I must go down to the sea again, The pier, pavillion and prom, And all I ask is a pretty qirl, And a bench to sit her on.

Although I am married, middle-aged and loosing my hair, the mention to any female that I own a sailing dinghy draws forth one of three responses in equal proportions. "I hate the water", "How I envy you, I used to do a bit of sailing." or "I'd love to try sailing." So if I require a female crew for my Mirror 10 I never have to try very hard.

However, not all my confessions concern members of the opposite sex. The weather forecast for Saturday 28th May was most unfavourable but as is often the case "they" were wrong. After tea I too hastily packed my gear and rushed off to Walton Backwaters, launching from Tichmarsh marina at 2015. High water at the Wade was due five minutes later and with the wind from the East barely strength 1, I had doubts about my chances of reaching Kirby Creek that evening. I did, and settled down for the night on the mud East of Skipper's Island. My cutlery is normally kept rolled up in a tea towel, but on unrolling. the bundle I discovered that it contained only a teaspoon and a tin opener. With the help of the penknife in my packet I coped fairly well with an omelette and packet of soup. Sunday produced perfect sailing weather and a seal played hide and seek with the dinghy in Landmere Creek.

Visiting Tichmarsh Marina later in the season a sign on the gate to the ramp announced that the gate will only be unlocked from 0845 to 1730. Boats arriving outside these times may be left moored at the pontoon but launching and recovery is definitely not on. It is possible to launch into the Wade within one hour of H.W. and access is by a rough lane running North from the B1034 at New Brick Farm, 3/4 miles East of Kirby le Soken Church. A good concrete ramp at G.R. 234228 extends to the water, there is plenty of space for parking car and trailer and it's all free.

My daughter has always scorned my silly little boat and maintains that a man's boat should have one foot of waterline for every year of his age. I was therefore most surprised at the Jubilee weekend when she asked if she could sail with me. We launched from Hullbridge at 0610 having on board two Mars bars and two apples which I judged would be ample rations for six hours as, since the age of two, Janice has been on a slimming diet. Arriving at Burnham on Crouch two and a half hours later Janice announced that she was starving, so we found a cafe and had a pricey breakfast, during which she expressed a wish to sail as far as the sea. More money was spent on provisions for the extended voyage and these were eaten long before the sea came into sight. At Wallasea Marina on the return Janice was hungry again so we moored up and had lunch. Fortunately for my bank balance Janice hasn't sailed with me since.

Thank you Andrew Dawson for your plans for a Peak Halliard (Bulletin No. 75). A week later my mirror had a peak halliard with the lacing between luff and mast replaced by a track made from two lengths of wood 1" x 1" bevelled at the inner corners and screwed ¼" apart to the mast. With four halliards, jib, spinnaker, gaff and peak the base of my mast looks a terrible sight. Some weeks later I launched from Pin Mill and sailed up the Orwell to Ipswich with Teresa, an experienced sailor, who helped with the rigging and launching. Returning to the hard at Pin Mill the tide was well out, so I confidently left Teresa to de-rig the dinghy while I went off for the car and trailer. Returning ten minutes later a near to tears Teresa was standing by a boat full of tangled spars, sheets, shrouds and sails. Being a logical young lady (and perhaps the extra halliards were a little confusing) she had started work at the bow and released the forestay. Everything had descended at high speed, crashing onto the deck, fortunately without causing any damage.

Catherine is really a racing girl so it was only natural that we should sail the five miles up the Alde from Orford to Slaughden Quay in 45 minutes. Progress up to Ikencliff was a little slower and tacking in the shallows opposite the church, a gating noise was heard from below. Not the normal running aground grating noise to which I have become accustomed, this noise had a touch of cracking and expense about it. A few moments later 2/3 of the centre board was seen floating away and we crabbed sideways to the sandy beach above the church. Here we were lucky enough to find a piece of planking three feet long, ten inches wide and this served adequately for the ten mile return journey.

Another high speed sail with Catherine presented tragedy eighteen miles out. We launched from the very rough draw deck at Barge House Road, North Woolwich and flew down the Thames to Coalhouse Point in three hours, with 30 minutes remaining to L.W. Here we slid onto the mud and were soon high and dry with soup simmering in a pan on the Gaz stove. The daily Hydrofoil from Calais came hurtling up the river at 30 or more knots. There was no conventional bow wave so we were most surprised when a great wave hit the side of the dinghy, knocking the pan of soup to the deck, and then obligingly climbing over the gunwale to wash up the mess. After baling out soup and river we dined on damp cheese sandwiches.

Freda had never sailed in her life and her nautical knowledge extended as far as knowing that at any seaside resort there would be varying amounts of beach depending on the time of day. So why was it so imperative that we should launch from Felixstowe ferry no later than 11 a.m? We caught the flood up the Deben, and once clear of the Horse shoal and moored boats I offered Freda the tiller which she declined in case she did it wrong. Would she care to tighten in the jib sheet`? “I'd better not I might do it wrong”; “I've got a right one here I thought”. We picnicked at that delightful sandy beach overhung with trees at The Rocks and later made our way to the Maybush at Waldringfield. The ebb was now ready to take us back and with a light wind from the North I was able to fly the spinnaker, completely unaided of course. By now it was getting dark; a mile beyond Ramsholt a bend in the river necessitated taking in the spinnaker. Before securing the tiller I noticed lights astern and two minutes later, with spinnaker stowed, I was back at the tiller with lights astern again. I wonder how long it would have been before I looked at the compass or realised I was fighting the ebb? But instantly my non-nautical crew pointed out that I was going the wrong way and that the lights astern were now those at Felixstowe ferry

Also I drink. At one time it was wine because the corks were useful for bunging up drain sockets. I now find that the plastic cap inside the metal top of a Courage bottled Guinness is much more like the original fitting of Holt Allen (HA 123).

And what does my wife think about all these goings on'? Every Wednesday in the summer I say to her, “Would you like to come sailing at the weekend, darling?” “What”, she replies, “After last time!” Yes - well that's another confession.