If you had to divide sailing types into two, you’d probably say there are those who race and those who cruise.  I fall firmly into the second category, having never been able to see the point of going afloat to get stressed and sail round in circles shouting a lot, just to end up at the same harbour (usually) you started in. If someone is faster then me, I will move aside to let them get past. It’s the same in life; if someone does the same as I do but thinks they do it better, then I’ll back off and let them get on with it. On the few occasions I have joined in a race, usually crewing for some tyro skipper, I must admit to having felt the tiniest flutter of excitement at the finish line – but that may have been simply anticipation of an imminent gin and tonic.

The cruising mindset I totally understand; the challenge of a passage made entirely in partnership with boat, tides, weather and your own skill satisfies the explorer in us all. It’s a shame the word ‘cruising’ has negative meanings to non-sailors – I’m not sure I dare add it to the list of tag words when I post this blog and recent events will no doubt cast a shadow over ‘cruising’ as in ‘holiday on an oversized floating shopping mall’. But to small boat sailors, cruising will always be the grand adventure even if it’s a jolly in fine weather round to the next bay.

The analogy of life as a voyage is universal and somehow reassuring; even those who have never set eyes on the sea will talk of going through stormy times, being taken aback, told not to rock the boat and advised to make a change of tack. I’ve just finished reading Jonathan Raban’s ‘Passage to Juneau’, a book that satisfies on many levels.  I won’t describe it, just recommend it, but Raban is the ultimate thinking man’s cruiser – if you haven’t read his book ‘Coasting’, add that to the list.

Racing, now – that’s the spirit of adventure taking a different turn. I was lucky enough to meet Val Howells recently, at a talk he was giving locally. Val is now the only surviving competitor from the five entries in the original OSTAR in 1960; the very first single handed transatlantic race arising from a challenge laid down by the great Blondie Haslar.  This was a race driven by the need to challenge the unknown, though it sowed the seeds for the multi-sponsored professionally skippered offshore races of today.  Haslar’s challenge was answered by a few kindred spirits, but only four others made it to the start line for that first race.  The establishment – particularly the yachting establishment – was deeply disapproving. Single handed sailing, by its nature, disobeys the most important rule in the collision regulations, keeping a good lookout at all times. To attempt such a race, said the experts, would end in disaster and bring the sport into disrepute.

Haslar and his fellow competitors, Francis Chichester, David Lewis, Val Howells and Frenchman Jean Lacombe, who set off after the start, were not the type of men to be swayed by public opinion.  Small boats, big men. Literally and figuratively – and at over six foot, it is mind boggling that Howells undertook the race in a 25′ folkboat – he must have had to fold himself in half to get into the cabin.  Haslar’s boat Jester was a folkboat too, modified to junk rig; the biggest boat in the fleet was Chichester’s 40′ Gipsy Moth.  No handicap system was applied to the race so to some extent it was not about beating each other, it was about completing the challenge which, being the men they were, they all did – most of them coming back for more in subsequent races.

As a committed wimp who finds sailing up a muddy creek excitement enough, I am always fascinated to read tales from the more intrepid end of the seafaring spectrum. So reading Val Howell’s book ‘Sailing into Solitude’ is something to look forward to by the fire on a cold January night…. with a glass of wine in hand of course, because armchair sailors never get seasick.

Who stole August?  I’ve done so well posting at least a blog a month, and somehow this year it was July one minute and September the next.  Various domestic dramas and setbacks have intervened this summer, it’s true, but with each year that passes why do the days go faster with more stuff in them?

‘Nuff whingeing – the unwritten rule of blogs is that they be the shiny tip of the iceberg of life.  There was more to August than gloom and ironing (no, I’m not houseproud, but most of our lovely holiday guests were only with us for a day or two).  August bank holiday found me joyfully abandoning an Everest of ironing and heading north to Holyhead Festival of Traditional Sail, a delightful and sociable event full of unusual boats, interesting people, pirates and hussars, knot tyers and kippers.   There may also have been a glass or two of wine.  I was there for several reasons – firstly as a roving reporter for Classic Boat magazine (so you’ll be able to read a full report in December’s issue, all being well).  Secondly, I was selling my books and bits in Trinity Court alongside the other marine craftsmen and last but not least, I was there to catch up with old friends, make new ones and be around my favourite things, boats.

