- pulling on ropes

-  getting from A to B without going aground at C

-  steering a straight course for hours on end clutching a mug of lukewarm tea, being blown at, splashed on and cold whilst pretending to have a marvellous time

-  fending off giant sea monsters with a plastic fender

(This pic is due to go in to the next issue of Marine Quarterly, by the way….I’m looking forward to reading the article that goes with it!)

But with a few notable exceptions boats spend more time in harbour than they do at sea, and there are more skills involved in boat handling than you ever get to hear about. I’ve been on board my small but perfectly formed gaff cutter ‘Ellen’ for a week now, at the cheap end of a tidal and very pretty river.  The weather has been appalling, putting paid to my fantasy of sitting in the cockpit watching the sun set over the saltings, supping g&t while the curlews call and the oystercatchers skitter over the mudbanks.  No, I’ve been hiding in the cabin with the hatches shut trying to get the stove to light with damp coal, learning which drips are condensation and which are deck leaks, and thinking unworthy, un-nautical thoughts of how nice houses are to live in.

(and this is one I’ve done for the third part of Julia Jones’ Strong Winds trilogy – of which more next time)

So, for anyone thinking of contemplating a spell of the simple life afloat watching the sun set, etc. etc, (what, nobody?  Shame on you!), here are some of the skills they don’t teach you at day skipper classes:

-  How to shower in the boatyard toilets without dropping your towel and/or underwear onto the wet concrete floor.

-  How to condense a wardrobe-full of clothes into two plastic crates.

-  How to remember which inaccessible locker you stored your spare pyjamas in

-  How to keep your hands clean in a cabin with a coal stove and no running water

-  How to face the day without your morning cuppa when the gas cylinder runs out at the worst possible moment

-  How to keep a bottle of white wine cool using a large damp sock (thanks to Alison Kidd for this tip)

-  How to avoid falling off the wobbliest bit of the pontoon when coming home late at night (a similar skill to avoid dropping handbag and/or keys in the water when stepping aboard).

It starts to make all the actual sailing stuff look easy – and there’ll be some of that when the weather improves.

Oh, and the cushions?  Essential for crew morale in small cabins in the rain – especially when you’re still researching the best corner to curl up in comfort with a kindle.

It’s alright, I lied about the sea monsters.

Although Shirley and Peter live not far from me in Pembrokeshire, I first met them at London Boat show about five years ago, where we were both book signing.  Shirley takes a robust approach to grabbing the attention of potential customers.  She looks someone straight in the eye as they walk past the table and asks: “Have you ever dreamed about sailing round the world?”  Nobody at a boat show is going to admit that they haven’t at least thought about it, so the usual answer is ‘Er… yes!’  Bingo – and away they go, chatting like old shipmates. I admire this greatly, especially as my own technique is a little less forthright, consisting as it does of gazing into my gin and tonic until someone taps me on the shoulder.

Shirley writes about their adventures with humour and honesty, and all sailors can read between the lines and imagine what the difficult times as well as the good times were like. And there’s one thing we all know about sailing – when it’s good it’s amazing, and when it’s bad it’s bloody awful. Shirley’s assessment of the enjoyability or otherwise of bobbing around an ocean is summarised as follows:

20% glorious

60% a good, satisfying, exhilarating and rewarding way to travel

15% ho hum!  Rough, queasy and sick making

5% absolutely bloody terrifying!

Sailing round the world isn’t for everyone – but there’s something inspiring about such a ‘can do’ attitude, especially at an age when many people are starting to mutter about ‘taking it easy’.  My son started university recently, and at the boat show beforehand he  received some advice from Robin Knox-Johnston to send him on his way. “Everything is possible – believe in yourself.  If you think you can do something, go for it,” Robin told him, and quoted the Shel Silverstein poem ‘The Mustn’ts’:

Listen to the mustn’ts, child, listen to the don’ts

Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts

Listen to the never haves then listen close to me

Anything can happen, child, anything can be.

This advice is probably wasted on my son who at 19 is immersed in his computer and/or duvet most of the time, but it went into my notebook – good advice for intrepid sailors of any age as well as life in general.

I’m having a bit of a ‘Seize the Day’ moment of my own this year, so be warned, there will be blog posts during the summer from the nether regions of the river Deben where I plan to seek inspiration amongst the wading birds and houseboats. Though I’ve a feeling my own adventures will fall short of the storm-tossed heroics regularly endured by veteran blue water cruisers; after my first day afloat last week, sailing down the river Orwell in the gap between gales, my ship’s log had only two incidents to report:

1) Lost bra.  2) Fell in the water.

