Four Years in a Nutshell

Procrastination and perfectionism. These two words are the reason for this post. So many times over the past few years I have considered writing a blog post, but it always feels like such a large task, which gets larger as the months pass by. And so procrastination takes hold. Suddenly, chores like year-end accounts and endless unwritten emails take priority, and before you know it the "Write blog post" task is resigned to the bottom of the to-do list, where it lies unseen for months and then years, having disappeared out of sight due to the length of said mountainous to-do list. Another year passes and resolutions for the new one get made. The "Write blog post" task gets elevated momentarily, sitting so close to the top of the list that one can almost hear the cogs working inside my brain as I formulate the outline of the post but, then, perfectionism sets in. 

More than a year has passed since the previous post. So much has happened; so many tales untold, so many posts unwritten. How should I proceed? A sensible approach would be to write a blog post detailing the most recent noteworthy events, especially given that my memory is not the best. But... I cannot bring myself to do this, somehow. I cannot bear the thought of there being vast holes in this journaling timeline, without them being properly accounted for. So, I begin writing a post summing up the past year, which I must complete before writing about the most recent events. It isn't easy, my heart isn't in it, and I'm right back to the start - procrastination. Damn.

Fast forward to today, and I realise that over four whole years have passed me by! Is it my age, or the fact that we now have two young children which has caused this time to rush past at a speed I've never known before? Perhaps a combination of the two. I find myself here again, wondering now whether to write about recent events, or to try to fill in the gaps from then until now. Only now, I have the most mammoth-sized gap to fill, I know that it is an impossible task. Yet perfectionism will simply not allow me to continue without that gap being filled. So, here goes; four years in a nutshell.

2019

Zach, just moments after popping out in this converted barn in Somerset

Our son, Zach, was born in a barn in Somerset in September 2018, whilst Hope was on the hard in Poole. Unwilling to launch her and set sail until the spring, we escaped to Thailand for three months at the start of 2019, where we thoroughly enjoyed living as locals near Krabi on an eco-farm. Zach started weaning in Thailand, and has maintained a love of spicy foods ever since. Whilst away from Hope, we spent as much time as possible in and on the water, and made memories to last a lifetime*. We finished the trip by charting a sailing yacht with friends, which we sailed from Phuket around Phang Nga Bay, and this made us excited about our return to Hope.

*Mainly possible due to outsourcing my memories to Google Photos.

One of our favourite activities in Thailand - a trip to the market on the samlor motorbike!

We returned to the UK in April and launched Hope in May, whereby we sailed her at a leisurely pace down to Portugal via the Channel Islands, France and Spain. It was certainly a challenge, with both children being so young, but we had an amazing time and were blessed with far better weather than when we sailed Firebird down the same coast too late in the season of 2013. We discovered many things about Hope that we wanted/needed to change as we went along, and compiled a rather large "To do in Portugal" list containing details of these planned tasks. We arrived in Portugal towards the end of September, whereupon we put her into the boatyard in Portimão on the Algarve.

Alex doing the laundry aboard Hope, whilst anchored up in France

We started working through the list of boat tasks, whilst also spending plenty of time with my family (who live in Portugal). At this point, we knew that we would not be ready for any longer passages (such as an Atlantic crossing) in time for the coming winter, so we took our time and planned another trip away for early 2020. Having had such a fantastic time in Thailand, we decided to spend another three months abroad, but this time decided upon a properly cold destination so that the children could experience a decent amount of snow. I found us a three month house-sit in Ohio, and we prepared ourselves for this trip, kitting ourselves out with decent cold weather clothing ready for the coming months.

Rowing ashore in Portugal, in our tender, Glory. Hope can be seen in the background.

2020

We had fun building snowmen in the yard, at our house-sit in Ohio

January 2nd saw us flying from France (where we had seen in the New Year with friends) to Cleveland, Ohio, and we soon settled into a fantastic house-sit there, looking after two lovely Labradors on the shores of Lake Erie. Sadly, it was a mild winter by Ohio standards, but we still had a fantastic time and managed to enjoy some winter sports with the children. Unfortunately, towards the end of this trip, Covid-19 made an appearance on the world's media stage, and we had to return to the UK earlier than planned, for fear of getting stranded in the USA. We found ourselves in the UK amid a lockdown, essentially homeless and unable to travel, but thankfully some forward planning meant that we were able to book an Airbnb in Shropshire for a month (before Airbnb stopped taking bookings) and a hire car to take us there.

Enjoying the view from the top of Caer Caradoc in Shropshire

After much negotiation with the Portuguese Consulate and Embassy, we finally got approval to fly back to Portugal in order to return to Hope, being that she is our home. We did this, completed the two week quarantine and then continued where we had left off at the end of 2019; working our way through the boat jobs. As is always the case, jobs took much longer than we anticipated, but we didn't really mind at all since the whole world was closed for international travel and sailing was pretty much impossible, due to ports around the world being closed. This situation continued to be the case, and so we made the most of the opportunity by steadily working our way through more and more of our maintenance/improvement tasks aboard Hope. 

Beth and Zach, getting involved in the boat maintenance tasks in the yard

As winter approached, we realised that we did not want to spend it in the boatyard with the children, so we began to look for alternative accommodation. In late October, we moved to an apartment on an organic farm called Quinta da Figueirinha near Silves, about 20 minutes drive from both my parents' house and the boatyard. We moved there just in time, as lockdowns were soon brought back in due to the winter illness period taking hold and Covid-19 case numbers increasing. Being locked down on a 36 hectare farm was certainly a lot easier than being locked down on Hope in the boatyard would have been, and we felt very fortunate to have found ourselves in this situation. We were unable to escape the Portuguese winter, but a log burner kept us toasty, we enjoyed walks to gather fresh oranges and we were part of a community of other, like-minded families during this uncertain period. Work continued on Hope as and when possible, and we were able to host Alex's family for Christmas at the quinta due to them making it out of the UK just hours before travel restrictions were imposed there!