If you want to know anything at all about ropes and knots, Des Pawson MBE is your man.  He spent a busy weekend introducing children to the simple but ingenious ropewalk, so they all had a piece of rope to take home that they’d made themselves.  Des and Liz’s website is http://www.despawson.com/ if you’re interested in all things knotty.

It’s good to see youngsters included in the festival in so many ways.  Pupils from the local primary school who entered a poster competition were invited on board brigantine Zebu and were slightly bemused to receive their prizes from a well known pirate…..

You can see Blackbeard was fascinated by me blathering on about marine conservation as I presented a copy of Go Green to the school headmistress for their library.

Finally, here’s the lovely Scott Metcalfe, shipwright and artist, on his even lovelier schooner Vilma.  Scott is delighted that I’m featuring Vilma in one of my children’s adventure stories, and already has visions of his boat being chartered for the feature film.  Move over, Pirates of the Caribbean…… such faith, Scott. Given that the book is still a mad jumble of scribbled notes and false starts in a large folder called Treasure Island, he might have to wait some time.

Moving rapidly on…….. from old boats to new.  September is all about Southampton Boat Show, which is why we’re now drowning in boxes of stuff and lists of things to do, as well as laundry.  One thing on my list was ‘update blog’ – oh good, nearly done, but not quite.  Next on the list is ‘plan Children’s Log Book Launch’…..

Children’s Log Book Launch

The original Log Book for Children finally sold out earlier this year, so we decided to give it a thorough refit as well as a reprint. In consultation with the Cruising Department of the RYA, we’ve tweaked a few things and added more pages.  Better still, we now know a lot more about publishing than we did in 2004, so we’ve been able to get the price down a bit by doing the binding ourselves.  It means that Perry is spending this week in the workshop listening to Radio 2 and drinking rather a lot of coffee with a binding machine that squeaks every time you pull the handle, but the pile of books is growing.

If you’re at Southampton Boat Show on the first Saturday, 17th September at 3pm, come along to Starfish Books stand J040 in Mayflower Hall (opposite Kelvin Hughes) where we’ll be popping a cork or two to launch the new edition.  Any excuse!

Authors Live

Here’s another thing on my list – I’m booked to do a 20 minute slot on the stage at the boat show as part of the Authors Live event. This is on Tuesday 20th at 3.15, so come along and be rent-a-mob if you need a sit down inbetween buying deck shoes and widgets.  I’ve promised to be entertaining and talk about my books, and my family have promised to unplug the mike if I try and sing any sea shanties.  Not sure what I’m going to say yet, but will make sure there are plenty of cartoon images on the screen in case of boredom.  Nothing like a informed lecture from a sailing expert, is there?  Nothing like, indeed!  If you want to see the full programme of events, have a look at http://goo.gl/wlwqU .

I was curled up in a sleeping bag with the light from paraffin lamps casting a warm glow on the varnished woodwork of the cabin.  The shelves were stuffed with sailing gear and books; on the cabin table a bottle of wine, the ship’s log book and a scribbled note from the skipper: “Help yourself to everything. Second draft of Ravelled Flag on the shelf for you to read. See you tomorrow.”

Arthur Ransome owned many boats in his time, and Peter Duck was probably his least favourite.  She was commissioned in his later years as a sort of ‘marine bath chair’.  A sturdy ketch with a modest sail plan, she makes up in sea keeping qualities what she lacks in performance.  Her current custodian, Julia Jones, spent her childhood years sailing Peter Duck with her parents, who bought her from Ransome. Julia slept in the bunk where Ransome used to stow his typewriter, so it is unsurprising that books have always been a part of her life.  After a career in publishing, Julia was the right person in the right place for the spirit of Swallows and Amazons to find a 21st century voice.  The result is a novel for children (and adults) called The Salt Stained Book, part one of a trilogy.  It’s an edgy, 21st century tale with sailing adventure at its core and I thoroughly enjoyed being commissioned to provide the cover painting and a sprinkling of sketchy illustrations for the end of each chapter.

