I was a waver, now I just waver

I have always waved at fellow boaters. From day one out on the water. Even during my Day Skipper practical on a motor boat, a lovely Nelson Weymouth 42. The instructor applauded my sense of cheer but suggested that while I might get acknowledgement from other motor boaters it was probably not worth waving at sailors as “they don’t like us, generally and they probably won’t wave back”. Never one to admit defeat I have waved at sailors and motor boaters alike, ever since. Most of the time I will be sailing my boat or instructing on other yachts and occasionally I will be on a motor boat.

There is no question that being on a sailing boat elicits a more favourable response. A Hallberg Rassy 352 such as mine is the ideal boat from which to wave. The motor boaters I wave at are perhaps surprised to see me waving in a friendly manner as opposed to telling them off for some misdemeanor. I reckon you can guarantee to get a return wave if you as a sailing boat wave at a motor boat. Not so when waving at sailing boats. The ignorance and bad manners that a good many of the sailing fraternity are showing to all and sundry is alarming. Of course waving at racers as they make their way to and from the course is likely to be met with a snub. Whenever I see shorts, Oakleys and testosterone together I keep my hand in my pocket. One is best advised just to keep out of their way.

I used to wave at the gentle looking couples in their Vancouver or Rival or Nicholson but have been ignored so often that I no longer bother. I nstead I have taken to pallying up to the Bavarias. A rather rough and ready lot they may be but they are at least friendly.

Returning to the Hamble from Osbourne Bay earlier this week on a Sunseeker Camargue 50 we had tucked in close to Bald Head Starboard Marker and so were out of the way of anyone approaching the Hamble entrance. We had been running at 35 knots and as we came abreast the Hamble Point South Cardinal some 100 metres to our West we slowed to 20 knots. We were lined up to enter the Hamble River entrance and there was still a further 350 metres to go until the first of the Starboard Hand Marker posts. Sailing in a SE direction just inside and to the East of the cardinal were two people in a Wayfarer dinghy. I waved at them. No response. I then waved again. This time they pointed to the stern of our boat and presumably the wash. It looked as though they were telling us off for having wash. In fact the wash had subsided by the time it reached them some 100 metres away But I thought how unnecessary it was to complain like this. The Solent is a busy waterway and if you take your 15 foot dinghy out into it you are going to meet with all sorts of lumpy sea, swell and wash. There was nowhere else for our boat to go, we were slowing down in preparation for the entrance to the Hamble. The 6 knot limit sign was over half a mile distant and yet these people complained. How selfish, I thought. What a disgrace. They couldn’t know that the skipper of the motor yacht is the most considerate motor boat skipper I have ever met who would be mortified if he let his wash disturb any sort of sailing vessel. God help the Wayfarer people if they ever meet the Red jet. But it is that sort of discourteous behaviour, petty and selfish which is giving sailors a bad name.

If they are not prepared to take the rough with the smooth dinghy sailors should not venture out into Southampton Water. You don’t suppose that Ned Lloyd’s Shanghai Express is going to reduce its tsunami like wake for them by slowing down ? It can’t it would lose steerage if it went too slowly.

So I am adopting a new policy. I will only wave if waved at and where once I was a waver now I just waver. If you have a view about the manners shown by either side in the endless debate between sailors and motor boaters, please let me know.

In response to my request to be enlightened about the Brigton Gay Men's Choir, I have indeed been enlightened and most eloquent and rational and persuasive this enlightment has been.

Duncan

Bright and Gay Men's Choir

Tell me, am I wrong ? But does it not offend one’s sensibilities to have a group of singers calling themselves The Brighton Gay Men's Choir presented to us on prime time TV ? Last Choir Standing on Saturday had exactly that, a bunch of bald boutique bearded bum bandits singing and not very well at that. Why is it necessary for them to declare their sexual preference ? I don’t introduce myself as Duncan Wells – heterosexual.

At least they looked squeaky clean which given their predilection was a blessing. Still they were kicked out of the competition and put back in the closet where they belong thank goodness. Homophobic me ? I just, well, you know. It was Clarkson who wrote... 'whenever I meet a homosexual I can't help but stare at their bottom and wonder' ...

Perhaps I misread the name. Was it actually the “Bright And Gay” Men's Choir. I note that I have apostrophised the Men's. I am not sure that this is how they spell their name, alas.

I am not the only one who is finding this homosexuality thing hard to handle, the Anglican Bishops seem to be having their fill of it too.

Do tell me if I have got it all wrong though.

Duncan

The New Hair Cut

I usually exit the barbers sporting something in the style of the Crested Grebe which gives me an appearance of permanent surprise.

Today, however was different. There was no wait. There was a spare seat and a spare girl. She asked me what I wanted. I wasn’t sure, a trim ? And while this would have satisfied the average hair dresser it did not satisfy this girl. She asked some fairly searching questions about what I really wanted, off the ears, length, tapered or cut at the ‘beck’ ? The ‘beck’ being the give away. We were not talking regional UK here we were talking proper foreign - Middle Europe. A Middle European girl with a better command of English than the majority of English girls.