A post-Christmas get-together with Mitchells and Shepherds, in our quinta apartment

2021

Enjoying a spot of the good life at the quinta, with the community garden

With money running short and no end to the sailing embargoes in sight, I decided to return to work. I started a remote contract for a fashion company called Lyst, and shared a co-working space at the quinta with another person who was working there remotely at that time. I worked standard office hours Monday to Friday, then would take over the childcare whilst Alex cycled to the boatyard and worked on Hope over the weekend. During this period, he rebuilt our dinghy, so the flimsy foldable Seahopper formerly known as Glory became the sturdy nesting dinghy, now known as Edwina. A lot of Alex's blood sweat and tears went into her construction (along with a few marathon fibreglassing session all-nighters) but, once complete, we took her sailing up the Arade river multiple times and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves doing so. It felt good to be sailing again, even if only in a dinghy! We continued to enjoy life on the quinta, getting involved in a community garden and weekly poker evenings, which was great fun. With some of the extra money I was earning, we decided to pay for the yard to build a wheelhouse extension for Hope and order some new standing rigging, a cockpit cover and some new sails. However, the rigger had some bad news for us; our main mast had some damage and was irreparable, meaning we would have to fork out for a replacement. Not what we wanted to hear, as this would mean delaying our relaunch of Hope whilst waiting for this to be ordered and installed. 

Our first outing on the new and improved tender, Edwina

At the end of June, we flew back to the UK in preparation for Alex's sister Lucy's wedding. This was to be held in August, but we didn't want to risk getting stuck in Portugal due to any travel restrictions, so returned early and made the most of the summer freedom in the UK with various camping trips, a nice house sit in Shropshire and long overdue visits to family and friends. It was on the way back from one of these visits that an important conversation took place between Alex and myself; one which set in motion a plan that had the potential to change our current lifestyle in a fairly drastic way. To cut a long story short (as this is the whole point of "in a nutshell"), Alex shared with me his regret at never joining the air force after university, as he felt he would have preferred military life to a career in IT. On hearing this, I suggested that he should apply to join the forces immediately before it was too late. I feel very lucky to not have any regrets in life (or, rather, I may regret some things I have done, but I don't have anything that I wished I had done and never did) and I didn't like the thought of Alex having this huge regret that he would soon never be able to rectify. Much research, thought and discussion later, he decided to apply to join the Royal Navy as an Officer, and this started the curve ball rolling for us all!

We had a wonderful day at Lucy and Charlie's wedding, at the end of August

I turned 40 in September and, rather than the huge party which I had always envisaged, we drove up to Scotland for a couple of weeks on a technology-free holiday. It was a very special holiday indeed, and we thoroughly enjoyed navigating the old-fashioned way using a 2018 road atlas that we borrowed from Alex's mum, and the Southern Upland Way guidebook. The first thing we did was get stuck in a traffic jam on the M25 because, of course, the atlas had no traffic information. Still, it was good for the children to experience traffic jams in the way we had to prior to the invention of Google Maps! Following this holiday, we drove back to Portugal via Spain, and had lots of fun on the road trip down, camping with the children and visiting Alex's cousin Edwina (after whom our dinghy was named) and her family in Lisbon. After a sailing trip on a charter yacht along the Algarve with some friends, we once again renewed our efforts to complete the in-flight boat tasks on Hope before having to leave the Schengen area at the end of December, due to our post-Brexit 90 day limit being up. The mast and the sails were on order, but neither showed any sign of arriving any time soon.

Picnic overlooking Ullswater, on our drive up to Scotland for my 40th

2022

A nice spot for a wild swim and picnic, in the Costa Rican rainforest

Back in London in January 2022, we were cold and decided to escape the UK winter once again, so the search began for a suitably cheap non-Schengen holiday location. I found great value flights to Costa Rica, and we jetted off to spend two months there, across three different Airbnbs. We had an absolutely super time; the weather was warm, very little English was spoken so we learned a lot of Spanish, the people were friendly and welcoming, and the wildlife was spectacular. We saw toucans, sloths, iguanas, poison dart frogs, huge spiders, macaws, crocodiles, snakes, vultures, monkeys - and all in their natural habitat, which made it all the more special! The rainforest was incredible, and we had fun exploring it, especially in the mountains where we found secluded spots for wild swims in gorgeous clear water. We visited two active volcanoes whilst there, and enjoyed ourselves in the hot springs nearby one of them. We visited a cocoa and coffee plantation, as well as a "trapiche" where we learned about the processing of cane sugar. Our final stay was a month on a dairy farm, where the children awoke at 5am every morning to help milk the cows. It was a truly educational trip, in so many ways, for us all.

Enjoying the hot springs, near Volcan Arenal

At the end of March, we flew back to Portugal where we finished up the remaining boat tasks, then finally saw our new mast being stepped, and launched Hope at the end of April. In truth, she was really not quite ready to be launched, but we couldn't bear to be in the boatyard any longer, so we moved her straight to a beautiful anchorage in Ferragudo on the Algarve, and spent another month and a half there doing more maintenance work both aboard Hope and on the beach (in the case of improvements to Edwina). We also, rather randomly, decided to buy a small plot of agricultural land near Silves, about 20 minutes from my parents. My mum had found it online and thought it a good investment, so sent me the details. It is mainly full of fruit trees (orange, lemon, persimmon) but also has a small agricultural pumphouse with a water well alongside, and an old cisterna, which used to be used for water storage. It has both water and electricity connections, and we saw that there could perhaps be the potential to build some sort of tiny home there, for times when we want to be in Portugal but have not travelled there aboard Hope. Very random but, hey, that's us! 

About to row back to Hope from the beach at Ferragudo

The Schengen clock was once again ticking, and we found ourselves having to leave Portugal towards the end of July, without our new sails (due to delays from the manufacturer). This was a real blow, since we changed the rig such that our old sails would no longer fit. We had shorted the mizzen boom so the old mizzen sail did not fit (and, in fact, this sail had gone missing in the boatyard so we didn't have this available anyway) and we got rid of our furling foresail, meaning our old genoa could no longer be hoisted. We had been given some old hanks (essentially clips which allow us to attach and hoist the old sail) so I spent many hours sewing these onto the old genoa. It worked surprisingly well, but meant that we only had sails suitable for either light or very heavy winds - nothing in between. Nevertheless, we managed to sail down the coast of Portugal and Spain, then into Gibraltar by the end of July, using a combination of our cobbled together sails and the engine. 

Sailing downwind, using our old genoa with hanks sewn on along the luff

We could only book a berth in Gibraltar for a month, since they are now very busy with a multitude of British sailors wishing to stay there in order to avoid overstaying in the Schengen area. There are only a few marinas on the rock, and there are no options for anchoring. Other than Gibraltar, Brits could go to Morocco (as we did afterwards) or Croatia, but the latter has disappeared as an option since the start of 2023, when Croatia also joined the Schengen zone. We ended up being allowed to stay in our berth in Gibraltar for about six weeks, and we had the most wonderful time there. We found Gibraltar to be small, safe and friendly, with great fish and chips and wonderful weather. Alex's mum came to stay for a week, during which time we enjoyed some touristy activities, such as getting the cable car up to the National Park and exploring some of the sights and exhibitions up there.