There’s more about the book and the excellent reviews it’s received on Julia’s own site http://golden-duck.co.uk/news/category/julia-reviews-and-articles.

Meanwhile, back on the river Orwell, I was looking forward to my first read of the Ravelled Flag, part two of the trilogy.  Although the book is still in draft stage, Julia needs to start thinking of cover design and images for each chapter.  (Not usually the author’s decision, I know, but Julia was advised to publish through her own publishing company, Golden Duck).  Reading through the absorbing tale while the evening breeze rocked Arthur Ransome’s boat, it felt humbling and satisfying to be in the same place but a different time as the source of some of the most influential children’s stories ever written; a feeling that perhaps our ability to reach into the future is dependent upon having deep and strong roots in the past.

Lying alone on a river in a warmly varnished cabin inspires introspection. The red wine probably helped.  The next morning skipper Julia arrived, along with others for the annual gathering of the Nancy Blackett Trust.  If you’re a Ransome fan and would love to sail on the boat that inspired ‘We Didn’t Mean To Go To Sea’, then hop straight over to http://nancyblackett.org/ without further ado – but don’t forget to hop back again as I haven’t finished yet.  A good time was had by all, while Nancy sailed on the river in company with the newly refurbished Swallow, the dinghy that featured in the film version of ‘Swallows and Amazons’.

Swallow wasn’t the only film veteran there – Sophie Neville, who starred in the original ‘Swallows and Amazons’ film was getting reacquainted with the boat she first sailed on camera at the age of 12!  More about Sophie’s exploits on http://sophieneville.net/.

That night, after a convivial evening that may have involved a glass or two of wine over supper, there were four of us sleeping in Peter Duck’s small cabin.  Modern boats focus on comfort and caravan style cabin space, so they usually have a loo neatly built into a cupboard somewhere between foc’sle and saloon.  Peter Duck was built in an earlier time, when boatbuilders were rather more focussed on how a vessel would cope with heavy weather than whether her crew would be able to relieve themselves standing up.  There is indeed a loo on PD, but it’s wedged down by the foc’sle bunk.  With each bunk occupied, there was no question of using it in the night; we were given the combination code for the on-shore facilities before turning in.

You know that time around 4.30am when you wake up regretting the amount of fluid you’ve consumed the night before?  You roll over to try and get back to sleep, but your bladder won’t let you.  At home this is not a problem, but the prospect of a chilly dawn walk up a pontoon in your pyjamas is not inviting.  After repeated attempts to ignore the signals I gave in to the inevitable, trying to find shoes and a fleecy top without waking the others. It was light, but there was no-one around which is just as well as I defy anyone to look their best at 5am wearing only pink panther pyjamas, deck shoes and a fleecy top. Luckily I knew the numbers for the keypad on the ladies. Or did I?  Several attempts later, the door still bleeped at me and refused to open. I crossed my legs and had a think. Was it 1351? Or 1531 perhaps? I struggle with numbers and find remembering my PIN rather stressful. Abandoning the door, I headed for the woods.  Rabbits gazed incuriously at me as I crouched in the long grass – I just hoped there were no insomniac dog walkers around.  Mission accomplished, I tiptoed back into the cabin and into my sleeping bag, wide awake.

The pre-dawn calm gave way to a blustery morning and unhelpful shipping forecast – west or northwest 5-7.  Not ideal for Peter Duck’s return passage to Woodbridge, but we thought we’d give it a go.  The wind started to show its temper as we came to the entrance of Harwich harbour, and even with her small sail area, the boat was overpressed.  We took a reef in the main before hitting the lumpy swell outside the harbour and were glad of it as we rolled up the Suffolk coast then headed inshore again for the entrance to the Deben.  Peter Duck was sailing at her best, well balanced and easy on the tiller even in the gusts.

