue skies and bright sun outside again today, and a suggestion from the forecast that the temperature outside might even touch 15°C by early afternoon. What to do for lunch, I wonder?

Freefall: personal space

A friend I once sailed with a lot once commented that there's no such thing as personal space when you're racing a dinghy. Much the same could be said about playing a gig on a Saturday night at The Railway.

In most ordinary circumstances, I'm not fond of crowds and generally try my best to avoid them. I guess different rules apply when you put a microphone in my hand.

Only the one gig this coming weekend, so I have Friday night off for a change, then the gig in Thornbury on Saturday, and Sunday back out on the water to race with Alex and the GP14 again. It's Amanda's birthday this weekend, so, inexplicably, she wasn't able to come sailing with me.

SCSC: a jam, a tangle and a lot of fun

A fun weekend. Great gig Friday night just outside Cheltenham, then a brilliant evening Saturday night playing to a packed out full house at The Railway in Bristol. But a late one. Band finished around 0030 Sunday morning, so I was home and in bed for around 0330ish.

Almost amusingly, according to Strava, the gig at The Railway was a better workout than either Saturday morning's karate or Sunday's racing. But in any case, I was back up, showered, shaved, kit bag packed and back on the road for 0920 the following morning to get to the Club for 1000 to meet Alex and his dad Mark and rig the GP14 for the day's racing. 

The wind was a bit lighter this week, and a lot steadier. South, veering southwest, 12 knots gusting into the high teens, but building significantly as the day wore on. The usual two races, a pursuit starting at 1100 followed back to back by a general handicap. 

We were slow rigging the new boat again, so about three minutes late on the water and late to the start for the first race. But we soon caught up with the back of the fleet and started to work our way through the backmarkers. Conditions were easy as we bore away around the second mark of the course onto a short run. 

Me: "Shall we put the kite up?"

Alex: "Definitely!"

The hoist was almost smooth, except the kite's sheet tangled around the prodder on the bow. No idea what you call it but that's my name for it. It's essentially an inconsequential looking six inch extension that looks like a tongue depressor you'd find in a doctor's office, and it's purpose is to stop the spinnaker lines from slipping under the bow of the boat.

In this case, said line had wrapped around it whilst we were rigging and was now preventing the launch.

Advantage of a twelve year old crew is that they are light, very nimble and up for anything. So I eased he halyard a little and sent him scampering out on to the foredeck to untangle the sheet, then Alex safely back in the cockpit, completed the launch.

At which point it was time to drop it again, and harden up amongst the crowd onto a very close reach up to the next mark.

The usual marks of the course at South Cerney are numbered buoys at various relatively static points around the lake, working clockwise from 1 to 6. The morning's course was a beat to a port rounding at #4, a close reach to round #1 on port, a run down to a port rounding at #6, a very close reach to a port rounding at #4, a beat up to round #2 on port, followed by a long run down the length of the lake to gybe around #5 on starboard.

The second hoist for the stretch down to #5 was much better so we enjoyed a long, easy run under the kite to the gybe mark, but left the drop a little late so had a rushed, inelegant mark rounding. Second lap, and and inelegance of the last drop paid us back when we hoisted the kite again for the short run down to #6 and the kite came up hour-glass wrapped in a nasty figure-of-eight.

Alex is a Cadet sailor and so has a lot of practice crewing with spinnakers, although the Cadet is a significantly smaller boat with an accordingly smaller suite of sails. But he was admirably calm working out the tangle in the brief time and space we had on the run down the leg to the rapidly closing mark, working the sheets, and talking me through easing the halyard to help whilst I tried not to collide with any of the surrounding Lasers and Solos also running for the same mark.

The kit straightened out and flew clean for a brief moment before we had to drop it and harden up onto the next let.

For the the third and what became the final lap the hoist was clean and the kite flew well, but when we got to the drop, the halyard jammed and the kite refused to come down. We rounded #6 and hardened up onto a reach, letting the main spill, Alex taking the tiller whilst I stood up on the foredeck to try and work out what the problem was.