We found it very enjoyable to watch all the shipping in the bay of Gibraltar

Following Gibraltar, we sailed to Morocco and spent a further six weeks berthed in Tangier, which was very pleasant. We celebrated Alex's birthday with a trip on the bullet train via Casablanca to Marrakech. We explored the Atlas mountains, had a camel ride and visited a traditional Berber settlement where we enjoyed the most delicious home-cooked meal and learned about the Berber culture. We then hosted Alex's dad, who came to stay for a week, and had great fun exploring more of the local area in Tangier on foot and on the tourist open-top bus. One of our favourite things about Tangier was the local food market, where we could buy fruit and vegetables very cheaply and we never felt we were being ripped off or given a different price due to being tourists. We also enjoyed hearing the daily calls to prayer ring out across the city, and we spent some time learning about Islam as part of our homeschooling with the children. 

Wearing traditional Berber dress, ready for our camel ride

Whilst in Tangier, Alex found out that he had been accepted to train as a Warfare Officer with the Royal Navy, starting in January 2023, and so we realised that we quickly needed to prepare for this by getting Hope back to Portugal and into a semi-permanent berth there in Lagos. When we initially talked about plans for whilst Alex was in the Navy, I had envisaged continuing to sail Hope with just myself and the children, but the summer of sailing made me realise that this was not a good idea. Whilst we had a super time, it was very hard work, and that was with both myself and Alex being there to look after the yacht and the children! I realised that an attempt to do so on my own, especially whilst the children are still relatively young, would be rather stressful and I didn't think it would be fair on any of us. So, with this in mind, I decided to berth her in a nice marina on the Algarve, where the kids and I can come and go (within the Schengen limits, of course) as we please.

Watching the sunset before our night watch, on passage from Morocco to Portugal

We sailed back to Portugal, enjoying a lovely night passage with a glorious sunset and full moon. The children took their first night watch with me, staying up until 11pm (at which point I sent them to bed whilst I continued until 1am). Once Hope was settled in her berth, we set to work making plans for the plot of land. We hoped that, if we could convert the pumphouse into a tiny home prior to leaving the Schengen again at the end of December, then that would be another accommodation option for me and the children in 2023. We spent a month or so camping on the land, until it got too cold to be comfortable, but did not manage to achieve this goal. We spent a huge amount of time clearing the land which was thick with brambles and weeds, and there is still more of that work to be done. We did, however, find time to build a shower and composting toilet room, and put a storage shed on the land, in which to store our tent and cooking/camping supplies. So, whilst there is a lot still to do, the children and I can go back there next summer and have fun progressing the work there.

Plenty of work to be done, clearing the land

Plans for 2023

Phew, well, this has turned into rather a large nutshell... a coconut shell perhaps?! Luckily, this last section will be short as, quite frankly, we don't have a clue what we will be doing in 2023! Alex will be training down in Dartmouth and, for at least the first six months, we won't be able to see him at all other than the odd weekend when he is allowed out of the college. Initially, the children and I are going to Turkey for a month but then we will return to the UK to see Alex, and must remain in the UK whilst Zach and I apply for new passports. Beyond that, we will just see what happens... we plan on spending time in Portugal, both on Hope and on the land, and will have to see where we end up in between those periods, when our 90 day Schengen limit runs out. I plan on blogging a little during this new adventure, as a good way of sharing my experiences with family and friends, so let's see how it goes and where we will be by the end of 2023! Exciting times ahead, with lots of opportunities and plenty of unknowns. Pretty much life as normal, then, in this Great Adventure!

A New Hope

It has been a while since we have written about our sailing adventures.  The reason for that is that we haven't been properly sailing for a couple of years, as we haven't had a working boat.  Here's a short recap:

Firebird May 2012 - May 2014

A nice lump of iron hanging down, waiting to hit something or fall off

We sailed good old Firebird, our first boat, from London to the Canary Islands, where we sold her.  She was a great boat and we had so much fun (and our fair share of fear!) in her, but we decided that she wasn't safe enough for offshore sailing.  Although well built, she was of modern design, with a fin keel, saildrive and spade rudder, which we just weren't comfortable with.  We would rather sacrifice cruising speed and low-speed manoeuvrability in favour of safety and comfort when things get lively.

Firebird moored next to Seahorse while we negotiated the purchase of Seahorse

Seahorse May 2014 - October 2016

Along with wearing that hat, buying Seahorse turned out to be a mistake

We bought Seahorse on Fuerteventura (in the Canary Islands).  She was of steel construction, had a full keel, ketch rigged and had steel bulkheads creating three watertight sections, just like the Titanic had.  Unsinkable!  We bought her knowing that we had a lot of work to do before she would be ready to go cruising.  Like, a lot of work!

We only ever made two voyages aboard Seahorse (a short one and a long one), but we got more than enough excitement out of those two trips!

We were well into the refit when our baby girl was born.  This changed our perspective and we wanted to be together as a family, out sailing, rather than being split between baby-duties and boatyard-duties (the two were incompatible as the boatyard was not a particularly healthy environment for anyone, least of all a fresh little baby).

In the boatyard in Lagos, having removed the old engine.  Well, the replacement engine was a waste of money, but we had fun working on the old girl in the sun!

Sunbow July 2016 - May 2017

She's covered in tarpaulins because she leaked like a sieve when it rained!  She never really saw the light of day

And so it was that we sold Seahorse and bought Sunbow, a lovely ferro-cement ketch who was "good to go", in need of just a lick of paint.  This, however, turned out to be very far from the truth.  The previous owner was a true gentleman who wouldn't dream of deceiving a soul.  He sold her in the condition that she was in his memory from eight years previously.  She hadn't been used in all that time and we discovered that many systems on a boat can fall into disrepair over such a long period.  We were naive enough to buy her without commissioning a survey, which we had ample opportunity to do.  Once we moved aboard and started getting her ready to go, we kept unearthing problem after problem, some of which were substantial.  The whole point of buying Sunbow was that we didn't want to be spending a year or more stuck in a boatyard now that we had a family.  We had traded fixing up a boat in warm Portugal for fixing one in freezing cold, wet England.  We cut our losses, which were substantial by this point and sold her so that we could find a more suitable home.  We never once got to sail Sunbow.

