Tom Cunliffe
‘I don’t recall much about the food that night, but the wine flowed like a spring tide’
It is my pious hope that by the time this column is published we’ll once again be permitted access to our yachts. The reasoning behind why we should have been barred from boarding them to check the bilge for water, the lines for chafe and perhaps take care of a few maintenance jobs, remains shrouded in mystery. Still, as the saying goes, ‘What can’t be cured must be endured’, and at least all sailors worthy of the name have a rich fund of yarns to spin under the swinging lamp of the Zoom-powered happy hour. Stories so tall that they must be true have been doing a noble job of standing in for that stiff, cleansing beat to windward that all of us, racers and cruisers alike,
