Gimballed Guinness Cake

Yachting Monthly Triangle Race: Leg 2 - Kinsale to Treguier

Jayne has issues with velcro

Hi there, Beach Barbie, figure head of Boogie Nights, reporting in from Treguier.

The two skippers are off enjoying themselves ashore so it falls to me again to bring you the 2nd leg report.

So before I get ahead of myself, the intrepid duo had a lovely little stop over in Kinsale.

On arrival, still salty faced and weary from our long passage they abandoned me with nary a thanks for my safe guidance and both hopped aboard a Sweden 42, where arrival drinks were drunk alongside fellow competitors into the night, the last few boats arrived, the sky started to turn from black to blue again and then they came home to their bunks.  The last dog watch was complete for a few days.

Returning the next morning, squeaky clean and fragrant from Kinsale yacht clubs facilities the two skippers reminded me why it’s good to be a non-sweating plastic doll.

I had suspected for a day or so that they had snagged the rotting carcase of some sort of marine mammal, turns out, you can get quite smelly, quite quickly, on a hot sailing passage. Who knew? Not I. I was quite worried.

During the stop over two jobs needed tackling, the VHF radio signal, or lack of, and the errant sail batten that was coiled up around Jaynes bunk, she slept with it for one night coiled like a spring over her head. 

It wouldn’t take long before it “would have someones eye out” she said, 

it wouldn’t be me of course, mine are painted on.

Hazel used the Electric power winch to propel Jayne toward the top of the big stick to check the aerial connection and whilst there took a good look around.

She could see the pub from there. 

A fellow competitor jumped onboard Boogie Nights with his multimeter, they worked out it was the plug end at the bottom of the mast that needed re-soldering.

Gas soldering iron on the job (the gift that keeps on giving thanks to Jaynes Dad) and Boogie Nights was transmitting Radio 4 levels of posh voice effects once again. Jayne has a fabulously posh radio voice that completely belies her northern potty-mouthed roughness.

Next task was the batten. The long flat fibreglass batten (that helps to give the main sail its beautiful wing shape) that had popped out of its sleeve at the start of leg 1.

As I’m perpetually facing forward, I’ve never actually seen the so called “main sail”

I have seen its shadow on the water though during certain times of the day and I’d say it looks more like a giant sun dial. I can tell the time by its shadow position on the water. I'm like the Crocodile Dundee of figure heads. #beargryllsbarbie

What was needed was a stitch, or three, in the end of the batten pocket. Hazel was very pragmatic about it. But Jayne, easily upset at the thought of having to put holes in her brand new main sail had to face facts that this was the only thing that was going to stop Boogie Nights spearing any closely following yachts with its lethal high powered sail javelin. And of course ideally it should be in the sail where it helps it to hold its shape and makes us go faster.

Yoda reports to me that he felt a shift in the force around the same time Jayne put the first stitch in. We’re a little worried about her. The dark force is strong with that one. Don't let the pink fool you.

 

Jayne has a sudden encounter with velcro

 And so to the leg 2, Kinsale to Treguier race start, I was soooo excited. I was like, totally yay about the fact we have some wind forecast. It meant I wouldn’t have to put up with their constant jabbering behind me. They might have to concentrate for a little while.

Jockeying around for the race start count down Jayne whinged that Hazel was tacking a lot and it was making her tired before they had even started.

For those non sailors reading this, this means Hazel gets to play with the big round thing that makes the boat turn left and right and Jayne has to pull lots of ropes and turn lots of clicky winch handle things. Every time Hazel turns Boogie Nights this way or that, Jayne has to do a lot of rope pulling and tensioning and re-tensioning then coiling to avoid them turning into a birds nest and then she has to do it all over again. Yoda sees all from his aft facing view, strapped to the mast support.

Jayne swore that she’d get Hazel back by swapping roles next time, and Jayne would tack and gybe twice as much as needed.

When I heard my two skippers discussing “really going for it” I wasn’t sure what to expect. 

heading out from Kinsale to race start

 

Mid fleet in the procession out to the starting mark

Juliette, a J105, heading out for the race start

Hazel, bang on the money for the start

Big Doris, A Dehler 39 is miffed that we got the jump on him.