The two items, you’ll be relieved to hear, are not related.  The first turned up safe and well in my sleeping bag, the second involved a moment’s inattention, a coil of wet rope on a pontoon and an unwelcome dip. I now know first hand how difficult marinas are to get out of – even when you have sensible friends, a handy coil of rope, and happen to be wearing a lifejacket with a harness ring. And blessings to small boats with toasty warm coal stoves to dry off next to!

Meanwhile, back in the world of proper seafaring tales, it’s best to contact Shirley direct if you want a copy of Passport to Adventure, as I gather there’s a problem with their Amazon listing at the moment. Her email address is shirpet32@aol.com.   If you’re planning your own escape to the sun, there is plenty of practical advice in the book about the nitty gritty of running a small boat, the delights and perils of the Mediterranean and the joys and horrors of the French canals.  Bon voyage!

I love hearing about adventures I know I would never do myself, but I’m also fascinated by the attitudes that make it possible. Taking a tiny yacht to latitude 80 degrees north might imply a relish for macho feats of endurance and suffering, but Roger’s attitude is refreshingly free of heroics.  He has nothing to prove; he sails because he enjoys it and has arranged Mingming’s rig and cabin to make sure she is easily handled in all weathers, well behaved, warm and comfortable, albeit at a simple level. He sails to places like Spitzbergen and the Faroes because he loves the wild northern waters, alive with sea birds, dolphins and minke whales. He loves sailing close to a land of high cliffs and glaciers tumbling into the sea and is totally unworried about not being able to anchor and go ashore.

The foundations for his enjoyment are three principles of safety afloat. Roger’s views are based on years of experience, including a dramatic shipwreck on board a square rigged ship in Australia. You’ll need to read his books for the details of how his experiences shaped his choice of boat and the modifications he made to her, but in essence an ocean-going boat needs to hang onto three things in even the most extreme circumstances: unsinkability, motive power and steering. A boat designed with these in mind will provide the basis for stress free sailing – sound logic indeed.

Stress free sailing? Bring it on! Perhaps I should try for a change of attitude this year and shape a course to rediscover my own inner ruffy-tuffy sailor. Who knows, I may even make it out of one muddy creek and into another.  Perhaps I could give talks about my adventures around the coast – what do you think? I could have you on the edge of seat calmly relating how I grounded my coracle on an uncharted mudbank miles away from civilisation (well, out of sight of the pub at Cresswell Quay, anyway) and had to eat the last kit-kat whilst waiting for the tide to come in.

Roger’s experiences are proof that the difference between ordeal and adventure is attitude – and I really will try and remember that next time I dive back under the duvet and stay safely in harbour if the wind looks like it’s going to be strong enough to make me spill my drink.

Here’s one of my sketches of Mingming, drawn for Marine Quarterly, which has several excellent articles from Roger (and the spring edition has just arrived, by the way – look at www.themarinequarterly.com if you’re not already a subscriber).

‘Kitty’ – my former home

Being alone on a small boat is a bad time to suffer from vertigo. It was definitely not seasickness because the boat was in Brest harbour, tied up safely to a mooring on calm water and, having sailed 400 miles down channel in all kinds of weather, I was at that rare and happy state known as ‘having my sea legs’. Sealegs are hard to acquire, but mine must have arrived sometime along the way because I remember being able to ride the Alderney race at spring tide, on passage to St Peter Port, whilst eating cheese and pickle sandwiches.

Which is why it was an unpleasant shock to wake up on the day before the first ever Brest Festival of Sail in 1992 with the cabin ceiling spinning in dizzy circles above my head. Staying in bed was not an option as I was exhibiting artwork in the British pavilion and this was setting up day.  Stage one involved digging out crates of well packed framed paintings from the deepest recesses of Kitty’s lockers, a skill akin to potholing.  Stage two was to be pumping up the inflatable dinghy and rowing the heap of boxes ashore, in several loads.  The quayside looked a long way off, and being low tide the harbour wall had a long, weed slimed ladder to climb, not easy with crates that need two hands to lift. Stage three was summoning enough French vocabulary to ask directions to the British pavilion amongst all the bustle ashore, finding the spot I’d booked and then hanging my humble attempts at marine art in an irresistible display.