Oh look, we're in a boatyard.  Again.  Freezing our nadgers off this time, trying to make use of the pitifully short November daylight

August 2017, a New Hope

Our latest humble abode

That brings us almost up to date with our boating history.  After heading back to work in London to pay for our previous mistake with Sunbow and arranging plenty of boat viewings, we found what we hope will take us on the next leg of The Great Adventure.  We are now the proud owners of Matchmaker II, a Neptunian 33.  She's a well-built fibreglass ketch with a full keel and keel-hung rudder.

For once, we're leaving a boatyard...don't worry, it didn't last long

After the Sunbow fiasco, we decided that we would never again buy a boat without first going out on a test sail and having a survey taken.  She passed both with flying colours...and then she spent the next year in Shotley boatyard on the East Coast, out of action due to, amongst other things, total engine failure.  The anti-syphon loop had been installed too low so after our first, very short trip from where we had bought her to a marina across the river, the engine flooded with seawater.  So much for dotting the I's and crossing the T's.  Anyway, she is pretty much operational now and we have sailed her further than we ever did with Sunbow (not hard!) and made more trips than we did with Seahorse (again, not a toughie!).  Most importantly, we're very happy with her and she's now just about ready to take us anywhere we wish to go.

"The Admiral", as the onlookers at the lock into the marina were calling her, overseeing all operations from the bridge.
This was after our first short journey after buying Matchmaker, right before she was out of action for the next year.

Matchmaker was something of a surprise find.  We were in the area viewing another yacht which we really liked but ultimately decided against.  The broker suggested that we should view Matchmaker.  From the sales literature, we didn't really think she was going to be any good for us so when we went to view her on her mooring buoy on the Stour, Kate stayed ashore with Beth while I went alone with the owner to kick the tyres.  As soon as I started looking around, however, I got a really good feeling.  Luckily, the previous owner was another nice chap and he didn't mind returning ashore in his dinghy to fetch Kate after I told her that she really should take a look at this one.

My first view of Matchmaker as we approached in the previous owner's dinghy

The rest, as they say, is history.  The only problem is that we didn't like the name Matchmaker.  It had no relevance to us and on its own, seemed a pretty bad name for a yacht.  As with many of the other sailors out there, we're pretty superstitious when it comes to matters concerning the sea, so we didn't want to risk bad luck by renaming her.  When we received the paperwork, however, we were delighted to see that she had already been renamed, so we figured that whoever did the first rename would have taken the fall for the bad luck and that we weren't making matters worse by renaming her again.  The new name?  Hope.

Performing the renaming ceremony.  We hope that Neptune likes alcohol free beer

We're hoping that we will be able to set off again in the spring.  Hope was ready too late in the season for us to have a pleasant journey south and, in any case, the latest crew member would have probably been born mid-Bay of Biscay had we have set off, so we figured it was better to lay Hope up for the winter.

So there you have it, we now live in Hope.

Putting the new name on

London Marathon 2018

While driving up the M3 the other week, I thought I would clock 26 miles on the hire car's odometer, just to see how far I would soon be running.  I thought it would flash past, but it didn't.  I kept saying to Kate "It's still going.  I can't believe it's still going"!  Well, if it seemed like a long way from the comfort of a climate-controlled car seat, having run the hottest ever London Marathon, I am now in a position to state, with a great deal of confidence, that 26.2 miles is indeed a long way.  In case you hadn't guessed, this was the first marathon that I had run, although I have done a few half marathons over the years.  I was running to raise money for the RNLI (lifeboats).

Kate & Beth practising their role ahead of the big day

I seem to have gotten ahead of myself and jumped to the end already.  There was a fair amount of running that came before that point, so I better back it up a bit.  Did I mention that 26 miles is a long way?

I got to the red start area with about 50 minutes to spare.  It's this time of a race that I don't really like, because I start agonising over every little detail that I wouldn't otherwise think twice about.  Let's take, for example, shoelaces.  I have been successfully tying my shoelaces for decades.  Before every training run, I simply slip my trainers on, lace them up, and off I go.  Never once has a lace come undone.  Never once has a trainer felt too tight.  Never once has a trainer felt too loose.

On race day, however...boy oh boy, on race day...I'll do my laces up, take one step and it feels as though Zeus himself has descended from Mount Olympus to tie my laces.  They're cripplingly tight.  I'm definitely going to damage my feet if I leave them done up this tight, so I stop again, untie my meticulous bow and let a fraction of a millimetre of lace out.  I don't want to overdo it, because I know what's going to happen next.  I stand up, take another step and damnit, just as I knew, I've overdone it and now my trainers feel like they're so loose that they'll be blown off my feet from the faintest puff of air caused by a pigeon flying overhead.  This just won't do, I'll have to tighten them again, so I get back down on my knees and pull a micrometre of lace through.  This time is the one.  They feel great.  This lace tightness is going to win the race for me, so it's time to double knot these bad boys.  The last thing I want is for a lace to come undone while I'm running, so I loop the laces back round and pull as hard as I can.  Then I give them another solid tug, just to make sure that the previous tightening was definitely the tightest I could manage.  Right, I'm all done with my laces.  Again.  Except, when I start walking, the left one feels slightly tighter than the right one, which is really annoying and is definitely going to make it hard to keep up with Mo, so I have to stop to make them even.  The problem now is that the flipping double knot that I've tied takes ages to undo because I've pulled it so tight that it resembles a small raisin.

You get the idea.  Then there's eating and drinking to think about, when to join my start pen, how much warming up and stretching I should do, and, of course, going to the toilet.

The smiles were all for show.  I didn't feel like that on the inside!

Thankfully, the organisers had put a couple of urinal zones into the start area so I could skip the huge queues for the portaloos.  I mean, wow, that was definitely not a good time to drop anchor.  The urinals weren't exactly plain sailing, though.  In order to get as many units in as possible, they had put them in back to back.  I'm all for having as many urinals as they could fit in, and it meant that there was no queuing whatsoever when visiting the urination station, but what it did mean was that you were almost nose to nose with the chap relieving himself opposite you.  With people crammed in on both sides as well, there was nowhere neutral to look, apart from straight up into space, but that would have looked weird.  In an attempt to appear nonchalant at the unusual circumstances, it was tempting to whistle a tune, but then I would have just been whistling at the guy opposite, which would have been even weirder, so instead I just marvelled at how much urine was simultaneously gushing into the tank in front of me (it could clearly be heard flooding in.  There was no flush - this torrent was 100% man-made).

