Been rather pre-occupied - but this is too important to let go.
The ephemeral nature of the interweb is exposed in it's erasability. To those who seek to silence us - we are but columns on an IP address list. We can be expunged at the click of the mouse.
As small individuals we are not protected either by legal budgets of the press or our ability to quote using parliamentary privilege.
'But, so what?' you might say - 'deleting a blog is just some nerd's website'
This is as big an assault on free speech as rounding up copies of fanzines and burning them in the streets. Except this is cleaner and attracts less headlines other than outrage in the blogsphere.
The whole point is put far more eloquently by the The Devil and The Greek Chap. They have done the research and say it much better.
All that is necessary for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing. To my readers - get out there and comment, chaps.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
All quiet on the bloggy front
Sorry reader - I know you are looking to me to provide you with a witty look at the world and more tales of woe from my unusual existence - but you may recall I am doing an exam? Turned out it's not just radio - it's full Air Traffic control, radar vectored approaches etc., etc.
Complications - the written exam is actually this week - so I am somewhat snowed under in getting ready for this. Any slack time I would normally be blogging is taking up with running the scripts and the like.
The other consequence is that to get my head around it I am immersing myself totally in the lingo. It means I am barely able to write in English without it drifting into golp-alpha-charlie-descend-and-maintian-two-tousand-fife-hun-dred-feet-wessex-QNH-998-millibar-report-when-overhead-bourton-tower.
I'll be back on Friday. Lots of news going on, mind so I'm sure you will be fine.
Complications - the written exam is actually this week - so I am somewhat snowed under in getting ready for this. Any slack time I would normally be blogging is taking up with running the scripts and the like.
The other consequence is that to get my head around it I am immersing myself totally in the lingo. It means I am barely able to write in English without it drifting into golp-alpha-charlie-descend-and-maintian-two-tousand-fife-hun-dred-feet-wessex-QNH-998-millibar-report-when-overhead-bourton-tower.
I'll be back on Friday. Lots of news going on, mind so I'm sure you will be fine.
Friday, September 21, 2007
What book am I?
You're Babar the King!
by Jean de Brunhoff
Though your life has been filled with struggle and sadness of late,
you're personally doing quite well for yourself. All this success brings responsibility,
though, and should not be taken lightly. Life has turned from war to peace, from damage
to reconstruction, and this brings a bright new hope for everyone you know. These hopeful
people look to you for guidance, and your best advice to them is to watch out for snakes.
You're quite fond of the name "Celeste".
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
Fez doff to the Devil for finding this.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Wine drive - reprise
As I unpack and re-pack the cases for final stowage I have had a chance to reflect on the short annual pilgrimage to the haven of bacchanalian delights that is the Burgundy region of France.
We suffer a great deal for the privilege of the finest of wines. Having to spit the damn stuff out when tasting it is bad enough, let alone having to face the indignity of paying again for roads we have already paid for with the ruinous EU tithes levied upon us.
Burgundy is an area of natural beauty and empty property - but for some reason - affordable accommodation in the local area is somewhat stifled. Logis De France - basically restaurants with rooms - are the best value - and they leave more of the old spondulicks for the good stuff.
Oh, the places are clean enough - that well scrubbed old school sanatorium feel describe them best. 1970's décor, slightly threadbare linen and bathroom fittings out of an episode of space 1999 or UFO.
The food is often a true delight - with of course local wines setting the palate off just so. It can be rustic to exquisite - but almost always too much.
Much of the joy is the journey itself - 'La Route des Grand Vins' through sun dappled russet green corduroy landscapes, that scroll past our windows as we meander through names that read like a sommelier's wet dream.
Afternoons spent in low arched cellars tasting dips from the first crush to the Vins Anciens bottled many a year afore we arrived - and leading up the stairs to blinking into the daylight - to a heavier car but a lighter pocket.
And so - the cases shall go away - not to be seen until 2013 onwards. A moment of sadness, offset by a collection of a rather nice set that have been mouldering and ripening since 2000 - or before. (The 1er Cru '98 is particularly fine right now)
I shall enjoy - and of course share with glad rapture. For what is the point of all this Bon-Viveur behaviour - if one cannot share the spoils with one's chums?
Anyway - I'm on a diet now. I shouldn't be drinking a whole bottle - and it would be a shame to let it stand so.
Form an orderly queue, chaps.
We suffer a great deal for the privilege of the finest of wines. Having to spit the damn stuff out when tasting it is bad enough, let alone having to face the indignity of paying again for roads we have already paid for with the ruinous EU tithes levied upon us.
Burgundy is an area of natural beauty and empty property - but for some reason - affordable accommodation in the local area is somewhat stifled. Logis De France - basically restaurants with rooms - are the best value - and they leave more of the old spondulicks for the good stuff.
Oh, the places are clean enough - that well scrubbed old school sanatorium feel describe them best. 1970's décor, slightly threadbare linen and bathroom fittings out of an episode of space 1999 or UFO.
The food is often a true delight - with of course local wines setting the palate off just so. It can be rustic to exquisite - but almost always too much.
Much of the joy is the journey itself - 'La Route des Grand Vins' through sun dappled russet green corduroy landscapes, that scroll past our windows as we meander through names that read like a sommelier's wet dream.
Afternoons spent in low arched cellars tasting dips from the first crush to the Vins Anciens bottled many a year afore we arrived - and leading up the stairs to blinking into the daylight - to a heavier car but a lighter pocket.
And so - the cases shall go away - not to be seen until 2013 onwards. A moment of sadness, offset by a collection of a rather nice set that have been mouldering and ripening since 2000 - or before. (The 1er Cru '98 is particularly fine right now)
I shall enjoy - and of course share with glad rapture. For what is the point of all this Bon-Viveur behaviour - if one cannot share the spoils with one's chums?
Anyway - I'm on a diet now. I shouldn't be drinking a whole bottle - and it would be a shame to let it stand so.
Form an orderly queue, chaps.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A truth about flying
A sad week for flying.
Firstly - they have downgraded the search for Steve Fossett. To some people he was just another rich idiot playing with aeroplanes - but in the short, short history of manned flight it has tended to be people like Fossett who have made those leaps or conquered the unconquerable in the name of either riches, adventure, fame or fortune. Afterall - Allcock and Brown didn't fly their Vimy across the pond just so we could get to New York - they did it for the prize money - and because it was there. Bleriot wasn't trying to get duty free either.
Fossett made his own money and set out to achieve things after his commercial career, so in my mind - fair play to him.
As a Glider pilot - one feels a certain affinity with Fossett. He flew from Omarama - where I have flown - he holds records in the sport - and is well known as part of the sport's aristocracy - should such a thing exist in a sport as egalitarian as gliding - a sport as yet untouched by drugs, sponsorship, television deals and the like. It is one of those past times where money, influence or the like counts for nothing. We fly gliders manually- without autopilots and largely without many instruments other and an airspeed indicator and an altimeter.
Every time we set out across country in an unpowered aircraft or go for our own personal best in altitude or endurance - we are touching the same part of our spirit as he was the day he went missing. When I run the launch control at the end of a day and as dusk colours the sky, I still get sweaty-palmed as we count back the cross country flights and fervently hope as the stragglers come home we count them all in. I have been on airfields (albeit sky-diving ones) when 10 people get out of an aeroplane but only 9 parachutes are counted. And the cold creeping horror is much the same. I also dread the day if, on my watch, someone doesn't come home.
Hopes fade into impossibility that he should wander out of the desert alive. My thoughts go out to his family and friends and I am sure that aviators of all shades send their condolences.
One another more horrifying scale we see what happened to that MD-82 in Phuket. Current talk is of wind-shear - with survivors telling of an aborted landing to boot.
I'm an early amateur pilot and all I have to say is that my most terrifying experiences have been cross and tail wind landings in turbulence. A single thought goes through your head - there is no getting away from gravity - I have to land this thing.
We are reminded about the wonders of modern technology and sat in comfort in the middle of 747 we can feel as safe as houses whatever the weather.
But despite instrument landings, weather radar and powerful computers there is one fundamental truth at stake here:
Most of the time, flying is perfectly safe. It is safer than crossing the road. But then there are a few tiny times when it is totally reliant on the skill of the person at the controls - often wrestling with them in near impossible conditions and there are going to be moments of extreme danger.
Ultimately every pilot has to fly as some time by the 'seat of his pants'. That hasn't changed since Wilbur and Orville flew a distance shorter than a 747 in the Kittyhawk. It is dangerous and sometimes it goes wrong.
Reports are sketchy of the final moments - but they could been brought down hard in a squall or run out of runway - but they were orbiting the strip - which could mean they knew this was going to be hard. The pilot had requested an abort to go around but by the sounds of things too late. The chances are - he saw, and knew, what was going on and did what he could to save the lives of the passengers - full in the knowledge that if you are going down - you - as the pilot are probably going to be killed in saving those lives.
When we see footballers being described as 'courageous' or celebrities talking of their 'struggle' my mind turns to people like these pilots I mention today who attempt to wrestle 150 tons of wet steel to the ground in a storm facing almost certain death to save a few lives - or the two guys at the exit pulling other out at their own risk.
My thoughts to the families - and to the crew - like those who have gone before - you have slipped the final Surly Bonds.
Firstly - they have downgraded the search for Steve Fossett. To some people he was just another rich idiot playing with aeroplanes - but in the short, short history of manned flight it has tended to be people like Fossett who have made those leaps or conquered the unconquerable in the name of either riches, adventure, fame or fortune. Afterall - Allcock and Brown didn't fly their Vimy across the pond just so we could get to New York - they did it for the prize money - and because it was there. Bleriot wasn't trying to get duty free either.
Fossett made his own money and set out to achieve things after his commercial career, so in my mind - fair play to him.
As a Glider pilot - one feels a certain affinity with Fossett. He flew from Omarama - where I have flown - he holds records in the sport - and is well known as part of the sport's aristocracy - should such a thing exist in a sport as egalitarian as gliding - a sport as yet untouched by drugs, sponsorship, television deals and the like. It is one of those past times where money, influence or the like counts for nothing. We fly gliders manually- without autopilots and largely without many instruments other and an airspeed indicator and an altimeter.
Every time we set out across country in an unpowered aircraft or go for our own personal best in altitude or endurance - we are touching the same part of our spirit as he was the day he went missing. When I run the launch control at the end of a day and as dusk colours the sky, I still get sweaty-palmed as we count back the cross country flights and fervently hope as the stragglers come home we count them all in. I have been on airfields (albeit sky-diving ones) when 10 people get out of an aeroplane but only 9 parachutes are counted. And the cold creeping horror is much the same. I also dread the day if, on my watch, someone doesn't come home.
Hopes fade into impossibility that he should wander out of the desert alive. My thoughts go out to his family and friends and I am sure that aviators of all shades send their condolences.
One another more horrifying scale we see what happened to that MD-82 in Phuket. Current talk is of wind-shear - with survivors telling of an aborted landing to boot.
I'm an early amateur pilot and all I have to say is that my most terrifying experiences have been cross and tail wind landings in turbulence. A single thought goes through your head - there is no getting away from gravity - I have to land this thing.
We are reminded about the wonders of modern technology and sat in comfort in the middle of 747 we can feel as safe as houses whatever the weather.
But despite instrument landings, weather radar and powerful computers there is one fundamental truth at stake here:
Most of the time, flying is perfectly safe. It is safer than crossing the road. But then there are a few tiny times when it is totally reliant on the skill of the person at the controls - often wrestling with them in near impossible conditions and there are going to be moments of extreme danger.
Ultimately every pilot has to fly as some time by the 'seat of his pants'. That hasn't changed since Wilbur and Orville flew a distance shorter than a 747 in the Kittyhawk. It is dangerous and sometimes it goes wrong.
Reports are sketchy of the final moments - but they could been brought down hard in a squall or run out of runway - but they were orbiting the strip - which could mean they knew this was going to be hard. The pilot had requested an abort to go around but by the sounds of things too late. The chances are - he saw, and knew, what was going on and did what he could to save the lives of the passengers - full in the knowledge that if you are going down - you - as the pilot are probably going to be killed in saving those lives.
When we see footballers being described as 'courageous' or celebrities talking of their 'struggle' my mind turns to people like these pilots I mention today who attempt to wrestle 150 tons of wet steel to the ground in a storm facing almost certain death to save a few lives - or the two guys at the exit pulling other out at their own risk.
My thoughts to the families - and to the crew - like those who have gone before - you have slipped the final Surly Bonds.
Wine Drive - continued
Err... frantically busy with my 2008 OP budgets reader - and my direct reports have quadrupled in number so I am stupidly busy.
I have a draft to complete and edit though - so nearly there.
Problem, of course, is that I am building it up a bit.
I have a draft to complete and edit though - so nearly there.
Problem, of course, is that I am building it up a bit.
Monday, September 17, 2007
The Final Frontier
A whole ago - shortly after he purchased his Yacht - my mate 'Jet-Jaguar' proposed an adventure:
The North West Passage
Previously these attempts have ended with the crew entombed in the ice, going mad from the lead in solder in their tin cans - or worse dying from Vitamin A poisoning from eating Polar Bear liver.
It is one of those sailing adventures which has lured the brave and the bold to an icy doom.
But NOW - looks like it's a goer! Especially as SV Deep Blue has an armoured hull and is rigged for Polar operations.....
Just let me bring my own food, OK?
The North West Passage
Previously these attempts have ended with the crew entombed in the ice, going mad from the lead in solder in their tin cans - or worse dying from Vitamin A poisoning from eating Polar Bear liver.
It is one of those sailing adventures which has lured the brave and the bold to an icy doom.
But NOW - looks like it's a goer! Especially as SV Deep Blue has an armoured hull and is rigged for Polar operations.....
Just let me bring my own food, OK?
Booze Cruise Vs Wine Drive
The hotel, Saturday Back at the wheel today - and Big Grey is demanding lots of Amperes - so I must scurry like billio and you, my dear reader, will have to wait to hear tales of the best bit of my wine drive.
Teasers:
Space 1999 decor and snoring from 3 doors along!
Jumping the queue in Calais!
No Strawberry jam in the Club Lounge on P&O!
More to follow - including some descriptive bits I was proud of at the time - but I had been drinking.
Friday, September 14, 2007
From the chappy correspondant....
Beaujolais
Gods reader, this is hard work. We are having to drive all this way and be forced to taste all this wine merely for the good of ones guests. In addition I am having to type on a French keyboard - which seems to forego normal punctuation in favour of extra letters.