I think that’s the first time I’ve really enjoyed a strong wind passage whilst I was in it, rather than in a kind of  ’that was scary and seasick but I feel great now it’s over’ kind of way.  There’s a lot to be said for a marine bath chair in a blow.

Everything wobbles when you stand on a windsurfer for the first time.  The board wobbles, the sail wobbles, the water wobbles and so I wobbled. Balancing on a plastic plank is a novel sensation to someone more used to being on the water in hefty wooden boats.  By the third lesson I was getting the hang of it, helped by small sails, light winds and a team of tanned, blond and unfailingly cheerful young instructors.  It’s all about balance and getting the body position right; on a windsurfer you are part of the machine.

I was doing all this watery wobbling on the island of Lesvos in Greece, courtesy of Nielson’s holidays. My mission – to learn enough about windsurfing and the methods of teaching it to spend the next nine months or so writing and illustrating the beginner’s guide for youngsters.

Not being a sporty type, I was a bit worried about whether I’d be able to keep up.  The resort offers a packed programme of activities every day including mountain biking, jogging, waterskiing, wakeboarding, yoga, keep fit, swimming, kayaking, sailing, windsurfing and volleyball.  If that makes you exhausted just thinking about it, there’s always the unofficial programme which includes sitting by the pool, watching Wimbledon in the hotel foyer, twiddling with laptops and iphones in the wifi zone, choosing cocktails, eating vast quantities of delicious food every mealtime and sitting on the veranda with a book and a glass of wine.  I had to stay fairly focussed, with windsurfing in the morning, working on notes and sketches in the afternoon, rounding off the day with a swim in the sea or pottering around in dinghy or kayak.

Instructor Rupert showing us all how to gybe; nifty footwork and flicking the sail around the front of the board is the key. Doing it on moving water? Now, that’s another story!

Oops.  One down, all down.  No, of course there aren’t any photos of me making a fool of myself – for this shot I was safely in a kayak, camera at the ready, trying and failing to photograph people at the exact moment of falling in.  There are times when research is very enjoyable!

I’ll just have to imagine what someone looks like at the moment of falling in. Something like this I guess.

Now the fun part is over and the hard work begins.  I have to work the alchemy that every writer and illustrator is familiar with – challenging the empty page with rough scribbles, both verbal and visual, then working them up into a polished series of pages that not only informs but delights the reader.

Here’s the raw material.  Very raw.  Well, I’ve never drawn windsurfers before and they kept moving around.

After each lesson, I spent time analysing what we’d been taught and breaking it down into simple stages.  You see, all good drawings start as bad ones!  And I’m not afraid to admit to starting with stick figures when I need to.

How-to books can be very dry and dull.  The joy of writing for children is that I have licence to add jokes, and explain everything in a fun, colloquial way. And if adults find it useful too, it just goes to show that we’re all children at heart!

I can tell when I’ve lost my grip on life when I look in the fridge and find it full of things that are no longer fit to eat.  You know the kind of thing – lots of helpful plastic pots with leftovers in, well intentioned but now growing an interesting variety of mould.  (Why are there always two spoonfuls of gravy left after sausage and mash?  And why do we carefully keep it and put it in the fridge?)  Then, moving down to the bottom shelf, an assortment of salads and greens, turning brown or reduced to a puddle in their plastic bag.  When the fridge is in this state, it takes more courage than mine to open the salad drawer, which is full of strange shapes that may once have been green peppers.

It’s shameful, I know, to be wasting food at all and most of the time it’s not that chaotic.  But there are so many more interesting things to do in life than clear out the fridge – like attending a watercolour workshop on tuesday with Elizabeth Haines, who has an inspirational studio in the Preseli hills and a profound understanding of how art works (http://www.elizabethhaines.co.uk/). She is particularly good at getting students to try new ways of working, experiment and see where the painting wants to go.  I had a thoroughly enjoyable day, playing with paint in ways that I don’t often let myself do at home when I’m focussing on drawing or painting whatever pays the bills.

