I am flying, passing high clouds
Sep. 24th, 2003 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lprovenFew things, for me, are worse than an embarras de richesses when it comes to things to do.
Last weekend was one.
On the one hand,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tamaranth had arranged, months before, to take me sailing down Plymouth way with my old chum pugwash and his Racing Snake, onboard his yacht Sea Spear. On the other, an assortment of the hairier LJers were off to Wendyhouse, up in Leeds, which is only 35mi from Sheffield, where I have a newfound interest in being.
But then, to cap that, my reason for visiting Sheffield announced that she was going to come down and see me anyway as she was bored and her mates were urging her to do so.
Aaaargh! What to do! This is always my problem. I can't decide.
Hasty negotiations with Tanya and Jerry first suggested that 5 people couldn't be fitted on the boat. Then that they could, maybe. Then yes, we'd manage it. Then that they couldn't. So I had to phone Sheffield and... negotiate.
Well, in the end, I went sailing and Nadin didn't come to visit. She's coming this weekend, but she was planning to do that anyway.
And it was good. I left late, naturally, but I had been agonizing and talking on the phone and so on. So instead of getting to Bristol around 5ish, I left around 5ish. Then there were massive jams, and I got to a startled Jezza's at about 9. He didn't think I knew where he lived. Little does he know of my Sources. Muhahahar.
A quick change out of the leathers and off to Plymouth. Where we discovered that someone had stolen the plug out of the bottom of his dinghy so we couldn't get to the yacht, which is moored out in the Sound. I proposed stealing someone else's bung and replacing it the following day. The Snake felt that this was wrong and unethical and Jerry was swayed by this, but I prevailed, on the basis that few people were likely to come sailing after 11:30 on a Friday night and he could always return it the following morning.
So eventually we got there. And lo, it was small. 27' sounds quite long but it was a squeeze. There's not one point inside the entire vessel where I can actually stand up straight; it ranges from "awkward hunch" to "painful crouch". Add to this the fact that I've had a really bad back since I spent some 8h sitting squeezed into buses and plane seats on my way back from Stockholm and moving around inside was Not Fun. There is sleeping room for 4, but not really for 5. The tiny dining table in the galley (did I mention I have really long legs, too?) can convert into a double bed, but then there's nowhere for those people to eat; there's barely space for 4 to eat and moving around requires logistical planning. It would have worked but it would've been horribly cramped. Jerry and I ate, the Snake slept, and then so did we.
Bright and early the next morning, at the crack of 10am, we were up and preparing to go and fetchtamaranth from Plymouth railway station. She was considerably the worse for wear, apparently having enjoyed herself rather too much at the Liquid Lab the night before. Well, pah. I hope you all had a Really Miserable Time without me*. :¬þ
This was followed by a brief quest for Lard. Greasy fried lard. Just the thing for a hangover. The one thing I don't understand is why greasy spoons, which in this enlightened day and age normally offer a veggie fry-up type breakfast, normally make it so small. There's "super breakfast" and "mega breakfast" - and the veggie one. I have had great difficulty explaining to the staff at the excellent Old Mill transport caff**, neargeoffcampbell's, that I'd like a double veggie breakfast, please. Yes, really. Twice as much of everything. I think they all subscribe to the view that all vegetarians are pale, skinny, underfed creatures. I wish.
This time, I just settled for two veggie breakfasts in a row.
Then off to a chandlers for a new bung.
Great places, chandlers. Even if I have no interest whatsoever in matters nautical. Good for cheap rope, for example: about a tenth the price of Specialist Suppliers†. This caused some puzzlement to those present...
"Rope? Well, yes, but then, you could get it at half that price from an industrial rope supplier."
"You could, yes, but they'd not react too well to an order for 10' of it, would they?"
"What would you want so little for?"
So I told them.
They Looked at me.
It's probably my imagination that they edged away nervously.
Back to the boat to clean it. Now I understand Jerry's hatred for seagulls, or Shite Hawks®, as he terms them. I blame them for my dodgy tum. Yes, I am a lowly scrubber. But so is Tanya.
Then much preparation for sail.
Now, I can see the hobby potential here. There are an inordinate number of things to do to prepare even a small vessel for a short voyage under wind power, and it involves a phenomenal amount of mucking around with bits of string. Or should I say, warps, sheets, halyards, painters, lines, cables and ropes. And that's just the string. And 284 kinds of knot, 317 different types of sail, each of which has at least 18 different names according to which corner you're talking about and how and where it's attached.
Now, I can excuse this. This is probably the oldest human technology of any complexity which is still in routine use, even if now, for the developed world, it's merely for leisure purposes. Conservatively, it's a least tens of thousands of years old. Over that time, it's bound to accrue some tradition, some arcane terminology.
But I can't help but think that, for example, some of the more recent technology from mountaineering, for example, could be readily adapted - those folks have got rope management down to a fine art, and it's rather more critical that it doesn't fail in their context - and would vastly simplify matters.