I could see the spinnaker halyard wrapped around the head of the genoa, possibly caught on the shackle of the sail's halyard, but couldn't work out how to free it out on the water. The safety boat loitered nearby, asking if we needed assistance, but we declined, and limped back to land at the pontoon near the committee hut.

Alongside, I released the rig tension and we stepped onto the pontoon with the intention of capsizing the boat so I could reach the tangle, but the wind filled the kite, and with the tension out of the rig was enough to pull the sail loose. Alex reboarded and stowed the kite, I untangled the genoa that was wrapped around the forestay, and we relaunched, me pulling the rig tension back on as we left the pontoon.

We'd dropped out of the back of the fleet, but hadn't missed a mark or accepted outside assistance, so as the race finished a few minutes later, we still took a place, albeit last with an inglorious 12th.

The wind built for the second race, but we'd untangled all the tangles and were getting quickly comfortable with the boat. We had a great start, on the line and moving as the gun went, in relatively clean air with just a solo to windward and slightly astern. We gradually pulled ahead and as the fleet tacked off on to port behind us, we followed, putting us clear ahead of most for the windward rounding.

The course remained the same, and the hoists and drops were becoming practiced. We had a few tangles on the beat with the genoa where it tangled with the spinnaker pole because we'd failed to stow it properly after the drop, but no more tangles or mishaps with the kite.

With the wind veering to the southwest, the long run down to the starboard rounding on the final gybe mark had turned into a dead run, so across the first couple of laps we had some valuable practice gybing with the spinnaker.

On the final lap, we rounded #2 and hoisted the kite, but couldn't lay the mark at #5 on a starboard tack. The conditions were getting boisterous as I called for the gybe, but Alex commented that things were getting too jumpy with the kite and suggested we drop.

A quick, flawless drop followed by a gybe onto port, just as the gust hit. The little boat leapt onto the plane and charged ahead as we trimmed the sails, slid back and hiked out to keep the boat flat and she flew down the leg. Back onto the rhumb line we gybed back onto port and closed up on the Solo ahead. A quick glance saw boats going down astern of us as they rounded #2 and up ahead we could see Garry's RS300 capsized and on its side with the safety boat in attendance very close to the mark. 

We won an overlap on the inside of the Solo well clear of the three boat lengths needed to give us rights at the mark, but he made it very clear he wasn't going to contest. We gybed neatly between the stricken RS and the buoy, then hardened up neatly onto the beat to cross the line and finish.

Of the eleven boats at the start, two retired, and we took a very creditable 4th place. Happy with the result and very happy with the boat. Especially as there's lots of obvious room for improvement.

sometimes you lose your soup, to find a better day

Still no sign of Carlos, but in the end a nice chap called Paul from DPD did deliver the Ninja to my door, as originally promised. Okay, as originally promised but eleven days later. Ninja Kitchens UK then sent me an email asking for another review for their website, rather than TrustPilot's, which I submitted with one star, a title "Soup Maker a Win, Customer Service an Abject Fail" and accompanying words to the effect of "great gadget shame about the customer service". 

They moderated and rejected the review, concluding "Our staff has read your review and values your contribution even though it did not meet all our website guidelines. Thanks for sharing, and we hope to publish next time!" which, I guess, tells you all you need to know about the reliability of reviews left on the actual manufacturer website. 

Needless to say, I don't think I'll be buying direct from them again.

And so, to conclude with a final song, this time no AI involved whatsoever, I give you "The Ballad of Sweet Potato, Carrot and Ginger Soup" . . . .

Weekend is almost here; usual plan, a couple of gigs Friday and Saturday then racing the GP14 on Sunday. Amanda's away this weekend, so a young man called Alex (aged 12) will be crewing with me.

SCSC: GP Sunday

Amanda and I took the GP14 out yesterday for her maiden race. Westerly, 15 knots gusting to a shade over 25, though to be fair, it felt more at times. As it almost always does when you're in the teeth of it. I couldn't persuade Amanda to fly the kite, but, secretly, was kind of glad one of us was being sensible about things.

