… this weekend – my first trip across the Channel under our own steam. Or sail. Plus a bit of motor. And of course, doped to the eyeballs with a mountain of thank-god-they-exist Stugeron tablets.
With the Swight and the Woodsie on board. Oh yes, and of course quiet as a mouse Pame-La-La Gregory, just to make sure all those whopping great tankers in the shipping lanes could hear us coming.
Which is quite an achievement, considering I baulked at leaving the calm of the harbour, let alone the familiarity of the Solent, when H first introduced me to the navy & white nautical delights of the Magus. And hurrah, hurrah I didn't puke (sorry Woodsie, that this dubious honour was yours, twice). Which was a huge relief, considering how many crustacea were consumed, none of which would have been good to see a second time round, as they were hurled back into their salty sea home.
And somehow, I actually decided to have a go at oysters, my only shelled nemesis which have given me the heebie jeebies for years. And thus finally got two 'Number Twos' down me (that's a size of oyster, not a terrible digestive disaster). Can't say they are leaping to the top of my sea-creature favourites list – crabs and prawns still do it far more so for me – but at least I have managed to achieve one more mark of grown-up status, if just for one day.
It took us about 10 hours sailing in each direction, plus a Hawksey special of 'it'll only take 2 hours to pop from St Vaast to Cherbourg' – where we then arrived 7 hours later, about to chew each others arms off with excess-sailing induced hunger. Which required one 'getting up' at 2.30am (now that is not what a call a good night's sleep) and one generous lie-in to 4am for the return journey. So all in all a bit too much time on the water and not enough fishing, but at least I did whip Pam at Scrabble so all's well that ends well.
And it all went swimmingly, until a last possible fuck up loomed, when we were nearly home (why do things always go wrong when you're close to home, whether the last ski run of the day or driving back home on autopilot?) which for us was the sound of a big bell ringing, quite close by. I was playing Scrabble, various people were chatting and taking of items of clothing (because it was hot at last, it certainly wasn't THAT kind of a trip) - only for H to finally clock the sound and fortunately look up – to spot a huge green iron clanging channel marker the size of 3 giant Daleks about, oh 5 yards away, which we were about to hit smack on, and sink. Cue lightning reactions, a hefty swing of the wheel and a lot of 'fuck, fuck, FUUUUCK' a la 4 Weddings & A Funeral styleee.. and we just missed it. How does that happen? One mammoth wide channel of water with just one large obstacle in it, and somehow we make a beeline right onto it? Anyway, embarassing Titanic-impression just about averted and home we came.
Photos to come, just wanted to post an upodate and make Monday lunch go with more of a wild and thrilling swing.. Enjoy the sun this week – looks like a reet luvverly scorchio out there. Sx