With the pre-start over and done with, I joined my start pen.  Actually, I didn't.  I had been assigned to pen 1, which is to say, the pen where the fastest runners would go.  This is almost certainly because I put an optimistic finish time down when I filled in my entry form.  I can't remember exactly what I had been hoping for but, unfortunately, I was forced to miss a fair number of sessions throughout my training due to injury.

Anyway, given that I wasn't going to finish in anywhere near 3 hours or under, I didn't want to join pen 1 and get in the way of faster runners, so I dropped back to pen 3.  You're allowed to move back to a slower pen, but not to move up to a faster one than you have been allocated.  I chose pen 3 because, according to their website, the Runner's World Pace Team for a 3:30 finish was supposed to be joining that pen.  I nervously waited around, looking out for them.  In a pen or two further back, I could see the flags of the 3:45 pacers above the heads of the crowds lined up and ready to go, but there was still no sign of the 3:30 guys.  Then, with about 10 minutes to go before the start, the two 3:30 pacers turned up and joined pen 2!  They really screwed me over with that move because, by now, the pens were pretty full.  I had to fight my way back out of pen 3 and join the large queue of last-minute people joining pen 2 (probably the same people who had been waiting to drop the kids off at the pool while I had been contemplating the miracle of the torrent flowing into the urinals).

I was only about 10.5 miles behind Mo!

When all was said and done, I was, finally, in the right place and ready to go.  A video of Mo Farah training in Kenya was playing on the big screen and I was feeling excited.  Nervous and excited.  I decided to check my heart rate (on my GPS watch) because I had sat through a presentation where the marathon mentor recommended staying calm before the start, or else you'll just be burning up energy needlessly.  As I watched my heart rate, it was slowly climbing as the start of the race drew nearer.  It rose from a steady 60 bpm up to an absurd 90 bpm.  My heart was running at 150% of normal and all I was doing was standing still!

The Queen pressed her big red button and off we all went.  It was, obviously, very crowded.  I kind of expected the situation to calm down somewhat as people's different paces caused the throng to separate, but that never happened.  It was busy, with slower people to be avoided and skirted around, and faster people doing the same to me, for the next 26.2 miles.  What did ease off was the strong smell of Deep Heat that permeated the air for the first mile (other heat therapy pain relief brands are available).  I guess that, like me, a lot of other people were carrying niggles and injuries into the race.

I had been agonising the night before as to whether to follow the 3:30 or the 3:45 pacers.  I felt that I could possibly manage 3:30 even though it would be a real challenge.  I figured that, barring any catastrophes,  a 3:45 finish should be reasonably assured, but I didn't know how the heat was going to affect me.  We had received at least a couple of emails from the race organisers saying that we should revise our target finish times in the hot weather.  In the end, I had settled on going for 3:30 because I would rather challenge myself and take the harder option, even if that ultimately meant crashing and burning and ending up with a worse time, than taking the easier option, managing it OK and forevermore wishing that I had gone for 3:30.

The 3:30 pace felt fast but manageable at the beginning.  It was hot, though and I was immediately struck by how much more water I was drinking that I had ever done in training.  I was worried that my bottle wouldn't even last me until the first water station at 2.5 miles.

This is how to 'do' the London Marathon.  We were following my sister run the 2014 London Marathon from the
comfort of a cafe on Lanzarote

After around 5 miles, the pacer that I was following nipped off for a wee at the portaloos by the side of the course.  He couldn't actually fit inside the toilet, because the flag on his back was too high, so he had to go by the side!  I wasn't sure whether this wee stop was a tactical part of the 3:30 pace strategy and we were all expected to join him, but I thought better of it, which was just as well because he had to work hard to catch up, which he eventually did.

At around mile 7, I saw the first person go down.  She was not far in front of me and one second she was running, the next she was headed for the floor as though someone had turned her off.  I guess that spectators could tell what a state she was in from in front and could tell what was about to happen because I'm fairly sure she was caught before she actually hit the deck.  Luckily for her, she was running at the edge of the road.  She was one of a fair number of people who I saw scattered throughout the course, being treated or waiting for treatment.  In fact, it was quite shocking to see so many people in that state.  I didn't bother to stop for any of them because there were always others on hand and I figured that another non-medically trained person crowding round was not what was required.  In any case, the "motto" of this year's race, so to speak, was #SpiritOfLondon and if there's one thing I know about the spirit of London, having grown up here and spent many years commuting in the city, it's that you've gotta be pretty lucky to have someone stop to help you if you fall over.

After the shock of seeing that lady collapse, and considering that I was already struggling to keep up with the 3:30 pacers, I decided to ease off a bit.  I was worried that if I had have carried on at that speed, I would have been joining those poor people lying on the floor getting a visit from St John Ambulance.

My true race face! I think I looked like this for about 20 miles!

My plan was to slow down from 7.5mph to 7.0mph, which should have seen me finish somewhere between 3:30 and 3:45.  As the miles wore on though, I found that I couldn't even maintain that pace, so I slowed down further and I told myself that if I got overtaken by the 3:45 pacers, I would make sure that I kept up with them.

Along the way, I saw several people in fancy dress.  Of the ones that stood out, one guy was dressed as the Gingerbread Man.  On his back, it said "Run, run, run as fast as you can. You’ll never catch me, I’m the gingerbread man.". Thankfully, I did catch him. Relatively easily. I think his back should have read "Run, run, run as fast as you can. You'll catch me because it's 24.1°C and I decided to run the hottest London Marathon in a fluffy all-in-one suit". Maybe he couldn't quite fit that message in! As I passed the Gingerbread Man, another runner was pouring their water bottle over his head!

Then there was the tree. This joker was making an official attempt at the world record (presumably for the fastest tree to run a marathon). I reckoned that tree man would also be an easy target, but he was surprisingly nimble. He even stopped to interact with some of his supporters, before sprinting off again. I'm ashamed to say that I didn't beat the tree, but I did see him receiving a certificate after I had crossed the finish line, so I guess he got his record and at least I can say that I was beaten by the fastest tree on the planet.