Goodbye beautiful lush green Ireland. Thankyou Niall Power and his son for making it down to Kinsale to see us off. It was very much appreciated.

Free Spirit, a Sweden 42, the source of several welcome drinks in Kinsale. Two wonderfully hospitable Northern Chaps, Rob and Mike.

Hazel is tiny but mighty. This is Yodas view of all proceedings.

Oh. My. Gosh.

They were off the line like a greased racing snake. If there was an energy drink called “well oiled stunt monkey” it would be sponsoring this boat at that time.

I couldn’t see anyone ahead of us at all. And then we were leaning. A lot. And the waves came. Kind of long rolling ones that had gotten all big from being blown all the way across the north Atlantic toward Ireland

I was like, “whoa. I’m getting it right in the face here guys!”

And they were like, whatever.

And I was like, “Hey would you mind, it was fun at first, but c’mon, I can’t breath now. I’m spending more time under the water than over it.”

And they just didn’t care. I could cry if I had tear ducts. 

It did not stop.  For Hours. And Hours.

And then I was like “our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…. “

I honestly thought I was going to lose an arm or something. And my hair, I can’t even imagine what my hair must look like.  

The evil, Barbie bashing pair had agreed on taking one hour turns on helm, while the other snoozed nearby. They hand steered through the first night and into the next day.
Food this time took on a very minimalist approach as I heard the Stowaways emergency gourmet food being served. Jayne managed to balance a pan on the hob long enough to warm up a Coq au van and a Venison Caserole. Hazel once again congratulated Jayne on her ability to warm something up.

Deydreamer, which is another Dehler 36 like Boogie Nights was hot on our tail for a day before eventually passing us. There was very little either Hazel or Jayne could do about it, but it did make them more determined.
Hazel had very cunningly provisioned with pork chops in honey and mustard and a fabulous potato gratin from Kinsale. Once this rocket fuel had been expertly warmed up in the oven by Jayne and both had congratulated each other on ones ability to provision well and the others ability to stand up down below on ridiculous angles of heal and warm something up, I felt the boat start to accelerate. When Jayne asked Hazel if she could put music on, we seemed to go even faster and straighter.

Hazels bowl is always spotlessly clean when she's finished

Whilst Jayne was on a roll down below, she also decided to bake a cake. 

The chocolate and Guiness cake came out well, but has a slight gimballed effect to one side.

During the second evening Jayne was in her element, tweaking and re-tweaking the sails and lines, willing the boat along faster, eeking every last nth degree out of Boogie Nights as ordered by Hazel 

“make us go faster, we HAVE to catch them”

Jayne sat for hour after hour transfixed by the speed readout and GPS position. 
Watching the ais reported boat speeds of those ahead, 5.5kts, we maintained 6.5kts in an attempt to reach them before the finish line some 80 nautical miles away.

Hazel came up for a watch change and suggested Jayne look behind for a moment.

And then the night sky arrived bringing the milky way with it. Phosphorescence glittered out of the bow wave and trailed like little sparkles as Boogie Nights cut through the water.

Out of the darkness to our port side, a strange red object started to appear, sailing up over the horizon was a scarlet crescent, resembling the devils spinnaker bearing down on us. 

The moon rose and lit the way to France as Brittany lights started to appear to the south.

After hauling back most of the difference on the other Dehler, they were in sight of the finish line but it was too late to change any racing results. Another 6^th place for Boogie Nights. 
Considering that Boogie Nights is the only boat in the entire fleet where someone actually lives on board, this is no mean feat to even be vaguely competitive. Boogie  Nights is also the only boat in the fleet with a figure head. I was looking forward to meeting some of my cloned sisters, likewise cable tied to other boats, but it seems I am alone. This makes me sad. It's a dying art this figure head business.

Using my dolphinase skills, I summoned a special guide to show the Boogie Nights team the way in through the rocks.

Davide, or Dave, the Dolphin shows us the way in.