Journey down was long and uneventful - despite the heroic intervention of one of Tescos finest summer puddings and some cream to fortify our resolve - it came in handy I can tell you - as the autoroutes are long - and Earl Grey will only sustain sanity for so long.
I took my own advice and rejected a pork pie on the grounds it ought to be in a cage. I am grateful to this day.
Our first night was spent in a simple Logis de France hotel - but equippped with a fine kitchen and Im sorry to report that we may have over done it slightly. Only slightly - but I believe the night terrors I suffered were due to the third round of cheese and second bottle of Cotes de Nuits.
It was when we arrived in Beaujolais today that purchasing begun in earnest.
I shall regale with tales later on, as there is too much detail for my constitution to bear - or bash out on this keyboard - suffice to say - we have been slaving away.
Three degustations before lunch is a heady pace indeed - and we had earned a break.
Lunch in Fleurie was a necessarily languid affair of only two courses, wine and coffee.
Under the watchful eye of the waitress - we were obliged to eat it all - what horros we have to endure shows we are made of stern stuff.
Exhausted from such efforts - we repaired to some of the better known cooperatives this aternoon - where we could take our leisure.
But - this is merely the starter for the main course.
For tomorrow we arrive in Beaune.
But tonight - rest easy dear reader: for we are in Julienas - a pretty town with a comfortable hotel - and a relxing menu. I shall dine lightly lest myliverishness flare up again. Or I drop dead from gout.
Wish me luck - for tomorrow I shall need every ounce of strength my aged sinews can deliver......
Gods reader, this is hard work. We are having to drive all this way and be forced to taste all this wine merely for the good of ones guests. In addition I am having to type on a French keyboard - which seems to forego normal punctuation in favour of extra letters.
Journey down was long and uneventful - despite the heroic intervention of one of Tescos finest summer puddings and some cream to fortify our resolve - it came in handy I can tell you - as the autoroutes are long - and Earl Grey will only sustain sanity for so long.
I took my own advice and rejected a pork pie on the grounds it ought to be in a cage. I am grateful to this day.
Our first night was spent in a simple Logis de France hotel - but equippped with a fine kitchen and Im sorry to report that we may have over done it slightly. Only slightly - but I believe the night terrors I suffered were due to the third round of cheese and second bottle of Cotes de Nuits.
It was when we arrived in Beaujolais today that purchasing begun in earnest.
I shall regale with tales later on, as there is too much detail for my constitution to bear - or bash out on this keyboard - suffice to say - we have been slaving away.
Three degustations before lunch is a heady pace indeed - and we had earned a break.
Lunch in Fleurie was a necessarily languid affair of only two courses, wine and coffee.
Under the watchful eye of the waitress - we were obliged to eat it all - what horros we have to endure shows we are made of stern stuff.
Exhausted from such efforts - we repaired to some of the better known cooperatives this aternoon - where we could take our leisure.
But - this is merely the starter for the main course.
For tomorrow we arrive in Beaune.
But tonight - rest easy dear reader: for we are in Julienas - a pretty town with a comfortable hotel - and a relxing menu. I shall dine lightly lest myliverishness flare up again. Or I drop dead from gout.
Wish me luck - for tomorrow I shall need every ounce of strength my aged sinews can deliver......
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
D-Day T Minus 15Hrs 20 mins
Our objective....It is upon us at last.
The cellar space has been cleared, marker pens ready.
Tasting notes and detailed vineyard charts downloaded.
The Burgundy Report consulted and read assiduously.
Messrs Peninsular and Orient primed to carry us across La Manche.
Passport, Driving licence, travel rug and alfresco dining kit with corkscrew and china plates at the ready.
Flasks for ludicrously strong coffee prepared.
Sunglasses ready.
'The Reverse of the Medal' loaded and 'The Ionian Mission' on standby - lest we complete the first 12 hours worth of Patrick O'Brian and still need more.
The annual Chap pilgrimage to the Cotes begins.
This time tomorrow - I shall be pottering through golden leaved vines in the slanting autumn sunshine. The Route de la Cotes - the N74 shall take us south from Dijon - Gevery Chambertin, Nuits St Georges, Fixin, and Aloxe Corton bearing witness on the sign posts to the Elysium on earth we shall be inhabiting.
A night at Chez Jeanette - where if one selects the main course before the wine, an eyebrow is raised, and they fetch the 'tourist' wine list. Cuisine De Sauvage it may be - but situated in the Walled vines of the Clos du Napoleon one really ought to make an effort.
A day is to be spent in the tiny caves of the Crus and Villages of Beaujolais - Cote du Brouilly, Moulin a Vent and the almost ubiquitous Fleurie.
We shall drive along the granite outcrop which marks the difference between a grand Beaujolais - where the Gamay gives her best - from the gruesome nouveau of the plains.
Shall we repair to Macon? Lunch in Beaune? The decisions are almost too much without a bottle of wine to assist. The journey itself, though, is as much of a pleasure as the arriving and the tasting - with picnics to eat, fresh air to breathe and the sublime beauty of the first hints of autumn fringing the vines.
And finally - a last day in our favourite haunt - Echevronne. For tucked away in the Haute Cote du Beanue, amongst the Framboise and Cassis lies our ultimate target and biggest drain on my wallet.
The souls of my unborn have been sold in a terrible Faustian plot.
2005 is in the bottle, and awaits our degustation, after, of course, tasting the 06 dips and having a rummage in the bin ends.
We will get our hands on the finest vintage the Bourgogne has ever produced and get it in spades.
Oh, and I shall be blogging from down there as well.
Our accommodation provides Internet access, so this chap will be able to send you the latest views and news from my travels. I sincerely hope that I am well fed, very much discombobulated in wine and have plenty of news and views to blog about. Not just what we had for dinner - (but saying that I do fancy Lapin Dijonaisse again…)
Au revoir for now dear reader - for I shall be deep in enemy territory when you hear from me again.
Radio killed the Video star
A calm voice is needed when dealing with Air Traffic. I have just started the course to my Aviation Wireless Telegraphy operators licence.
Now - you would have thought that being a pilot of little more than a string bag with a six-volt motorbike battery for power there would be a 'private user' variant.
Well - it is the same course as any civil pilot or air traffic controller. The materials are 198 pages long and not only do you have to know the codes, abbreviations and protocols by heart for the written exam (200 Questions, passmark 90%) but you need to apply it all in 'circumstance' for the Oral exam - pass mark - 100%
Not only that - but I have to be fully conversant with the airspace laws and definitions again and the Air traffic zone and height rules again. Okay, Okay I should be current with that all the time - but I'm rusty!
It's not as if I will be flying in controlled airspace often - if at all. I am more often than not trying to avoid these places as I need to turn and thermal at whim - not fly a specific course and heading.
Still - the law's the law. I have to be able to hold the licence to fly across country - so pass it I must, even if it costs me £300 odd for the 5 nights in the class room and the exam. And to be honest my transmitter may only be 5 watts, but at three thousand feet it's audible in Bristol.
The CAA also take a rather stern line and will track you down and impose incredible fines.
Gliding ain't like powered flying - we are constantly working to stay aloft - and we use a fair amount more of the Aviating time just staying up there. Navigating - well it's all by eye (Yes I follow roads…) - so we rarely need to communicate much - unless to call downwind to land at home.
(Don't even get me started on Mode S transponder and use of European GPS compulsion, by the way - I feel about that the way you would feel if you had to have a machine readable licence on your push bike and pay for the use of it with a computer checking to see if you have permission to cycle to the pub)
So anyway - I have reading material for my trip to Foxtrot Romeo Alpha November Charlie Echo. More on that trip coming up..........
Now - you would have thought that being a pilot of little more than a string bag with a six-volt motorbike battery for power there would be a 'private user' variant.
Well - it is the same course as any civil pilot or air traffic controller. The materials are 198 pages long and not only do you have to know the codes, abbreviations and protocols by heart for the written exam (200 Questions, passmark 90%) but you need to apply it all in 'circumstance' for the Oral exam - pass mark - 100%
Not only that - but I have to be fully conversant with the airspace laws and definitions again and the Air traffic zone and height rules again. Okay, Okay I should be current with that all the time - but I'm rusty!
It's not as if I will be flying in controlled airspace often - if at all. I am more often than not trying to avoid these places as I need to turn and thermal at whim - not fly a specific course and heading.
Still - the law's the law. I have to be able to hold the licence to fly across country - so pass it I must, even if it costs me £300 odd for the 5 nights in the class room and the exam. And to be honest my transmitter may only be 5 watts, but at three thousand feet it's audible in Bristol.
The CAA also take a rather stern line and will track you down and impose incredible fines.
Gliding ain't like powered flying - we are constantly working to stay aloft - and we use a fair amount more of the Aviating time just staying up there. Navigating - well it's all by eye (Yes I follow roads…) - so we rarely need to communicate much - unless to call downwind to land at home.
(Don't even get me started on Mode S transponder and use of European GPS compulsion, by the way - I feel about that the way you would feel if you had to have a machine readable licence on your push bike and pay for the use of it with a computer checking to see if you have permission to cycle to the pub)
So anyway - I have reading material for my trip to Foxtrot Romeo Alpha November Charlie Echo. More on that trip coming up..........
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
How to know when you have had too much to drink (an ongoing series)
Singing Simon and Garfunkle hits with one's sister thrashing them out on her guitar.
In the garden, at 11pm.
My liver hurts.
(I am just a poor boy, Though my story’s seldom told, I have squandered my resistance - For a pocket full of mumbles, Such are promises.....All lies and jest! Still, a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.......)
We must have sounded as fan-fucking-tastic as I feel right now.
In the garden, at 11pm.
My liver hurts.
(I am just a poor boy, Though my story’s seldom told, I have squandered my resistance - For a pocket full of mumbles, Such are promises.....All lies and jest! Still, a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.......)
We must have sounded as fan-fucking-tastic as I feel right now.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Extreme Chappism
On my way home from the boat last night, I stopped over at arch-conspirator chap (with whom I buy Burgundy) for a cup of tea and a jaffa cake.
'You're looking a bit down in the dumps old boy' he said.
'Indeed - have been better.' I replied
'Well let me venture a suggestion that should warm your mood - I have some holiday owed and if you do as well - it could be time for a bit of a chap adventure.'
'Oh aye, sir?' somewhat interested am I by now - 'are you thinking of perhaps Bordeaux? For I feel it could be our Arnhem - a region too far - I can scarcely afford my Burgundy habit.'
'Oh no, I was thinking more....Morocco - Marrakech and the like...'
There was a short pause.
'Listen old chap, I know I have a dose of the blues, but dragging me in to some sordid boudoir in the back streets of Marrakesh and attempting to turn me with low-rent Moroccan cock is hardly going to cheer me up. Nature, it is said, provides for all tastes - but that old chap is not one of mine.'
'Actually I was thinking about eating loads of Tajine and indulging in industrial grade fez wearing.'
'So we are to go to North Africa simply to eat and indulge in permitted indoor millinery experimentation?'
'Why else??'
'Sounds brilliant. I will let you know in the fullness of time.'
'You're looking a bit down in the dumps old boy' he said.
'Indeed - have been better.' I replied
'Well let me venture a suggestion that should warm your mood - I have some holiday owed and if you do as well - it could be time for a bit of a chap adventure.'
'Oh aye, sir?' somewhat interested am I by now - 'are you thinking of perhaps Bordeaux? For I feel it could be our Arnhem - a region too far - I can scarcely afford my Burgundy habit.'
'Oh no, I was thinking more....Morocco - Marrakech and the like...'
There was a short pause.
'Listen old chap, I know I have a dose of the blues, but dragging me in to some sordid boudoir in the back streets of Marrakesh and attempting to turn me with low-rent Moroccan cock is hardly going to cheer me up. Nature, it is said, provides for all tastes - but that old chap is not one of mine.'
'Actually I was thinking about eating loads of Tajine and indulging in industrial grade fez wearing.'
'So we are to go to North Africa simply to eat and indulge in permitted indoor millinery experimentation?'
'Why else??'
'Sounds brilliant. I will let you know in the fullness of time.'
Drifting home to Lymington
It was indeed a pleasant weekend on the waves, despite it being utterly devoid of wind.
The boat the Scot had arranged was capacious, excessively comfortable and it basically sailed itself.
There were features aboard to which I have a religious objection in British waters - chiefly the presence of bow thrusters and a fully automated windlass operated from the binnacle.
I am sorry to report that our natural revulsion to such toys was rapidly overcome - and there was joy to be had - chiefly in seeing if we could combine an astern prop walk with a countered rudder and a bow thruster to see if we could actually make the whole boat go sideways.
We had absolute newbies aboard too - and I fear their sailing has been spoiled for such opulent luxury means that when they come to do some proper sailing they will be sorely disappointed.
The sun shone and the wine flowed freely - and as such when august company like this gathers - matters soon turn to discussions of unusual natures - particularly as the sailing was very gentle - we had time to dissemble.
One of these conversations stuck in my mind in particular - and I reflected on it on the way home.
One chap aboard was a keen windsurfer and decried the slow pace of yachting about (That's kind of the point in my mind). In particular the discussion hung around whether or not a race carried out at speeds of under 3 knots (walking pace) could actually be in anyway exciting? In some ways - he had a point. Spending a day carefully trimming a sail by an inch in either direction compared to launching skyward at 25 knots are worlds apart.
The hypothesis offered by myself was that as in life as with racing - sometimes it is that slow-burn - the long careful anticipation and chess master tactics required for a challenge like this which deliver the most satisfying excitement.
A wet and wild day where we are physically challenged is one thing - but a day where we need to maintain patient yet total focus over 6 hours when little appears to be going on is often more exhausting and more satisfying a challenge.
I believe it is in effect two different types of problem. Each problem obviously has it's own solution set: A long problem - to move slowly yet determinedly in the belief that your goal will be achieved through patient careful work and sticking with your tactics - compared the raw physical short problem of clinging to the rail in a force 9.
One is fast and furious - makes for great television and is exciting. The other - can be described as watching paint dry - yet it is still race and it is still winnable. It just takes a lot of patience.
I feel there is a parallel in the difficult problems our society face today.
We have become obsessed with the former type of 'race'. Fast, furious, quick results, glory and celebration of those involved.
Unfortunately I think that many of the problems we face as a country can't be fixed like that. We set hares to fix tortoise races - and become disappointed to the point of cynicism when the races are lost. Our culture now demands instant fixes and instant refreshment from problems. But I wonder - if it has taken 30 years for our polite society to decline - can a few quick extra laws, celebrity politicians and press conference solve it?