Oh what a delight it has been to encounter the offerings from what was once behind the iron curtain. No longer do we have to put up with the surly, spotty, charmless, inarticulate British serving girls, who wouldn’t know service if it smacked them on the derriere “Oy, yew !”. No, these wonderful Slavic girls are bright, keen, they look you in the eye, they show interest. The high cheek bones do it for me, they lend an air of enthusiastic friskiness, exotic and of course I can’t deny that they are very easy on the eye. The Sandwich Shop is now abuzz, as is the Flower Shop, MacKays and the Newsagents and of course the Barber Shop.

I asked her where she came from ? Slovakia. I told her that I wouldn’t let a plumber near my house any more if he had a vowel in his name and that painters and decorators have to be called something ‘ic’ or you’ve got the wrong man. It’s the best thing that has ever happened, since the Bangladeshis came over and opened an Indian. The Poles, the Slavs, the Czechs, the Hungarians, they’ve given the fat slob Brit so called ‘skilled workers’ a right kick up their builders’ arses. We won’t touch the Brits anymore. In recent works on the house it took a Polish plasterer to correct the mess made by his Brit equivalent and a Czech painter to cut in properly and save Dave’s mess. I am especially impressed by Hungarians after one who was employed as a security guard came to my rescue. I was presenting on a Saturday and facilities had forgotten to ready me a projector from the Univeristy store. Being Saturday the store was locked, the key holder away - don't ask. The Hungarian asked for half an hour to sort something out. Unable to get the key to open the store, he was athletic enough to be able to squeeze between a grill and a counter and effectively break in. Old British jobsworth would have been far too fat to accomplish this and would have told me that it was more than his life was worth – which I imagine would have been little enough – to have broken in to the store. I thanked the Hungarian for going the extra mile.

She grasped the scissors so that her hand was covering the handles and some of the blade. I had never seen this before. And she cut very quickly. We didn’t talk much. I let her get on with her work. She was concentrating. At the end she checked my side burns to ensure they were level. I have never had this before. The Socialist Republic may have been a brutal regime under which to live but they certainly trained their people well. I hope she was getting the right rate for the job but fear that she was not.

On a recent sea trip I came across some Polish waitresses who were working on the ship because their careers did not pay well enough in Poland. One, a librarian, told me they worked four months on two months off. The ship itself never stops running. And because she was from Poland where the cost of living is lower than the UK she was paid less than the English and French crew. It’s a scandal. I don’t suppose they charged her less on board for her food and sundries ? They do this in Birmingham at BMW and at A & P ship builders on the Tyne where the Poles get £5 less per hour than other labour and no contracts, so they can be laid off in an instant. Not that this stops them from coming. But of course as Middle Europe makes its way over here, so it creates shortages in the home countries. The other day the Mayor of Gdansk had to come over to Peterborough and urge the townspeople to return to build the stadium for Euro 2012. He didn’t get any takers, so quite what will happen I don’t know. It won’t affect England, of course, because they won’t qualify but the other countries might want to know where they are to play in Gdansk..

I imagined her name was Anya. She concentrated on the cutting and took a proper amount of time. Eventually she succumbed and just before it was over, asked me whether I had a holiday planned ? No, but she had been to Egypt. I imagine the holiday question from a hair dresser is the staple of Bratislava as much as it is here. She showed me the back of my head which I only ever get to see once every six months and I noted that she had cut the hair most neatly.

This was a new style for me. It tended towards something from the front cover of Soviet Worker circa 1965, minus the square jaw and muscles... At least I don’t look like a Crested Grebe, any more.

Duncan

Last Saturday, the 28th June, saw the Maltman's Green School 90th Anniversary Charity Ball in aid of the Wexham Park Ventilator. And what a fabulous event it was. The evening was warm and sunny, perfect for a glass of champagne outside, the company was enchanting - all 410 of them - the marquee was beautifully decorated, comfortable and the floral decorations, courtesy of She who must etc...were most effective. The band, Lovetrain, were a blast and the guests were incredibly generous. Monies are being counted as I write...eleventy twelve, eleventy thirteen...and we do not yet have a definitive figure but it is way ahead of our expectation. I knew what we needed from the auction and was able to announce that we had achieved our target for the Ventilator during the evening which was satisfying. It's funny isn't it but just as we are leaving we are discovering really wonderful people with whom we would have had terrific friendships during our 6 years at the school, I am sure. One spectacularly beautiful woman to whom I had never spoken before and who had seemed to be unaware of my presence - indeed, positively to ignore me - throughout our time at the school, came up to me and we had a delightful conversation. It just shows how wrong you can be about people, sometimes. Or perhaps she had been helped to a couple of glasses of the fizzy stuff. Anyway, for a minute I was flattered. I was treated royally by the organisers and had great fun running the auction where I think we pulled £10,000 off the floor in 15 minutes. It just goes to show what support the guests were giving. The committee were spread around the tables pointing out the bidders. It was hard to see as there was light on stage and a lovely romantic and atmospheric gloom throughout the marquee. One chap in a white tux confused me as he stood next to the white of the tenting. One of the girls was frantically pointing to this bidder and I could see nothing. Then a couple of chaps struck up a conversation across two tables and as they couldn't hear each other because of me, starting pointing at each other. One of them was completely unaware that he was the lead bid on the Sunseeker Motoryacht day at £2,250 for a moment, while the other nearly copped a pair of Pave earrings for just under a grand. And then I was dragged back on stage as the band sang Happy Birthday - the Stevie Wonder song, thankfully and not the 'squashed tomatoes and stew' one. What an evening !