That’s all for now folks, one more leg to go, but before then, it’s time for a drink in the bar for my skippers. While they’re gone, I’m cleaning out the cake pan. 

Do I have something in my teeth?
Someone's got to clean the bowl right?

xxx Beach Barbie signing out

Becalmed Barbie

Yachting Monthly Triangle Race: Leg 1 - Torquay to Kinsale

Hi chaps, its Boogie Nights figure head, Beach Barbie  reporting live from Kinsale

check out my Selfie

My two skippers Jayne and Hazel are busying themselves, Hazel in the bar socialising and Jayne catching up on university marking paperwork, so it falls to me to bring the first leg report.

After a whirlwind of activity prior to race start I was wondering if this boat would ever be ready to race, but we slipped our lines from Torquay at a few minutes after 11am on Sunday 15^th June after one last nervous “proper” toilet stop for my skippers.

I wasn’t nervous at all, because I’m a plastic doll and I’m cable tied to the bow, I’ve little choice over the matter. If anyone decides to find themselves side on to Boogie Nights bow, then they have me to deal with first. And everyone knows that even in a nuclear holocaust, the plastic doll is the only thing left behind. #justsayin

Anyhoo, my invincibility aside, the ladies did their best on the line to get a good start. 

more pics of the start can be seen here, courtesy of Helen Robson , race start pics

Then shortly after the 1200 race start, potty mouthed Jayne spotted, and cursed in rapid succession at the freshly installed new  2^nd batten now sticking out of the main sail (again). To avoid losing yet another sail javelin, the main was quickly partially lowered and the batten taken out before it was lost. Jayne was then cursing for not checking the Velcro, which is suspected to be at fault. The batten is now neatly coiled in the focsle. Hazel doesn’t curse. I like Hazel.

With the main quickly re-hoisted Boogie Nights tramped along at a blistering pace of 3 knots.

Yes, light wind conditions, which is good for my hair, I get a gosh darn battering when it’s windy so I don’t mind the odd bit of calm. The two skippers worked the sails hard and hand steered to maximise any gains to be had. 

Dolphins were a very welcome passage bonus, during light winds they just circled and played around the boat for at least a half hour. Jayne thinks she can talk dolphin and that’s what made them come, but actually it was me, I’m the one who speaks Dolphinase. They mentioned something about a potty mouthed human clicking dolphin swear words. I shan’t repeat what it was. 

check me out, prime dolphin waving spot

Photography by Hazel Arnold

Hazel had spent the last days before the race start, preparing food and freezing it. The first nights culinary delight was Chicken Tagine with couscous. Jayne, acting as sous chef did a marvellous job of warming it up. So she says.

Day passed to night and a 3 on 3 off watch kicked in, Hazel opting for 2100-0000 and Jayne 0000-0300. It was around 0200, during a brilliantly moonlit night when despite all efforts to keep the boat moving it just sat there, doing 0 knots, bobbing and sails flopping around, while a boat ghosted up in the dark from behind and cruised past. The fleet edged away as Boogie Nights floundered around and Jayne cursed (she is such a potty mouthed scamp, I should teach her the art of how to speak without using expletives, I’m a childs doll, I’m highly qualified in this field) having tried everything bar paddling to get the bus moving again. 

Hazel relaxed on helm at race start, Hazel is raising money for Kent Surrey and Sussex air ambulance.
raising money for Kent, Surrey and Sussex air ambulance

As morning arrived so did the first opportunity to fly the red white and blue.

After considerable time and effort setting up, the pretty colours finally flew, with just enough wind to drag the boat along. I like the big colourful sail, it’s the only one I actually get to look at being the mast head and all. I sometimes get to touch it. Jayne isn’t keen on me touching it. Jayne is a spoil sport. 

Jayne chops mushrooms wearing her desert scarf.

The speed picked up, we were gunning along, with a slingshot on the eddies around Lizard point we picked up speed (Jayne, intent on making up for previous nights failings in light airs, squeaked like an old chevvy in a drive in movie when the 10knot mark over ground was cracked -  she was on helm at the time while Hazel caught up on sleep after a monster 6 hour watch) and were reeling the fleet back in. I could see them getting closer and closer, then boom.

