It fascinates me the way that even the smallest boat, when on the sea, is classed as a legitimate vessel. You are the "Skipper". You are "In command". A status noticeably absent at home.

One of the perks of this "Status", for instance, is when approaching Caernarfon. A blast on the air horn, and the sizeable footbridge across the channel swings to one side allowing you a majestic entrance into the bustling harbour. At least that's what's supposed to happen.

One rare long weekend, rummaging around the Menai Straits and deciding against a night at Aber Menai as it was "busy", I approached Caernarfon from the south over the sandbanks, air horn at the ready. On being pressed, it gave out a faint hiss and nothing else. Moments later I was uncomfortably close to the bridge (closed), the banking (high), and gawking spectators (use your own adjective). Closing the shore as near as my deadwood allowed, I stepped off the bows to take a line ashore with a view to knocking on the bridge operator's door.

I think "chocolate mousse" describes what enveloped my knees. Stuck in the mud between boat and shore in my red waterproofs, I felt like a misplaced port hand buoy, (I was on the wrong side of the channel). From the heavens a voice asked, "Do you want to come in?” I looked up. Leaning on the railings above the banking was the bridge operator. He'd obviously been there for some time and had watched my whole approach. "Yes please", I replied weakly. "You should've sounded your horn ", he said tersely and ambled off. I felt the mud creeping up my thighs. I had about three minutes to get out of the mud, back on board, start the engine, and get "in". I made it, just. As I passed the operator, leaning over the bridge rails, (he must have a permanent stoop), I held up the defunct air horn and pointed to it in disgust. He nodded with worn amusement.

I don't carry an aerosol horn any more. I use a cheap plastic mouth-operated one with a diaphragm you can replace with any old thin plastic wrapping. It's reliable and loud.

Nowadays, whenever I pass Caernarfon harbour entrance, I vainly look for that extra bit of buoyage. My starboard hand wellies.

At least they're green!