Talking of supporters, I had a merry band of supporters of my own.  My mum, dad, sister, sister's girlfriend, Kate and Beth were all there and popped up at several pre-planned points along the route, and a couple of unexpected ones as well, which made for a great surprise.  The crowd, in general, was amazing, but there's something extra motivational about having loved ones to cheer you on.  We even managed a few high-fives as I passed.  On top of that, I was spotted by an old uni friend who happened to be spectating and I also saw friends who we met and very much enjoyed spending time with on Lanzarote.  I think they may also be The Great Adventure's biggest fans!  It seemed like most of London was out!  I also had the nice surprise of seeing my brother-in-law at the finish.  He had tried to cheer me over the line, but spectators aren't actually allowed anywhere near the finish line so he had to meet me as I left the controlled-access area.

It was finally over!

I enjoyed looking at some of the wacky signs and props that people had in the crowd.  I squeezed an old hooter ("Free honks", the sign said), hit a few signs that said "Hit for a power-up", and almost laughed out loud when I was feeling ridiculously tired and saw a sign that said "Remember: You paid to do this".  Amongst the unhelpful signs was: "Only 5.5 Park Runs to go".  Feeling as exhausted as I did at that point, the thought of running 5.5 back-to-back Park Runs (at 5km each) was exactly the opposite of what I needed!  Also, the buffoon standing at about mile 9 who had a sign saying "The last mile is all in your head" was not at all helpful.  It wasn't the last mile that I was worried about, it was the 16 that I had to do before then that were weighing heavy!

By the time I reached the finish, I was totally destroyed.  The last kilometre seemed to really drag.  There were countdown signs every 200m from that point and each one lingered in the distance, refusing to get nearer as I ran towards it.  I passed two more fallen comrades right on the final corner with the finish line clearly in sight.  I couldn't believe that they had gone down so close to the end, but I felt like I could easily be joining them, so just focused on keeping going.

I wasn't completely sure where the finish line was, but I was immensely relieved when I figured that I had finally crossed it!  The problem was that there was a big sign saying "CONGRATULATIONS", which I presumed would be it, but I couldn't see the word "finish" anywhere and there was another gantry after the first, so I kept running until someone tried to put a medal round my neck.

My merry band of supporters

After that point, I was completely euphoric.  The last time I have been that glad to finish doing something was after our 16-day epic sail from Lanzarote to Portugal.  The funny thing was that it kind of seemed like the zombie apocalypse had happened while I had been running the marathon because I suddenly found myself amongst a load of dazed-looking people all walking slowly around with weird limps.  It could easily have been a scene out of a zombie movie!

I slowly made my way to the designated "M" meeting point and sat on the floor while I waited for my supporters to turn up because I didn't have the energy for any more standing.  Once everyone had assembled, we (slowly) made our way to Five Guys for a celebratory meal.  I chose Five Guys because that's what Radio 1 DJ Adele Roberts said that she had done last year when I heard her talking about running her first marathon, and it had stuck in my mind as a good idea!

So, how did I do?  Well, the 3:45 pacers never did overtake me, so I thought that I had made a sub 3:45 time, but it turned out that both of the 3:45 pacers had dropped out behind me, as had the 3:30 pacers in front of me.  My only guess is that the heat hit them hard and they weren't able to maintain their designated pace.  My time was 3:48:41 in the end, which I was happy with, given the conditions.  I'm also happy that I punished myself to try and get 3:30 because I felt that I owed it to all my sponsors to give it my all.  If you did sponsor me, thank you so much.  I was really bowled over by how generous you all were (if you now feel inspired to do so, you can here:
https://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/AlexMitchellMarathon).

I was a broken man at this point, but so, so glad to be done!

While I was sitting on the floor at the finish, my sister asked if I would do another marathon.  I told her that she must be joking, but since then, I have entered the ballot for next year!  Considering that I have been trying to get a ballot place for 9 years (as opposed to a charity place which seems easier to obtain, but for which you have to raise a lot of sponsorship money), I'm not holding my breath on getting a place.  I'll leave it in fate's hands, but I do feel that I have a score to settle with London.  I'm coming for that 3:30!


Addendum:
I beat the tree!  I drafted this post up a week or so ago and since then, I receive an email from the marathon organisers with a link to all the records that were set.  Tree Man (Tim Perkins) did it in 3:52:35.  In my exhausted state, I must not have noticed overtaking him.

New Year, New Plan

Alex decided recently that we shouldn't use the word 'plan' to describe what we hope to do next, as it always changes. Instead, we should use the term 'idea' in order to convey the fact that it may not happen. I think he may be onto something there, as already our idea for how 2017 might pan out has changed dramatically.

Beth''s first Christmas was spent in Normandy with the Mitchells,
in an Airbnb as opposed to on our boat.

2016 came to an end with us not completing the rudder in time to cross the Channel, so we left the partially constructed frame in Somerset and hopped on a ferry to Dieppe. We enjoyed a much needed Christmas break, staying in various Airbnbs around Normandy with Alex's family and friends, before returning to Bursledon in the New Year. After a couple of days back home on the cold, damp boat, we were feeling pretty deflated, to say the least. It was such a depressing feeling, because we have always loved living on boats, and every previous boat has really felt like home and been perfectly habitable, even during winter. Neither of us liked the fact that we now dreaded coming back home, as the living conditions were so dismal.

We spent three nights in this little caravan insulated with straw bales,
which was perfect for us. A nice small space with no leaks!

We planned to go back to Somerset mid-January to complete the rudder, and in the meantime tried to gather the motivation to get some work done on the boat. It took me all of two days to formulate a new idea, which was very well received by Alex, and we set about putting this new idea in motion. The idea was based upon the fact that our aim in life is to enjoy ourselves, and we were definitely not doing so in our current situation. I put it to Alex that we might as well cover the boat up and leave her for a few months, heading to London to work and earn some much-needed cash. This way, we would be able to avoid spending the rest of winter aboard our unfinished vessel and, instead, could return to her later in the year, when the days would be longer, the weather warmer and our bank accounts replenished. The new idea was a big hit, and so we got to work making the boat weathertight, before packing up and getting out of there as fast as possible!

New Year's was spent with a load of Alex's friends, in a big old farmhouse with an open fire.
We ate like kings and had a wonderful time, which made returning to the boat even harder.