We were becalmed again and left drifting for hours. And hours.

Lands End felt like worlds end, it was there, just over there. But seemingly never getting closer or  looking like we might round it. And of course the fleet ahead of us vanished over the horizon.

Then the evening breeze picked up after what I can only assume was a delicious rose veal with port and stilton. The chef and sous chef seemed contented, each congratulating the other for their ability to either cook, or to warm stuff up.

And off we went under white sails. A steady breeze took us round the corner, across the shipping lane and into the Irish sea.

The steady breeze of between 12 and 15knots meant Boogie Nights grooved it’s way into the Irish sea and North Atlantic at a very satisfying 7.8knot average speed.

You may wonder how I know all of these technical details, being a plastic American doll shaped figure head, well, some things are best left to the imagination, but Boogie Nights is equipped with a master Jedi  (aft facing) who is able to relay all of these things to me. I can’t tell you how.

So, anyway, Jayne, being the twitchy, easily distracted wheel shy type actually opted to helm, manually.  Hazel took the opportunity to get some rest after a long spell of helming and Jayne being competitive was determined to win the fastest boat-speed-on-helm mini competition.

With constant tweaking and adjusting we managed to squeeze an 8.6knot maximum boat through the water speed out of a less than perfect point of sail.

Watching the miles tick off rapidly, Kinsale looked like it would be hosting two more in the bar by 8pm.

But then, yes, you guessed it. The wind turned to willow the whisp again. Leaving Boogie Nights and its crew almost hallucinating with tedium. They radioed to Scaramouch to ask if they could do the fandango, Hazel jogged on the spot for a while and Jayne fruitlessly scoured the horizon for signs of anyone out there.

The emerald Isle looking inviting

They crossed the finish mark at 2314 on 17 June after just over 59 hours and 280 nautical miles at sea, making them 6/7 in class 2.

Boogie Nights track from Torquay to Kinsale

I’m hoping for a faster passage to France in a few days, because listening to those two talking codswallop during the becalming was enough to make me want to slit my cable tie.

Channel hopping

A mostly gastronomic delight of sailing a QUALIFYING passage for the Yachting Monthly Triangle race is now complete.

As with all plans, they never quite go as we'd like entirely. But as this was our final weekend with opportunity to cover the required distance, we had little choice but to go for it.
The previous weekends glorious sunshine and light winds we had hoped would bless us for our qualifying passage were swapped for strong winds, gale warnings, squalls, hailstorms, thunderstorms and an on the nose southerly wind all the way to Fecamp, where we were due to meet up with a whole flotilla of others who were taking part in the annual Royal Escape from Brighton.

"I'm not leaving without a passage plan?" I say, "I'm not leaving without a food plan?" my co-skip replies. 

 

We all have our priorities in life. I'm glad ours are complimentary.

Hazel turned up with bags of food and a moderate level of optimism that we might set sail at our predetermined time of 0000 Friday morning to catch a fast tide toward Brighton before heading south toward Fecamp.
But as thursday evening drew closer to the planned departure time, the winds built and built. In the mean time, in a sleepy over worked haze I attempted to make some semblance of a passage plan, however forgetting which way up my breton plotter works and clumsily wielding my dividers didn't immediately instill confidence in my co skipper. I tried to reassure that actually I've been doing this for years but gained no further confidence. I really must remember to switch on brain and engage thistle (1 - ref 1m18s) if I'm to ever be taken seriously as a capable sea dog.
All the while, the wind howled and the boat shook, rocked and rolled on it's pontoon berth.

So we made the choice of sane people and chose our beds, rather than a night of hellish weather on the water. I was quite thankful for the sleep. There's a rumour I don't need sleep. I do.
Being hyperactive, I'm either  go-go-go, or stop. So people rarely see me tired. I'm very lucky though, I could sleep on a washing line if I needed to.

