BOLD IS BETTER
It was foggy. Properly, Englishly foggy. Driving over to Poole from the West Country, I had to slow right down on the old A35 trunk road, which most days offers spectacular views south to the sea from the high chalk downs. On this day, the scenery lay under a gray shroud, pierced only by the lights of speeding cars driven by people with X-ray vision. It was early November—late in the fall, I suppose, but it looked a lot like winter.
It was no better down at the dock. White Sunseekers lay alongside the seawall like ghost ships in the gloom, while behind them big assembly sheds seemed to hover, distant and insubstantial. On board the new Sunseeker 76 the windows might as well have been