It’s good to take the pressure off sometimes and lay paint on the page without any pre-thought about how it’s going to end up.  It’s very freeing, and nothing you do is ever wasted; everything experimental feeds the creative furnace which is often in danger of spluttering to a halt.

I often tell my students that if you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you always got.  Sometimes it’s good to take my own advice!

So what else has conspired to turn my fridge into bacteria heaven?  We’ve also been exhibiting at Beale Park Boat Show, an annual event in Pangbourne, on a lake by the river Thames.  It’s a small, friendly show, a celebration of the quirky and enthusiastic small boat scene with a refreshing absence of flashiness, big budget boats and pretentiousness. You’ll find everything from the home made and unlikely (a paddle wheel canoe, for example) to highly polished and professional boatbuilders like Henwood and Dean (http://www.henwoodanddean.co.uk/#).  The first two days were great; the third rained and rained, and then rained some more.  We all packed up early; it’s slightly surreal struggling to dismantle a sodden marquee in the driving rain while a steel band plays ‘Island in the Sun’ at high volume and with no trace of irony.

Beale Park Boat Show is over for another year, but life is still a bit hectic – I’m off to Greece on friday to spend a week falling in the water. It’s work, honest. I was expecting the call at some stage, as I’ve been asked to write RYA Go Windsurfing and having made my feelings on the subject of falling into chilly UK water very plain, Neilson holidays have stepped in and are sending me to one of their beach activity centres to go through the beginner’s syllabus and find out everything I need to know to write the book. Given that my last research trip was three days in the rain on a canal in the Midlands, perhaps my career is looking up after all!

Do you think I’d better clean the fridge before I go?

Christopher Columbus, as everyone knows, was pretty impressive.  He had tenacity, the gift of the gab, the ability to lead, and an unshakeable belief that Asia lay on the other side of the Atlantic.  It wasn’t his fault that there was a large continent and an even larger ocean in the way; Columbus was quite happy running around Cuba, asking the natives if this was China and then interpreting their answers as ‘yes.’

“I wish they’d hurry up and invent gps…..”

What is not so well known is the story of how Columbus’ famous flagship piled up onto a reef.

Whilst spending time exploring Cuba and Hispaniola (now Haiti) and trying to find signs of wealthy civilisation, Columbus had to do a lot of socialising. All the locals wanted to have a look over the strange ship and Columbus, in the name of PR and possible future wealth, was happy to oblige, especially if they came bearing gifts of gold. When the Santa Maria finally set sail from Hispaniola everyone was exhausted from days and nights of hectic entertaining. The wind was light and at nightfall Columbus went below for a well deserved nap, leaving Juan de la Cosa as officer of the watch.  Juan was the owner of the Santa Maria, but he was as exhausted as his Admiral and, lulled by the calm conditions, he nodded off in a corner of the deck. This left a small boy in sole charge, steering the course he’d been ordered to steer. He could see nothing from his position behind the wheel and had no way of knowing that the current was setting the ship onto a reef. It was a calm night so there would have been no warning before Columbus was awoken by the sound of coral ripping timber.  Attempts to lighten ship and pull her free of the reef failed, and the crew finally took to the boats and were rescued by the Nina.

As far as I know, the wreck was never found.  History prefers to dwell on Columbus’ successes rather than his failures, particularly the all too human error that lost him his ship.  You certainly can’t blame the ship’s boy who at a guess would have been about 10-12 years old, and I rather fancy the idea of rewriting the story from his point of view.  I’ll put that one on the list for my sea stories project.

Meanwhile, I have been drawing as well as reading, honest.  There have been a lot of black and white drawings coming off my drawing board recently, quite a few of them commissioned by Sam Llewellyn for his excellent new journal Marine Quarterly.  The first issue was out on 1st March  - have a look at www.themarinequarterly.com.  Described as ‘a rich and varied feast’, it just goes to show that reading about the sea is as enjoyable as sailing on it.  As well as being considerably drier!