The next morning, no sign of the weather being any less howling, we sat and waited. Quietly contemplating.
Until 1600 and finally the weather calmed enough to reverse out of our berth and head off in an approximately southerly direction on a revised passage plan.

Hazel at the helm, letting the autopilot take the strain

having food that can be chucked in the oven and left is ideal at this angle

I administered the seasickness tablets from the off. I didn't fancy a green faced repeat of our last attempt. Especially given the fantastic food Hazel had prepared and stowed in the fridge.

The first culinary delight was chicken tagine. Though, it was more a moroccan chicken dish cooked in a pyrex ovenable bowl, rather than an actual tagine. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

We started our watch pattern at 8pm. two hours on, two hours off. This seemed to work well. I took the 0000-0200 watch happily, returning for another dose of cold night air in the channel at 0400.
The saloon served as hot bunk for both of us, as it's the most comfortable place to sleep at sea.

 Around 20 hours after we set sail, we spotted land again. It would take a further 8 hours to reach it though and this, despite being the sunniest part of the day was torturous. We knew there was a small party going on ahead of us in Fecamp with the other crews who had taken part in the Royal Escape and we wanted to be part of it.

During the trip, we had squalls, hailstorms, thunderstorms, becalming and sunshine. So a fairly good test of team work. One of the battens decided it was a javelin and flew out of the mainsail and is now an underwater ornament.

We arrived in Fecamp at 8pm British time, which gave us just enough time for cheese and wine at the yacht club where a few of the revellers from the Royal Escape were ending their night.
We waddled back to Boogie Nights around 2am, after a social gathering on another boat, called Ocean Dream. I quietly prayed that the invisible forcefield would keep me on the mini finger pontoons or bouncy springboards our boats were tied up to and not have to rely on crawling along it to stay on.

The next morning as Hazel and I caught up on much needed sleep, one of the crew from a boat we had been guest to the previous night brought round fresh bread. I can only apologise to the lovely chap who delivered it for what must have looked like a creature dragged from the bottom of the black lagoon via a hedge backwards, that greeted him.

"That was one too many dark and stormies for me I think."

 A beautiful sunny day greeted us, with sausage rolls for breakast. A quick wander around the town to show me the place as it was my first visit, as well as a quick stop for pastry and the eclaire "where chocolate goes to die" was carried back for closer inspection.

a chocolate eclair, where chocolate goes to die.

Back to the passage planning and the best tide looked like a 1900 departure time from Fecamp. Oh and quel ser -fucking-prise, the wind shifted to northerly. The weather can be a right cunt sometimes.

 It rained. It rained, and it didn't stop raining for twenty hours straight.

The beef bourguignon that Hazel had pre-prepared in the slow cooker at home was excellent and really kept spirits high, despite the damp. And a hot french pain au chocolate for breakfast is always a winner.
What wasn't a winner was Co-skipper almost knocking herself unconscious on a closed companionway hatch at 0400 in the morning as we were due to swap watch. She was promptly sent back below to lay down and recover. re-emerging at just after 0700 looking fragile. Just as I'd peeled off my wet clothes I was summoned back up to help put a reef in. This should have been a 5 minute job, I didn't bother with foul weather gear. Just a life jacket. But tiredness got the better of me and it took more like 15, plus a bit longer to rescue a stray spinnaker halyard that was flying loose.

"Still, I did laugh, as the rain soaked me to the skin again. What fun this boating lark is."

Jayne on helm, a rare moment of hand steering. 

But, the job is jobbed. We logged 145NM (28 hours) to get down there and complete our qualification for the race and another 110NM (20 hours) for the trip back.

The Journey typically would take around 85NM  or 16 hours on average if going direct. 

Now, I just have my snagging list to complete and get the boat to Torquay for June 13th.

This game is rigged

You know those straightforward jobs you see other people doing and plan to do yourself?
Those little things, such as unstepping a mast to replace the standing rigging (the metal cables that hold the mast up to non-yotties) and then put it straight back again and go sailing?

Well, that's exactly what I planned just over a year ago.