We stuck to our plan to head to Somerset, as Alex was looking forward to continuing work on the rudder and we were also looking forward to seeing my parents. Sadly, my Nan passed away unexpectedly just a few days before we arrived, peacefully at the good old age of 93, but it was still a reminder that you never know when your time is up, which is why it's important to make the most of life. We were glad to be with my parents at this difficult time, supporting them as much as possible and, of course, having Beth around was a welcome distraction. We also celebrated "Fake Christmas" whilst in Somerset, having not seen my parents over the real Christmas period. Having committed to a plant-based diet as our New Year's resolution, Alex and I made a delicious nut roast for Fake Christmas lunch, which everyone enjoyed.

"Fake Christmas" lunch with the Shepherds and my Aunt Susan.
I hope Beth doesn't start to think that Christmas is a monthly occurrence...

Following the festivities, Alex got cracking with the rudder and did a sterling job of finishing the stainless steel frame. Sadly, we weren't able to progress to the next stage of gluing and fibreglassing the rudder, due to the weather. With temperatures hovering around zero, and a minimum working temperature of 5°C for the epoxy resin, we weren't keen to repeat our experiences from the aft cabin work. Working with cold epoxy seems to be much more difficult due to its decreased viscosity, which results in larger quantities being used and lots of stress when trying to get a good finish. We decided that, given we wouldn't be fitting the rudder again until at least May, we might as well wait another couple of months and finish the construction when the weather is warmer.

Alex with the finished rudder frame. Now we just need to cover the
metal 'tangs' in marine ply, fibreglass and paint it. 

The day after my Nan's funeral, we drove to London via the boat, to collect our living essentials ready for the few months we'd be away. I find it quite frustrating that we can easily get by with so few belongings that we can fit in a Fiat 500 hire car, yet for some reason we own enough to fill a 45 foot boat. I wonder if it's due to our consumerist society that we feel the need to fill the space we live in, or whether it's just human nature. Did our ancestors fill their caves with a plethora of rocks, bones, sticks and stones or anything else they found that might be visually appealing or potentiality useful, or did they enjoy a clutter-free existence, knowing that they would have to lug a load of replaceable crap to the next cave if they needed to move on?

My nan and Beth. She would not be pleased to see this photo that Alex
secretly took of her in December, as she had a phobia of being photographed.
Still, I think she looks pretty great for 93 and I'm so glad to have this picture.

Now, back in London, we have started preparing for the job hunt. LinkedIn profiles and CVs updated, we have decided that whoever gets the best contract can work and the other will stay at home and look after Beth. To be perfectly honest, I'd be happy doing either. I love writing code and would relish the chance to get back at it in a full time role, but I'm equally happy spending time with this fascinating little person we've created, who is changing so much day by day. Thankfully, Alex feels exactly the same and so it's really nice to know that, for the next few months, we will both be enjoying ourselves whichever way it goes. The plan has changed, as usual, but the aim is the same: enjoy life and be happy.

Back in London with the Mitchells...
 Uh oh, watch out Bertie - there's a new beast in town!

Up The Hamble Without A Rudder

Last time we wrote anything about our boat, we were out in Portugal with Seahorse, starting work on the refit before going back to London for the birth of our first child. The bulk of the work we did was in the engine bay, in preparation for installing our brand new engine. It was filthy work, grinding the rusted steel back to bare metal, welding up any holes and then painting on primer. We were very happy with the quality of the work we had done, but realised that we had months (if not years) of work ahead of us, given our perfectionist tendencies and work rate. Having not even completed the engine bay or installed the new engine, we drove Reg (our Rover 75) back to London.

Work on Seahorse's engine bay was slow and filthy, and was only the tip of the iceberg.

A couple of weeks into life with our daughter Beth around, we came to the realisation that most people around us had probably already known for months; it was going to be completely impractical to attempt the major refit on Seahorse in a boatyard with a baby. Sure, it would be possible, if we took it in turns to work on our own down the yard whilst the other person looked after Beth elsewhere, but that didn't appeal to us at all. Neither of us wanted to miss out on any of this precious time with our new daughter, and we certainly didn't want to be without a proper home for all that time. We wanted Beth to grow up on a boat right from the word go, and a functional one at that. I began my search for a replacement for Seahorse, and we resigned ourselves to losing money in this exchange, as it would be difficult to find a buyer willing to undertake such a large project, let alone one willing to pay good money for the challenge.

We were determined that Beth should grow up on a boat,
hence us renting the yacht Anna-Maria whilst back in London for her birth.

With Beth one month old, and my new boat research in full swing, we went down to the south coast for the weekend to visit a few groups of good friends down there. One couple happened to be with their boat in a yard in Bursledon on the River Hamble, doing a refit themselves, so we were pleased to get the chance to pop in on them for a few hours. Whilst Alex was arranging this visit, he mentioned the fact that we were now looking for a new boat and our friend Warren excitedly mentioned that he thought that the perfect boat for us was moored astern of them at the yard. It was, apparently, a 40ft ferro-cement ketch ready for sea with just a bit of sprucing up to do beforehand. Now, 40ft was much larger than we were planning on getting - my searches were for up to 37ft, and we were also looking for steel. We had found plenty available in the Netherlands, but hadn't organised any viewings at that stage. So, with nothing to lose, we agreed to view this yacht out of interest, whilst we were in the area.

We were pleased to have found such a sturdy yacht that we could move
straight onto and was "ready to go" sailing - it felt like fate!

Over the next couple of days prior to our visit, this yacht grew from 40ft to 42ft in email communications, then upon arrival we discovered she was actually 45ft. Warren had not wanted to disclose this fact beforehand, as he knew that we would not be willing to view a boat so big. We laughed at how well he knew us, as this was definitely the case - we would never have considered such a large vessel. Anyhow, now we were there, she looked very nice from the pontoon and so Warren arranged for the owner to come and show us around below decks. She was very well equipped, incredibly spacious and Alex was immediately taken with her stowage capacity, especially her 1000 litre water tank and 300 gallon diesel tank. We liked her, and although we were unsure of owning a ferro-cement hull, she had been built by an employee of Camper and Nicholsons (a well-respected boat builders) to a very high standard. We negotiated what we thought was a fair price with the owner, on the one condition that he got the engine working prior to sale. He had tried to start it for us, boasting that it started first time, every time, which of course it then didn't. We didn't really mind, as Alex suspected the solenoid contacts had corroded (the boat hadn't moved since at least last year) and would just need a clean. We could tell that the owner was a real gentleman and would be true to his word and, of course, we had Warren's recommendation that the boat was sound. The deal was done, and we left Bursledon rather excited about our spur-of-the-moment purchase.