Long, slow problems may need long slow answers - for quick ones never quite work.
But long slow answers don't make good sound bites.
But I digress.
The sailing was pleasant - if a little crowded at the western end of the Solent - and the Needles were splendid in the early evening light.
Decided to pop in to Lymington to give our new crew a taste of venturing forth there and experience the joys of the river. Which were made ever more joyful by the presence of hot showers and cold champagne.
Ultimately well refreshed, we repaired to a rather good restaurant where we dined upon crab thermidor and fresh sardines amongst other things.
Unfortunately the rest of the evening is a bit of a blur, for once my captainly duties were discharged on return, I collapsed into my bunk only to awake fully clothed the following morning with a hangover from Hades.
The crew (bless 'em) had seen fit to remove my shoes and cover me in a sleeping bag. Mind you, they probably though I kept my banknotes in my shoes and were snaffling them for another run ashore.
The boat the Scot had arranged was capacious, excessively comfortable and it basically sailed itself.
There were features aboard to which I have a religious objection in British waters - chiefly the presence of bow thrusters and a fully automated windlass operated from the binnacle.
I am sorry to report that our natural revulsion to such toys was rapidly overcome - and there was joy to be had - chiefly in seeing if we could combine an astern prop walk with a countered rudder and a bow thruster to see if we could actually make the whole boat go sideways.
We had absolute newbies aboard too - and I fear their sailing has been spoiled for such opulent luxury means that when they come to do some proper sailing they will be sorely disappointed.
The sun shone and the wine flowed freely - and as such when august company like this gathers - matters soon turn to discussions of unusual natures - particularly as the sailing was very gentle - we had time to dissemble.
One of these conversations stuck in my mind in particular - and I reflected on it on the way home.
One chap aboard was a keen windsurfer and decried the slow pace of yachting about (That's kind of the point in my mind). In particular the discussion hung around whether or not a race carried out at speeds of under 3 knots (walking pace) could actually be in anyway exciting? In some ways - he had a point. Spending a day carefully trimming a sail by an inch in either direction compared to launching skyward at 25 knots are worlds apart.
The hypothesis offered by myself was that as in life as with racing - sometimes it is that slow-burn - the long careful anticipation and chess master tactics required for a challenge like this which deliver the most satisfying excitement.
A wet and wild day where we are physically challenged is one thing - but a day where we need to maintain patient yet total focus over 6 hours when little appears to be going on is often more exhausting and more satisfying a challenge.
I believe it is in effect two different types of problem. Each problem obviously has it's own solution set: A long problem - to move slowly yet determinedly in the belief that your goal will be achieved through patient careful work and sticking with your tactics - compared the raw physical short problem of clinging to the rail in a force 9.
One is fast and furious - makes for great television and is exciting. The other - can be described as watching paint dry - yet it is still race and it is still winnable. It just takes a lot of patience.
I feel there is a parallel in the difficult problems our society face today.
We have become obsessed with the former type of 'race'. Fast, furious, quick results, glory and celebration of those involved.
Unfortunately I think that many of the problems we face as a country can't be fixed like that. We set hares to fix tortoise races - and become disappointed to the point of cynicism when the races are lost. Our culture now demands instant fixes and instant refreshment from problems. But I wonder - if it has taken 30 years for our polite society to decline - can a few quick extra laws, celebrity politicians and press conference solve it?
Long, slow problems may need long slow answers - for quick ones never quite work.
But long slow answers don't make good sound bites.
But I digress.
The sailing was pleasant - if a little crowded at the western end of the Solent - and the Needles were splendid in the early evening light.
Decided to pop in to Lymington to give our new crew a taste of venturing forth there and experience the joys of the river. Which were made ever more joyful by the presence of hot showers and cold champagne.
Ultimately well refreshed, we repaired to a rather good restaurant where we dined upon crab thermidor and fresh sardines amongst other things.
Unfortunately the rest of the evening is a bit of a blur, for once my captainly duties were discharged on return, I collapsed into my bunk only to awake fully clothed the following morning with a hangover from Hades.
The crew (bless 'em) had seen fit to remove my shoes and cover me in a sleeping bag. Mind you, they probably though I kept my banknotes in my shoes and were snaffling them for another run ashore.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Blogging will be light
Something has gone somewhat awry so I shall be offline for a bit.
I will report on my latest venture on the waves, Monday.
have a good weekend.......
Working time directive
Just as well I have opted out, eh?
As I work while I travel - it will exceed 70 hours. Not bad for a 5 day week.
Any wonder I have grown fractious?
As I work while I travel - it will exceed 70 hours. Not bad for a 5 day week.
Any wonder I have grown fractious?
Thursday, September 06, 2007
The last post this week on Aviating, I promise
Harry Hook had this one in his inimitable style - Goat sacrificed to save 757..
The original story is here in metro. Nepal Airways
Apparently the airline has a fairly sanguine approach to flight safety - borne out by the reluctance to clear out the wreckage from a previous crash at the end of the runway - a point recalled by Sigismund - as he pointed it out to his first wife on their honeymoon.
Now I have considered sacrificing many things to the weather gods to get the very best of thermals, but it normally takes the shape of one's own liver the night before (but 8 hours bottle to throttle, tho'...Ed.)
The next time I am spotted by the CFI slurping tea instead of doing my airframe inspection duties, I can claim that I am merely sacrificing the infusion to the gods, to guarantee the safety of my flight.
But - one for the flying club hangar door - for when we have finished packing the hangar (such a chore) - these chaps also celebrate in style.
Quite a barbecue!
Anyway - as a particular friend pointed out in one of her wittier moments 'If flying is Aviating - then is your Sailing 'Marinating'?'
It will be this weekend old girl. I intend to be suitable marinated.
You may recall dear reader that I been invited to hoist my broad pennant aboard the good ship 'Balooga' this weekend and the XO has sent a provisioning list. Clearly chastened by my tales of superior performance from the crew in the Aegean of late they have tried to raise their game.
On the cookery front at least, as well as in the provision of ample wine.
However:
I have a full suite of 'evolutions' prepared to put them through their paces - after all, if the First Mate and I alone can do a tail-end mooring into a crowded pitch with a force 8 cross wind and align first time and no bumps in half the time of a full boat of Italians in Patmos, then they are going to have to cut along and do better than usual.
And not just running the guns in and out either...Sailing off the mooring, night pilotage, tidal trot moorings and a Bermudan anchoring await....while I luxuriate with toasted cheese and some of that capital Madeira in my cabin.
Remember chaps: 'If it ain't raining, it ain't training'.
The original story is here in metro. Nepal Airways
Apparently the airline has a fairly sanguine approach to flight safety - borne out by the reluctance to clear out the wreckage from a previous crash at the end of the runway - a point recalled by Sigismund - as he pointed it out to his first wife on their honeymoon.
Now I have considered sacrificing many things to the weather gods to get the very best of thermals, but it normally takes the shape of one's own liver the night before (but 8 hours bottle to throttle, tho'...Ed.)
The next time I am spotted by the CFI slurping tea instead of doing my airframe inspection duties, I can claim that I am merely sacrificing the infusion to the gods, to guarantee the safety of my flight.
But - one for the flying club hangar door - for when we have finished packing the hangar (such a chore) - these chaps also celebrate in style.
Quite a barbecue!
Anyway - as a particular friend pointed out in one of her wittier moments 'If flying is Aviating - then is your Sailing 'Marinating'?'
It will be this weekend old girl. I intend to be suitable marinated.
You may recall dear reader that I been invited to hoist my broad pennant aboard the good ship 'Balooga' this weekend and the XO has sent a provisioning list. Clearly chastened by my tales of superior performance from the crew in the Aegean of late they have tried to raise their game.
On the cookery front at least, as well as in the provision of ample wine.
However:
I have a full suite of 'evolutions' prepared to put them through their paces - after all, if the First Mate and I alone can do a tail-end mooring into a crowded pitch with a force 8 cross wind and align first time and no bumps in half the time of a full boat of Italians in Patmos, then they are going to have to cut along and do better than usual.
And not just running the guns in and out either...Sailing off the mooring, night pilotage, tidal trot moorings and a Bermudan anchoring await....while I luxuriate with toasted cheese and some of that capital Madeira in my cabin.
Remember chaps: 'If it ain't raining, it ain't training'.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
More Aviating....
Much seems to be going on in the world of Aviaiting this week just passed.
Last week Paul MacCready died. He was an aviation and man-powered flight pioneer - but his name was familiar to this chap because an instrument in the old sopwith glider is named after him.
MacCready was an accomplished glider pilot and had won national competitions in the USA - and it was competitive gliding which led him to study the aeronautical behaviour of a glider in rising and sinking air - he went on to invent an instrument to help him.
The MacCready ring sits around the variometer - a kind of very sensitive rate of climb meter. The vario tells you if you are in air that is rising or falling - and allows you to judge if you are in a thermal or other lift source.
His device is a simple loop around the Vario - configured for each aeroplane and allows you to read off a recommended glide speed if you are in sinking air.
Thus in the aircraft I fly at the moment - 3 knots of sinking air I can instantly see requires an airspeed of 55 knots for best glide.
Simple and effective.
Have a read of his obituary here:
Paul MacCready
Another glider pilot with a record to his name is also in the news - of what we all hope is not the same reason.
Steve Fossett is an accomplished aviator and has a wealth of experience to draw upon.
Here
and Here
What caught my ear was the usual hyperbole from the lazy journalist on the radio - spouting a standard FAA line.
(The FAA is the US equivalent of the CAA - known here as the Campaign Against Aviation.)
'He wasn't wearing a parachute and flew from an unlicensed strip and failed to file a flight plan.'
That ol' chestnut.
Perhaps if the chap doing the reporting had done a bit of digging he would have discovered that in powered aircraft it isn't the norm to wear a parachute at all - except if you are flying distance at night.
He may have also discovered that almost all airstrips are 'unlicensed'.
He should at least have discovered and drawn a correlation between the purpose of his flight and the requirements to actually file a flight plan:
Fossett was seeking out dried lake beds to attempt a land speed record. You file a flight plan to fly in controlled airspace - which is normally many thousands of feet above the ground.
He wouldn't have been looking for long flat places from 5-6000 feet - it all looks pretty similar from up there.
He was probably below radar cover - so his transponder wouldn't traspond anyway - so no excuses there for them to harp on about his instruments.
So - he wouldn't have filed a flight plan, worn a parachute and taking off from an unlicensed strip is normal.
He's an experienced glider pilot - and as with power - you learn rough field landings.
Yet - it makes for better story copy to go on about the things he hasn't done - that you would expect from a civil airliner - and it makes the whole thing sound that little bit more risky.
We get this sort of hyperbole in sailing too.
We have all seen the sort of headlines:
''A man crashed his luxury 30 foot yacht in the Solent yesterday after failing to inform the coastguard of his movements''.
I know of very few 30 foot yachts that are 'luxury', and If you told the coastguard of movements in the Solent, they will tell you to get knotted.
Anyway - good luck Steve - we all hope you are sitting under your wing awaiting rescue.
UPDATE: Seems His 'wrist mounted' EPIRB (GPS distress beacon) is Off - meaning the chances are, He's bought the farm.
It's sad - but like many an Aviator - I'm sure it is the way he would have wanted to go.
Last week Paul MacCready died. He was an aviation and man-powered flight pioneer - but his name was familiar to this chap because an instrument in the old sopwith glider is named after him.
MacCready was an accomplished glider pilot and had won national competitions in the USA - and it was competitive gliding which led him to study the aeronautical behaviour of a glider in rising and sinking air - he went on to invent an instrument to help him.
The MacCready ring sits around the variometer - a kind of very sensitive rate of climb meter. The vario tells you if you are in air that is rising or falling - and allows you to judge if you are in a thermal or other lift source.
His device is a simple loop around the Vario - configured for each aeroplane and allows you to read off a recommended glide speed if you are in sinking air.
Thus in the aircraft I fly at the moment - 3 knots of sinking air I can instantly see requires an airspeed of 55 knots for best glide.
Simple and effective.
Have a read of his obituary here:
Paul MacCready
Another glider pilot with a record to his name is also in the news - of what we all hope is not the same reason.
Steve Fossett is an accomplished aviator and has a wealth of experience to draw upon.
Here
and Here
What caught my ear was the usual hyperbole from the lazy journalist on the radio - spouting a standard FAA line.
(The FAA is the US equivalent of the CAA - known here as the Campaign Against Aviation.)
'He wasn't wearing a parachute and flew from an unlicensed strip and failed to file a flight plan.'
That ol' chestnut.
Perhaps if the chap doing the reporting had done a bit of digging he would have discovered that in powered aircraft it isn't the norm to wear a parachute at all - except if you are flying distance at night.
He may have also discovered that almost all airstrips are 'unlicensed'.
He should at least have discovered and drawn a correlation between the purpose of his flight and the requirements to actually file a flight plan:
Fossett was seeking out dried lake beds to attempt a land speed record. You file a flight plan to fly in controlled airspace - which is normally many thousands of feet above the ground.
He wouldn't have been looking for long flat places from 5-6000 feet - it all looks pretty similar from up there.
He was probably below radar cover - so his transponder wouldn't traspond anyway - so no excuses there for them to harp on about his instruments.
So - he wouldn't have filed a flight plan, worn a parachute and taking off from an unlicensed strip is normal.
He's an experienced glider pilot - and as with power - you learn rough field landings.
Yet - it makes for better story copy to go on about the things he hasn't done - that you would expect from a civil airliner - and it makes the whole thing sound that little bit more risky.
We get this sort of hyperbole in sailing too.
We have all seen the sort of headlines:
''A man crashed his luxury 30 foot yacht in the Solent yesterday after failing to inform the coastguard of his movements''.
I know of very few 30 foot yachts that are 'luxury', and If you told the coastguard of movements in the Solent, they will tell you to get knotted.
Anyway - good luck Steve - we all hope you are sitting under your wing awaiting rescue.
UPDATE: Seems His 'wrist mounted' EPIRB (GPS distress beacon) is Off - meaning the chances are, He's bought the farm.
It's sad - but like many an Aviator - I'm sure it is the way he would have wanted to go.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
'Apres mois le deluge'
Apparently (according to R4) Peter Jackson of 'Bad Taste' and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy is to remake the 'Dambusters'.
It was nice to hear one of the original aircrew from 617 sqn and the appropriate deference from Sir Max Hastings - but one wonders - will we get the same deference shown to the original story?