According to insurance companies when rigging passes its 10th birthday, it is no longer fit for insuring. It ceases to be. It is no more. It suddenly turns to marshmallow and is instantly vaporised by a mere sneeze.
Despite looking to be perfectly healthy, it was finally time to swap out the metal cables for new ones.
Fucking insurance, they're riding the pockets of the riggers, no?

£1600 for a new set of standing rigging. Great. Where's my credit card.

I had the mast unstepped for the first time and carefully tagged all the cables, coiled them up, put them in the Clio of doom and headed to the Plymouth based rigging company, where they made me a new set while I waited.

Casually, the director of the rigging company asked me to remove the spreader brackets when I got home, "give them a bit of a clean" he said, "tell me what it looks like" he said, "then put them back with loads of sealant" he continued.

I felt sweaty palmed about this request. What did he know that I didn't? I mean, I'd never heard of a Dehler mast failing. This is German manufacturing. They're supposed to be pretty fucking marvellous aren't they?
Not a mention of any mast worries on my insane 50 page survey that went into minute detail about a corroded tab on a bus-board and slight crazing of a window. You'd think that mad surveyor might have mentioned something, right?

It took a week before I had the courage to drill out the rivets and unbolt the spreader brackets from the mast.

This is what I saw.

A mocking smiley face.

With each mocking face, another few thousand of my redundancy payout kerchinged its way past my bleary vision.

This wasn't what I had hoped to see.

What had happened was, when Dehler assembled the mast in 1989, they hadn't sealed the stainless steel brackets from the alumium mast. Over the years, salt water had seeped into a hollow area between the bracket and the mast and effectively became an electrolite. The two metals are of different nobility, the aluminum turned to salts and eventually the area thinned significantly, causing a hole to appear and weakening the area generally. The spreaders can really load up the mast in these areas when sailing in strong winds. What potentially could happen is that the mast could fail at any one of these thinned areas. If the mast failed, it could cause serious injury. It could kill a crew member or hole the boat as it comes down. You know a big enough hole to sink us. This kind of thing is never taken lightly.

Without hesitation, I called the man in Plymouth. At the same time Dave Nicholls, my friendly local Essex based rigger had a look and also spoke to the other rigging company on my behalf.
Was it repairable? If so, how much?

The answer was yes. But it would be costly. A rough estimate of around £3000 was quoted to sleeve the mast at both spreader sections. Internal sleeving was deemed not possible.
£5000 was quoted for a new mast.

I called my insurance company. Surely they might help. Afterall, that's what insurance is for, right?

Wrong.

It would seem that had I left the spreaders alone, never inspected under them, allowed it to fail, then the insurance would have paid up.
However, since I had found the problem (a manufacturing defect that I couldn't have known about in advance or prevented) and avoided possible crew death or boat sinking issues, the costs of this are entirely my own.

Thanks Velos Insurance, thanks for nothing. Shysters.

I decided to go for a new mast, as I didn't want to devalue the boat by having a sleeved mast.
While I was going for a new mast, I had to get a new boom to match. And while we were adding a new boom, then we needed a new vang. (we meaning my husband Dehler, the sidekick furry beast Banjo and I of course)
And since we were having a mast made from scratch, then I could specify just what I wanted from the outset.

• Inner forestay - check
• extra trisail track - check
• double jib halyard - check
• double main halyard -  check

---

It's a bit like having a partner and you don't like his appendage anymore. 

"Yes, I'd like a new one please, can it be a bit deeper section, same length, yes I'm happy with the length, but can you make it a bit more useful, you know, can it do a few more party tricks?  Oh and make it shiny too. I'd like to be able to polish it as well as climb it."

---

nearly two months after the promised delivery date, at the very end of July my new mast finally turned up.

I had planned to be over half way around Britain by then and I still had to get new sails made.
The Funny Way Round project clearly wasn't going to happen in 2013.