She's a lovely boat, very good fun. Lower to the water than the Albacore, shorter in length but beamy and a little heavier, I think. The Albacore kind of glides through the tacks and gybes, whereas I found the GP14 more prone to stalling briefly. That could have been the conditions. It could be practice. It could be the fact that the balance of the GP is so much more biased towards the relatively huge genoa. With the Albie, when I pump in the main as we come back out of a roll tack, I feel a definite response. With the GP14 yesterday, not so much.

On the other hand, the GP is a slower boat, with a commensurately higher handicap, so you're very much in the thick of the racing with the other boats in a mixed fleet, which is definitely good fun.

With regards to the racing, we definitely did not cover ourselves in glory.

We were slow getting onto the water so very late on the start for the first race. But that wasn't unexpected, we were rigging a new boat for the first time with the help of the previous owner. Better to ask the questions and get things right in the first place. It's so much more complicated fixing things once you're on the water.

The second race initially looked much more promising. A small crowd of eleven boats made the start, and we hit the line close to the pin and moving nicely just as the gun went, which put us ahead of most of the pack as we rounded the windward mark.

Clean air and uncomplicated mark roundings made for a fast race, only spoilt by me on the third lap when we forgot that buoy #4 was a mark of the course and sailed a fast, fun, spray-soaked reach to #6 instead. We didn't spot our mistake until almost making the same unforced error on the fourth lap, at which point it was far to late to correct and so, in effect, retired. 

But we were having fun so continued to race, despite the fact we knew our race was already over. 

Carlos and the Lost Ninja Soup Maker

I've been occasionally known to peruse the Guardian's website (okay, occasionally as in most days, me being, according to some, a Guardian reading, tofu eating, bleeding heart liberal woke leftie) and at the beginning of this month a particular article caught my eye:

www.theguardian.com/thefilter/2026/feb/04/best-soup-maker-uk

Intrigued by the idea that there was a kitchen gadget that would make me soup, I decided I definitely needed one in my life, so hunted down the endearingly named "Ninja Foodi blender and soup maker" on Ninja Kitchen's website, and was thrilled to find that not only had they discounted it to £129.99 but that they were also offering a 10% introductory discount on the first purchase of anybody registering with them.

This was the 4th of Feb. Mindful that it would be imprudent to raid my savings account for what amounted to yet another impulse purchase, I put a note in my diary to revisit the idea on my next payday, the 10th.

The 10th rolls around, and I find myself still dreaming of soup for lunch. So, debit card gripped firmly between my teeth, I go surf the web back to the afore mentioned website, and buy myself a magic maker of soup from the Ninja people.

In short order, I receive a confirmation email and a promise of next day delivery via DPD.

Next day, an email from DPD telling me Carlos has my package, and that he'll be with me sometime between 1339 & 1439 that afternoon. I'm working from home anyway, so I note it's on its way, and duly forget about it.

And here's where it all goes wrong. Nikki, unusually, has the day off. She's looking after the twins as my daughter is still away up north (remember I had them the day before? now it's her turn). Around lunchtime, I'm getting hungry, the twins are getting noisy, and Nanny Nikki is looking a little fraught, so I suggest we take the kids out to KFC's for lunch.

Around an hour later, we get home, and I find a note from DPD in the letter box saying sorry but Carlos had missed us, but providing little other information other than a direction to go back to their website.

The tracking information on the DPD site shows the parcel arriving back at their depot at 0216 on the  morning of Thursday 12th, where it sits until 1438, when they report that they have my parcel and it's now on its way to me. Yey!

Except at 1439 the site then reports "Your DPD driver Carlos has been delayed" and that's it. Radio silence ensues.

The weekend passes, and nothing. I try to contact DPD, but they demand a package reference and delivery postcode, and then claim the package reference I give them doesn't exist.

