A day in the life of.....

There was a smell in the air at the Champs, the smell of revenge. (There was certainly a smell in our house, but the Chairman had brought the air freshener). Jacko was all fired up to snatch the bottle back from Chairman Cooper. It was to be a difficult week but revenge was to be sweet or so we hoped.
Having arrived in Looe and made our way to the Yacht club, Jacko was feeling a tad stressed and in need of some refreshment. After ordering a pint and some food he then asked the barmaid where he could have his hair cut she replied that she had just qualified and that if he went to her place in twenty minutes she would cut his hair as well.
Jacko thought that he'd died and gone to heaven. A beer, a lasagne, a haircut and an ice cream on the way home and all for under a tenner!

Monday's racing was to be two races back to back. Arriving at the starting area early we hardened up to check the beat when, bang, the rig fell over the side. The eye bolt holding the jib tack to the deck sheared off. Declining the rescue boat's offer of assistance Jacko cut some main halyard off and proceeded to poke the end through the hole where the deck eye had been and then tied a big knot underneath to stop it from pulling though. We pulled the mainsail down and then realising that the jib "T" terminal had come out someone had to go swimming... now let me guess who could that be!
Jacko was then able to lift the mast up and re-step it, and all in those lumpy seas (Oh the joy of lightweight carbon spars).
After re-rigging the tangled sheets we were up and ready to race. Dave Townend felt pity for us and forced a General recall, we were saved! Sailing back to the fleet we asked Susie Last how long there was to the start, Eight minutes she replied. Just enough time to sail outside the committee boat and check that it was all going to hold together. Checking the boat on the beat we looked around in dismay to see the fleet had already started. It was THREE MINUTES not Eight bah!
It was my fault, I should have been watching the flags whilst swimming and re-attaching the jib.

 Starting at the Committee boat was somewhat interesting, the starting cannon was mounted just a bit too close to the water for my liking. Watching the smoke from a recall signal go into one of Scotties ear's and straight out of the other. And LOUD, it was so loud that it made me temporarily deaf. Jacko was apparently asking me to sheet in and sit out but I couldn't hear a thing (that's my story and and I'm sticking to it).
Still that was nothing compared to the time when Davo was literally shot off the side deck by the wadding from the cannon. The starter was then offered "anything off the top shelf", including a cuddly bear and a goldfish but chose the gonk instead.
 
 

Along with the rest of the fleet we were visited by the sticker fairy. I don't quite know where the idea came from but we seem to have ended up with several references to pasties in our boat, including two sitting on the thwart when we took the cover off one morning. Pity one of them wasn't a veggie one I was getting quite peckish that morning.
Still the rest of the week continued much as it had started with brilliant winds and waves but the worst part was to be on Friday when we only had to beat Chairman Cooper by Thirty Seven places to win the bottle. The race officer then decided to cancel the race.
Do I smell a rat or what?
 

Salcombe, July 2000.

Staying in the house with Chairman Cooper, Tuder Owen and the tap dancing seagulls performing hits from Riverdance on the roof, the normal round of bets were made. A pint on each race and a bottle of plonk for the winners of the week, then there was the "Salcombe Slate" with The Johnson’s (more pints per race). The knackered tent peg sadly having past into folklore.
Tina's dad refused to put up the bottle of Leibfraumilch so the bets against the Littles in the plastic fantastic were off.
The serious side of things were now in place for the week.
Blue flight's first start was in the afternoon, time to watch the morning race with coffee on the club veranda. Funny I don't remember ordering a frothy coffee, must have been a bit breezy.
After watching a particularly large puff break the masts of two boats and capsize a third the decision was made to retire to the bar and enjoy the entertainment of the afternoon's race, - a decision later made by many of our fellow competitors.

Later on we were alarmed to see that Patrick Blake had "fallen down the stairs", a likely story, did he jump or was he pushed? We demand to know.

Tuesday dawned to Julian Harm's 40th Birthday, a much-decorated boat on the beach, the initial plan of burying his boat in the sand with only the mast visible was abandoned due to lack of energy and the belief that sand blown by the wind was burying everything anyway.

The week continued much as it had started with some generally breezy and chilly conditions, The Gurston blast took on a whole new meaning and William Warren attempting to perform a forward 360 in front of the judges had us reaching for the voting cards. After bravely sailing the other races we took refuge in several of the town's fine eating houses, (not on the same evening you understand). A particularly good nosh in the "serial wife beater" (or something like that) with a bottle or two of a fine white Chilean number and we were ready for Tuder and his "Hoover manoeuvre".

Things were starting to look serious in the pints stakes, the Johnson's who must have been over the line in every race so far, were scooting ahead in the table but we were up on the Chairman until the overall results were published....... 
 

ONE POINT they beat us by ONE MEASLY POINT, the Gods must have been smiling on the Chairman.
Grrr, I hope you enjoy the wine Chairman Cooper!.
 

Maylandsea, 12th December.

The planned trip to Oostend was called off yesterday, something to do with Supertankers being blown off their trailers. The day's forecast was better but not much!
Large black beasties dumping their load on our heads and a distinctly large nip in the air. ( No racist Japanese jokes here thank you -ED ) the series was up for grabs, Keith in his RS300, Ian and Tina in their plastic fantastic and ourselves prepared for the series decider.
Richard and Simon Metcalf decided to pull that old gear failure card out of the bag, anything to stay in the warm. (just when did this centreboard problem happen Simon?)
The planned port tack flyer went badly wrong but we gave chase at the back on the run down the river, squeezing past the littles we turned and headed up to Coopers as the breeze edged up a notch.
There was confusion at the mark as the leader in a RS600 rounded correctly then fell in, an RS 400 went round the wrong way and Keith in his 300 got fazed, wore round instead of gybing without going round the mark first then shot off in the other direction and went splot. How we laughed!
Having rounded we hoisted the kite and I got in the 3 and 9's at the back with the Littles in hot pursuit. A big puff, everything strained like the day after a night out on the curry and the mast folded gracefully over the bow. Tina temporarily went deaf as Ian screamed,
"GET THE KITE DOWN" then they reached off to Mundon and decided to do some dredging. So thoughtful don't you think?
Tidying up Jacko suggested we could rig up a jury rig with the spinnaker pole, unfortunately the jury was hung and I didn't fancy suffering the same fate. Did he still think we could win?

The rescue boat circled round like a vulture waiting to pick up the spoils. It was at this point that the boom went through the transom flap and we filled up with water, Jacko got his feet wet, Bah!
With grateful thanks to the rescue boat, we were towed in and sorted out the mess. The pop rivets holding the spreader bracket had pulled through and the rest was history, another metal mast bites the dust.

P.S. Keith retired but won the series, Ian and Tina also retired but got second and we ended up with a third. 
Chichester, 23rd October.
Jacko was preparing for his journey to the Chichester Silver Tiller meeting when Lynda called out "You've left your sailing bag behind" 
"Yeah" replied Alan "I've left the boat behind as well!"
With Graham's mast tied securely to the roof rack, Jacko estimated that at sixty miles an hour on top of the Queen Elizabeth II bridge going into the Gale sweeping up from the south coast, he could see 70mm of tip deflection. A fact carefully noted, as more data is collected for Jacko and Mike to analyze.