---

The breakdown of what re-rigging costs, for those curious:

• Single Clutch £49.92 plus vat
• 6 x blocks £123.24 plus vat
• Mast base £183.74 plus vat
• Delivery £15 plus vat
• Dehler 36 CWS Mast £4,053.73 plus vat
• Selden B152 Boom £1,097.89 plus vat
• Rope-3rd Reef/Luff lines £58.68 plus vat
• Short spini track/plunger £214 plus vat
• Fit owner supplied Inner forestay £76 plus vat
• Winch Pad 110x110/5deg £52.74 plus vat
• Cleats on mast x 4 £76 plus vat
• Clutch XAS-Genoa halyard x 2 £99.84 plus vat
• Steaming light cable only £30 plus vat
• Deck light cable only £30 plus vat
• Rod Kicker/10S/HD Spring £348.34 plus vat
• Tri-sail track £318.95 plus vat
• Carriage of Tube/Plymouth £240 plus vat
• Carriage of Mast/Essex £400 plus vat
• Block PBB50 Fiddle/Becket £44.45 plus vat
• Block PBB50 Fiddle £25.10 plus vat
• Rope B/B 8mm White £7.44 plus vat
• Splice BOB £10 plus vat
• Walder boom slide £30.65 plus vat
• Halyard - Main/D2  £207 plus vat
• Halyard - Genoa/CS £142.71 plus vat
• Halyard - Genoa/MB £85.50 plus vat
• Halyard - Spinnaker/BOB £78.38 plus vat
• Boom Lift/BOB £40.42 plus vat
• Toggle for bottom of Forestay £43.75 plus vat
• Screw Luff 6x17.5 FLX200 £5.60 plus vat
• Labour/FOC as above £0
• Sheave Box Al-70/RivetFix £32.38 plus vat
• Inner Forestay Fittings Strip/overhaul furlerdrum £40.41 plus vat
• Block, BBB30 SGLE, Swivel £29.36 plus vat
• M6 Fastenings for winch £5.20 plus vat
• Lewmar winch for mast £220
• echomax active radar reflector £380
• radio aerial £donated
• tacktick wireless wind speed £800
• deck flood light £70
• friendly local rigger labour time £900
• replacement standing rigging £1600 

                               Totals: £13,925

  ------

 ...You'd think this should be the end, but it isn't...

Between a wok and hard place

There comes a time in every culinary challenged persons life when they buy a wok.

That moment arrived for me when I was 23 years old and my mother bought me the best wok in the shop. Behold, the Typhoon. A 35cm double handled traditional steel wok.

It saw 2 and 3 times weekly action, sometimes more.
It was the stepping stone I needed to discover "the stir fry" method from which countless incarnations of Indian,  Thai, Chinese and Mexican dishes have borne forth. It's perhaps the easiest quickest way to knock up a meal for one or a house full of friends. And on a boat,  this single item of galley paraphernalia is a vital component to crew happiness.

But,  14 years on and after 4 years of living in a cupboard, frequently awash with water,  the typhoon is looking very sorry for itself.
Neglected due to its insane size,  brought out on fewer and fewer occasions,  the wok that uses an entire 3 burner optimus stove top has reached the end of its useful life.
It spans the entire surface of the gimballed cooker and is impossible to stow anywhere practical. I've put off replacing it because it holds so many memories of evenings with friends.  And it was a present from my mum (one of the best ever,  but she would never know it as she's never actually been here long enough for me to cook a meal)

So say hello to the newest, neatest,  smaller but hopefully high performing kitchen beast. The Prestige.
A stainless steel,  shiny thing that I hope will last as long as the Typhoon. And I hope will be the centre of the table for many more friendship gatherings to come.

It's these small things that take life on board a boat from bearable to wonderful.

Got a stiffy?

I was out having a nice little sail the other day with my co skipper Hazel when the steering went alarmingly stiff.

I had ignored the warning signs for the past two years by pretending it was in fact me, that was getting weaker, and not the reality of the boat getting stiffer.

So after a quick lap of the Isle of Wight, a fight with a wheel and the executive decision that it was impossible to complete the extra few miles required for the purpose of the trip in the first place (qualification, read on for explanation) I realised it was time to head back to the marina and consult my naval about what to do next.