Still, it's all good fun. Certainly, the three people aboard this boat who actually knew roughly what they were doing - even if Tanya's knowledge is a couple of centuries out of date (she's wearing well, mind) - seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely. I sat there and occasionally pulled pieces of string when told. (They quickly worked out an appropriate terminological level for instructing me.)
I even got to have a go at steering it. It's amazing how twitchy a ten-metre-long bathtub moving at about 4mph can be.
We made it to the other side of the sound, at somewhere which might be called something like Caw Sands. We were, however, too poor to go ashore, given that we already had a boatful of food and drink. I made a critical error in admiring a passing motor cruiser, or "floating gin palace" as they are apparently known to the cognoscenti. This is, it seems, Not Done. Glacial tones were heard. I know my limits. I can do engines. Yes, wind power is free, but then, so is leg power, and I can go further, more enjoyably, on a motorbike than on any of my bicycles. Even the recumbents.
But shortly, a swell arose that made sitting at anchor quite unpleasant, so we returned to the main harbour, in the dark, and anchored in a marina. This was quite pleasant - it had proper loos and showers and everything - but is too expensive for routine use. I was interested to note that the non-pivotable shower-heads were mounted at roughly mid-chest level. Like sportscars, yachting is clearly a passtime for the height-impaired.
More food. This time, Tanya was chief cook. We got rather less than when Jerry was doing it but it was rather more ambitious.
And sleep.
The next morning, our esteemed Skipper was ill. If only it had been seasickness, I could have mercilessly mocked him here and on CIX, but he actually appeared to have been afflicted with some kind of bug. We didn't depart for the mooring until about 1pm and for home until 6 or so, meaning that I was unable to get back to civilization in time for the traditional Sunday-night pub. I made it back to Colliers Wood for 10:30pm, so I consoled myself with a large curry instead. My first in ages. (So naturally on Monday night,vanessaw and I went out with the CIX Veggies... for a curry. Ah, well.)
A good trip and a good weekend, although I feel that my whining about teenage-goth-chick deprivation was understandable. My withdrawal symptoms were somewhat assuaged by a near constant stream of text messages, though. Sailing is a very peaceful and relaxing pastime, but I do not think I'll be buying a yacht any time soon.
* Tho' I gather Stuff™ was present so I wouldn't have been there anyway.
** It's the only truck stop I've ever seen which is both recommended by Les Routiers and Vegetarian Society approved. Pop in if you're ever near Carmarthen.
† Not work-safe links, kids! Don't go there!
Last weekend was one.
On the one hand,
tamaranth had arranged, months before, to take me sailing down Plymouth way with my old chum pugwash and his Racing Snake, onboard his yacht Sea Spear. On the other, an assortment of the hairier LJers were off to Wendyhouse, up in Leeds, which is only 35mi from Sheffield, where I have a newfound interest in being.But then, to cap that, my reason for visiting Sheffield announced that she was going to come down and see me anyway as she was bored and her mates were urging her to do so.
Aaaargh! What to do! This is always my problem. I can't decide.
Hasty negotiations with Tanya and Jerry first suggested that 5 people couldn't be fitted on the boat. Then that they could, maybe. Then yes, we'd manage it. Then that they couldn't. So I had to phone Sheffield and... negotiate.
Well, in the end, I went sailing and Nadin didn't come to visit. She's coming this weekend, but she was planning to do that anyway.
And it was good. I left late, naturally, but I had been agonizing and talking on the phone and so on. So instead of getting to Bristol around 5ish, I left around 5ish. Then there were massive jams, and I got to a startled Jezza's at about 9. He didn't think I knew where he lived. Little does he know of my Sources. Muhahahar.
A quick change out of the leathers and off to Plymouth. Where we discovered that someone had stolen the plug out of the bottom of his dinghy so we couldn't get to the yacht, which is moored out in the Sound. I proposed stealing someone else's bung and replacing it the following day. The Snake felt that this was wrong and unethical and Jerry was swayed by this, but I prevailed, on the basis that few people were likely to come sailing after 11:30 on a Friday night and he could always return it the following morning.
So eventually we got there. And lo, it was small. 27' sounds quite long but it was a squeeze. There's not one point inside the entire vessel where I can actually stand up straight; it ranges from "awkward hunch" to "painful crouch". Add to this the fact that I've had a really bad back since I spent some 8h sitting squeezed into buses and plane seats on my way back from Stockholm and moving around inside was Not Fun. There is sleeping room for 4, but not really for 5. The tiny dining table in the galley (did I mention I have really long legs, too?) can convert into a double bed, but then there's nowhere for those people to eat; there's barely space for 4 to eat and moving around requires logistical planning. It would have worked but it would've been horribly cramped. Jerry and I ate, the Snake slept, and then so did we.
