It is a summer weekend towards the end of the twenty-first century. The marina village is busy as people come down to enjoy their 'yachts'. Much has changed in the last hundred years as yachts became ever more technical and labour saving. The simpler methods of reefing, the electric windlasses and electric furling and reefing systems. Then came the electronics: yacht sized radar, autopilots, echo sounders and instruments to measure speed through the water as well as wind strength and direction. Finally came GPS and electronic charts. All that was needed was a system to link these all together. To go from A to B the skipper had merely to enter his destination point and time of departure. The rest was done while he sat and watched the world go by. The motor started automatically and the anchor was weighed. The electronic navigator chose the route by computing tides, weather, actual and forecast. The reefing system dealt with the sails and the radar kept a check on other craft and unexpected hazards. The engine stood by for calms.

There was more to come. Pilot books were replaced by electronics, and 'virtual reality' systems could show the skipper what he could expect to see on his travels. He could sit in his cabin and view everything before he left...

There is no water in the marina nowadays. It has been filled in with concrete and the 'yachts' are now square boxes, air-conditioned, insulated and comfortable. An occasional one has a flagstaff for 'atmosphere'. The sailors have finally got bored with the boats on which nothing needs to be done and find it much more comfortable to visit the other anchorages using virtual reality. Now at drinks parties the yachtsmen chat about their nautical antiques, such as compasses, stainless steel mechanical winches and boarding ladders.

An old man walks furtively along the lane that leads past the marina to the estuary. He looks over the bank into the marina basin. Fearing ridicule he pretends to be out for a stroll and keeps his duffle bag out of sight. Finally he arrives at the saltings where a little old-fashioned boat, about 4 metres long is drawn up. Some years earlier he had discovered some yellow bound magazines in the cellar of an old house, and after further research he had built a simple craft. It was difficult at first to experience the pleasures described in the magazines as so many things now seemed to be unobtainable. But the only expensive thing had been the compass, bought at an auction, as it was a long time since the last magnetic one had been manufactured. The rest was very simple however. A piece of fabric for the sail, a weight on the end of a piece of line to measure the deeper water and a pole for the shallows. He had learnt much from the yellow bound magazines and at first wondered why other people did not follow the same old ways; but he noticed the same obsessions creeping into the articles that the yachtsmen had suffered from, so supposed the same boredom had set in.

'It is an ill wind turns none to good', he quotes to himself as he sails out into open water on the ebbing tide. He knows from his reading that the Solent hasn't always been like this - but now - his is the only sail in sight!