Tuesday, and an invitation to review my new purchase on TrustPilot turns up in my inbox. So I post a one-star review observing that they evidently seem incapable of delivering the goods they sell and it's next to impossible to contact anybody for help. Within a very short while, I get an email from an endearingly titled "SharkNinja Consumer Experience Advocate" saying "Firstly, we're sorry to hear about your experience, and we'd like to make this right" and asking for some further details, which I immediately email back.

Three days of silence then follow. But the fact they reached out for me did enable Ninja to post a seeming prompt reply to my negative review to suggest they were dealing with it with all due dispatch. I guess appearance is everything in customer service these days.

By Wednesday I've found a "contact us" form in the Customer Care section of Ninja's website. I message them via this, whilst also emailing back the previously mentioned SharkNinja Consumer Experience Advocate to ask for an update. Both ghost me.

Annoyingly, the DPD warehouse where, presumably, my missing gadget is currently lodged, is behind my own office, little more than a stone's throw away, as you can see from the picture at the top of this post. Although I'm acutely conscious that if I actually start throwing stones, I might get into trouble.

So I take my frustrations onto Facebook, tagging in both Ninja Kitchen UK's page and DPD UK's and getting ignored by both, but I do get lots of sympathy from friends after I post a screenshot of the DPD tracking page, voicing my growing concerns for Carlos, who hasn't been seen since Thursday 12th. Suggestions are made that he might have eloped with my Soup Maker; one friend, Hayley, mentions they've just seen Carlos on TikTok with his new show, "Making soup with Carlos"

Then another friend, Jen, suggests the whole thing sounds like a country song.

So I ask ChatGPT to write me the lyrics to a country song called "Carlos and the Lost Ninja Soup Maker" and threaten Ninja Kitchen UK and DPD UK to find and deliver my soup maker safe and sound and unharmed within the next 24 hours, or I'm going to put a tune and some chords to those AI-fever-dream lyrics and record them a song. I observe that the world really doesn't want me to start singing Country (although singing along to Country songs is, in fact, one of my guilty pleasures in life) 

Of course, I'd overlooked the fact that if I can use AI to generate some lyrics, a cousin of mine, Matt, following the story along with some amusement, can easily use it (in this case, Suno AI) to create the full production. Which he duly produced.

This then, is the ballad of Carlos and the Lost Soup Maker, credits to Matt G (and Suno AI) for the composition, production and recording and yours truly (and ChatGPT) for the lyrics.

I found myself both amused, impressed and just a little bit frightened. And I'm seriously thinking about actually covering the song with my band.

Having been ghosted my both their Customer Care website and their "SharkNinja Consumer Experience Advocate" I finally resorted to messaging Ninja Kitchen UK's Facebook page, detailing the history of my frustrations, and sending them a link to the song we'd written for them.

This morning, to my delight (and a little trepidation) I find a message back from them saying how sad they are about this situation (I guess Country music will do that to a body) and that they've marked the original order as lost in transit and that a replacement order was on its way.

So, it looks like Soup for Monday!

Or, as they now say in Country and Western circles, "Sometimes you lose your soup, to find a better day."

SCSC: GP14 13862

In something of an impulse purchase, Amanda and I have downsized from the Albacore to a GP14. It's a boat I know quite well, quite often viewed from astern as we've raced against her for more than a few years at South Cerney. 

Aside from having been immaculately maintained and looked after, with an excellent pedigree of results, the main attraction is that the GP14 has a spinnaker. I've only ever used them rarely, and never raced with one; until last Sunday when we took the boat out for a trial, Amanda had never flown a spinnaker before.

So, a new challenge, with new skills to learn. This coming Sunday will be our first race. I'm not expecting much; I'll be happy if we just manage to get the kite up a couple of times without going for a swim.

Meanwhile, if you happen to know anybody that might be interested in a much loved, hard used Albacore?

Tame the Moon

I've never been especially big on cards, and firmly believe chocolates and flowers shouldn't be reserved as gifts for a particular day of the year. Jaded romantic that I am, I do make a point of wishing my wife a happy Valentine's on the morning of the day concerned, and one of us will aim to cook the other something nice for supper.