Alex's birthday meal on the new boat, with his family. At this point,
we were blissfully unaware of the work that lay ahead of us!

We had plans over the following few weeks to visit friends and family with Beth, so it was almost a month before we returned to our new home. We loaded a hire car with our worldly belongings (well, the small amount that existed with us in the UK, that is) and headed excitedly down to Bursledon, via the owner's house near Andover, where we had a spot of lunch, transferred the remaining funds for the boat and collected bits and bobs that had been in his garage (such as varnished grab rails, sails, cushions, etc). Now in mid-August, the weather was warm and we were keen to remove the tarpaulins that had been covering the cabin tops, to open the hatches and let in the summer sunshine. Everything was peachy. Until the next night, when it rained. It soon became apparent that this boat was not at all watertight, and so I used every available rag, teatowel and bowl to catch drips and soak up puddles. I covered our duvet with a bin bag and a towel, to prevent the leaking hatch above our bunk from completely soaking our bedding. As you can imagine, this put a bit of a damper on our high spirits.

As much as I like mushrooms, I didn't fancy cultivating them in our aft cabin.
The sides were so rotten in some places that Alex was easily able to poke a screwdriver through 30mm of marine ply!

The next morning we wrung out towels, emptied bowls and properly inspected the cabin tops and hatches. We weren't so concerned with leaks from around hatches and portholes - this can be expected over time, and is usually fairly easily rectified by removing, resealing and reseating the leaking object. When we first moved onto Firebird, she had plenty of leaks from poorly sealed portholes and deck fittings, but once fixed we had a dry boat for the remaining years that we owned her. What concerned us more was the realisation that we had large sections of rot in parts of the cabin tops. Whilst the hull and decks were made of ferro-cement, the cabin tops were made from marine ply and these, on closer inspection, were in a bad way. This was a big blow for us, as we began to realise that we did not, in fact, have a boat that was ready to put to sea, but rather one that needed a fairly hefty amount of work in order to even be habitable.

All our possessions, boxed up and removed from Seahorse, ready for shipping
back to the UK. Sadly, this is all now in storage, costing us £65 a month!

By now, we had already booked flights to Portugal to pack up our belongings from Seahorse to ship back to the UK and attempt to sell the old girl, so there was little more we could do than put the tarpaulins back up and hope that they held the worst of the weather out for the month we were to be away. Packing up Seahorse was not an easy task, especially in the stifling Algarvian heat, but I enjoyed that month immensely. I think this was partly due to knowing that difficult times lay ahead on our return to our new boat, which made every worry-free second away from it even sweeter. We successfully loaded all our possessions onto a single pallet, and then tidied Seahorse as best we could in order to sell. We advertised her at the price of her brand new Beta engine, and hoped that someone would be happy to pay for an engine and get a boat for free. We had lots of interest and viewings from Portuguese buyers whilst we were there in Lagos, but eventually it was a lovely English chap who took her off our hands shortly after our return to London. It was a relief to have found a new owner for Seahorse, especially one who was planning to restore her and make her his home. Although, I have since found myself wondering on many an occasion whether we should have just kept her, saved ourselves the best part of 20 grand and at least had the pleasure of a refit in the warm Portuguese climate.

Beth and I were always on hand, to provide cups of tea, crisps, and ensure materials arrived on time.
Mike and Alex did the bulk of the hard work, starting early and finishing late in a race against the weather.

Early October, we found ourselves heading back down to Bursledon, ready to start work on the new boat. We asked our friend Mike if he fancied expanding his business and opening a marine division to help us with the aft cabin top. Thank goodness he agreed, as without his help I think we'd still be trying to remove the old cabin top. Mike came down for a week and worked with Alex on removing the entire aft cabin top, replacing it with sheets of brand new marine plywood. Beth and I took on the project management, ordering materials just in time for the boys to use them, and ensured they were well watered and fed. To be honest, I think Beth could have pulled her weight a bit more in all this... I often felt like I was carrying her, but luckily she is super cute so can get away with being pretty much useless at helping out. One week turned into four, as we were hit with delays due to bad weather (not so much rain but cold weather preventing materials from curing and drying properly) and we were eternally grateful to Mike and his family that he was able to spend the time away from home, helping us out.

I managed to take a break from project management to help install the new portholes.
The finished aft cabin top looks brilliant and, most importantly, doesn't leak.

During that period, we had to take the boat out of the water to clean and repaint the hull ready for our trip to France. Oh, sorry, did I forget to mention that we had invited Alex's family to spend Christmas on the boat with us in France? Ah, how blissfully unaware we were of our situation back in the summer... Now in mid-November, we still felt like we had a fighting chance of getting over there in time - we just needed to antifoul, finish the aft cabin, restep the mizzen mast (which was removed to facilitate the aft cabin refit) and get the rigging and sails ready. Simples. Until, that is, we found more issues with the boat. The first was the gearbox. It turned out that, whilst the previous owner had been true to his word and got the engine running prior to our purchase, nobody had thought to see if it would go in and out of gear, and it wouldn't. Never mind, we thought - hopefully a simple problem to fix when we get chance... Perhaps a seal or something. We paid the yard to tow us to the cradle, and came out of the water to discover another problem. The existing paint system had completely failed and was now trapping water against the hull. Rather than just a new coat of antifouling, we now needed to strip all the paint back to the concrete, which meant an extra week out of the water and a large bill for expensive marine paint. After a few gruelling days cleaning the hull, Alex stumbles upon the next big issue - the rudder is broken and useless. The metal stock had corroded right through, and turning the wheel no longer equated to moving the rudder. The Channel crossing was starting to slip away from us. A quote from the boatyard of £4000 to fix the rudder and a probable lead time of two months left us no option but to attempt to build one for ourselves. We removed the old one prior to putting the boat back in the water, and took it to my parents' garage in Somerset, which they kindly agreed to let us use as a workshop in which to build our replacement rudder.

Mike and Alex continued working hard on the boat whilst she was out of the water.
Alex had to cut the old rudder off before she went back into the water, to use as a template for making a new one.

And so, as it stands, we are stuck on a leaky (we have yet to fix the leaks in the forward cabin), oversized boat on the most expensive stretch of water in the UK, unable to move to a cheaper mooring due to the fact that, amongst other things, we have no rudder. Note to self: never buy a boat without taking it out for a sail, prior to parting with any hard-earned cash.

Alex enjoys the luxury of a makeshift workshop in my parents' garage,
whilst welding the stainless frame for our new rudder