Having decamped from leafy Cheshire to Sovereign Harbour, Eastbourne, in my semi-retirement I considered buying a motorbike but my wife vetoed the idea.
“But I wooed you on a Norton 600!” I said. “You’ll never get me on your pillion again at our age,” she replied.
Within a week of moving to the marina development, I began to think about buying a boat and, scanning the ads, found a 1970 Westerly Pageant ashore in Essex. Just two tons, 7m long, and optimistically described as having five or six berths.
My wife was keen so we put in an offer subject to survey. The surveyor said it was sound with remarkably good electrics but in dire need of TLC. We paid to get the engine serviced and had it transported.
Years before, with no interest in sailing, I’d accompanied a friend to Gibraltar where he took an RYA Day Skipper course. I took Competent Crew. That was the extent of my formal nautical training.
Foul-weather thrill
My wife bought me the PBO Skipper’s Handbook and one of my sons gave me an annual PBO subscription. I took to sailing like a duck to water, unfazed by 25-knot winds and splashy waves, however, my wife did not enjoy such conditions.
That summer a friend asked me to crew his Dufour 385 from Lagos in Portugal to Eastbourne. I was flattered by his confidence in me (I’d been sailing for all of three months) and crewed the first leg to Oporto and the third from La Rochelle to Eastbourne, pleased that my calculations to get through the notorious Chenal du Four were spot on. Well, I do like