This year, with the day concerned falling on a Saturday, instead I had a gig.

The soundtrack to the above video is a song I wrote some years ago. I think we recorded it for the band's second album, so the vintage would be distinctly pre-millennium. 

With the advent and accessibility of home-recording in recent years, it was one of the songs I re-recorded for myself, free from the meddling influence of the other musicians in my band. I love playing with the band, but it's nice having full, creative control (for better, or I guess, more often worse) of all the instruments and aspects of a song's production and recording.

At some point last week, this song came up on rotation on the morning alarm that gets me grudgingly out of bed each day, and in my sleep-fogged state of mind, I irrationally thought "I wonder if I can find some clever AI on the Internet to create a video for this song? I think it should involve a couple of mice!"

Then I climbed blearily out of bed, brushed my teeth, showered, and once dressed to meet the day, went looking. This was the result. 

The song is called Tame the Moon, penned and recorded by yours truly, the video is by some monster AI entity (freebeat.ai) that, I suspect, will one day devour the world. It is, of course, dedicated to my wife, Nikki.

Oh, and as for Valentine's? I invited Nik to the gig, but she gracefully declined and said she'd rather enjoy a night in. I got home early hours Sunday morning to find her asleep on the sofa "waiting up for me" and a still warm lasagne waiting for me in the oven.

If that's not romance, I don't know what is.

an unfinished Valentine

cradled within the promise of a storm
life is desperate poetry a manic tapestry 
caught within the snare of where you're from
stolen moments unexpected draw a map

I could have been
almost happy free of burden and debt
and responsibility alone with my guitar
a small boat and the wide wild sea
I could have been
almost complete without tie obligation
or commitment just the open road
and an honest song

I could have been almost free

but life is tapestry of broken hearts and second chances
a patchwork of opportunity lost and found
taken or not
you were my first chance and my last
you are my first choice and my last
as inevitable as the tide you leave me high as the sky
you are the only chance I need

double trouble & a bookshelf

It's that time of year again, when the highlight of the week is that I built bookshelf and tidied my room. Boo seems impressed, Lottie somewhat less so. Actually, building the bookshelf was fun, and finally getting my various bags and cases off the floor rewarding. As was having a place for my few remaining books, which appear to cover cooking, sailing, karate and music. The rest of my library is on my Kindle these days. 

I also changed a kitchen tap and fixed a leaking sink later in this same week; it's been a very practical minded February for me so far. But the highlight of the week was taking the day off work Tuesday to look after the twins.

My daughter had to travel north to look after a friend, and Nikki couldn't get the day off, so Grandad volunteered to the amusement of both, and slight if unspoken concern of my daughter. You'd think from her poorly obscured nervousness at leaving the three of us unsupervised I'd never done this before.

To be fair, from the moment I got them up to the moment I put them to bed, it was exhausting, occasionally very messy,  but very good fun. They're great company. Both very distinct characters now, but both very mobile, adventurous, curious and robust. Keeping up with them all day was certainly a full time job.

Naturally, I took them to town for lunch. The conclusion to which is we clearly don't pay our serving staff enough.

Archer

2154hrs, drinking Cosmopolitans on a terrace bar and in 24 hours more I'll be somewhere over the Atlantic on the way home.

When I went for my last drink, Archer, the barman, asked what I did for fun. I said walk my dogs, sail and sing. He said sing what, and I said not reggae, but I do know all the words to Redemption Song.

He said, so rap it. I don't rap. But we then sang it together, whilst he shook my drink in its shaker for percussion. I'm drinking it now, and it is good.

Most of the Americans in the bar ignored us, engrossed in a football game. But an elderly couple at the other end of the bar did give us a round of applause. 

I've grown quite fond of Jamaica. I shall come back one day.

The photo was yesterday's sunset. The only photo I have of today is of Nikki, but she refused to smile as she saw the camera coming. 

She's been smiling pretty much most of the last ten days though. We were thirty years married on 6th Jan, I count myself a lucky man.