Admittedly - we have all moaned (as Sir Max did) about how Hollywood as re-won the war and it is probably hoped that being from the Commonwealth he would be sympathetic to many of the details - but the question stands:
With these revisionist times - can we be certain that the details of the world's most famous bomber squadron will have their story told properly - or will it be remodulated for today's audience?
After all, what will they call Wing Commander (VC, DSO + Bar, DFC) Guy Gibson's dog?
It was nice to hear one of the original aircrew from 617 sqn and the appropriate deference from Sir Max Hastings - but one wonders - will we get the same deference shown to the original story?
Admittedly - we have all moaned (as Sir Max did) about how Hollywood as re-won the war and it is probably hoped that being from the Commonwealth he would be sympathetic to many of the details - but the question stands:
With these revisionist times - can we be certain that the details of the world's most famous bomber squadron will have their story told properly - or will it be remodulated for today's audience?
After all, what will they call Wing Commander (VC, DSO + Bar, DFC) Guy Gibson's dog?
Friday, August 31, 2007
Invasion - FRANCE! Part 2
It has not escaped this chap's notice that my blog is approaching it's first anniversary. I notice this not because I care about the slow passage of time on my ever weakening frame - but because I started it when I last visited my 'chap' in Burgundy.
There are a couple of key differences which stand out as a stark contrast between 'then' and 'now'.
For starters neither myself nor my Arch-Conspirator with whom i travel so much to share in the fruits of Bacchus, smoke anymore.
In times past we could connect with our cousins from across the La Manche not in the fact we could communicate - but in the fact we would share a spot of mundungus with the fellows. Normally over ridiculously strong coffee.
A Gauloise alone could secure the temporary camaraderie of a Truck Driver, farmer or (in cases when I have attempted to wheedle my way out of a speeding ticket) a Gendarme.
(I must point out that in France the possession of French cigarettes has one one sole occasion saved me a 10,000 Franc fine - but in Switzerland it was my friend's possession of a camera that saved me from deportation for taking the old Triumph at just under Mach one outside San Moritz)
But we prepare with care.
Flask of coffee - check
Parsnip and Cabbage sandwiches - check (and yes - I know now I shouldn't eat bread)
18 CD version of 'The Thirteen Gun Salute' check
Wet Wipes - check
The key difference this time is as thus.
2004 was an indifferent year. We stocked up on the best we could scrape from the Crus of Beaujolais and the Premier Crus of Beaune.
This year is very different.
I mentioned earlier that 2005 is special.
Very special.
Everything I have read from sources other than the vignerons themselves is that I should sell my unborn for this year. 1944 isn't a patch on it.
Now - I don't buy wine as an investment. I buy it to lay down, commune with and ultimately consume with glad rapture.
This year is special. Not only will i be loading the car to the gunwales, but we shall be making two, possibly three trips.
A vintage like this comes once in a lifetime.
We may yet upgrade from parsnip to smoked salmon. The Patrick O'Brien CD may be upgraded to 'HMS Surprise' as well.
Watch this space.
There are a couple of key differences which stand out as a stark contrast between 'then' and 'now'.
For starters neither myself nor my Arch-Conspirator with whom i travel so much to share in the fruits of Bacchus, smoke anymore.
In times past we could connect with our cousins from across the La Manche not in the fact we could communicate - but in the fact we would share a spot of mundungus with the fellows. Normally over ridiculously strong coffee.
A Gauloise alone could secure the temporary camaraderie of a Truck Driver, farmer or (in cases when I have attempted to wheedle my way out of a speeding ticket) a Gendarme.
(I must point out that in France the possession of French cigarettes has one one sole occasion saved me a 10,000 Franc fine - but in Switzerland it was my friend's possession of a camera that saved me from deportation for taking the old Triumph at just under Mach one outside San Moritz)
But we prepare with care.
Flask of coffee - check
Parsnip and Cabbage sandwiches - check (and yes - I know now I shouldn't eat bread)
18 CD version of 'The Thirteen Gun Salute' check
Wet Wipes - check
The key difference this time is as thus.
2004 was an indifferent year. We stocked up on the best we could scrape from the Crus of Beaujolais and the Premier Crus of Beaune.
This year is very different.
I mentioned earlier that 2005 is special.
Very special.
Everything I have read from sources other than the vignerons themselves is that I should sell my unborn for this year. 1944 isn't a patch on it.
Now - I don't buy wine as an investment. I buy it to lay down, commune with and ultimately consume with glad rapture.
This year is special. Not only will i be loading the car to the gunwales, but we shall be making two, possibly three trips.
A vintage like this comes once in a lifetime.
We may yet upgrade from parsnip to smoked salmon. The Patrick O'Brien CD may be upgraded to 'HMS Surprise' as well.
Watch this space.
Quick! Everyone's looking!
Route to fame:
1. Get name checked on Iain Dale
2. Blow dust off two articles that have been languishing in draft about wine and Boris.
3. Pretend vaguely that you do more than write about your sailing holidays and complain about the RYA.
4. Watch those hits soar. Not.
Chap sticks - where two's company and three's a readership.
1. Get name checked on Iain Dale
2. Blow dust off two articles that have been languishing in draft about wine and Boris.
3. Pretend vaguely that you do more than write about your sailing holidays and complain about the RYA.
4. Watch those hits soar. Not.
Chap sticks - where two's company and three's a readership.
The only reason why I love the EU
A title that would enrage the Devil himself, but my wits are not so discombobulated in laudanum - for I have one very good reason.
Now - I don't buy all their statist laws, the CAP is a joke, their fishery policies have plundered our waters, their socialist federation dreams are a nightmarish reality and their directives display an ever growing evidence that we are slipping into a hell of their making.
No - I have a singular and what I believe the best possible reason to love the EU - or especially - France.
In 10 days I am trundling over to France courtesy of Mr Peninsula and Mr Orient and driving to a little area south of Dijon known locally as La Bourgogne. It has a reputation for decent plonk.
Now personal taste is one thing - and whilst it can be a little inaccessible (and this is likely to stir up a heated debate more than anything else) I believe a decent Burgundy will knock the spots of all but the finest Bordeaux.
In the past Nanny has decreed that we can't bring home too much as we will make ourselves poorly and Gordo won't get all that lovely duty. The revenue men would stop, search and on the merest whim take away one's hard earned vino.
Now one can whine on about limits and the like - but this is the bit I like.
I can move freely into France from this sceptered isle and buy as much decent plonk as I wish, and not a red cent will go to the British Government.
I can bring it back in tranches of 10 cases (I reckon three trips will do it) and still not give anything to Gordo. If I personally have less than 10 cases at a time it is construed by customs to be personal (which, of course, it is).
This is just as well - because (And you heard it here...) 2005 is being heralded as the Best Vintage probably ever.
I shall be selling a kidney to ensure I have enough of this incredible year to enjoy far into my old age. I shall open every bottle safe in the knowledge that not one red cent of my enjoyment is going to the Government here.
It's not as good as free - but free from the clutches of the Whitehall Thieves is the next best thing.
Thank you France.
Now - I don't buy all their statist laws, the CAP is a joke, their fishery policies have plundered our waters, their socialist federation dreams are a nightmarish reality and their directives display an ever growing evidence that we are slipping into a hell of their making.
No - I have a singular and what I believe the best possible reason to love the EU - or especially - France.
In 10 days I am trundling over to France courtesy of Mr Peninsula and Mr Orient and driving to a little area south of Dijon known locally as La Bourgogne. It has a reputation for decent plonk.
Now personal taste is one thing - and whilst it can be a little inaccessible (and this is likely to stir up a heated debate more than anything else) I believe a decent Burgundy will knock the spots of all but the finest Bordeaux.
In the past Nanny has decreed that we can't bring home too much as we will make ourselves poorly and Gordo won't get all that lovely duty. The revenue men would stop, search and on the merest whim take away one's hard earned vino.
Now one can whine on about limits and the like - but this is the bit I like.
I can move freely into France from this sceptered isle and buy as much decent plonk as I wish, and not a red cent will go to the British Government.
I can bring it back in tranches of 10 cases (I reckon three trips will do it) and still not give anything to Gordo. If I personally have less than 10 cases at a time it is construed by customs to be personal (which, of course, it is).
This is just as well - because (And you heard it here...) 2005 is being heralded as the Best Vintage probably ever.
I shall be selling a kidney to ensure I have enough of this incredible year to enjoy far into my old age. I shall open every bottle safe in the knowledge that not one red cent of my enjoyment is going to the Government here.
It's not as good as free - but free from the clutches of the Whitehall Thieves is the next best thing.
Thank you France.
Where's Boris?
With all the goings on over the Brown bounce and Dave either being on the ropes or showing everyone what for on Newsnight - it all seems to have gone terribly quiet over Boris and the Mayoral campaign.
I do have an observation to make about the arch-chap though.
His Telegraph columns are becoming more and more focussed to what could be described as London issues: transport, street disorder and bike theft and the like.
Is this just me - or has his column become his platform - or was it always thus?
In which case - most of us who read you Boris already would vote for you - you need another outlet!
I do have an observation to make about the arch-chap though.
His Telegraph columns are becoming more and more focussed to what could be described as London issues: transport, street disorder and bike theft and the like.
Is this just me - or has his column become his platform - or was it always thus?
In which case - most of us who read you Boris already would vote for you - you need another outlet!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
The Aegean Mission Part III
Nisos Kos to Nisos Plati, 12 miles.
I have chosen to gloss over the first day at sea.
It is traditional for a few minor items to go awry and it would be ungallant of me to dwell to much on the minor items. Suffice to say First Mate and I had some opportunity to practice turning in a seaway and collecting items.
With the boat hook.
It is worth mentioning the first night however - for tired as we were, I was particularly pleased with the results.
I have commented previously that some of our Med-based cousins effect their anchoring with much in the way of shouting, hullooing and use of mobile telephones - both First Mate and I - and quite rightly - reflect upon their behaviour and wrinkled our collective noses at such nonsense.
We are British, sons of the waves and as such better than these johnnies - for it is by our standards that one judges 'a high notion of seamanship'.
With this burden of responsibility weighing upon us, we hove into view of our first proper anchorage.
'Nisos Plati, Good holding weed and sand, anchor in 5-10 metres' says Dear Roderick.
There was in residence already a large Gin Palace, in the middle distance a large 50' in Italian colours, some other yachts including a Frenchman plus a bum-boat at the small church quay in the bay. A few goats for company ashore.
As any yachtsman will tell you anchoring or mooring is stressful not necessarily because they are difficult to achieve, but because everyone is watching and judging you.
We had better get it right first time for an audience was there - gins in hand, binoculars trained ready to suck teeth and shake heads at the slightest slip.
One boon - as is typical for the waters in this part - they are spirit clear and we could easily survey the bottom and pick a suitable patch of sand to lay our ground tackle.
We idled the boat in at half a knot with First Mate peering over the pullpit for just the right patch. She chose well, for on her call I knocked us gently astern while she lay down the cable - putting a third of it down.
The cable laid out and astern we chugged until we jerked nose down satisfactorily and swung gently either side of the cable.
We both held our breath. Slowly, the boat took the tension on the chain and we eased up to wind. Unconsciously we both selected different transits ashore and watched for dragging.
We had not only bitten cleanly, but bitten first time. A third of our 60 metre chain and a clean bite in 7 meters.
Text book.
The First mate had clearly been hiding her skills under a bushel. Clean anchoring and using transits no less.
A swim down afterwards revealed an image straight out of the RYA Dayskipper book - anchor cleanly in the sand, with a clean catenary of chain.
Not only were we able to feel smug about our skills - but it augured well for the week - for ahead lay the sternest test yet - Patmos!
Patmos - a complex entrance, narrow moorings in front of jeering crowds, contrary winds and a part of the Aegean where the Meltemi blows it's hardest. To top it all, the glass was dropping slowly - it was going to come on to blow.
But tonight we could rest easy, for soon we had gins in our hands and the entertainment of an American catamaran attempting that which we had achieved - but oh so gratifyingly -with somewhat less success....... and a free light show from the perseids to boot.
Next Installment: Episode IV - A lesson in The Weather Gauge and our second brush with the Kriegsmarine.
I have chosen to gloss over the first day at sea.
It is traditional for a few minor items to go awry and it would be ungallant of me to dwell to much on the minor items. Suffice to say First Mate and I had some opportunity to practice turning in a seaway and collecting items.
With the boat hook.
It is worth mentioning the first night however - for tired as we were, I was particularly pleased with the results.
I have commented previously that some of our Med-based cousins effect their anchoring with much in the way of shouting, hullooing and use of mobile telephones - both First Mate and I - and quite rightly - reflect upon their behaviour and wrinkled our collective noses at such nonsense.
We are British, sons of the waves and as such better than these johnnies - for it is by our standards that one judges 'a high notion of seamanship'.
With this burden of responsibility weighing upon us, we hove into view of our first proper anchorage.
'Nisos Plati, Good holding weed and sand, anchor in 5-10 metres' says Dear Roderick.
There was in residence already a large Gin Palace, in the middle distance a large 50' in Italian colours, some other yachts including a Frenchman plus a bum-boat at the small church quay in the bay. A few goats for company ashore.
As any yachtsman will tell you anchoring or mooring is stressful not necessarily because they are difficult to achieve, but because everyone is watching and judging you.
We had better get it right first time for an audience was there - gins in hand, binoculars trained ready to suck teeth and shake heads at the slightest slip.
One boon - as is typical for the waters in this part - they are spirit clear and we could easily survey the bottom and pick a suitable patch of sand to lay our ground tackle.
We idled the boat in at half a knot with First Mate peering over the pullpit for just the right patch. She chose well, for on her call I knocked us gently astern while she lay down the cable - putting a third of it down.
The cable laid out and astern we chugged until we jerked nose down satisfactorily and swung gently either side of the cable.
We both held our breath. Slowly, the boat took the tension on the chain and we eased up to wind. Unconsciously we both selected different transits ashore and watched for dragging.
We had not only bitten cleanly, but bitten first time. A third of our 60 metre chain and a clean bite in 7 meters.
Text book.
The First mate had clearly been hiding her skills under a bushel. Clean anchoring and using transits no less.
A swim down afterwards revealed an image straight out of the RYA Dayskipper book - anchor cleanly in the sand, with a clean catenary of chain.
Not only were we able to feel smug about our skills - but it augured well for the week - for ahead lay the sternest test yet - Patmos!
