The whole idea of keeping a secret diary, was to allow me to chart my ups and downs after the event and hopefully make some sense of it all. Which on the whole it has. Nothing really auspicious or fortunately, devastating, just little insights into my personalty. It's a bit like the moment you realise you roughly know approximately where the letters are on the keyboard without looking. So no posts for the last four months. Whilst it gave you a break from my tedium it isn't going to be of any help to me. It wouldn't be so bad if nothing much had happened in between posts but it always does. But hey, I won't dwell on it (when did I stop doing that?) Lets get on
Lots has happened since my last diary entry. Sailing in Corfu was enormous fun and I did draw and splodge a little. Living on a boat however isn't. Being over six foot means you either walk with a constant stoop or risk banging your head. Both of which I achieved but not in that order. Beds on small yachts resemble coffins which you roll out of. Portholes are never where you want them so it's a trip up on deck to see daylight or moonlight if you come over all "isn't life wonderful" or have drunk too much red wine. In my case the later usually leads to the former. Moonlight twinkling on water and highlighting the landscape is rather special though and well worth drinking a little too much just to enjoy. However, I'm getting ahead of myself. Sam, the son of one of my customers and Jo, his girlfriend were my hosts for the five days. They sail people around the Greek islands for a living, in a rather large posh yacht. For the days I was there we used their smaller yacht (and home). After "stowing my kit" (yes the nautical language started straight away) in my bunk (imagine a space not much bigger than a coffin with the sound of lapping water outside)I was given a brief tour.Gallery, their bunk (bigger than mine, but not much, at the pointy end of the boat) and then the bathroom. The bathroom was much the same size as my "bunk" but vertical instead of horizontal. So you s**t, shower and shave almost on the same spot.The whole toilet thing deserves a chapter or two all of its own. So here goes.
There's a lot of water pumping involved. First you pump in (5 times) filling the loo then flick the switch on top, so it's in pump out mode. It's not too difficult but its a little noisy Add to that, your bodies own propensity to join in with it's own additional sounds and all in a very confined space and alarm bells are going off in your head. Once you've done it's time to pump out (5 times or more if needed?) and you need to remember to flick the switch back, ready for the next visitor. Sam explains this in a way a bomb disposal expert would describe how to defuse a bomb. I'm guessing the results are much the same if you get either wrong. So even before you've set sail and have used the coffin toilet, you're planning on visiting any loo you pass when on dry land. Regardless of whether you want to or not. Oh and I forgot to mention the paper. That goes in a small bin next to the loo. As the fish don't like the paper as much as the poo. I kid you not! If you get to sit and steer at the back of Sam & Jo's yacht, as I did. You'll notice little silvery blue fish following your every move. "What are they?" you'll ask. "Oh they're the poo fish." They'll reply."They follow you everywhere."
OK , I've almost finished. Just the finer details now.Timing is very important. If you get up late in the night. You'll have to navigate in the pitch black (I'm still using the right words) from one end of the tiny yacht to the other. Without tripping or banging into what seems like endless amounts of deliberate bruising table or bench ends and toe stubbing legs. Once safely locked into the closet (So that's where the name comes from) with your shorts round your ankles you suddenly realise your bare bum is about a foot away from Captain Sam's sleeping (I so hope and pray) head with only a sheet of plywood keeping you apart. No, night time isn't the best time. The best time is with everybody else on deck. Keeping busy, pulling anchors up, looking at charts or steering you somewhere nice. Then you can pump poo and pump again. Safe in the knowledge that no one can hear you. However as you may have guessed. You've just pumped everything out of the side for all to see as it floats by but that's another story.