I had hoped it would be a quick and easy to fix universal joint, or something that wouldn't require the boat to come out of the water.
All hopes faded as the steering was disconnected from the rudder and and the wheel spun freely.

So we went to the pub to ruminate. I had scampi.

A call to the local provider of lifting-outery and I was quoted 250 for a lift and hold for one hour and an extra 200 for each hour extra.
I then called the emergency dad-line. You know the one that begins with the number Daaaaaaad, in a slightly raising tone asking a pertinent question resulting in a potentially time consuming and expensive trip south from Derbyshire.

Time is of the essence you see. Both Hazel and I need to qualify for this thing called the Yachting Monthly Triangle Race and we are running out of weekends in which to complete our 125 mile passage.

So, my genius dad came up with a plan and a tool to skim out the bottom rudder bearing which had expanded gradually since it was fitted a while ago, see my previous blog entry about that…

I will add a diagram of the tool set up  shortly.

but first, here is the boat out of the water, ready for rudder bearing fettling.

The long and the short is, the tool worked like a dream and the steering is now back to finger tip control and no longer a white knuckle bear wrestle.
The auto pilot is sighing with relief.

One year later

One year has passed since I last wrote anything at all on here about anything at all.

One year has passed since I was made redundant (voluntarily) from IPC Media with just five days notice.

It was a fairly difficult time.

Just as my near 13 year run at IPC Media came to a close (not long after my heart said goodbye to two people  Mr X and Lady Grace and even less time since I attended the funeral of a dear Aunt),  I found out that the boat needed a new mast.

This was the start of what turned out to be one of those horrible anus's the Queen talked about one time in her annual speech.

What should have been a quick lift out, a bit of a fettle and back in again turned into nine months of labour and twelve months before the boat would sail again.
Twelve months of extreme expense culminating in

• An entire new rig (read about that here)
• A broken heart (twice)
• Almost bankruptcy
• Landing a fantastic job on the south coast.
• A surprise visit from Mr X
• Leaving friends behind in Essex and relocating 150 miles away
• My car being cloned and having to prove my innocence
• Being taken to court by a patronising jumped up solicitor

It's rather difficult to know where to start with that lot.

One thing I've learnt in 2012-2013 is that there are a lot of cunts about who don't give a shit about any other cunt except for looking after numero-uno-cunt.

I suppose I should start at the beginning, when the trouble kicked off.
Are you sitting comfortably?

"It was 2012, the Olympics were over, the embers of the paralympics were just simmering to  a close.
And there it was. In all it's glory. My nemesis. A person to whom I remotely answered, bold as brass knobs on a spindleback chair, uttered the statement. (not for the first time I should add)
"we can't put those on the front cover, they're unsightly"
To what was being referred? The paralympians of course. Multiple gold medal winning paralympians. The same paralympians that had just hours ago made grown men weep at the arena side. The same paralympians that had momentarily united a nation in support for all people, of all abilities.

Such prejudice has no place in modern journalism.
It's hard to know what to do in such circumstances. You're damned if you do, damned if you don't.
So I made a statement. It caused a stir. My card was marked. And that, one moment in my unblemished history of working for IPC Media, was the beginning of the end of a long chapter in my life. 

May 1st 2013, a new chapter begins."

A long time coming

Yeah.  That's right.  It's been a bloody long time since the last blog post. It's been winter.

But now it's spring I can come out of hibernation and let the world know about the latest  shenanigans on board The Boat as well as planned bullshittery for 2013.
There's a lot going on.

The Boat is coming out of the water for spring maintenance.  I much prefer working in the warm.

On the list:

• Drop the rudder and check the repairs are still good.
• Check the prop.  It's rattly. 
• Drop the mast and replace the rigging.
• Put in new halyards.
• Chuck some new antifoul on.
• Give it a spruce bruce with a polisher and then. 
• Add the new logos.
• New logos?

Yes we will have a new boat name. Stuff will be happening towards the big project too...

The solo, nonstop chuckle around Britain. 

It's a monster project, it'll take a while to organise, but at some point this decade there will be a voyage of hysterical proportions. 

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