I am still waiting for the results from the Chiltern Shakespeare Company for their proceeds from A Midsummer Night's Dream and the Breath Of Fresh Air evening. They will be along shortly. What I can tell you is that the 'Procurement' fellow at Wexham Park has done a fantastic deal on the Ventilator, the Draeger Evita XL - ask for it by name whenever you are taken to ITU for a bit of resuscitation - and we are easily able to afford one within our fund raising. We may be able to afford one or even two of the smaller type of ventilator, the Oxylog. This is a transport ventilator. In a nutshell if you have a patient in ITU on a ventilator who needs to be transferred to say the John Radcliffe for special treatment, then they will need to be on a ventilator in the ambulance and the Oxylog is the ventilator for this. At £10,000 each - less the 'procurement' chap's discount, they are cheaper than the Draegers and we may be able to afford two. So as soon as the bean counting has been done we will be able to make an announcement.

So that looks like the end of the fund raising. Now we have the admin, the accounts for the Charity Commission, the gift aid forms. So some of you may well be getting a form from us for signing so that we and you can collect our tax rebates.

Now I need to get on with getting on. A bit of sailing wouldn't go amiss. I already have two trips on Dorothy Lee for the auction winners and then I will be out on Bernard's Sunseeker for the Sunseeker auction winners.

I never explained my devilishly clever idea for getting the attention of editors' at the National papers and magazines. I had toyed with clipping a fiver to my letter but this was scene as naff at best and desperate at worst and at variance with the quality of the work being offered - not my words but those of a concerned friend. Gary P, solved the problem when he said give them a Lottery Ticket and then you can say that 'of my two offerings, one as a columnist on your paper or the lottery ticket, I have to tell you that only one is a gamble' Clever stuff. I wrote a short letter and centred it on the page just like a few column inches of article and sent off my pitch.

Well the responses have been fabulous. Some of the rejections have been so positive that they have almost been acceptances. The Sunday Mirror was probably the best. They loved the lottery ticket idea and my articles, mentioned that I had talent which did me no end of good, said "don't give up"..."try the heavies". When I consider that they could have simply binned the package or asked Dorothy to send the usual, I feel honoured that they wrote such a constructive and positive letter.

The Daily Sport reply must have come from the Picture Editor because it was practically unreadable and it was shot full of typing and grammar mistakes. It had clearly had not been near a 'poof reader', I'm sorry 'proof reader'. It mentioned something about the Bahamas and a girl with enormous 'Beasts'. I can only imagine that this was supposed to be 'Breasts', although knowing the 'Sprot' they could just as easily have been 'Beasts'. But it was fantastic that they sent me a reply. Ian Hislop was amused. Richard Ingrams wasn't. Perhaps the 'Oldie' is never amused.

The local newspaper and I struck up a dialogue which was reasonably amusing and while there was not the budget to employ me as a columnist he did want to include some of our correspondence in his leader. Would I be happy with a credit ? I pointed out that he must have misread my original pitch letter and where I had opened with "For the usual fee etc." he had read "For the usual free". Nonetheless I succumbed to his persuasion, probably because I was flattered. Flattered does not however pay the household bills. Anyway as you can see I am at it in terms of making the new career blossom and I hope to report success soon.

Traditional Boats and Tall Ships magazine paid yesterday for my May articles. So I am published and paid.

Voiceover wise I continue to improve and my voice is as strong if not stronger than before the accident. Ten open air shows over a couple of weeks does wonders for one's voice.

As one often does with a part in a play I have very much adopted the flavour of the character of Theseus, excepting some of his extremes. I don't think I will be conquering nations, or applying the law of Athens where you didn't take issue with your issue, if they didn't do as you said you put them to death. It's a fairly persuasive way of making a point you have to admit ! I do love the lines, however "....To you, your father should be as a God. One who composed your beauty yeah and one to whom you are but as a form in wax. By him imprinted and within his power to leave the figure, or disfigure it...." This has been trotted out to Ellie but I have to say that the effect has not been what I had hoped for. The response, "like, whatever" didn't really do it for me.

There will be more when I have the figures and can tell what we are really able to buy.

Duncan