The timing of this post is a little askew as I’ve been gadding around in Cornwall and only just catching up, but this inspired me back in March so it’s going in.  It’s about shipwrecks, teaching, questions and stories, if you were wondering whether to read on.  So pour yourself a glass of wine, sit comfortably and we’ll begin…..

Eight children sit on cushions on the floor of the museum, looking up at a teacher and at the painting of a ship under sail in a glass cabinet in front of them.  It is 18^th March, so most have round red noses attached to their face; one of the girls is wearing a bright red tutu.  Sparkly red baubles wobble from headbands as the children nod or raise their arms to answer a question.

The Waterfront Museum in Swansea is modern, stark and dark, a spotlight on each exhibit.  There are buttons to press and drawers to open; disembodied voices tell you about the artefacts with the sound of seagulls in the background.  The painting in the cabinet is of a large steel barque heeling in a rough sea.  This is the Afon Cefni, which set sail from Swansea on 13th October 1894 with a crew of 28 and was never seen again.  A painting of a ship is just a painting of a ship; you glance at it, admire the skill of the artist, the curl of the waves and the curve of the sails, then you move on.  How do you breathe life into these static displays?  How do you unlock them and learn from them? Chris Stephens, teacher and trainer of teachers, has the knack.  He gives the children a few minutes to find the names of five other ships on display.  The red tutu flashes amongst the plinths and cabinets as the children hurry around the room looking at paintings or models.  Chris then reads them his poem featuring all the ships they’ve found, pausing at each rhyme for them to fill in the missing word.  There’s something joyful about rhymes. They soon know the chorus off by heart:

Wrap it up in seawater, wrap it up at sea

Museum paintings tell the tale of Wales’ history

Their next task is to make a collective poem about the Afon Cefni.  The brief description on the cabinet is read aloud and questions are asked – where was the ship sailing to?  What cargo did she carry? Where was she when the storm struck? What happened to the sailors – did they all drown?  The right words are hunted down and Chris weaves them together to make a poem about a fatal storm off Cape Horn that took the ship and all her crew to the bottom of the ocean – by this time the children are keen not to let the facts get in the way of a good story, especially one in rhyme.  The painting has come alive; it’s no longer something to be glanced at before moving on.

According to Chris, the idea of using a museum as a place to trigger creative writing comes from a teaching resource book called ‘Location Writing’ by Caroline Davey and Brian Moses.  What wonderful possibilities – a bit like sketching  in words…. anyway, I digress.  The day at the museum was a workshop for teachers, using maritime history as a theme.  More importantly it was about how to use history, creative play, games and artefacts to improve literacy, understanding and the spirit of enquiry.  I don’t teach children, but I found it fascinating, and it made me wonder why children get all the fun stuff.  Some of the exercises Chris showed us for the classroom would be considered too childish for adult learners, but we all thoroughly enjoyed them and in the context were not afraid to admit it.

Perhaps the most valuable thing we can hang onto as adults is the spirit of enquiry, and finding ways to unlock the story in everything. It would certainly stop us wandering round museums, or through life, in the way that many of us do; skimming the surface, acquiring and instantly forgetting facts.

Facts are not bland and boring; facts are stories.  They are doorways that look dull until you open them. Facts – and artefacts – lead to all kinds of discoveries in time or space, but only if you open the door, ask the questions, engage the imagination.  Next time you’re in a museum, if you see someone gazing at an exhibit and muttering inane poetry, it’s probably me.  I’ll pass on the red tutu, though, even on Red Nose Day.

And the Afon Cefni?  She was a steel ship, nearly 300′ long and quite capable of weathering the storms of Cape Horn.  She went down closer to home,  somewhere off the Isles of Scilly.  A teak name board and ship’s lifeboat with the remains of her name on were washed up ashore at St Agnes, but the reason for her sinking remains a mystery.    Four masted barques are, sadly, a rare sight in the 21st century, but the photo is of Sedov, similar in size and rig to the Afon Cefni.  She’ll have a few tales to tell too, no doubt.

