Tuesday, 25 November 2008

why the soaps are to blame

Ahh, that eternal love/hate conundrum has spilled itself into my sailing life. I should have known inanimate objects are never inanimate when we humans come into contact with them. But then knowing and feeling are two very different experiences.
And so, I went down to help bring the boat back from Milford Haven, gales having scuppered the schedule and Richard was out of crew. Love / hate: gales / calm. Yeah, once the force 8s blew themselves out we were left with no wind and so motored the 26+hour passage from Milford Haven to Holyhead.

I don't mind motoring so much - not as fun as sailing, but you get into a zone of moving and on and off shifts and do what needs to be done (even if I'm not eating cos I'm seasick). R isn't so philosophical about it. He hates it and is bored by it and convinces himself he can't sleep because of it.

Here we have him: angry, bored and tired; and me: hungry, disconsolate and tired. We both acknowledged the mission is totally dependent on us to get the boat home, I also admitted I didn't know why the hell I was there and couldn't quite imagine every gaily setting foot on the good ship Sunshine again.

This proved the unification of us: R agreed and we got a laugh out of putting ourselves into a ridiculous situation before facing the black of 3am off Cardigan Bay early November.

If we were in a soap (obviously on some digital channel at 7am) we would have arrived in Glasson (two days later) jumped off the boat and merrily got on with our lives, planning the next trip in the new year.

We're not and even three weeks later I'm not feeling particularly merry. The boat was meant to be a joyous addition to my life, a non-art collaboration, a fifteen year old dream. Right now it's mutated into a film by Guillermo del Toro