Tom Cunliffe
Gas sniffers that tip us the wink if our cookers are threatening to blow us up are an undisputed must for cruising sailors. Not all noisemaking safety devices are so welcome, however. Whenever I charter a yacht, I play a little game with myself, betting on whether the smoke detector will have any batteries. It’s a racing certainty that some previous incumbent will have ripped them out. Being averse to broiling in my bunk, I usually clip in a couple of AAs, only to be ejected from my sleeping bag the following morning by the panic screech of safety when some bon viveur toasts a slice of yesterday’s loaf to enjoy with his lightly boiled egg. Goodness knows what would have happened in the days when free men still puffed pipes packed with rich, dark shag. A heart attack from the terrifying