Patmos - a complex entrance, narrow moorings in front of jeering crowds, contrary winds and a part of the Aegean where the Meltemi blows it's hardest. To top it all, the glass was dropping slowly - it was going to come on to blow.
But tonight we could rest easy, for soon we had gins in our hands and the entertainment of an American catamaran attempting that which we had achieved - but oh so gratifyingly -with somewhat less success....... and a free light show from the perseids to boot.
Next Installment: Episode IV - A lesson in The Weather Gauge and our second brush with the Kriegsmarine.
New entry for next year's bounders contest
This fellow would have done well at this year's Chap Olympics - especially the bit about crashing through the enclosure and leading her and three others off into the jungle.
Jumbo Romance
Thanks to Kate for the link!
Jumbo Romance
Thanks to Kate for the link!
Gosh, is that a spreadsheet you're using, or are you pleased to see me?
I have often wondered what we used to do before the Internet or E-Mail when we wanted to look like we were working. (My first office job involved memos, telexes, carbon paper and the like)
There is also a whole generation for whom a Kalamazoo ledger, NCR paper and trimphone are complete mysteries…but I digress.
I also recall that we all used to trog out at lunchtime to Travel Agents and the like - a task we all delight in nowadays thanks to the Internet, as it is a) accessible from our desks and b) we can look like we are working at the same time.
I raised this matter with someone over email today - pondering that we all like playing travel agents nowadays - whiling away those quite moments - so what do Travel Agents do when they are pretending to work?
There is also a whole generation for whom a Kalamazoo ledger, NCR paper and trimphone are complete mysteries…but I digress.
I also recall that we all used to trog out at lunchtime to Travel Agents and the like - a task we all delight in nowadays thanks to the Internet, as it is a) accessible from our desks and b) we can look like we are working at the same time.
I raised this matter with someone over email today - pondering that we all like playing travel agents nowadays - whiling away those quite moments - so what do Travel Agents do when they are pretending to work?
She rather wittily replied that 'They pretend to do stuff in Excel Spreadsheets- for the Glamour'.
If you combine that with the High Octane world of PowerPoint and the Dangers of MS Project - I clearly lead the life of some international playboy.
Well - compared to your local branch of 'Tommy C' anyway.
Witty quote: copyright bagelmouse 2007
Cracking Headline!
More light blogging today, despite the fact I'm in T'North and in my fave hotel.
I did see This though!
I did see This though!
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
All quiet on the Western Front
I have more things to come on the Aegean Mission, but the swine who pay me to run on the wheel a demanding more amperes.
The next post is particularly long and is terribly complimentary....so I need a bit of a run up at it.
UPDATE: This is my second century post....forgot to mention, but not that I'm going for quanitity over quality.
The next post is particularly long and is terribly complimentary....so I need a bit of a run up at it.
UPDATE: This is my second century post....forgot to mention, but not that I'm going for quanitity over quality.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Can you eat Seagull?
We we languishing in the dunes on Sunday contemplating our current situation. Barbecue number two lit, second bottle of rosé cracked and we (or rather I was) speculating on the meteorological situation unfolding above us.
Clouds were forming over a sea breeze front which was developing over us. We had watched some birds merrily thermalling in the distance whilst I bored the company with the shape of the thermal and how the said birds found the best lift. We watched them gain height, then swing over to the dunes to carry out a patrol along the shoreline.
I may have pointed out that sailing and gliding makes you the very worst form of weather-wonk.
The birds were using the ridge lift over the dunes to maintain effortless flight - allowing them to soar along the ridge and scan the various beach users for scraps.
They were Herring Gulls.
Great soarers are Herring Gulls, if a little sarcastic. They spot you joining a thermal with them, and fly off leaving only your seat of your pants and your instruments to find the core of the thermal. Other birds are more gracious with nature's free flight, and will happily share with you. (More on this to come)
However, we clocked the Herring Gulls on their patrol and the inevitable conversation cropped up: Are they edible?
There have been many articles in the Yachtie press as to the suitability of the Gull as a source of dinner.
We concluded - after much discussion - that whilst theoretically you could one should ask if one should?
Pelagic or littoral Gulls would have dined on nature's bounteous table - and whilst fishy in flavour should be wholesome. Gulls that dine ashore - in our landfills and our bins along busier beaches or marinas should almost certainly be avoided. Apparently they taste somewhat like Crows do: bitter and stringy.
None would certainly be suitable for barbecuing - but possibly for slow cooking.
Seagull Stew.
Delightful.
We would have to be very desperate, or very drunk to consider such a meal.
Even my chum who sailed the Pacific did not stoop to such horrors - despite the fact he confessed to consuming three sacks of onions during his crossing from the Galapagos to the Marquesas.
Anyway.
I have been doing my Jonathan Livingstone bit today.
An hour's soaring in 4 knot thermals. Utterly delightful day, even if they were breaking up before cloud base at 3800 feet.
Aviation has moments of terror, muck-sweat hard work and very occasionally moments of totally sublime beauty.
I joined my first thermal at 900 feet from the winch over the local village - the instability kicked off by a combine harvester.
Twenty yards in front of me there was a Red Kite.
He was circling in the core of the lift - so I had only to follow him to sit in the core of the lift. From my position I could see his feathers curling around the wind as he moved his head and flew in a relaxed circle. I trimmed the aeroplane to as slow a speed as I could and held station behind him as best as I could, at least trying to stay below him. At one point he was above my canopy from around ten or fifteen feet.
I followed him to about 2500 feet, when another glider barged in and came up behind me.
Two gliders were clearly to crowded for him, and he peeled off. I held the thermal to 3800 feet, and had another two climbs off the source later - but my day was complete. I have never been this close to a bird when solo - and it was a magical experience. Akin to sailing with Whales.
Not many of us get a chance to actually fly with the birds - I am privileged indeed.
Clouds were forming over a sea breeze front which was developing over us. We had watched some birds merrily thermalling in the distance whilst I bored the company with the shape of the thermal and how the said birds found the best lift. We watched them gain height, then swing over to the dunes to carry out a patrol along the shoreline.
I may have pointed out that sailing and gliding makes you the very worst form of weather-wonk.
The birds were using the ridge lift over the dunes to maintain effortless flight - allowing them to soar along the ridge and scan the various beach users for scraps.
They were Herring Gulls.
Great soarers are Herring Gulls, if a little sarcastic. They spot you joining a thermal with them, and fly off leaving only your seat of your pants and your instruments to find the core of the thermal. Other birds are more gracious with nature's free flight, and will happily share with you. (More on this to come)
However, we clocked the Herring Gulls on their patrol and the inevitable conversation cropped up: Are they edible?
There have been many articles in the Yachtie press as to the suitability of the Gull as a source of dinner.
We concluded - after much discussion - that whilst theoretically you could one should ask if one should?
Pelagic or littoral Gulls would have dined on nature's bounteous table - and whilst fishy in flavour should be wholesome. Gulls that dine ashore - in our landfills and our bins along busier beaches or marinas should almost certainly be avoided. Apparently they taste somewhat like Crows do: bitter and stringy.
None would certainly be suitable for barbecuing - but possibly for slow cooking.
Seagull Stew.
Delightful.
We would have to be very desperate, or very drunk to consider such a meal.
Even my chum who sailed the Pacific did not stoop to such horrors - despite the fact he confessed to consuming three sacks of onions during his crossing from the Galapagos to the Marquesas.
Anyway.
I have been doing my Jonathan Livingstone bit today.
An hour's soaring in 4 knot thermals. Utterly delightful day, even if they were breaking up before cloud base at 3800 feet.
Aviation has moments of terror, muck-sweat hard work and very occasionally moments of totally sublime beauty.
I joined my first thermal at 900 feet from the winch over the local village - the instability kicked off by a combine harvester.
Twenty yards in front of me there was a Red Kite.
He was circling in the core of the lift - so I had only to follow him to sit in the core of the lift. From my position I could see his feathers curling around the wind as he moved his head and flew in a relaxed circle. I trimmed the aeroplane to as slow a speed as I could and held station behind him as best as I could, at least trying to stay below him. At one point he was above my canopy from around ten or fifteen feet.
I followed him to about 2500 feet, when another glider barged in and came up behind me.
Two gliders were clearly to crowded for him, and he peeled off. I held the thermal to 3800 feet, and had another two climbs off the source later - but my day was complete. I have never been this close to a bird when solo - and it was a magical experience. Akin to sailing with Whales.
Not many of us get a chance to actually fly with the birds - I am privileged indeed.
UPDATE:
Article in the Times thanks Kate!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Just call me 'Jonathan'
Well, this chap's sun dappled temple veins have throbbed their last for this week, as one slowly spools down from a furious week hamstering at the wheel.
What awaits this 'sunny' bank holiday?
Well other than spending Saturday acting like a superannuated Ravy Davy Gravy while I sweat out my latest mid-life crisis to the strains of Hernan Cattanéo (He is rather good, mind you) - I shall be luxuriating on a British beach (not the deck of a yacht) while compatriots spoon feed me Rioja and under done sausages
But the bank holiday itself?
I have Important Work on Monday.
Yes - I shall spend the day being a better seagull.
No breakfast flock mayhem for me, oh no.
Nothing quite like pseudo drippy-hippy 1960's mysticism wrapped up as an excuse to play withtoys aeroplanes.
What awaits this 'sunny' bank holiday?
Well other than spending Saturday acting like a superannuated Ravy Davy Gravy while I sweat out my latest mid-life crisis to the strains of Hernan Cattanéo (He is rather good, mind you) - I shall be luxuriating on a British beach (not the deck of a yacht) while compatriots spoon feed me Rioja and under done sausages
But the bank holiday itself?
I have Important Work on Monday.
Yes - I shall spend the day being a better seagull.
No breakfast flock mayhem for me, oh no.
Nothing quite like pseudo drippy-hippy 1960's mysticism wrapped up as an excuse to play with
Velvet Brocade Bordello Pants
To the Gentleman or lady who googled ''Bordello Pants' and so came unto my site:
Welcome, you are among friends - even though I strongly suspect I know you already.
Mine's an Earl Grey with a snifter of Gin, please.
Welcome, you are among friends - even though I strongly suspect I know you already.
Mine's an Earl Grey with a snifter of Gin, please.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
The Aegean Mission Part II (a)
An observer's guide to Yacht hiring in the Dodecanese - how to spot nationalities…...
No 2. French Yachtsman
Lone elderly man made of tan shoe leather.
Load no food other than sea-weed, but flagons of rot gut wine on the foredeck.
Sails carry no reefing points, as the lines tangle around the solar panels.
Anchor with the minimum amount of chain, lays ground tackle with a shrug
Never moor stern to, instead anchor in the roads to glare at other boats
What etiquette?
No 3. Italian Yachtsman
18 people on board in speedoes and bikinis, all talking on their mobile phones.
Spend two hours arguing in the supermarkets with ten trolleys of food and then clear out the shop of retsina, while talking on their mobile phones.
Sail massively over pressed at all times with entire deck talking on their mobile phones.
Deposit sixty metres of chain in 5 metres of water, then swing wildly, over everyone else's anchors, while talking on their mobile phones.
Moor stern-to in a place too small for a mirror dinghy at full astern, involving the entire crew arguing over how it should be done. Repeated three times - with mobile phone breaks.
No flag etiquette.
Time in harbour spent hiring scooters and talking on their mobile phones.
No 1. British Yachtsman
Normally a couple or two couples, with loads of sunblock.
Under provision on food, over provision on beer.
Tend to sail a little over reefed.
Give plenty of swing room in anchorages and lays ground tackle with care.
Approaches stern-to moorings with discretion, care and at a walking pace and deploys lines with accuracy.
Observes inshore etiquette to the letter, including lowering of colours at sunset.
No 2. French Yachtsman
Lone elderly man made of tan shoe leather.
Load no food other than sea-weed, but flagons of rot gut wine on the foredeck.
Sails carry no reefing points, as the lines tangle around the solar panels.
Anchor with the minimum amount of chain, lays ground tackle with a shrug
Never moor stern to, instead anchor in the roads to glare at other boats
What etiquette?
No 3. Italian Yachtsman
18 people on board in speedoes and bikinis, all talking on their mobile phones.
Spend two hours arguing in the supermarkets with ten trolleys of food and then clear out the shop of retsina, while talking on their mobile phones.
Sail massively over pressed at all times with entire deck talking on their mobile phones.
Deposit sixty metres of chain in 5 metres of water, then swing wildly, over everyone else's anchors, while talking on their mobile phones.
Moor stern-to in a place too small for a mirror dinghy at full astern, involving the entire crew arguing over how it should be done. Repeated three times - with mobile phone breaks.
No flag etiquette.
Time in harbour spent hiring scooters and talking on their mobile phones.
Sausage Savagery in Salford
Pork snack anarchy hits Britain's streets!
Nice to know the CPS has nothing better today in the glorious peaceful streets of our green and pleasant land!
Nice to know the CPS has nothing better today in the glorious peaceful streets of our green and pleasant land!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Aegean Mission part II
I never lose the sense of anticipatory romance from arriving at an airport in the dead of a scorched night and having to walk across fuel spattered tarmac.
Jetways are great, but you get a sense of the real achievement of the engineering you have encountered when you descend the steps and glance back to giant turbines, red strobes and hard hatted erks scurrying around the belly of the beast in which you flew.
It connects you with the reality of it - and as an aviator one's self, you feel the connection between yourself (who is used to wire controls and propellers) and the chap perched 50 feet above you in a white shirt with a clipboard in his cockpit.
In someways it helps for those who fly not well to have the experience sanitised. Jetways and soft lighting removes one far from the harsh reality of flaps, ailerons and landing gear.
Sanitisation, though is vital when one is to be whisked away from chav-city-luggage handling to one's Yacht.
It is far better to be carried off far from the madding chavs in their charter airline finery, then to cope with public transport at 4 am in a foreign clime.
And thus we found ourselves in the back of a car that awaited our arrival.
Cheeky chappy cabby he was, having had Bill Clinton, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston in the back of his cab.
Yachtie heaven was a short slink away. The First Mate and I grinned with anticipation while the strange banter wafted over our heads.
Jetways are great, but you get a sense of the real achievement of the engineering you have encountered when you descend the steps and glance back to giant turbines, red strobes and hard hatted erks scurrying around the belly of the beast in which you flew.
It connects you with the reality of it - and as an aviator one's self, you feel the connection between yourself (who is used to wire controls and propellers) and the chap perched 50 feet above you in a white shirt with a clipboard in his cockpit.