I really loved my few days sailing. Waving and smiling at other sailors while you manically tried to out manoeuvre them. Especially if they were sailing under the flag of every Englishman's mortal enemies. Namely the French and Australians. On these occasion I didn't let the ghosts of Drake, Walter Raleigh or Admiral Nelson down. The impromptu swims off the back of the boat or the barbecues and beers at the end of a day's sailing in some picturesque little cove were brilliant fun. I have to say though, that on balance yachting is like caravaning, only for rich people (when you factor in the costs of owning even the smallest one. My next holiday will have a huge soundproof bathroom. A bed I can sit up in, without whacking my head on some important bit of nautical superstructure and I won't be followed by pretty little fishes waiting to dine on, what I dined on the night before. Finally the little picture is of the Albanian coastline taken early morning. Every day you woke up, sailed through or went to sleep with a view like this :)
Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfilment :)))
Lots has happened since my last diary entry. Sailing in Corfu was enormous fun and I did draw and splodge a little. Living on a boat however isn't. Being over six foot means you either walk with a constant stoop or risk banging your head. Both of which I achieved but not in that order. Beds on small yachts resemble coffins which you roll out of. Portholes are never where you want them so it's a trip up on deck to see daylight or moonlight if you come over all "isn't life wonderful" or have drunk too much red wine. In my case the later usually leads to the former. Moonlight twinkling on water and highlighting the landscape is rather special though and well worth drinking a little too much just to enjoy. However, I'm getting ahead of myself. Sam, the son of one of my customers and Jo, his girlfriend were my hosts for the five days. They sail people around the Greek islands for a living, in a rather large posh yacht. For the days I was there we used their smaller yacht (and home). After "stowing my kit" (yes the nautical language started straight away) in my bunk (imagine a space not much bigger than a coffin with the sound of lapping water outside)I was given a brief tour.Gallery, their bunk (bigger than mine, but not much, at the pointy end of the boat) and then the bathroom. The bathroom was much the same size as my "bunk" but vertical instead of horizontal. So you s**t, shower and shave almost on the same spot.The whole toilet thing deserves a chapter or two all of its own. So here goes.
There's a lot of water pumping involved. First you pump in (5 times) filling the loo then flick the switch on top, so it's in pump out mode. It's not too difficult but its a little noisy Add to that, your bodies own propensity to join in with it's own additional sounds and all in a very confined space and alarm bells are going off in your head. Once you've done it's time to pump out (5 times or more if needed?) and you need to remember to flick the switch back, ready for the next visitor. Sam explains this in a way a bomb disposal expert would describe how to defuse a bomb. I'm guessing the results are much the same if you get either wrong. So even before you've set sail and have used the coffin toilet, you're planning on visiting any loo you pass when on dry land. Regardless of whether you want to or not. Oh and I forgot to mention the paper. That goes in a small bin next to the loo. As the fish don't like the paper as much as the poo. I kid you not! If you get to sit and steer at the back of Sam & Jo's yacht, as I did. You'll notice little silvery blue fish following your every move. "What are they?" you'll ask. "Oh they're the poo fish." They'll reply."They follow you everywhere."
OK , I've almost finished. Just the finer details now.Timing is very important. If you get up late in the night. You'll have to navigate in the pitch black (I'm still using the right words) from one end of the tiny yacht to the other. Without tripping or banging into what seems like endless amounts of deliberate bruising table or bench ends and toe stubbing legs. Once safely locked into the closet (So that's where the name comes from) with your shorts round your ankles you suddenly realise your bare bum is about a foot away from Captain Sam's sleeping (I so hope and pray) head with only a sheet of plywood keeping you apart. No, night time isn't the best time. The best time is with everybody else on deck. Keeping busy, pulling anchors up, looking at charts or steering you somewhere nice. Then you can pump poo and pump again. Safe in the knowledge that no one can hear you. However as you may have guessed. You've just pumped everything out of the side for all to see as it floats by but that's another story.
I really loved my few days sailing. Waving and smiling at other sailors while you manically tried to out manoeuvre them. Especially if they were sailing under the flag of every Englishman's mortal enemies. Namely the French and Australians. On these occasion I didn't let the ghosts of Drake, Walter Raleigh or Admiral Nelson down. The impromptu swims off the back of the boat or the barbecues and beers at the end of a day's sailing in some picturesque little cove were brilliant fun. I have to say though, that on balance yachting is like caravaning, only for rich people (when you factor in the costs of owning even the smallest one. My next holiday will have a huge soundproof bathroom. A bed I can sit up in, without whacking my head on some important bit of nautical superstructure and I won't be followed by pretty little fishes waiting to dine on, what I dined on the night before. Finally the little picture is of the Albanian coastline taken early morning. Every day you woke up, sailed through or went to sleep with a view like this :)
Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of fulfilment :)))