I couldn’t get past stage one. I sat in the cockpit with a cup of tea, trying to hold my head still and hoping not to be sick.  I’d managed to clear away the foc’sle locker lids and brought out one crate before dashing back into the cockpit for a gulp of fresh air.  There was no-one to ask for help; my crew had left a few days earlier due to work commitments leaving me to do the last and easiest stage alone.

I didn’t turn my head at the noise of an approaching engine – it would have made me too dizzy for one thing, and I had no reason to expect visitors.

“Ahoy, Kitty!”

A large dory was approaching, with Robin Knox Johnston at the helm. No, I wasn’t hallucinating. The dory came alongside and within seconds my knight in shining oilskins had tied on the painter and jumped aboard.

“Thought you might need a hand,” he said cheerfully.

Within half an hour I was safely ashore with all my crates and Robin sped off in the dory with a wave. It’s rare in life for the wheels to turn and line up so that everything happens at exactly the right time, but when it does, you never forget it. There are sound reasons why a sailing hero had been looking out for me and turned up out of the blue at exactly the right time, but I will be forever grateful for the timing of that act of nautical chivalry. The bout of dizziness lasted the rest of the day; trying to hang paintings when you can’t look up without falling over is a challenge in itself, but the rest of the festival went without a hitch.

Douarnenez Reflections – the festival inspired a feast of new artwork

Twenty years on, and at least my recent attack of vertigo led to nothing worse than missed work time, spilt tea when the kitchen floor did an unexpected sideways lurch, and the boring necessity to sit totally still until feeling better. It gave me time to reflect that July this year will be the 20^th anniversary of the Brest Festival. It’s big, chaotic and unique, and I’ve been lucky enough to attend four out of the five festivals to date. Recession or no, beautiful boats still sail and love getting together, so maybe this year I’ll dust off my sketchbook, try and find my sealegs afloat as well as ashore, and try and get over there.  I’d better make sure Robin Knox Johnston is going too, just in case….

“Now look here, this has gone on long enough. You’ve been painting nothing but cartoon windsurfers for weeks now – good, solid work, admittedly, and at around 6 images a page and 50 pages done for ‘Go Windsurfing’ so far, that’s….. a lot of paintings of cartoon windsurfers.  But we’ve done nothing arty for weeks.  Months, even.  Not a single splash of colour has flicked onto a sheet of RWS 140lb NOT with creative intent for so long I think you’ve forgotten how.”

I licked the brush and it came to a fine point. Still well up to the job. Putting it back in its pot, I picked up my lucky green clutch pencil with its 2b leads and addressed it sternly.  ”And as for you – when was the last time you drew me a boat for fun?  When was the last time you even managed a little sketch of a well heeled cutter bouncing over a sparkling sea?”

The pencil did not reply. The tubes of watercolour stayed silent in the paintbox.  A scary unopened bank statement mocked me from the in-tray. “Call yourself an artist?” it said.  I hid it at the bottom of the pile and focussed attention on the sheet of paper untouched on the drawing board.

“Right, you lot. Enough is enough.  Back to basics we go……”

So back to basics we went.  After a few warm ups during which everything including computer and unopened bank statement became happily splashed with paint, I reminded pencil, brush and paint about the joys of painting a well heeled cutter bouncing over the sparkling etc etc. I decided, for my own benefit as well as for anyone else suffering from reluctant pencil syndrome, to photograph it stage by stage. Hopefully it may be helpful to all you budding marine artists out there, and the plan eventually is to make a few how-to videos if I get my act together.  Anyway, let me know what you think.  I haven’t explained here how to draw the boat in the first place; that’s a whole separate – and fascinating – series of lessons!

Stage one:  a small pencil sketch, loosely copied from a photo of smack ‘Ellen’.  I’ve used the angle of the boat but not done justice to Ellen’s sleek lines as I would if doing a proper portrait.

Stage two:  hmm, looks the same as stage one in the photo, but what I’ve done is go over the pencil lines very lightly with a 0.1 sketching pen.  And I do mean lightly – the secret is to let the pen dance on the page.

Stage three:  now for the colour – a mix of cobalt blue, windsor blue (green shade) and a touch of alazarin crimson around the bottom.  To get the soft edges, I wet the whole sky area first (leaving the boat dry) and made sure the colour didn’t go all the way to the edge of the wet bit.  I didn’t wet the sea, just a few brushstrokes to suggest waves.