In someways it helps for those who fly not well to have the experience sanitised. Jetways and soft lighting removes one far from the harsh reality of flaps, ailerons and landing gear.
Sanitisation, though is vital when one is to be whisked away from chav-city-luggage handling to one's Yacht.
It is far better to be carried off far from the madding chavs in their charter airline finery, then to cope with public transport at 4 am in a foreign clime.
And thus we found ourselves in the back of a car that awaited our arrival.
Cheeky chappy cabby he was, having had Bill Clinton, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston in the back of his cab.
Yachtie heaven was a short slink away. The First Mate and I grinned with anticipation while the strange banter wafted over our heads.
And so to SY Athena.
My First Mate has clearly be brought up with noble austerity, for she was suitable impressed by the yacht. I found her a little on the small side (Last time I was here, I rented a Dreadnought) and listing to starboard - but the Cream Leather sofas, cooling fans and Ice box worked their magic and soon we were established aboard.
One needs no reminding at this juncture, that a boat grows a foot shorter everyday.
The first day is always handover. The Boat chap (In this case an ex-KriegsMarine Petty Officer) comes along and runs through the controls with us, indicates the location of various items of kit aboard, goes over the sailing ropes and ticks off an inventory.
We met shook hands firmly and we exchanged knowing looks.
'Where do you sail Herr D--?'
'English Channel, old boy.'
'Ach, you know they say there is no seamanship East of Gibraltar!'
'Indeed, one must watch out for rogue Italians!'
'Jah! We understand each other!'
The check out took five minutes. Being a nautical cove, he clearly saw the cut of my jib and that of the studious first mate and reckoned we were right seamen. (In the non-gender specific sense of the word)
Now - a quick reflection - when one hires a boat in the UK, the owner comes aboard and counts the teaspoons. One gets charged for every chip, scratch and scuff on the plates.
In Greece they understand the commercial realities, and treat one with some respect. In other words, he didn't count the teaspoons, which considering his Teutonic nature was rather gratifying. When one has handed over the thick end of a thousand Euros in cash, a ten cent spoon or fifty cent wine glass does not break the bank.
Like the UK, Greece has a glut of charter boats. The difference is, in Greece, they treat me as a customer who has chosen their business. In the UK, one gets treated as a nuisance who should be punished for the smallest transgression of cutlery.
Renting a boat in blighty is somewhat akin to taking rooms off one of those sorts of 'landladies' who seemed to exist in the 1950s. They come along afterwards and check the pillows for stains. There may be more boats than crew in the Solent, but while they are largely run as tax sinks to escape Gordo's thievery, we will scant see the likes of service I enjoy from my chums in Greece.
It is afterall cheaper to fly to Greece and hire a boat for week than it is to do it from Scotland.
PS: I have a photo of the barky, but she's going to require upload and editing.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Been busy today, but:
There was a bit on the Radio this morning about the Gdansk shipyards facing large cuts because of EU competition regulations - on the grounds of their massive state subsidy.
Story Here
I'm not bleating a position either way on this, but it would be ironic that the birthplace of the Solidarity movement which heralded the lifting of the freedom of association restrictions in Poland - heralding the decay of Communism there - would fall foul of another Superstate.....
Or that it only survived the fall of the wall with massive state aid......
In other news....the Beeb has yet again leapt to the aid of Gordo by publicising some data errors in a Conservative Briefing. One wonders why they didn't castigate Patsy (remember her...?) when she pumped money into marginal constituencies, or is there any in depth investigation as to who appointed all the denying chief execs - and just what Millbank's hold on them is.
To be honest when faced with shaming their lords and masters, they will all close ranks, won't they.
Hat tip to Kate for the source for the second one.
Story Here
I'm not bleating a position either way on this, but it would be ironic that the birthplace of the Solidarity movement which heralded the lifting of the freedom of association restrictions in Poland - heralding the decay of Communism there - would fall foul of another Superstate.....
Or that it only survived the fall of the wall with massive state aid......
In other news....the Beeb has yet again leapt to the aid of Gordo by publicising some data errors in a Conservative Briefing. One wonders why they didn't castigate Patsy (remember her...?) when she pumped money into marginal constituencies, or is there any in depth investigation as to who appointed all the denying chief execs - and just what Millbank's hold on them is.
To be honest when faced with shaming their lords and masters, they will all close ranks, won't they.
Hat tip to Kate for the source for the second one.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Aegean Mission - Part I
Every Journey, they say begins with the first step.
Ours was a faltering, drunken and yet dignified saunter to the Gate.
I took the liberty prior to starting the trip to ensure that the journey was to be as comfortable as possible. To that end I had procured access to the Business Lounge in Gatwick.
'Why bother?' I hear you ask.....
Well - we could only acquire flights on a charter airline.
This meant we were to be delayed by about three hours.
Therefore - what better to soothe away the ills of public transport than an unlimited free bar, with pretzels.
I calculated we spent the cost of the facility in mixers alone before we had completed the first hour's delay.
Value for money was achieved when they had to change the gin bottle.
It is a shame that they no longer call you for flights at Gatwick anymore. There is a certain something to reclining heavily imbided in nectar awaiting your name to be read out along with words like:
'Final Call' or,
'Your flight is waiting'.
More to follow soon.....
As Emma Hamilton said: 'Could it Possibly be...?'
Yes, I am returnéd.
A week of ploughing the sea, contemplating the wonders of the deeps, escaping the mighty Kraken and quietly pickling myself in only the very finest crown-capped retsina.
As my wits over the many years have been roundly addled by years of pharmaceutical and alcoholic abuse, I have kept a log, a journal as it were - not only of the matters maritime as one should - but also of the thoughts and observations of the environ and the crew.
They make for revealing reading as to the character of the trip.
Circumspection means that they are currently in for editing - for in their raw un-distilled and un-matured state they make for a heady brew of high adventure and even higher living - and some of the topics in their pure form may be too strong a liquor for my readership. (And I dare not risk the wrath of the First Mate who has a far better memory and who has kept an alternative, lest my delusions of grandeur soar too high).
I will publish installments as the week wears on - and I get the hamster wheel back up to speed.
In the mean time - I now have skin of the appearance of old shoe leather and everything tastes vaguely of pine disinfectant - or is it retsina...?
I may even hazard a peek at the news and general current affairs - but I fear it is as a disgusting a sight to any sea-farer as the one that beheld me on Saturday - that of the yacht I had sailed for a week being equipped with an American flag on the port crosstree the very moment I hauled down my colours. (Well-wishers will be pleased to know that their eye was truly wiped when they sought my counsel on the appropriate application of chain as an anchor warp in Aegean waters! Even my First mate was moved to join in the discourse - and she is most taciturn under such circumstances.)
But anyway - I am back. Tales of derring-do, drinking and debauchery abound.
A week of ploughing the sea, contemplating the wonders of the deeps, escaping the mighty Kraken and quietly pickling myself in only the very finest crown-capped retsina.
As my wits over the many years have been roundly addled by years of pharmaceutical and alcoholic abuse, I have kept a log, a journal as it were - not only of the matters maritime as one should - but also of the thoughts and observations of the environ and the crew.
They make for revealing reading as to the character of the trip.
Circumspection means that they are currently in for editing - for in their raw un-distilled and un-matured state they make for a heady brew of high adventure and even higher living - and some of the topics in their pure form may be too strong a liquor for my readership. (And I dare not risk the wrath of the First Mate who has a far better memory and who has kept an alternative, lest my delusions of grandeur soar too high).
I will publish installments as the week wears on - and I get the hamster wheel back up to speed.
In the mean time - I now have skin of the appearance of old shoe leather and everything tastes vaguely of pine disinfectant - or is it retsina...?
I may even hazard a peek at the news and general current affairs - but I fear it is as a disgusting a sight to any sea-farer as the one that beheld me on Saturday - that of the yacht I had sailed for a week being equipped with an American flag on the port crosstree the very moment I hauled down my colours. (Well-wishers will be pleased to know that their eye was truly wiped when they sought my counsel on the appropriate application of chain as an anchor warp in Aegean waters! Even my First mate was moved to join in the discourse - and she is most taciturn under such circumstances.)
But anyway - I am back. Tales of derring-do, drinking and debauchery abound.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Offline for a week
The Beloved and I are off the the Med being nautical for a week..
Hopefully she won't kill me and throw my body overboard.
Feel free to amuse yourselves!
Hopefully she won't kill me and throw my body overboard.
Feel free to amuse yourselves!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Rum, Sodomy and the Lash
My time of late is precious and I have little of it to spend afloat, what with my Aviating commitments. I have not even been able to lurk the tents and steal egregiously from the barbecue at the Corrie at the Pimms-fest that Cowes has become..(Fowey week - much nicer)
This has caused grief among the Regular Crew.
'Oh Captain, you are leaving us!' cries one of my lesser spotted and rarer crew members. (Dulux, as it happens - why is she called Dulux? You know that dog in the paint adverts....?)
Even more remarkable was Scotty the Engineer promising me the earth:
'We will all line up and salute you, and wear matching uniforms with the boat name on them for you! And call you Captain all the time...'
Gloria Stitts even weighed into the debate:
'Oh will you hoist your pennant on our boat?'
How can I refuse such offers?
My message to you all is: Fear not, most loyal, desperate and misguided crew - we shall cruise the waters of the chops of the channel and harry the enemy shipping again - and I shall hoist my pennant aboard.
My fee - the usual. First go in the barrel and a double ration of salt horse.
This has caused grief among the Regular Crew.
'Oh Captain, you are leaving us!' cries one of my lesser spotted and rarer crew members. (Dulux, as it happens - why is she called Dulux? You know that dog in the paint adverts....?)
Even more remarkable was Scotty the Engineer promising me the earth:
'We will all line up and salute you, and wear matching uniforms with the boat name on them for you! And call you Captain all the time...'
Gloria Stitts even weighed into the debate:
'Oh will you hoist your pennant on our boat?'
How can I refuse such offers?
My message to you all is: Fear not, most loyal, desperate and misguided crew - we shall cruise the waters of the chops of the channel and harry the enemy shipping again - and I shall hoist my pennant aboard.
My fee - the usual. First go in the barrel and a double ration of salt horse.
Assistant Heads wiper fourth class reporting for duty, sah!
Non Chappy serious point
This cartoon from today's only half decent newspaper kinda sums up my view of this current shower running the show.
Risk your life for this bunch of failed social workers and poisonous trade unionists? Don't expect anything back. But attach yourself to a cause celebre of the left wing media? Expect plaudits and laurels.
Livingstone will probably have a parade for them.
UPDATE: Add homeowners to the list.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Tis to glory we steer!
I am delighted to report that the Beloved has seized her duties as First Mate on my Aegean mission with both hands. She has been poring over the Greek Waters Pilot with vim, vigour and verisimiltude.
However, she has taken over the packing of the medical chest.
Her exposure to the Good Books are limited - a cursory flick through M+C being the best she has managed so far.
Therefore my demands for Coca Leaves, 200 pints of Laudanum, Steel Bark, Blue Pill, Slime Draft, Portable Soup and a Trephine Saw have been met so far with at best her Gimlet Stare, and at worst The Steely Silence (Chills the blood like a banshee's howl, dontchyerknow.)
Even more worrying were the things suggested for 'My Own Good.' Gone was the Rhubarb cure, replaced with things like Immodium. (I mean - if I get liverish, is it not the Captain's duty to sweat and strain on his seat of ease?)
Sunblock? I mean, what on earth am I to do with SP30?
How am I to maintain my raffish weathered looks if I apply sun cream? At best Castrol GTX, at worst Zinc Oxide.
Still, revenge shall be mine when I superglue Uffa Fox into the boat CD player.
In parallel to this, She has been arranging her return of the cultural exchange by a trip to the English Lakes.I have been reviewing her notes on this and I am already planning the most nonchalent set of cufflinks to be seen in 'O'er Dale'.
Despite all the activities she has prescribed seeming rather healthy and chappy, it does give the impression of being dangerously close to requiring that modern evil 'Gore-Tex'.
Tradition when faced with this would be to take her to the local steeple and demand that I am shown the real 'North Face'.
I do have one reservation: we seem to be accompanied by a northern sounding cove called Wainwright.
I am disturbed as she is claiming that we will be 'doing some of him' - a reference I sincerely hope is not some gruesome troilistic ritual.
However, she has taken over the packing of the medical chest.
Her exposure to the Good Books are limited - a cursory flick through M+C being the best she has managed so far.
Therefore my demands for Coca Leaves, 200 pints of Laudanum, Steel Bark, Blue Pill, Slime Draft, Portable Soup and a Trephine Saw have been met so far with at best her Gimlet Stare, and at worst The Steely Silence (Chills the blood like a banshee's howl, dontchyerknow.)
Even more worrying were the things suggested for 'My Own Good.' Gone was the Rhubarb cure, replaced with things like Immodium. (I mean - if I get liverish, is it not the Captain's duty to sweat and strain on his seat of ease?)
Sunblock? I mean, what on earth am I to do with SP30?
How am I to maintain my raffish weathered looks if I apply sun cream? At best Castrol GTX, at worst Zinc Oxide.
Still, revenge shall be mine when I superglue Uffa Fox into the boat CD player.
In parallel to this, She has been arranging her return of the cultural exchange by a trip to the English Lakes.I have been reviewing her notes on this and I am already planning the most nonchalent set of cufflinks to be seen in 'O'er Dale'.
Despite all the activities she has prescribed seeming rather healthy and chappy, it does give the impression of being dangerously close to requiring that modern evil 'Gore-Tex'.
Tradition when faced with this would be to take her to the local steeple and demand that I am shown the real 'North Face'.
I do have one reservation: we seem to be accompanied by a northern sounding cove called Wainwright.
I am disturbed as she is claiming that we will be 'doing some of him' - a reference I sincerely hope is not some gruesome troilistic ritual.
My First Officer, at Nautical school.Just say No..to PBO
I will not be converting to Practical Boat Owner.
It is the Yachting equivalent of 'World of Shed'.
It is the Yachting equivalent of 'World of Shed'.
Monday, August 06, 2007
I need a Holiday
Blogging has been both light and of a slightly less Chappish quality of late. I put this down to the fact that the hamster wheel is threatening to come of it's runners (a source of consternation) and that I am in need of a vacation.
From this weekend I am off to the Greek Islands with the Long Suffering Beloved in tow. She has gracefully accepted the role as First Mate and Chief Muse for a whole week.