Bright and early the next morning, at the crack of 10am, we were up and preparing to go and fetch
tamaranth from Plymouth railway station. She was considerably the worse for wear, apparently having enjoyed herself rather too much at the Liquid Lab the night before. Well, pah. I hope you all had a Really Miserable Time without me*. :¬þThis was followed by a brief quest for Lard. Greasy fried lard. Just the thing for a hangover. The one thing I don't understand is why greasy spoons, which in this enlightened day and age normally offer a veggie fry-up type breakfast, normally make it so small. There's "super breakfast" and "mega breakfast" - and the veggie one. I have had great difficulty explaining to the staff at the excellent Old Mill transport caff**, near
geoffcampbell's, that I'd like a double veggie breakfast, please. Yes, really. Twice as much of everything. I think they all subscribe to the view that all vegetarians are pale, skinny, underfed creatures. I wish.This time, I just settled for two veggie breakfasts in a row.
Then off to a chandlers for a new bung.
Great places, chandlers. Even if I have no interest whatsoever in matters nautical. Good for cheap rope, for example: about a tenth the price of Specialist Suppliers†. This caused some puzzlement to those present...
"Rope? Well, yes, but then, you could get it at half that price from an industrial rope supplier."
"You could, yes, but they'd not react too well to an order for 10' of it, would they?"
"What would you want so little for?"
So I told them.
They Looked at me.
It's probably my imagination that they edged away nervously.
Back to the boat to clean it. Now I understand Jerry's hatred for seagulls, or Shite Hawks®, as he terms them. I blame them for my dodgy tum. Yes, I am a lowly scrubber. But so is Tanya.
Then much preparation for sail.
Now, I can see the hobby potential here. There are an inordinate number of things to do to prepare even a small vessel for a short voyage under wind power, and it involves a phenomenal amount of mucking around with bits of string. Or should I say, warps, sheets, halyards, painters, lines, cables and ropes. And that's just the string. And 284 kinds of knot, 317 different types of sail, each of which has at least 18 different names according to which corner you're talking about and how and where it's attached.
Now, I can excuse this. This is probably the oldest human technology of any complexity which is still in routine use, even if now, for the developed world, it's merely for leisure purposes. Conservatively, it's a least tens of thousands of years old. Over that time, it's bound to accrue some tradition, some arcane terminology.
But I can't help but think that, for example, some of the more recent technology from mountaineering, for example, could be readily adapted - those folks have got rope management down to a fine art, and it's rather more critical that it doesn't fail in their context - and would vastly simplify matters.
Still, it's all good fun. Certainly, the three people aboard this boat who actually knew roughly what they were doing - even if Tanya's knowledge is a couple of centuries out of date (she's wearing well, mind) - seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely. I sat there and occasionally pulled pieces of string when told. (They quickly worked out an appropriate terminological level for instructing me.)
I even got to have a go at steering it. It's amazing how twitchy a ten-metre-long bathtub moving at about 4mph can be.
We made it to the other side of the sound, at somewhere which might be called something like Caw Sands. We were, however, too poor to go ashore, given that we already had a boatful of food and drink. I made a critical error in admiring a passing motor cruiser, or "floating gin palace" as they are apparently known to the cognoscenti. This is, it seems, Not Done. Glacial tones were heard. I know my limits. I can do engines. Yes, wind power is free, but then, so is leg power, and I can go further, more enjoyably, on a motorbike than on any of my bicycles. Even the recumbents.
But shortly, a swell arose that made sitting at anchor quite unpleasant, so we returned to the main harbour, in the dark, and anchored in a marina. This was quite pleasant - it had proper loos and showers and everything - but is too expensive for routine use. I was interested to note that the non-pivotable shower-heads were mounted at roughly mid-chest level. Like sportscars, yachting is clearly a passtime for the height-impaired.
More food. This time, Tanya was chief cook. We got rather less than when Jerry was doing it but it was rather more ambitious.
And sleep.
The next morning, our esteemed Skipper was ill. If only it had been seasickness, I could have mercilessly mocked him here and on CIX, but he actually appeared to have been afflicted with some kind of bug. We didn't depart for the mooring until about 1pm and for home until 6 or so, meaning that I was unable to get back to civilization in time for the traditional Sunday-night pub. I made it back to Colliers Wood for 10:30pm, so I consoled myself with a large curry instead. My first in ages. (So naturally on Monday night,
vanessaw and I went out with the CIX Veggies... for a curry. Ah, well.)A good trip and a good weekend, although I feel that my whining about teenage-goth-chick deprivation was understandable. My withdrawal symptoms were somewhat assuaged by a near constant stream of text messages, though. Sailing is a very peaceful and relaxing pastime, but I do not think I'll be buying a yacht any time soon.
* Tho' I gather Stuff™ was present so I wouldn't have been there anyway.
** It's the only truck stop I've ever seen which is both recommended by Les Routiers and Vegetarian Society approved. Pop in if you're ever near Carmarthen.
† Not work-safe links, kids! Don't go there!