Stage four:  once the sky is dry, I can add colour to sails and hull.  Cadmium red with a touch of cobalt (and a bit of light red) for the sails.  Light red and ultramarine for the hull (mixed blacks are far nicer than tube blacks!)

Stage five:  adding more colour – shadows to the jib and topsail (using the puddle of neutral colour which has by now formed mid-palette), cadmium red for the topstrake and antifoul (with a drop of blue touched in to the antifoul where the curve of the hull forms a shadow).

Stage six:  shadows in the sails (cobalt blue) and a bit of colour on the figures.  I also added a few more flicks of different blues to the sea (my no. 6 brush seems to be recovering from its long bout of amnesia…)

Stage seven:  finishing touches – dilute touches of raw sienna on jib and topsail, a few more touches on the sea and raw sienna on the bowsprit and topmast.  Then it was back to the drawing pen to sketch in a few more details, particularly rigging (just a few touches) and a few splashes of acrylic white on the bow wave.  Not a copy of the photo, just a sketch of your actual lively cutter bouncing over sparkling sea.

And the overall size? Just a few centimetres across.

When you lose your way, it helps to go back to where you were before you got lost.

“I could have told you that!” said my no. 6 paintbrush.

The cruising mindset I totally understand; the challenge of a passage made entirely in partnership with boat, tides, weather and your own skill satisfies the explorer in us all. It’s a shame the word ‘cruising’ has negative meanings to non-sailors – I’m not sure I dare add it to the list of tag words when I post this blog and recent events will no doubt cast a shadow over ‘cruising’ as in ‘holiday on an oversized floating shopping mall’. But to small boat sailors, cruising will always be the grand adventure even if it’s a jolly in fine weather round to the next bay.

The analogy of life as a voyage is universal and somehow reassuring; even those who have never set eyes on the sea will talk of going through stormy times, being taken aback, told not to rock the boat and advised to make a change of tack. I’ve just finished reading Jonathan Raban’s ‘Passage to Juneau’, a book that satisfies on many levels.  I won’t describe it, just recommend it, but Raban is the ultimate thinking man’s cruiser – if you haven’t read his book ‘Coasting’, add that to the list.

Racing, now – that’s the spirit of adventure taking a different turn. I was lucky enough to meet Val Howells recently, at a talk he was giving locally. Val is now the only surviving competitor from the five entries in the original OSTAR in 1960; the very first single handed transatlantic race arising from a challenge laid down by the great Blondie Haslar.  This was a race driven by the need to challenge the unknown, though it sowed the seeds for the multi-sponsored professionally skippered offshore races of today.  Haslar’s challenge was answered by a few kindred spirits, but only four others made it to the start line for that first race.  The establishment – particularly the yachting establishment – was deeply disapproving. Single handed sailing, by its nature, disobeys the most important rule in the collision regulations, keeping a good lookout at all times. To attempt such a race, said the experts, would end in disaster and bring the sport into disrepute.

Haslar and his fellow competitors, Francis Chichester, David Lewis, Val Howells and Frenchman Jean Lacombe, who set off after the start, were not the type of men to be swayed by public opinion.  Small boats, big men. Literally and figuratively – and at over six foot, it is mind boggling that Howells undertook the race in a 25′ folkboat – he must have had to fold himself in half to get into the cabin.  Haslar’s boat Jester was a folkboat too, modified to junk rig; the biggest boat in the fleet was Chichester’s 40′ Gipsy Moth.  No handicap system was applied to the race so to some extent it was not about beating each other, it was about completing the challenge which, being the men they were, they all did – most of them coming back for more in subsequent races.

As a committed wimp who finds sailing up a muddy creek excitement enough, I am always fascinated to read tales from the more intrepid end of the seafaring spectrum. So reading Val Howell’s book ‘Sailing into Solitude’ is something to look forward to by the fire on a cold January night…. with a glass of wine in hand of course, because armchair sailors never get seasick.

Novice sailors…… yes, that is me with the silly hat on.  Skipper John Watts thought the pipe would make him look more properly salty.

After surviving a few gale-blighted holidays we considered ourselves proper sailors and visited the London Boat Show each year to choose our charter yacht for the holiday to come. The game was to march up to a boat we liked the look of and pretend to be buyers, which fooled the bored salesmen not a bit but gave us immense pleasure. One year we looked over a bilge keel Moody 33 and decided that would be our boat of choice for the next holiday – a choice that backfired when taking the ground against the harbour wall in St Mary’s, Scilly Isles. The boat show model may have been twin keeled, but our charter boat was fin, a difference we discovered when the tide went out and the boat fell over.