I shall either return refreshed and with tales of derring do - or she will have mutinied on day two, and my remains will be washed up on the shores of the Levant in a number of months.
If you don't hear from me in two weeks, you will know it is the latter.
From this weekend I am off to the Greek Islands with the Long Suffering Beloved in tow. She has gracefully accepted the role as First Mate and Chief Muse for a whole week.
I shall either return refreshed and with tales of derring do - or she will have mutinied on day two, and my remains will be washed up on the shores of the Levant in a number of months.
If you don't hear from me in two weeks, you will know it is the latter.
Sailing Rant 2
My little heart used to skip with joy when I received my Yachtie-Porn (Yachting Monthly).
I used to pore over it with glad rapture when it came through the post and I used to disappear into the heads at home and serve my IBS as I read it from cover to cover.
But nowadays it has gone downhill .
5 pages of news - but nothing new......(even the article on Drinking and Sailing seemed strangely familiar)
3 Columns from the usual columnists - Libby Purves turning hers into the Sailing equivalent of watch with Mother, (though in this case half the article is about a box of fog, and doesn't seem terribly original...but her closing argument, I buy)
Nigel Calder on about sea-sickness remedies (which Libby wrote about two months ago) and Tom Cunliffe about why he is brilliant. (No change there, then)
3 pages on Dinghy explorations - Swallows and Amazons revisited.
A couple of articles on long distance cruising....vaguely readable ('No shit, there we were, thought we were gonna die'... or 'Oh The Majesty of what I have beheld')
1 article on cutter rigs with a scant 6 columns of copy....little about the dynamics or what it would do to your insurance.
The requisite article from Rod Heikel
2 boat reviews - which are slightly too toadyish to the manufacturers
A couple of bog standard reviews (Which lifejacket/flares/compass/bucket..)
The sailing skills is a rehash of the same articles they always publish.
The reviews are no different to any article you get in any geek-mag from Running shoes weekly or Lightbulbs monthly. (Fluorescent tubes - we try the best!)
The rest? Page after page of standard chandlery adverts, with a couple of pages at the back on Classifieds, which we all read online anyway.
There is more to this noble sport than this. We all rant to each other about the best restaurants in this Haven or that, the gouging of marina fees, the scant regard for hygiene that anyone who has used the showers at Cowes Yacht Haven will have suffered or the threat to red diesel.
We postulate on training techniques, which school is good, etc.
We fulminate at the standards of seamanship exhibited in harbour and on the water.
We then Shudder at the water quality on the Medina.
We complain about the quality of beer in the many hostelries - and the standard of welcome given to people who should be their stock-in trade.
Observe the wildlife - or lack of it - and talk about the threat to our oceans and hazards to navigation.
Where are these written up?
Chaps - if you are reading this - time to raise the game. Time to get your teeth into the issues that affect us part of the 3.5 Million water sports participants.
We want to see the south coast marina monopoly challenged, poor service and rip-off sailing confronted, Government disdain campaigned against at the highest level and the RYA taken to serious task about it's general cosiness with the powers that be.
We need articles that reflect the experience of all of us, not the same people all the time collecting their £500 fee for another 'what I did on my Holiday you paid for'.
In the mean time, sorry chaps - your mag is now formulaic and tired.
I have cancelled my subscription.
UPDATE: Have re-read the article about cutter rigs and it is actually quite good -shame about the rest of the mag......
I used to pore over it with glad rapture when it came through the post and I used to disappear into the heads at home and serve my IBS as I read it from cover to cover.
But nowadays it has gone downhill .
5 pages of news - but nothing new......(even the article on Drinking and Sailing seemed strangely familiar)
3 Columns from the usual columnists - Libby Purves turning hers into the Sailing equivalent of watch with Mother, (though in this case half the article is about a box of fog, and doesn't seem terribly original...but her closing argument, I buy)
Nigel Calder on about sea-sickness remedies (which Libby wrote about two months ago) and Tom Cunliffe about why he is brilliant. (No change there, then)
3 pages on Dinghy explorations - Swallows and Amazons revisited.
A couple of articles on long distance cruising....vaguely readable ('No shit, there we were, thought we were gonna die'... or 'Oh The Majesty of what I have beheld')
1 article on cutter rigs with a scant 6 columns of copy....little about the dynamics or what it would do to your insurance.
The requisite article from Rod Heikel
2 boat reviews - which are slightly too toadyish to the manufacturers
A couple of bog standard reviews (Which lifejacket/flares/compass/bucket..)
The sailing skills is a rehash of the same articles they always publish.
The reviews are no different to any article you get in any geek-mag from Running shoes weekly or Lightbulbs monthly. (Fluorescent tubes - we try the best!)
The rest? Page after page of standard chandlery adverts, with a couple of pages at the back on Classifieds, which we all read online anyway.
There is more to this noble sport than this. We all rant to each other about the best restaurants in this Haven or that, the gouging of marina fees, the scant regard for hygiene that anyone who has used the showers at Cowes Yacht Haven will have suffered or the threat to red diesel.
We postulate on training techniques, which school is good, etc.
We fulminate at the standards of seamanship exhibited in harbour and on the water.
We then Shudder at the water quality on the Medina.
We complain about the quality of beer in the many hostelries - and the standard of welcome given to people who should be their stock-in trade.
Observe the wildlife - or lack of it - and talk about the threat to our oceans and hazards to navigation.
Where are these written up?
Chaps - if you are reading this - time to raise the game. Time to get your teeth into the issues that affect us part of the 3.5 Million water sports participants.
We want to see the south coast marina monopoly challenged, poor service and rip-off sailing confronted, Government disdain campaigned against at the highest level and the RYA taken to serious task about it's general cosiness with the powers that be.
We need articles that reflect the experience of all of us, not the same people all the time collecting their £500 fee for another 'what I did on my Holiday you paid for'.
In the mean time, sorry chaps - your mag is now formulaic and tired.
I have cancelled my subscription.
UPDATE: Have re-read the article about cutter rigs and it is actually quite good -shame about the rest of the mag......
Writers Block
Feeling particularly uninspired at the moment.
I look at the news with despair, nothing worthy of comment.
Bleuegh.
I look at the news with despair, nothing worthy of comment.
Bleuegh.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Aviate, Navigate, Communicate
Right now, I don't even feel like basic paperwork, far less dashing about the clouds in the Sopwith.
However - Duty may be it's own rewards, but command is a bitter brew.
I have standards to maintain.
I will, despite the most pleasing and fragarant of destractions (who will no doubt do her commanding best to retain my presence), firmly don the flying tweeds and sully forth to the Club.
There, I shall spend the afternoon being lantern jawed and commanding with a couple of radios, biro and requisite clipboard.
Plus some shenanigans with the flights roster (launch marshal's boon, dontchyerknow) I shall have an aeroplane to fly on sunday with a working variometer.
It is, for the first time in months, looking vaguely soarable.
The soft soothing words of the beloved and her perfumed embrace will have to wait.
This Chap has a rendezvous at five thousand feet.
With a Cloud.
However - Duty may be it's own rewards, but command is a bitter brew.
I have standards to maintain.
I will, despite the most pleasing and fragarant of destractions (who will no doubt do her commanding best to retain my presence), firmly don the flying tweeds and sully forth to the Club.
There, I shall spend the afternoon being lantern jawed and commanding with a couple of radios, biro and requisite clipboard.
Plus some shenanigans with the flights roster (launch marshal's boon, dontchyerknow) I shall have an aeroplane to fly on sunday with a working variometer.
It is, for the first time in months, looking vaguely soarable.
The soft soothing words of the beloved and her perfumed embrace will have to wait.
This Chap has a rendezvous at five thousand feet.
With a Cloud.
Light Blogging Alert
What does a chap do, when faced with long hours, stress and a challenging lifestlye?
Does he
A) rest well, and awake refreshed for the morning?
B) get blind drunk with his lodger rant about the workings of the royal mail and awake with a grade IV eye twister of a hangover?
That's right - B!
Too fragile, feak and weeble to post any meaningful diatribe.
Attached a picture to soothe my battered nerves and my aching liver.
Does he
A) rest well, and awake refreshed for the morning?
B) get blind drunk with his lodger rant about the workings of the royal mail and awake with a grade IV eye twister of a hangover?
That's right - B!
Too fragile, feak and weeble to post any meaningful diatribe.
Attached a picture to soothe my battered nerves and my aching liver.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
For none are so free as the sons of the waves?
This chap, dear reader, has a very strong streak of libertarianism in his veins. I detest Big Government interfering with my life and spreading it's evil tendrils of legislation into my life.
As you know I take part in two sports which are currently out of the reach of the Nanny state. Gliding - which the Campaign Against Aviation doesn't touch (regulated by the British Gliding Association) and Sailing.
Sailing is what my rant of today is all about.
It is currently (still) my god given right as a free Englishman and subject of her Maj to take to the water in any personal vessel I choose and sail where I want to. I need no permission, ticket, licence or examination to do so. If I wish, I can go and drown myself. The chief rescue organisation is a charity RNLI (to whom I lend my financial and one day physical support).
The onus on safety is a personal one. I am not obliged to wear a Lifejacket, crash helmet or even waterproof clothing. One's awareness of the fact that the high seas are a dangerous place means that there is a natural selection process at work. Should I wish to be able to carry out the sport with a modicum of personal safety or comfort, then the onus is entirely on me to seek out competence training. Again, this is administered by another charity - who also receives money off me The RYA.
The small overlap we have with the world of legislation and government is in buoyage.
But even then, one doesn't get their photograph taken for passing a port hand marker to starboard. The onus is on you to be aware, awake, know what you are doing and know where you are - so that if you chose to leave the 'Jack In The Box' to port on the way up the Lymington river - it is your fault and your fault alone that you spend the rest of the afternoon waiting for the tide to lift you off that rather spectacular mud bank. An Ignominy that no amount of cheerful bonhomie or two water grog will quench.
It is self controlled, and regulated. Peer pressure of standards of behaviour mean a stern look from the Harbour master if your crew are rowdy is as sufficient a reproach as the pressure of a drunken attempt at mooring costing your GPS antenna, next door's pushpit rail and the capital crime of damaging the paintwork - committed in front of an entire marina laughing at your feeble skills.
The traditions of the sport have been so deeply entrenched that they have outlived the current concept of democracy - after all we have had a Navy since Alfred burnt the cakes - and these waters run deep. Blood is the same salinity as sea water, we sons of the waves stand by our traditions of behaviour, honour and care for one's self. The epitome of a society freed from the yoke of state legislation.
Sea faring Libertarians - if you will. Sail and let sail.
OK - to make a vessel work requires leadership - but it is a contract entered voluntarily - and to make it work requires more self discipline than anything else - we need each other's mutual skills to make the thing work. Ask any racing crew who is the most important member of the crew - and they will all answer that it is everyone but them.
There is a cloud on the horizon, scudding towards us like a line squall.
We live under a very illiberal government. The regards 'us' as dangerous. Our views and behaviours are a threat to their approach to running our lives.
The fact we are aspirational enough to carry out the dream to work hard to earn a slot on a vessel - either by accumulating wealth enough to buy the smallest bilge bucket - or by working up the skills to earn a slot on a race crew….
We represent all the things they hate.
We are self reliant, self disciplined, aspirational and require no law to show respect to our fellow sea farers.
We must therefore be stopped.
The full pernicious forces of the Nanny State are being turned on us. The legislative Guns Of Navarone are being trained on us, while the vile officers of this movement load the shells and powder to batter us into their ways.
As the interweb's heir to David Niven (don’t laugh) this Chap needs to draw the attention to my audience to the first triffidesque tendril, the ranging shot from Nanny to our way of life.
They are a cunning foe. They use the full armoury of the Left on us.
The poisoned apple? Their trojan horse?
Good Old Health and Safety
It is for our safety. The Safety of others. How can we argue with that? Well buried within the lines - there are dark forces demanding the very things we fear.
The old chestnut of creating a problem, then being seen to crack down on it is the other tactic.
Drinking and Sailing .
Hold on, you cry, all they are suggesting is that you chaps shouldn't be pissed on the water. Well, by and large we aren't.
Is it for our safety?
Well, the Marine Accident Invesitgation Board only reported about 24 fatalities on leisure craft for 2006-2007 - out of half a million users. Less than half of those were alcohol related
(Link via RYA website)
Even RoSPA and the Coastguard say:
"The members agreed that the current statistics that were available from MCA, SEAREM and INREM were all unreliable as a source for accident statistics for watersports." -
Source
So - we have a problem that doesn't exist. So why legislate against us?
I have a theory - this is a perfect reason to enforce compulsory licensing of craft and the testing and licensing of their skippers.
Why? If you have pulled someone over for drinking, the sanction will be to take a way a licence. You can't imppund the vessel - it probably doesn't even belong to them.
Right now we don’t need one - as I mentioned before the sort of person who takes up sailing is the sort of person who wants to know about it and is prepared to learn.
So, cue government issued sailing licenses and tests and permits (with test centres etc) as well as water-fund licenses. The sea will be nationalised….how long until charging a tax on mooring or anchoring in British waters?
All To be paid for, by us - the sailing public. Yet another stealth tax.
'No, no,' you say - 'they can't mean that - there must be another sanction'…. Well - here is what they are saying:
The Act also enables the Secretary of State to designate additional classes of people as 'marine officials' with the power to detain a vessel if they reasonably suspect that a person who is or may be aboard the vessel is committing, or has committed, an offence, pending the arrival of a uniformed constable to administer a preliminary test. - Stephen Ladyboy
Hmmmm…..bit of hole in this - most boats are rented, making that a form of piracy. Red Herring I reckon.
But in there was another sinister line.
'Marine Officials'.
A waterborne police force with powers to stop and check, take you off your yacht and off to the rozzers for a breath test?
So - will they tow your vessel? Will they know how to sail? What about your crew?
Anyway - have a read of what the Chaps at the RYA have to say.
http://www.rya.org.uk/NewsAndEvents/newsroom/news/drinkqanda.htm
But what of the motive behind this? More people die changing their duvets (probably) than have booze related accidents on the Solent alone. Good sense and self preservation take care of that.
Well, we are currently out of their reach - what better way to crowbar their way into our lives than under the pretext of our safety?
Us 'rich' yachties are a prime target for legislation. With legislation comes us handing more money over to the government to employ busy-bodies to come and tell us what to do.
It is a way of levying stealth taxes on us, and if we complain - we can easily be lableled as 'rich' and they can stoke the fires of resentment against us.
