Jun
20
2009
Secret 18…I have no sea legs whatsoever
I confess, I cheated again. MrSpud took this as I wasn’t in the mood for all the faffing with the tripod etc. So I set it up, painted my face bright green and woke him up from a sofa snooze to photograph me. It took him about 20 seconds to even notice anything was different about my face. WTF?!
On with the secret. In short, pretty much every time I go near water I vomit. I have been sick on ferries (once before it had even left PORT), yachts, sail boats, motor boats…you name it, I’ve ruined it with sick. A faint whiff of Dettol must follow me wherever i go.I’ve been sick at sea, on rivers, estuaries, reservoirs, boating lakes and, most famously, on a canal. Yes, you read that right, I have been sick on a canal boat.
Which makes it all the more puzzling that I own a boat. Neither MrSpud nor I can sail, and I have no intention of ever learning after depositing my lunch on a crowded beach (to rapturous applause) after my first, and last, sailing lesson as a teenager. We’ve never even seen the boat, I couldn’t even tell you much about her other than the fact that she’s called Frances and has red sails. I ‘think’ I’ve seen her bobbing around on the estuary from the safety of quay, but I can’t be sure as I daren’t look for too long in case I’m sick. I should just ask the blokes at the boatyard but I can’t bear the thought of those old sea dogs sneering at me like the the fancy London Land Lubber that I am…”Excuse me, my good fellow, could you tell me which one is my boat?”. Blushes.
We bought the boat with a friend last year. He can’t sail either. What were we thinking?! I suspect MrSpud and his pal got carried away on some kind of Swallows & Amazons nautical whimsey whereas I had a rare attack of the smarts and made what I am sure is a very sound investment decision i.e it passes the ‘what’s in it for me?’ test with muster.
Here’s the plan…when the boys are old enough I will pack them off to sailing school and then they can have the boat and spend weekends pootling up and down the estuary while I retire to the sofa. Joined..up..thinking,
I’ll just have to hope they haven’t inherited my wibbly wobbly sea legs. If so, no matter, they can take a bucket.
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