Thirty years on and the London Boat Show continues, now in the echoing aisles of Excel, a shadow of the former bustle of Earls Court where the packed chandlery section resembled a Moroccan souk with wellies.  I don’t think you can blame the economy for the decline – sailors still sail, recession or no, especially at the cheap and muddy end of the boating business. I think the internet is partly to blame for the decline, as you no longer have to go in person to a show to buy your discount deckies and the latest gadget for picking up a tricky mooring. You can now do all that online, along with chatting to other like minded souls about whether the latest Mudhopper really can be towed behind a Fiat Panda and whether a Moody 33 sometimes has a fin keel instead of twin.

My son James and I visited the show on its opening day last week.  The main bustle was around the bookshops like the wonderful Kelvin Hughes, where it’s always good to catch up with salty authors Sam Llewellyn and Tom Cunliffe amongst others, and of course there was also a bit of a party going on amongst the wooden varnished boats on the Classic Boat stand.

I did spend money – not on cheap deck shoes or a nifty boat hook, but on a giant blue bean bag.  Not an item to be found on many, or indeed any, boats, but just the job for James’ chair-less room at university.  There was no difficulty carrying it to the hotel, which was across the road from Excel (yes, we really did get a cheap laterooms booking just before coming down – another sign of the times).  The problem began when both of us, along with bean bag, tried to get into the small hotel lift. The lift doors were closing as I shoved and James pulled, but we made it in the end.  I seem to remember that one year ‘The Big Blue’ was the theme for the show, but I don’t think it was bean bags the organisers had in mind!

The beanbag was from www.bigboy.com by the way – very comfortable it is too!

It’s a skill that gets better with practice. By the time I’d learned how to say ‘shoo’ more robustly to send the flock packing to the other side of the field before attempting the final gate, they’d been moved to a different field and I could bounce my Fiat punto down the muddy track with only one gate to open before finding the tarmac.

There is a connection between the sheep and my disgraceful lapse of blog posts.  The boat show was three months ago, but life got in the way since then and I decided that peace and quiet in a remote cottage would be a good place to recover from a series of personal and health setbacks. Internet access here is not part of the fabric of life but an occasional luxury – and surprisingly, the sky doesn’t fall in if you don’t check your emails every five minutes. When I first arrived, I put on wellies, picked up laptop and dongle and headed into the nearest field where I was told there was sometimes a signal. The sheep came over to find out what was going on as I waved the laptop around to no avail.

I still go into the fields every day, but only to get some fresh air accompanied by the farm’s sheepdog, who finds retrieving balls far more to her taste than herding sheep. I wish I could say that not being distracted by the internet has led to a surge of creative inspiration, but it’s one of those times when I feel about as creative as a brick. I think everyone has their own journey through the wilderness at some stage in life, and you just have to believe that you won’t be lost for ever and it will all come trickling back in its own good time.

In the meantime, I’m quietly getting on with ‘Go Windsurfing’, working my way slowly through my scribbled notes and trying to get the hang of drawing people in wetsuits. Life would be dull if it always went to plan, and when things go wrong you just have to keep faith in yourself.

I’m just grateful not to be a sheep.

The first sight to greet you as you walk through the doors is, reassuringly, a small wooden gaff cutter, on show from a traditional boatyard in the Orkneys.

It’s in good company; a delightful selection of small boats and their builders remind us that the smaller the boat, the bigger the fun (and the less the expense!).

Here’s Roger Wilkinson who builds the beautiful Kittiwake Boats (http://www.kittiwakeboats.co.uk/).  There’s  not much Roger doesn’t know about having maximum fun on the water in small boats.  Ask his dog.

Then there’s Swallow Boats from West Wales, run by Nick and Matt Newland, who know how to combine traditional looks with modern technology for a very distinctive look.

Now let’s move indoors to the wonderful nautical bookseller Kelvin Hughes who sell every salty book you could possibly think of (including all of mine), and many you never thought existed.  Their staff are lovely, knowledgeable people who know exactly how much gin and tonic an author needs during a book signing session.  Here’s Sam Llewellyn, thriller writer, yachting columnist and editor of the illustrious marine quarterly… (www.samllewellyn.com)

Rachel and Paul Chandler hit the headlines when they were kidnapped by Somali pirates and held for over a year.  Now grateful to be home again with their boat returned, they were signing copies of their book ‘Hostage’, and fascinating to chat to.