Now I feel silly. Burbling on in my last blog post about how much I was looking forward to some fizz at my book launch and actually there wasn’t any. Steen (RYA publishing whizz) must have seen the look on my face when he said there would be no bubbly, as he very reasonably pointed out that the event would be on stage and it would be rather difficult to provide drinks for the entire audience.  Fair enough, as it meant that ’Go Green’ was indeed launched at the weekend to a large audience at the Dinghy Show with a the help of TV wildlife guru Chris Packham and sailing superstar Mike Golding, along with several children and some cardboard boxes. It was fantastic that Chris took time out from his schedule to add his support and talk about the importance of marine conservation for us all.

On stage (right to left): Chris Packham, Mike Golding (hidden behind presenter Tracy Clarke), young volunteers from the audience, Dr Susie Thomson (environmental expert and consulting editor).   And me.

If you’re wondering what the cardboard boxes were for, the youngsters had to pick out items of rubbish from a large box and try to sort them according to how long they take to biodegrade.  Most of the plastics, sadly, take around 500 years.  Since writing the book I’ve become so much more aware of how much plastic and packaging fills our world and chokes the life out of the seas.  I’m the one in the supermarket with loose apples and vegetables rolling around and causing havoc at the checkout, wondering why checkout assistants always say ‘Are you sure?’ when you say ‘No bags, please’.  Of course I’m sure! Otherwise I wouldn’t have said it.  I’m already feeling guilty at the checkout for buying blueberries which I adore and keep the winter bugs away, but can only be bought in non-recyclable plastic punnets. One day I’ll behave really badly and pounce on the next shopper I see stuffing a bunch of bananas in a plastic bag.  ”Look, you muppet, they’re already wrapped in a skin.  They don’t need any more packaging!”

But don’t worry, it’s not a preachy sort of book.  And all the jokes are fully recycled….

While I’m getting in practice for being a grumpy old woman (though according to Perry I already am), here’s a grump of the day.  There’s a new scheme for the over 50’s which is a special helpline to ring in the event of a power cut.  Eh?  Over 50?  Since when has 50 become the age that you suddenly need helpful little leaflets for the elderly?  A different government department to the one that says you’re only half way through your working life at 50 and don’t need a pension for… ooh, ages yet, if at all.  Anyone who thinks I’m a little old lady will get a smack in the mouth and a reminder that, actually, I was a late starter.  Having spent most of my twenties and thirties living in damp bedsits or leaky boats, or drifting around being spiritual, I didn’t get round to the family phase of life until much later.  So it was in my late forties that I started thinking about a sort of career, which is why at the splendid age of umpty-umph I’m just getting into my stride.  I’ll have your leaflets for the elderly when I’m ninety and not a day earlier.  With a bit of luck I might have retired by then!

Don’t you just hate blogs that grumble?  Mm, so do I.  Better stop now.  See what happens when I’m deprived of fizzy wine for too long?

I wonder how and when fizzy wine became associated with celebration.  I always have a bottle in the fridge, just in case (Tesco’s Cava, special offer), and if nothing exciting happens during the year, it gets poured at Christmas breakfast.  But launch parties are the best.  Boats or books, a new one is always worth celebrating.

Whether books or boats, the anticipation of the launch keeps you going during the long hard months of writing and planning, or, in the case of boats, sanding, scraping and varnishing.  But the reality is not always the crowning jewel of achievement that you imagine.  When we finally launched our wooden cutter ‘Torhilda’ after rescuing her from the chainsaw and spending six years and all our savings on a keel-up rebuild, we were exhausted, broke and it rained all day. We didn’t exactly sail off into the sunset; for a start it took another five months to get the mast and spars sorted, but it was still a milestone and the fizz tasted good.  I think we all need to mark our achievements in some way, even if just to prove to ourselves and our friends that we really can see a project through.

