Salcombe Report 2

Well, what a week it has been so far. The weather here is still awful and all racing for today has been cancelled. Seasoned Salcombe-ites are all complaining that they have never known a week like it, but it’s my first time here (as a racer that is; I have been to Salcombe before) so I can’t say whether it’s unusual or not. Unfortunately, I didn’t pack for a winter climate, so I’ve no warm clothes with me – this may mean that a spot of retail therapy is required (if only I could afford it). Strangely, I did remember to bring an umbrella.

However, we did manage to get out yesterday. We raced in the morning and for the most part we had great fun. It was blowing old boots and as we hurtled up to the 3rd mark at Southpool, I was playing the spinnaker for all I was worth. George and I were hanging on for grim death off the back of the transom and the boat was being pushed forward at an alarming speed (faster than I’ve ever been, anyway). Most scary. The race lasted for about two hours but alas, not for us. About ten minutes from the finish line, with only one mark left to round, we capsized spectacularly, both of us being violently and unceremoniously tossed from the boat. At this point the spinnaker was still up, which made it almost impossible to right the boat so I had to swim under the water and, feeling blindly in the dark, locate the halyard and pull the spinnaker in. Even so, George was losing strength and we still couldn’t right the boat, so reluctantly he called for assistance. Our race was over. Within moments two very handsome and strapping blonde-haired young men appeared in a powerboat and managed to right us, allowing me to haul myself over the back and lie panting in a foot of water on the bottom of the boat. Then they towed us back to shore – a most ignominious end to our efforts, but we were happy.

Last night we threw a dinner party in our apartment. There were twelve of us at the table and we had far too much food and an even greater amount of wine. The quantity of food defeated us and we ended up throwing some of it away. However, the quantity of wine did not, and all that was left this morning was a scatter of empty bottles. When the dinner was finished we strolled up to the yacht club to swap tales of daring-do with the other sailors there. I’m sorry to report that even more alcohol was thence consumed – everyone seemed to have guessed that today’s racing would be cancelled and therefore must have known that concentration would not be required this morning.

I’ve been out onto the streets this morning and witnessed a damp mass of humanity trudging itself from one coffee shop to the next; bedraggled children and dogs being dragged along forlornly. But I’m happy. I don’t often get a chance to read for longer than an hour at a time, so whilst everyone else is complaining of boredom and even suggesting that we visit Salcombe’s tiny, tiny, tiny two-roomed museum again, I’m actually enjoying myself.

If I can be bothered, I’ll write again at the end of the week. If not, I might tell you instead about the time my step-father sold me to white slavers so that he could pay off his gambling debts. That was a most bizarre experience, I can assure you.