But what else to come?
Compulsory lifejackets? More standards and inspections…….
Compulsory lifelines and jackstays? Again - standards and inspections…...
Full Commercial DfT standardisation of every vessel - think of all the extra public employees!
Inspectors, visitors and scrutineers - all to be paid for by us - the so called Have Yachts. The bitter nannyists must be licking their reptilian lips in delight at all of this.
Lets get things straight - most yachties are like me. We scrimp and save so we can access a boat. Not all of us are footballers (They have scumseekers anyway). Our boats are shared amongst many and are slavishly kept going well past their sell by dates out of love. You can go sailing for under a grand a year.
Ultimately - this represents another attempt to shift of our liberty into the hands of the state. We can only go out and play if Nanny licenses us to do so. And then we must play to her rules.
Interestingly, the legislation is also rather poorly thought out. It is full of holes - meaning it will be open to abuse. In all sorts of amusing ways.
"I am satisfied that in bringing in an alcohol limit for non-professional mariners and in setting the exclusion limit at 7 metres and 7 knots we are providing the best balance between improving safety and avoiding unnecessary regulation.
Stephen Ladyboy at it again.
Interesting that a 5 metre RIB with a 200hp motor is exempt, yet an 8 metre unpowered skiff is not. Which is more likely to be a risk?
How will they determine length and Maximum speed?
Anyway - feast your eyes on the background.
http://www.rya.org.uk/General/Issues/alcohol.htm
Final thought - and this alone demonstrates that the landlubber who dreamt this up is the very worst form of window-licking mouth breather:
Jet skis will not be included in the regulations for now because the Court of Appeal has ruled that jet skis are not ships and are not therefore within the scope of the existing legislation I intend to consult on extending the legislation to them in due course."
You would have thought that the most annoying and unsociable things on the water would have been targeted, wouldn't you.
Despair shall drive me to my tincture.
As you know I take part in two sports which are currently out of the reach of the Nanny state. Gliding - which the Campaign Against Aviation doesn't touch (regulated by the British Gliding Association) and Sailing.
Sailing is what my rant of today is all about.
It is currently (still) my god given right as a free Englishman and subject of her Maj to take to the water in any personal vessel I choose and sail where I want to. I need no permission, ticket, licence or examination to do so. If I wish, I can go and drown myself. The chief rescue organisation is a charity RNLI (to whom I lend my financial and one day physical support).
The onus on safety is a personal one. I am not obliged to wear a Lifejacket, crash helmet or even waterproof clothing. One's awareness of the fact that the high seas are a dangerous place means that there is a natural selection process at work. Should I wish to be able to carry out the sport with a modicum of personal safety or comfort, then the onus is entirely on me to seek out competence training. Again, this is administered by another charity - who also receives money off me The RYA.
The small overlap we have with the world of legislation and government is in buoyage.
But even then, one doesn't get their photograph taken for passing a port hand marker to starboard. The onus is on you to be aware, awake, know what you are doing and know where you are - so that if you chose to leave the 'Jack In The Box' to port on the way up the Lymington river - it is your fault and your fault alone that you spend the rest of the afternoon waiting for the tide to lift you off that rather spectacular mud bank. An Ignominy that no amount of cheerful bonhomie or two water grog will quench.
It is self controlled, and regulated. Peer pressure of standards of behaviour mean a stern look from the Harbour master if your crew are rowdy is as sufficient a reproach as the pressure of a drunken attempt at mooring costing your GPS antenna, next door's pushpit rail and the capital crime of damaging the paintwork - committed in front of an entire marina laughing at your feeble skills.
The traditions of the sport have been so deeply entrenched that they have outlived the current concept of democracy - after all we have had a Navy since Alfred burnt the cakes - and these waters run deep. Blood is the same salinity as sea water, we sons of the waves stand by our traditions of behaviour, honour and care for one's self. The epitome of a society freed from the yoke of state legislation.
Sea faring Libertarians - if you will. Sail and let sail.
OK - to make a vessel work requires leadership - but it is a contract entered voluntarily - and to make it work requires more self discipline than anything else - we need each other's mutual skills to make the thing work. Ask any racing crew who is the most important member of the crew - and they will all answer that it is everyone but them.
There is a cloud on the horizon, scudding towards us like a line squall.
We live under a very illiberal government. The regards 'us' as dangerous. Our views and behaviours are a threat to their approach to running our lives.
The fact we are aspirational enough to carry out the dream to work hard to earn a slot on a vessel - either by accumulating wealth enough to buy the smallest bilge bucket - or by working up the skills to earn a slot on a race crew….
We represent all the things they hate.
We are self reliant, self disciplined, aspirational and require no law to show respect to our fellow sea farers.
We must therefore be stopped.
The full pernicious forces of the Nanny State are being turned on us. The legislative Guns Of Navarone are being trained on us, while the vile officers of this movement load the shells and powder to batter us into their ways.
As the interweb's heir to David Niven (don’t laugh) this Chap needs to draw the attention to my audience to the first triffidesque tendril, the ranging shot from Nanny to our way of life.
They are a cunning foe. They use the full armoury of the Left on us.
The poisoned apple? Their trojan horse?
Good Old Health and Safety
It is for our safety. The Safety of others. How can we argue with that? Well buried within the lines - there are dark forces demanding the very things we fear.
The old chestnut of creating a problem, then being seen to crack down on it is the other tactic.
Drinking and Sailing .
Hold on, you cry, all they are suggesting is that you chaps shouldn't be pissed on the water. Well, by and large we aren't.
Is it for our safety?
Well, the Marine Accident Invesitgation Board only reported about 24 fatalities on leisure craft for 2006-2007 - out of half a million users. Less than half of those were alcohol related
(Link via RYA website)
Even RoSPA and the Coastguard say:
"The members agreed that the current statistics that were available from MCA, SEAREM and INREM were all unreliable as a source for accident statistics for watersports." -
Source
So - we have a problem that doesn't exist. So why legislate against us?
I have a theory - this is a perfect reason to enforce compulsory licensing of craft and the testing and licensing of their skippers.
Why? If you have pulled someone over for drinking, the sanction will be to take a way a licence. You can't imppund the vessel - it probably doesn't even belong to them.
Right now we don’t need one - as I mentioned before the sort of person who takes up sailing is the sort of person who wants to know about it and is prepared to learn.
So, cue government issued sailing licenses and tests and permits (with test centres etc) as well as water-fund licenses. The sea will be nationalised….how long until charging a tax on mooring or anchoring in British waters?
All To be paid for, by us - the sailing public. Yet another stealth tax.
'No, no,' you say - 'they can't mean that - there must be another sanction'…. Well - here is what they are saying:
The Act also enables the Secretary of State to designate additional classes of people as 'marine officials' with the power to detain a vessel if they reasonably suspect that a person who is or may be aboard the vessel is committing, or has committed, an offence, pending the arrival of a uniformed constable to administer a preliminary test. - Stephen Ladyboy
Hmmmm…..bit of hole in this - most boats are rented, making that a form of piracy. Red Herring I reckon.
But in there was another sinister line.
'Marine Officials'.
A waterborne police force with powers to stop and check, take you off your yacht and off to the rozzers for a breath test?
So - will they tow your vessel? Will they know how to sail? What about your crew?
Anyway - have a read of what the Chaps at the RYA have to say.
http://www.rya.org.uk/NewsAndEvents/newsroom/news/drinkqanda.htm
But what of the motive behind this? More people die changing their duvets (probably) than have booze related accidents on the Solent alone. Good sense and self preservation take care of that.
Well, we are currently out of their reach - what better way to crowbar their way into our lives than under the pretext of our safety?
Us 'rich' yachties are a prime target for legislation. With legislation comes us handing more money over to the government to employ busy-bodies to come and tell us what to do.
It is a way of levying stealth taxes on us, and if we complain - we can easily be lableled as 'rich' and they can stoke the fires of resentment against us.
But what else to come?
Compulsory lifejackets? More standards and inspections…….
Compulsory lifelines and jackstays? Again - standards and inspections…...
Full Commercial DfT standardisation of every vessel - think of all the extra public employees!
Inspectors, visitors and scrutineers - all to be paid for by us - the so called Have Yachts. The bitter nannyists must be licking their reptilian lips in delight at all of this.
Lets get things straight - most yachties are like me. We scrimp and save so we can access a boat. Not all of us are footballers (They have scumseekers anyway). Our boats are shared amongst many and are slavishly kept going well past their sell by dates out of love. You can go sailing for under a grand a year.
Ultimately - this represents another attempt to shift of our liberty into the hands of the state. We can only go out and play if Nanny licenses us to do so. And then we must play to her rules.
Interestingly, the legislation is also rather poorly thought out. It is full of holes - meaning it will be open to abuse. In all sorts of amusing ways.
"I am satisfied that in bringing in an alcohol limit for non-professional mariners and in setting the exclusion limit at 7 metres and 7 knots we are providing the best balance between improving safety and avoiding unnecessary regulation.
Stephen Ladyboy at it again.
Interesting that a 5 metre RIB with a 200hp motor is exempt, yet an 8 metre unpowered skiff is not. Which is more likely to be a risk?
How will they determine length and Maximum speed?
Anyway - feast your eyes on the background.
http://www.rya.org.uk/General/Issues/alcohol.htm
Final thought - and this alone demonstrates that the landlubber who dreamt this up is the very worst form of window-licking mouth breather:
Jet skis will not be included in the regulations for now because the Court of Appeal has ruled that jet skis are not ships and are not therefore within the scope of the existing legislation I intend to consult on extending the legislation to them in due course."
You would have thought that the most annoying and unsociable things on the water would have been targeted, wouldn't you.
Despair shall drive me to my tincture.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Outgunned
Not satisfied with infesting my bathroom with unguents, festooning my lounge with scatter cushions or threatening to rearrange my boudoir - the girls have started getting united.
The warning sign was the other evening - Donna-Da-Lodga and My Particular Friend were found giggling to themselves on my sofa when I entered the room. A few days later a ghastly image of me appears on her blog - one that Da-Lodga had taken in jest.
Now I discover they have opened a popular front - and are emailing each other.
Lord alone knows what fripperous trivialities they swap. But one thing is certain - like the displacement of my dettol - this could be the thin end of a another grisly wedge.
They must be stopped.
Something must be done.
Up With This, I Shall Not Put..............
The warning sign was the other evening - Donna-Da-Lodga and My Particular Friend were found giggling to themselves on my sofa when I entered the room. A few days later a ghastly image of me appears on her blog - one that Da-Lodga had taken in jest.
Now I discover they have opened a popular front - and are emailing each other.
Lord alone knows what fripperous trivialities they swap. But one thing is certain - like the displacement of my dettol - this could be the thin end of a another grisly wedge.
They must be stopped.
Something must be done.
Up With This, I Shall Not Put..............
Vote! Vote! Vote!
Now dear reader - time for me to shamelessly self promote myself have fun and gain kudos as well.
Thanks to My Girlfriend - I have got 1 vote for Iain Dale's list for this year. I would like to make it 2.
Last year Top Tory blogger - Iain Dale published a list of the Top Political Blogs in the country.
Political blogging has come a long way since the early days - there are even people like me involved.
To be honest - Mr Dale is also vicariously responsible in a convoluted way for my current nauseatingly chirpy 'hullo clouds - hullo sky' demeanor, as I may have followed a link last year which set off a chain of events too disturbing to report. (Yes, it was from Iain, not Guido, dearest, fairly certain)
Now I have emailed Iain this list, and I will shamelessly ask you to do the same thing - except with my name at the top. (Told you it was utterly shameless... :-))
I will get around to blog rolling my more regular reads, of course, but I am still a tad busy.
It is worth noting, that no serious or high minded journalist, or proper blogger would dream of actually referring me - as what I write is generally good natured garbage - but this is a piece of fun.
Mr Eugenides
Dizzy Thinks
Devil's Kitchen
Archbishop Cranmer
Boris Johnson (even if it is mostly his Telegraph Columns)
Order Order
Spectator Coffee House
Iain Dale
Reactionary Snob
Natalie Solent / Biased BBC
Cityunslicker
Chase Me Ladies
Beau Bo D'oR
Dr Rant
Chicken Yoghurt
Right For Scotland
Hobycartoons
Kateshomeblog
Add to your email list and send it to:
Iain@iaindale.com with 'Top Twenty' in the 'about' section.
Vote For ME! If I make the top 1000, there will be a pint in it for each one of you who votes for me. There - shameless bribery - I could run for mayor.....
PS: I don't have time to put links in.....
PPS: I already owe you a pint on this Kate
Thanks to My Girlfriend - I have got 1 vote for Iain Dale's list for this year. I would like to make it 2.
Last year Top Tory blogger - Iain Dale published a list of the Top Political Blogs in the country.
Political blogging has come a long way since the early days - there are even people like me involved.
To be honest - Mr Dale is also vicariously responsible in a convoluted way for my current nauseatingly chirpy 'hullo clouds - hullo sky' demeanor, as I may have followed a link last year which set off a chain of events too disturbing to report. (Yes, it was from Iain, not Guido, dearest, fairly certain)
Now I have emailed Iain this list, and I will shamelessly ask you to do the same thing - except with my name at the top. (Told you it was utterly shameless... :-))
I will get around to blog rolling my more regular reads, of course, but I am still a tad busy.
It is worth noting, that no serious or high minded journalist, or proper blogger would dream of actually referring me - as what I write is generally good natured garbage - but this is a piece of fun.
Mr Eugenides
Dizzy Thinks
Devil's Kitchen
Archbishop Cranmer
Boris Johnson (even if it is mostly his Telegraph Columns)
Order Order
Spectator Coffee House
Iain Dale
Reactionary Snob
Natalie Solent / Biased BBC
Cityunslicker
Chase Me Ladies
Beau Bo D'oR
Dr Rant
Chicken Yoghurt
Right For Scotland
Hobycartoons
Kateshomeblog
Add to your email list and send it to:
Iain@iaindale.com with 'Top Twenty' in the 'about' section.
Vote For ME! If I make the top 1000, there will be a pint in it for each one of you who votes for me. There - shameless bribery - I could run for mayor.....
PS: I don't have time to put links in.....
PPS: I already owe you a pint on this Kate
Statto Porn
Just installed the Google analytics.
I can now found out where on earth everyone comes from - other than googling 'Velvet Brocade Bordello Pants'.
I can now found out where on earth everyone comes from - other than googling 'Velvet Brocade Bordello Pants'.
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