January 2004, Maldon town quay.  Looking stressed because the crane was just about to pick ‘Torhilda’ up…

Eight tons of boat safely landed.  Do you think we had enough fenders out??

My first book launch was a huge buzz.  Being a niche market has its advantages – small fish, small pond, which means plenty of friendly faces and hopefully no sharks.  ’Go Sailing’ was launched at the 2005 Southampton Boat Show in style; local tv and radio, the Olympic team, lots of interviews and a queue of face painted children to sign copies for. Cakes, tea shirts, balloons and of course, fizz.  Isn’t it funny how half an hour of sheer pleasure can balance out a year or so of long solitary hours, frustration, struggle, endless editing and redrawing.

I couldn’t find any photos anywhere of the launch of Go Sailing, so this is the follow up, Go Cruising, September 2006.  Tom Cunliffe really is an impossibly tall person and yes, that cake was shaped like a boat.

Not all launches have gone quite to plan.  I’ll gloss over the one where a tv presenter was drafted in to present the book and did such a good job that my presence wasn’t needed at all – I had to elbow through the crowd to get my half glass of fizz.  Or the one at an outdoor event where it rained and all I remember is a lot of mud, a cup of lukewarm pimms and one book signed.

It doesn’t do to be precious about these things; life rarely turns out as expected.  If it did, there would be nothing interesting to blog about!

The reason launches are on my mind is that there’s a bit of a party for ‘Go Green’ next Saturday (5th March) at the Dinghy Show in London.  I know I’ve mentioned it already, but I’m hoping this is going to be one of the more enjoyable ones.  The RYA marketing team are rallying round, fizz  is promised, and at least there’s no mud in Ally Pally.  There will be hordes of over-excited children, cleverly orchestrated by the dulcet tones of presenter Tracy Clarke. Mike Golding, awesome sailor and staunch supporter of the Green Blue, will be on hand too.   There’s a rumour that Chris Packham, tv’s wildlife expert, may well be around during the day too. So if you’re going to the show, come and say hello.

If you had fizz every day, it would stop being special and high points in life are only high because of all the day to day stuff inbetween.  I’ll try and remember that when I’m knee deep in the next book and spend all my blog posts complaining about it!

Children play; adults usually don’t.  At least, not in the same way.  Adults play an instrument, or tennis, but they don’t often ‘play’ like children do, to learn, to find out what happens if….., which is a shame. Children play to learn, not because they don’t have proper jobs or a hundred chores to do before breakfast like grown ups do.  To play is to learn, and learning is a serious business. To learn to paint, you need to play around with the materials, not feel pressurised to come up with a finished painting every time.  To be a writer, you have to play around with words, follow them and see where they take you.

So why don’t we play?  Perhaps as adults we’re expected to be competent, and we don’t like feeling silly.  Playing to learn can look silly, and it doesn’t always lead to perfect results.  We like to get things wrong in a discreet and dignified way.

I decided long ago that if I was afraid of looking silly, I’d never dare do anything at all.    But learning to play with silver is particularly challenging because I’m not used to messing with something that’s so expensive to waste!  I’m making progress, but the cost of silver is inhibiting and I’ve got a pot of failed unfired pieces to chop up and reconstitute if I can.

This was the result of playing with string, silicon, resin and silver clay.  Uncharted territory for me, so the first attempt failed but I was happier with this one.  It’s interesting to work with new materials, learning the craft (how to handle the materials) as well as the art (design elements).

Me, an artist?  Nah, I’m just playing at it!

Only three weeks to go until the Dinghy Show at Alexander Palace – always a nice family show.  There’s a bit of a party on to launch my book on the Saturday afternoon so I hope there’s a bottle or two of fizz involved.  The struggle of working all day every day on ‘Go Green’ seems a long time ago now, but the anticipation of that glass of fizz and a bit of a buzz kept me going when I was struggling with how to draw sea squirts and write about sea defences in a fun, fascinating way.

Hope to see you there!