On the trail of interesting people, quadriplegic yachtsman and all round get-things-done chap Geoff Holt has come up with a practical and fast powerboat for wheelchair users….

The boat is called ‘Wetwheels’ and you can find out more on Geoff’s website http://geoffholt.com/2011/05/project-wetwheels/

And finally…. because it’s been a long day today with another long day tomorrow….  the lovely Brixham trawler ‘Leader’ was at the show at the weekend.

The last time I was on board ‘Leader’ was in the Western Isles, umpteen years ago, starry eyed and more than a little drunk on whiskey.  These days ‘Leader’ is doing a fantastic job taking disadvantaged children sailing, and needs all the support she can get.  You don’t have to be a hoodie to have a go – she hosts charter parties for grown ups to.  Find out more on http://www.trinitysailingtrust.org/.

‘Nuff whingeing – the unwritten rule of blogs is that they be the shiny tip of the iceberg of life.  There was more to August than gloom and ironing (no, I’m not houseproud, but most of our lovely holiday guests were only with us for a day or two).  August bank holiday found me joyfully abandoning an Everest of ironing and heading north to Holyhead Festival of Traditional Sail, a delightful and sociable event full of unusual boats, interesting people, pirates and hussars, knot tyers and kippers.   There may also have been a glass or two of wine.  I was there for several reasons – firstly as a roving reporter for Classic Boat magazine (so you’ll be able to read a full report in December’s issue, all being well).  Secondly, I was selling my books and bits in Trinity Court alongside the other marine craftsmen and last but not least, I was there to catch up with old friends, make new ones and be around my favourite things, boats.

If you want to know anything at all about ropes and knots, Des Pawson MBE is your man.  He spent a busy weekend introducing children to the simple but ingenious ropewalk, so they all had a piece of rope to take home that they’d made themselves.  Des and Liz’s website is http://www.despawson.com/ if you’re interested in all things knotty.

It’s good to see youngsters included in the festival in so many ways.  Pupils from the local primary school who entered a poster competition were invited on board brigantine Zebu and were slightly bemused to receive their prizes from a well known pirate…..

You can see Blackbeard was fascinated by me blathering on about marine conservation as I presented a copy of Go Green to the school headmistress for their library.

Finally, here’s the lovely Scott Metcalfe, shipwright and artist, on his even lovelier schooner Vilma.  Scott is delighted that I’m featuring Vilma in one of my children’s adventure stories, and already has visions of his boat being chartered for the feature film.  Move over, Pirates of the Caribbean…… such faith, Scott. Given that the book is still a mad jumble of scribbled notes and false starts in a large folder called Treasure Island, he might have to wait some time.

Moving rapidly on…….. from old boats to new.  September is all about Southampton Boat Show, which is why we’re now drowning in boxes of stuff and lists of things to do, as well as laundry.  One thing on my list was ‘update blog’ – oh good, nearly done, but not quite.  Next on the list is ‘plan Children’s Log Book Launch’…..

Children’s Log Book Launch

The original Log Book for Children finally sold out earlier this year, so we decided to give it a thorough refit as well as a reprint. In consultation with the Cruising Department of the RYA, we’ve tweaked a few things and added more pages.  Better still, we now know a lot more about publishing than we did in 2004, so we’ve been able to get the price down a bit by doing the binding ourselves.  It means that Perry is spending this week in the workshop listening to Radio 2 and drinking rather a lot of coffee with a binding machine that squeaks every time you pull the handle, but the pile of books is growing.

If you’re at Southampton Boat Show on the first Saturday, 17th September at 3pm, come along to Starfish Books stand J040 in Mayflower Hall (opposite Kelvin Hughes) where we’ll be popping a cork or two to launch the new edition.  Any excuse!

Authors Live

Here’s another thing on my list – I’m booked to do a 20 minute slot on the stage at the boat show as part of the Authors Live event. This is on Tuesday 20th at 3.15, so come along and be rent-a-mob if you need a sit down inbetween buying deck shoes and widgets.  I’ve promised to be entertaining and talk about my books, and my family have promised to unplug the mike if I try and sing any sea shanties.  Not sure what I’m going to say yet, but will make sure there are plenty of cartoon images on the screen in case of boredom.  Nothing like a informed lecture from a sailing expert, is there?  Nothing like, indeed!  If you want to see the full programme of events, have a look at http://goo.gl/wlwqU .